tearsof-scarlet

[tearsof-scarlet]

The Wrong Target

Pairing: Josh Washington x afab!reader Spoilers for the game Until Dawn!  Warnings: MDNI /// Psychological Horror // Quite smutty (Josh is a bit rough) // Josh is a bit creepy at parts // Blood, some gore // Swearing // Mentions of Death and Loss // Trauma and Survivor's Guilt //Mental Illness // The word “crazy” is used in this story purely to aid the narrative in depicting Josh’s mental breakdown. I do not agree with this terminology.

Summary: Josh and you have always been too shy to recognize the connection between you. Just as you finally start to explore what might be, the mysterious disappearance of his sisters forces everything to a halt. A year later, he invites you and his friends back to the old lodge to relive the past and maybe, this time, you’ll find the courage to finally confess your feelings for Josh. Words: 19.3k (Buckle up lol)

A/N: Please note the events in this fic do not exactly add up with the canon gameplay! I finally got to play the remastered version of Until Dawn, and I have fallen back down into the rabbit hole. I am so happy to see the fandom is still going strong. This is the longest fic I've ever written, and I'm exhausted. I don’t know how people do it lol.

The weight of your bag dug into your shoulder with every step, a dull ache that had been growing since the base of the trail. The icy air bit at your cheeks, turning your breath to mist as you trudged through the thinning woods. Just when your patience began to wear thin, the silhouette of the old cable car station finally emerged through the trees, weathered, silent, and waiting.

You scanned the clearing, half-hoping to spot a familiar face, but it was empty. The silence pressed in around you, broken only by the crunch of snow beneath your boots. You pulled out your phone for the fifth or sixth time, still no signal. A part of you knew it was a long shot, but you'd held onto the hope that someone else might be running late too. Maybe Mike or Sam.

The cable car sat still on its track, slightly tilted, like it hadn’t been used in years. Rust clung to its metal joints, flaking off in orange smears. You grabbed the handle and pulled. The door groaned open with a reluctant squeal. You tossed your bag inside and followed, the cold metal floor shuddering under your weight.

With a mechanical jolt, the cable car lurched into motion, the squeal of the pulley system echoing off the mountainside as it dragged you higher and higher into the snow-covered peaks. Inside, it was barely warmer. You rubbed your hands together and slumped into the cracked seat, pulling your phone out again to distract yourself from the groaning of the cables and the increasingly distant ground below. No bars.

You flicked through apps aimlessly, your thumb eventually wandering back to your messages. There, buried near the top, was one from Josh. You tapped it.

“Hey ______, I’m planning a weekend up at the lodge. I want it to be just like old times. Snow, booze and some questionable decisions. I really hope you can make it. Wouldn’t feel right without you. You in? :)”

You stared at the message for a long moment, your thumb hovering. He never said it outright, but all of you knew what the date meant. Almost a year to the day since the night Hannah and Beth disappeared into the snow. Maybe Josh just wanted to feel close to them again or this was his way of honouring them.

The cable car jolted with a loud metallic screech, making your phone slip from your hands and clatter to the floor. You blinked, pulled out of your thoughts, and looked up just in time to see the platform ahead. The car had reached the top. Letting out a breath, you grabbed your bag and jumped out, glad to be done with the rattling machine.

You glanced around, but the area was still empty. No sign of your friends. The snow-covered path ahead stretched into the trees, quiet and undisturbed. Your eyes landed on the numerous footprints. Several of them trailed off into the woods, a good sign that the others hadn’t gone far. You rubbed your arms against the cold, then started walking, following the trail.

The air was still, but every few steps a sound from the forest made your ears perk up. Twigs cracked, branches shifted, and even though you kept telling yourself it was probably just the wind or small animals, your head kept turning toward the noise. You shook it off and kept going, focusing on the prints ahead, trying not to let your imagination get the better of you.

The snow crunched steadily beneath your boots as you followed the trail, head down, breath fogging in the cold. The forest around you was still unnervingly quiet except for the occasional creak of trees shifting under the weight of snow. You kept walking, trying not to think too hard, trying not to look too long into the thick shadows between the trunks.

Then you heard it.

A sound sharp, high, and fast cut through the air. Not a scream exactly, but not an animal either. Something in between. It echoed once, then vanished. Your footsteps stopped. The woods suddenly felt heavier. You stood still for a second, listening.  Then another sound, deeper this time. A scraping? No, more like something dragging across bark. It came from up ahead, off the trail and into the thicker trees.

You turned slowly toward it, brow furrowed, trying to spot the source through the branches. Your heartbeat picked up as you took a cautious step forward.

Then -

Warm hands suddenly settled on your shoulders.

You flinched hard, letting out a scream. You spun around, gasping and there was Josh, grinning, too close, his eyes crinkled with mischief.

“Woah, easy,” he said, laughing softly. “Just me.”

“Jesus, Josh!” you snapped, hand clutching your chest. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He broke into full laughter at your reaction, clearly proud of himself. That only made it worse.

Fuming, you shoved at his chest, hard. “Asshole.”

He barely moved, like he was planted there. “Wow,” he said, grinning. “Is that all you’ve got?”

You scowled, but there was a flicker of a smile tugging at the edge of your mouth.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” he said, utterly unapologetic. “You had that little forehead-crinkle thing going. It was too tempting.”

Your breath was still catching up with your heart. “I thought you were-” You glanced back toward the trees, then shook your head. “Never mind. Did you hear that noise?”

Josh didn’t answer right away. His smile faltered, just slightly. His hands, still gently resting on your arms, gave a light squeeze.

“Woods are creepy this time of year,” he said after a beat, tone light but not entirely convincing. “They whisper. Crack. Groan. Just nature doing its spooky thing.”

You looked up at him. He was obviously teasing you attempting to scare you. He was watching you carefully, the humour softening in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, more gently now. “You seemed… off.”

You opened your mouth to reply but stopped. The wind blew snow down through the trees like falling ash. For a second, everything felt far away.

“I’m fine,” you said quietly. “You just surprised me.”

Josh stepped a little closer, his voice dropping to something softer. “Come on, it’s freezing out here.”

Without needing to ask, he slipped the strap of your bag off your shoulder and swung it onto his own back with ease. You let him. As the two of you started walking, the tension slowly gave way to quiet conversation, light small talk, nothing heavy. It was almost comfortable.

Then a question crept into your mind.

“What were you doing out here, anyway?” you asked, eyeing him. “You weren’t even on the trail.”

Josh shot you a crooked grin. “I was coming down to get you. You were the last to arrive. As usual.”He bumped your shoulder playfully, and you rolled your eyes.

“And you knew I’d arrived?” You raised a brow at him.

Josh grinned to himself like he’d been caught. “Not exactly. I was on my way down to wait at the cable car. Figured you’d show up sooner or later.”

You let out a short laugh. “And stand around in sub-zero temps just in case I showed up?”

“Obviously,” he said, tone casual. “Couldn’t have you walking up here alone.”

The simple answer hit harder than you expected. That quiet thoughtfulness buried beneath his usual sarcasm tugged at something in your chest. You hadn’t expected anyone to meet you, especially not him.

You glanced sideways at him, but he was looking straight ahead now, snow crunching beneath his boots like it didn’t mean anything.

You weren’t really sure what was happening between you and Josh anymore. You hadn’t spoken since the incident. Even before that, things had been... blurry. Pulled apart by time, distance, and whatever it was Josh was going through.

Your vision finally caught the outline of the lodge, rising like a shadowy monument through the trees. Relief bloomed in your chest. The idea of a warm fire, and maybe a beer or two, was already making you feel warmer.

As you and Josh approached the door, he moved ahead to open it. But instead of letting you in, he stopped, one hand on the knob, the other braced against the doorframe, his body angled to block your way.

“Josh,” you groaned, crossing your arms. The cold was slicing through your coat. “Seriously? We’re gonna freeze to death out here.”

Josh laughed at your dramatic pout, eyes lighting up.

He laughed at your dramatic pout, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Still cute when you whine,” he muttered, mostly to himself. His words caused your checks to flush at the flashbacks of him and you appeared in your mind. You rolled your eyes in an attempt to still appear annoyed at him.

“I know, I know,” he said louder, glancing back at you. “I just… wanted to say something before we go in.”

You blinked. The cold stung your face, but you stayed still. He hesitated, his expression softening. His voice dipped, more serious.

“Before we go in, I wanted to say something. I want tonight to be… good. I want everyone to have fun. And I don’t want you here because you feel bad for me.”

You opened your mouth to object, but he held up a hand, gently cutting you off.

“I mean it. I want tonight to feel normal. No grief. Just dumb jokes and too much alcohol and, I don’t know, something that feels like before.”

He looked at you then, really looked. And despite the grin tugging at his lips, there was something earnest behind his eyes. Something fragile.

“I’m really glad you came,” he added quietly.

Your heart tugged. You reached out and rested a hand on his arm, smiling up at him.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” you said. “But Josh, you don’t have to pretend everything’s fine. We’re here because we care. Not out of pity.”

He nodded, looking down at his feet like he needed a second to gather himself. Then he laughed softly, shaking off the moment.

“Okay, okay emotional speech over. Get inside before you turn into a popsicle.”

You grinned. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not letting me freeze my ass off.”

You both laughed as he opened the door, warm air rushing out to greet you. The sound of voices and music echoed through the lodge, familiar and alive. The past might’ve still hung in the corners of the place but for now, for just this night, it could wait.

Hours had passed since you’d arrived with Josh. After the hugs, the “I missed yous,” and the shared glances that said more than words, everyone slowly settled into the lodge. To your surprise, the mood was light. Surprisingly light. Josh had dragged up two crates of beer from the basement to a round of cheers, and now your group was circled around the fire he’d built, basking in warmth and buzz.

You’d lost count of how many beers had been passed around. Mike was deep into a ridiculous story about catching Matt and Emily making out last summer, complete with dramatic reenactments, and the group was in stitches. The alcohol gave you that warm, floating feeling, but even without it, you felt strangely at ease.

Josh’s arm had somehow ended up draped over your shoulders. You weren’t sure when it happened. You hadn’t pulled away. Every so often, you caught him looking at you out of the corner of your eye and when you glanced back, he’d already be looking somewhere else, as if he hadn’t been staring at all. Still, you couldn’t help the stupid smile on your face. You felt like some lovesick schoolgirl with the dumb grin on your face.

While Mike kept rambling, Sam stood up from the couch and stretched.

“Well, my beer bottle’s officially a graveyard,” she said. “I’m going to grab more from the basement.”

You sat up, finishing the last sip of your own drink and blinking at the sudden wave of dizziness.

“Me too,” you said, standing a little too fast. “I’ll come with.”

Your balance shifted, the alcohol tugging you briefly back toward the couch, but you caught yourself and laughed.

“Perfect,” Sam said, falling into step beside you. “Let’s go.”

As the two of you started toward the basement door, Josh’s voice rang out behind you.

“Careful down there, ladies,” he called with a mock-warning tone. “It’s dark. Creepy. A perfect setting for a horror movie.”

You both rolled your eyes.

“Thanks for the PSA, Josh,” Sam said over her shoulder, smirking.

You pulled the basement door open. A cold draft met you, rising up from the shadows below. The stairwell was nearly pitch black. You and Sam exchanged a glance, the kind that didn’t need words. You both pulled out your phones, switching on the flashlights. Narrow beams of white light cut through the darkness as you made your way down, step by creaking step.

“Josh seems in a good mood,” Sam said as you both carefully descended the creaky steps.

You nodded. “Yeah. Honestly? Better than I expected. I thought coming back here would bring everything back.”

It was the first time all night someone had acknowledged it; what happened last year.

“I’m sure he knows it was a horrible accident,” Sam said quietly.

You didn’t answer right away. Another silent understanding passed between you. Neither of you had been involved in the prank. You weren’t there when it happened. But you’d heard the stories, how it spiralled out of control, how no one had stopped it. Whether it was an accident or not, it had still been cruel.

You reached the shelves stacked with beer crates. The cold was more biting down here. Sam turned toward you, voice low and hesitant.

“I know we’re not supposed to bring it up,” she said, “but… I never asked. What were you doing? When it all happened?”

You bent down, grabbed a crate, and handed it to her. It was heavier than you remembered. No wonder Josh had impressed everyone by carrying two at once. No wonder you’d always thought he had some kind of quiet strength about him. You picked up another for yourself, using the moment to stall.

“God, it feels like forever ago,” you said, stalling again.

But the truth was, you remembered everything.

You remembered the cupboard in the Washingtons’ lodge stocked full of booze like some teenage dream. At some point that night, you and Josh had ended up alone. You weren’t exactly sure how it happened. You had your suspicions. Your friends had been nudging you two toward each other all evening, not so subtly.

You reached in and pulled out a half-full bottle of vodka, started pouring shots for the two of you while Josh wandered over to the stereo and flicked it on. Music thumped through the room, heavy on bass, the kind that made your bones buzz.

You were already drunk. Not tipsy, very much drunk. The kind where your vision smudged at the edges and your limbs felt like they belonged to someone else. But it didn’t stop you. You grabbed the two shot glasses, wobbling slightly as you made your way toward him, doing a half-dance, half-strut to the music.

Josh laughed at your theatrics, his smile soft and genuinely amused. “God, you’re ridiculous,” he said, taking a glass from your hand.

You stuck your tongue out at him and handed him his shot.

He raised the glass to the ceiling with mock ceremony.

“To the best night ever.”

You giggled, hiccupped, and clinked your glass to his before downing the vodka in one go. The burn lit a fire down your throat that you welcomed. The beat of the music sank into your skin. You started swaying, hips rolling in slow rhythm. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Josh watching you. Not pretending. Not even trying to hide it. His gaze moved from your face to your hips, back up. Blatant. Drunk. Honest.

“See something you like, Joshy?” you teased, arching a brow.

He stepped closer, playing along. “Just admiring your insane, once-in-a-generation dance moves.”

You laughed, loud and free. Then, bold with liquor, you grabbed his hands and placed them on your hips. His fingers flexed instantly, tightening just a little. You felt them hook into the belt loops of your jeans, grounding you in place. Your hands slid up around his neck, pulling him closer until there was barely any space between you.

“You know,” you said, one hand toying with the soft hair at the back of his neck, “you’re kind of handsome when you’re drunk.”

Josh leaned in slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Just when I’m drunk?”

You smirked at Josh’s answer, your fingers still lightly playing with the curls at the back of his neck.

“I mean, you’ve always been handsome,” you admitted, eyes glinting. “But maybe the vodka is helping me say it out loud.”

Josh’s hands flexed a little more at your hips, his thumbs brushing slow, deliberate circles over the denim. His eyes stayed on you, not darting away this time, not joking it off.

“So you have been thinking about me,” he said, his tone that perfect mix of teasing and just a little vulnerable. “Kinda wish I knew that before I spent the whole summer convincing myself you hated me.”

You laughed softly, the warmth in your chest blooming outward. “I don’t hate you, Josh. I just didn’t know if you were serious.”

He tilted his head slightly. “About what?”

“Me.”

That answer seemed to hit him right in the chest. His expression changed, still smiling, but quieter now, a little more careful.

“You’re kind of hard not to be serious about,” he bluntly stated.

You blinked up at him, caught off guard.

Josh must’ve felt it too, because for once, he didn’t follow the moment with a joke or a grin. He just stood there, his eyes on you, and you saw something there that hadn’t been in his voice before, something raw, almost uncertain.

Your hand, still curled in the fabric of his shirt, tensed slightly. You weren’t drunk enough to miss what that meant.

“You really mean that?” you asked, your voice barely audible above the low hum of the stereo.

Josh swallowed. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

Silence stretched for a beat, just the music thudding softly in the background and the sound of both your breaths. Your heart kicked up in your chest. Your fingers slipped from his shirt to his jaw before you could think twice, tracing just beneath his cheekbone.

He didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned into the touch.

His hands were still at your hips, not teasing now but steady. Grounded. His forehead came to rest against yours, eyes fluttering shut for a second like he didn’t want to say the next part but couldn’t stop himself.

“I think I’ve always meant it.”

The tension curled between you, no longer playful. It was charged now. Real. You felt the heat of his body, the closeness of his breath, the weight of everything that hadn’t been said in the months you’d spent dancing around this.

“I didn’t know,” you whispered. “I thought maybe it was just messing around. For you.”

Josh shook his head, just barely. “Not with you.”

Your noses brushed, not quite a kiss.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Josh’s forehead still rested against yours, his hands unmoving, like he didn’t dare risk breaking the moment. His eyes flicked open, searching yours, silently asking a question he’d never spoken out loud.

You didn’t answer with words.

Instead, you leaned in just a fraction. Your lips brushed his once, testing, soft. And then again, firmer this time, like you both realized at the same time that there was no going back.

Josh kissed you like he’d been holding his breath for a year. His hands tightened at your waist, pulling you closer, and you rose onto your toes, arms curling around his shoulders. The music blurred out, the warmth of the vodka forgotten. All you felt was him and his mouth on yours, the way he tasted like liquor and something sharp underneath it.

His fingers moved slow and tentative at first. Sliding under the hem of your shirt just enough for his thumbs to brush the bare skin at your waist. Warm and steady. Possessive in the gentlest way. You shivered under his touch, not from cold but from the sudden awareness of every place your bodies touched.

Then he whispered it soft, like it wasn’t meant to be heard, his lips still barely parted from yours.

“You don’t know what you’ve been doing to me.”

You stilled for a moment, heart thudding.

He kissed you again before you could reply, slower now. Not just urgent, but tender, like he was memorizing it. Like he didn’t want to risk forgetting what it felt like. One of his hands slid up your spine, fingertips grazing each ridge of your back, pausing between your shoulder blades like he could hold you there forever.

Your breath hitched as his mouth found the corner of your lips, your jaw, the slope of your neck then returned to your mouth, almost desperately.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers tangling in his hair now, your balance swaying. You couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the heat of him pressed to you or both, but you didn’t care. Not when he was kissing you like he meant it. Like he’d never stopped thinking about it. Like he never wanted it to end.

When you finally broke apart, you stayed close his forehead pressed to yours again, both of you smiling without quite meaning to.

Josh exhaled a breathy laugh. “Wow. Okay.”

“Yeah,” you said, breathless. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

“And I didn’t even have to dance for it,” he joked, the smirk back but softer now.

You grinned. “Don’t get cocky. That was a charity kiss.”

“Right,” he said, nodding solemnly. “Absolutely. No personal satisfaction here at all.”

But he still didn’t let go of you.

You finally shook your head, trying to clear the fog of the moment, and glanced over at Sam.

“I was just hanging out with Josh and we kind of passed out,” you said, raising your eyebrows.

Sam smirked and gave you a knowing look. “Uh-huh. ‘Passed out,’ sure. Sounds legit.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

Sam laughed softly. “Sure. Just don’t start ‘passing out’ on me every time we need more beer.”

As you and Sam began making your way back toward the basement stairs, a sudden loud bang echoed through the concrete walls, sharp and jarring. You both froze in place, the sound slicing through the air like a crack of thunder.

Your heart jumped into your throat as you spun around, your phone’s flashlight barely piercing the thick darkness that swallowed the far end of the hallway.

Something moved.

A metallic clatter followed. A tin can, rolling slowly across the floor, its hollow rattle unnervingly loud in the silence that followed.

You and Sam instinctively stepped closer together. Your light caught just enough to see the can spin to a stop then nothing. Just black.

You felt it almost immediately, the drop in temperature, the way the air seemed to press in tighter around your skin. Your breath came out in a visible puff, and goosebumps prickled your arms despite your jacket.

Sam shifted beside you, her voice a whisper. “We should check it out, right?”

You hesitated. Every nerve in your body screamed to turn around and go back upstairs. However, curiosity, or maybe something deeper, rooted you in place.

Wordlessly, you both began inching down the hallway. Your flashlights shook slightly in your hands, casting long, twitching shadows along the walls. The silence was thick, broken only by the soft sound of your footsteps against the cold concrete.

The hallway seemed longer now, like it stretched out with every step. The air grew heavier, pressing against your lungs, and the flickering overhead bulb near the back door offered no comfort, only more shadows.

Just before you reached the rough wooden door at the very end, splintered, old, and slightly ajar. A sudden creak echoed from behind it, like something shifting just out of view.

You and Sam froze again.

Sam reached out, hand just barely brushing the door handle when—

“Hey!”

Both of you jumped nearly out of your skin as Josh’s voice rang out sharply from behind you.

You spun around to see him standing at the top of the basement stairs, bathed in faint light from above. His expression was tight, unreadable, but his voice was firm.

“You two forget how stairs work or something?” he asked, tone light but with an edge. “Come on seriously. That part of the basement’s off-limits.”

You started to protest, “We heard—”

“I know,” Josh interrupted quickly, already descending a few steps. “This place is old, okay? Pipes bang. Stuff falls. It’s nothing.”

You weren’t convinced. His tone was calm, but his eyes darted once, past you toward the door at the end of the hall.

“Come on,” he repeated, this time with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t leave me alone with Mike. He’s started doing impressions of everyone and it’s getting scary.”

You and Sam exchanged a look, unsettled but unsure. Still, you turned, following Josh back up the stairs. Behind you, the wooden door gave one final creaking groan.

Another couple of hours had passed, and the alcohol showed no signs of slowing down. Whatever buzz you'd started the night with had bloomed into full-on drunken joy. Everything felt lighter, funnier, louder. Even breathing felt easier.

Music thumped from the old stereo, something familiar with just enough bass to shake the floorboards. Someone had turned off most of the lights, leaving only the fire crackling and a few warm lamps casting a golden haze over the room.

Half the group was already passed out in corners or curled up under throw blankets, empty bottles littering the coffee table. A couple of your friends were making out shamelessly on the couch like it was freshman year all over again.

You leaned against the wooden beam by the fireplace. For the first time in what felt like forever, the house was full of laughter instead of tension. No whispered concerns, no heavy silences. Just friends being friends. You smiled, quietly to yourself, and scanned the room.

Then your eyes landed on Josh.

He was sitting in one of the armchairs across the room, slouched deep into the cushions with a half-empty bottle dangling from his fingers. He wasn’t talking. Wasn’t laughing. He was watching.

Specifically watching you.

Your smile faltered just a little, not gone but thinned. You met his gaze across the chaos, the noise, the glow of firelight.

He didn’t look away.

Something about the way he was staring made your skin prickle. Like he wasn’t with everyone else in the room. Like, somehow, he was somewhere else entirely and just wearing the mask of this moment.

But then he blinked, and the look was gone. A slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. He raised his bottle in a lazy toast just for you.

You smiled at him lifted your drink back at him with a small nod, unsure whether you were reassuring him or yourself.

The moment stretched, a beat too long, like the world had held its breath just for the two of you. The fire crackled again, snapping you out of it, and the sounds of your friends filtered back in, someone giggling in the kitchen, a chorus of half-drunken lyrics from the hallway where someone had revived karaoke.

You took a sip of your drink, the taste less sharp now, more like melted courage. Josh was still watching, but the smile on his face softened. Less strange. He looked tired, maybe. But in a way that made him seem honest, stripped of whatever front he normally carried.

You pushed off the beam, feeling the pleasant weight of your buzz in your limbs as you crossed the room. When you reached him, he tilted his head up lazily, still reclined in that deep chair.

“You’re quiet,” you said, standing just close enough to see the pink flush of alcohol on his cheeks.

Josh shrugged one shoulder. “I like watching people when they’re happy.”

“That’s creepy.”

He grinned. “Only when you say it like that.”

You rolled your eyes, but it tugged a smile out of you. He patted the arm of the chair in silent invitation. After a moment’s hesitation, you sat, perched on the armrest, your thigh brushing his shoulder.

His hand rose, like he might reach for your knee but thought better of it. His fingers hovered for a second before dropping again.

“I just… I like this,” he said softly. “Being here. With you. With everyone. It feels like something real, you know?”

You nodded, though something about his tone had shifted again. Quieter. Almost reverent. And behind that easy smile was something you couldn’t quite name, longing, maybe. Or maybe it was regret.

Your voice came gentler. “You okay?”

Josh looked up at you then, and for a second, the grin vanished. “You ever get the feeling that the best nights, the really good ones, always feel a little haunted?”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

He shook his head like he wasn’t sure either. “Like it’s too good.”

You stared at him. The firelight made shadows dance across his face. You weren’t sure if the chill that crept up your spine was from his words or the thought that Josh saw something coming that the rest of you didn’t.

Before you could ask anything more, he leaned forward slightly, voice dipping low, almost conspiratorial.

“But hey,” he said with a crooked smile, “if the world ends tonight, at least we got a hell of a send-off.”

He clinked his bottle softly against yours.

You tilted your bottle to meet his, the clink ringing faint and strange, like it echoed through something deeper than just the room. You tried to laugh it off, but the weight of his gaze lingered, and so did that feeling, like you were standing too close to something you didn’t fully understand.

Josh was still watching you, his smile quieter now. More knowing.

“You’ve got that look again,” you said, aiming for playful. “Like you’re about to say something stupid and poetic.”

His smile deepened. “Maybe I am.”

He shifted in the chair, his hand brushing your thigh lightly as he moved. Just enough to feel it, to notice he didn’t pull away. His fingers lingered there, warm through the fabric of your jeans, like a question he hadn’t asked out loud. Your heart gave a tiny, inconvenient lurch.

“You’re drunk,” you said, but your voice was soft, not scolding.

He raised an eyebrow. “A little. But not enough to make this up.”

There was a long pause. The fire cracked. Somewhere behind you, someone shouted out the wrong lyrics to whatever song was playing.

Then, deliberately, Josh turned his body toward you. One hand slid up, slow and sure, resting lightly on your waist. His thumb brushed a slow arc just above your hip.

“You’ve been in my head all night,” he murmured. “Hell, longer than that.”

You swallowed, your drink suddenly forgotten in your hand. “Josh…”

“If I’m wrong, tell me.” His voice was low, the kind that made your skin hum. “But don’t lie.”

His other hand came up, knuckles grazing your jaw, then your cheek. His fingers tucked a piece of hair behind your ear like it was the most important thing he’d ever done. You leaned into the touch before you could stop yourself.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

But you didn’t. Couldn’t.

Instead, you looked at him and saw all the things he wasn’t saying. The vulnerability hiding behind the grin. The way he was holding back, just barely, waiting for your answer.

So you didn’t answer.

You leaned down slowly, heart hammering as your forehead pressed gently to his. He closed his eyes like that one small gesture undid him.

And then, he kissed you. It started careful, almost cautious, like he still thought you might pull away. But when you didn’t, when you kissed him back, your hand curling into the hair at the back of his neck, he deepened it with a hunger that surprised even him.

His hand tightened at your waist, the other sliding behind your neck, anchoring you to him. He kissed like he was afraid this moment might vanish if he didn’t memorize every second of it. You gasped against his mouth, and he paused just long enough to breathe your name like a confession.

When you finally broke apart, the fire flickered low, casting soft, swaying shadows across the room. His lips lingered just above yours, breath warm, his gaze searching, quietly intense, like he didn’t want the moment to slip away.

You leaned in, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can we go somewhere a little more private?”

Josh’s eyes lifted to meet yours. Those big brown eyes, wide and uncertain in the soft light. You could see the question written all over his face: Are you sure?

You nodded slowly, your fingers brushing gently along the edge of his jaw, your thumb tracing the faint curve of his cheek. “Yeah,” you murmured, giving him a soft smile. “I want to.”

A large grin slowly spread across Josh’s face, lighting up his features in the firelight. You couldn’t help but laugh at how easily his mood shifted at your words.

Before you knew it, he slid one arm under your legs and the other beneath your back, effortlessly lifting you out of the armchair.

You giggled, caught off guard by how strong he was as he carried you like you weighed nothing at all.

“Hey, put me down!” you teased breathlessly, but he only tightened his grip, chuckling softly.

Josh started walking toward the door, your laughter trailing behind him. Everyone else was too far gone in their own haze of alcohol and conversation to even notice.

Josh opened his bedroom door without once loosening his hold on you. Before you could even reach the bed, his lips found yours again, fierce and urgent. Pressed against the wall, your body suspended in his arms, you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. His hands framed you firmly on either side as you deepened the kiss.

Your hands clutched his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as the kiss deepened, electric and desperate. Josh’s breath hitched against your lips, and you could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palms.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against your mouth, voice low and rough, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your heart hammered as his hands slid from the wall to your waist, gripping you tighter as if afraid you might disappear. Every inch of you burned with the need that matched his.

Josh guided you onto the bed with deliberate care, his hands cradling you as he lowered you into the softness of the sheets. His lips found yours first, slow and deep, before trailing down your neck in a series of lingering kisses. Each press of his mouth was deliberate, savoring the way your breath hitched as he found your sweet spots, sucking just enough to draw a shiver from you. A quiet moan escaped your lips as your head sank back into the pillow, surrendering to the warmth of his touch.

His hands slid beneath your shirt, the initial coolness of his fingers a sharp contrast to your heated skin but the chill quickly melted into pleasure as they traced slow, worshipful paths along your ribs. His palms rose higher, cupping the weight of your breasts with a reverence that made your back arch. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he felt how soft you were, how perfectly you fit against him. His fingers slipped beneath your bra, teasing in slow circles until your nipples peaked under his touch. You gasped, hips shifting restlessly as the sensation coiled deep in your stomach.

He didn’t rush. His mouth followed where his hands had been, kissing along the swell of your breast, his tongue flicking lightly before sucking just enough to make your fingers tangle in his hair. All the while, his hips pressed against yours in a slow, rhythmic grind, the hard length of him dragging against your core. You could feel how much he wanted you, the heat, the tension, and the ache between your thighs grew unbearable.

“Josh… please,” you whispered, voice trembling.

You felt the curve of his smirk against your skin before he finally pulled back, his darkened eyes locking onto yours as his fingers hooked into the waistband of your jeans. He took his time, peeling them down your legs with agonizing slowness, his fingertips grazing your inner thighs just to hear you whimper. When he finally had you bare before him, he paused, drinking in the sight of your soaked underwear, his breath ragged with want.

“You’re so pretty, _____,” he murmured, almost to himself, before leaning down to kiss the inside of your knee, his lips beginning a torturously slow ascent back up your body.

His mouth took its time, tracing a slow, worshipful path up your thighs, each kiss lingering like a whispered promise. When he finally reached your core, he paused, just to look, just to savour the sight of you, your damp underwear clinging to your heat. His breath ghosted over the fabric, warm and teasing, before he pressed a single, deliberate kiss against your clothed sex. The sensation was maddeningly light, just enough to draw a soft, needy moan from your lips.

You arched beneath him, fingers twisting into the sheets, impatience simmering beneath the pleasure. You wanted more, but Josh was in no hurry. He savoured you, his hands sliding beneath your hips as he hooked his fingers into the delicate lace of your underwear. He peeled them away with agonizing slowness, his lips brushing your inner thigh as he did. You barely even noticed when he tucked them into his back pocket, his little trophy, a secret he’d keep for later.

Then, without warning, he buried himself between your thighs, his mouth hot and open against you. The first slow, wet stroke of his tongue dragged a gasp from your chest, your back bowing off the bed. He groaned against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine as he laved at your folds with deliberate, worshipful strokes. He took his time, tasting you, learning every sensitive curve before finally circling your clit with the tip of his tongue.

Your hands tangled in his hair, not to guide him, but to anchor yourself as pleasure rolled through you in thick, honeyed waves. The room was thick with the sound of his devotion, the slick, sinful noises of his mouth on you, the low hum of his satisfaction, the broken sighs spilling from your lips. He was relentless in his adoration, drinking you in like a man starved, yet every movement was controlled, every flick of his tongue designed to unravel you piece by piece.

“Josh” Your voice was a breathless plea, your thighs trembling around his head. “Please. I’m close.”

He answered with a deep, vibrating groan, his fingers digging into your hips as he held you steady. “I know, baby, I know” he murmured against you, his breath hot. “Let me feel it.”

And then he slowed down. Just to watch you squirm. Just to hear you whimper. Just to prove he could take his time, even as your orgasm coiled tight in your belly, even as your breath came in ragged, desperate gasps.

Then he surged back into you. Hungry, relentless, his mouth claiming you with the same feverish intensity as before. Your body arched, every nerve alight as pleasure crested, overwhelming, unbearable. You fisted your hands in Josh’s hair, pulling, pleading, but he didn’t relent. Even as your orgasm shattered through you, even as your thighs clamped around his head, your breath coming in broken, desperate cries, he refused to stop. His tongue dragged slow, deliberate circles, wringing out every last tremor, every aftershock, until you were writhing beneath him, oversensitive and shaking, his name a ragged gasp on your lips.

“Josh—ah!” Your voice was a broken whimper, your hips jerking away instinctively, but his grip on you was iron. He held you down, his tongue swirling slow, torturous circles around your clit, drawing out the pleasure until it hurt, until every nerve was alight with sensation.

You gasped, your back arching, your hands pushing weakly at his shoulders. “Too much—fuck, please, I can’t—”

He only hummed against you, the vibration wringing another choked moan from your lips. His fingers dug into your hips, keeping you spread open for him as he dragged his tongue through your folds one more time, slow and deliberate, savouring the way your body shuddered in response.

“You taste so good,” he murmured, his voice rough with want.

You barely had time to protest before his mouth was on you again, his tongue flicking over your clit in quick, teasing strokes, coaxing another wave of pleasure from your oversensitive body. Your breath came in ragged sobs.

“No—no, I can’t—” You twisted beneath him, but he held you firm, his lips sealing around your clit, sucking gently just as your climax hit. The pleasure was sharp, almost painful in its intensity, your entire body tensing as you came with a broken cry. His tongue worked you through it, gentler now but unyielding, until you were whimpering, your hands fisting in the sheets, your voice a hoarse plea.

“Josh, please” Your voice cracked. “I can’t take anymore.”

Finally, he pulled back, pressing one last kiss to your inner thigh before lifting his head. His lips were glistening, his breathing uneven, his gaze dark with satisfaction as he took in the sight of you trembling and utterly ruined.

“Fuck,” he breathed, dragging his thumb over your swollen flesh, just to hear you whine. “Look at you.”

You could only gasp, your body still pulsing with aftershocks, your mind hazy with pleasure. And when he leaned down to kiss you, slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, you melted into him completely and helplessly his.

Josh let you catch your breath, his fingers working the buckle of his belt, the slow drag of denim down his hips deliberate, maddening. He caged you in, palms pressing into the mattress beside your head, his gaze tracing your face, flushed, dazed, still trembling from his mouth. You smiled up at him, drunk on pleasure, and reached to push his hair back, your fingers lingering against his temple.

"If it hurts." His voice roughened, a sudden gravity cutting through the haze between you. "You tell me. Immediately."

You nodded, biting your lip at the way his concern twisted something warm in your chest.

"Say it." His eyes locked onto yours, unyielding.

A shiver raced down your spine. You swallowed, throat tight with want. "I want you."

His mouth brushed yours, teasing. "To what?"

The words spilled out in a breathless rush, "I want you inside me. Now."

A low groan escaped him, his forehead dropping to yours. "Fuck, you’re perfect."

He pushed into you slowly, each inch a deliberate surrender. His gaze never left your face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure, every sharp inhale as he filled you. Your eyes fluttered shut for a heartbeat, your body stretching to accommodate him, a silent gasp catching in your throat. He groaned, a rough, reverent curse as he sank deeper, your warmth slick and tight around him. God, you were perfect, clenching just for him. He knew it then, with every ragged breath you shared; you were made for him.

He held there for a moment, buried deep, letting you both savour the way you fit together. Then, with a low groan, he began to move. Gentle at first, rolling his hips in slow, deliberate strokes, his hands gripping your thighs like he was afraid you’d vanish. But the tension between you was too much, the need too sharp.

His pace quickened, each thrust driving deeper, rougher, until the room filled with the sound of skin against skin, your breathless moans, his ragged curses. "Fuck, you feel—" His voice was wrecked, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you harder against him. "So goddamn perfect. So tight, so fucking sweet."

You arched beneath him, nails scraping down his back, and he growled, his rhythm turning desperate. "Thought about this," he panted, "every night. How you’d look under me. How you’d sound." His thumb brushed your cheek, his eyes dark, possessive. "You’re even better than I dreamed."

And then he was losing control completely, his thrusts turning erratic, his mouth crashing onto yours in a kiss that tasted like sweat and sin. He didn’t slow down, didn’t stop not until you were both trembling on the edge, pleasure coiling too tight to bear.

He didn’t let up. If anything, he drove into you harder, deeper, his grip on your hips ironclad as he pinned you beneath him. Every snap of his pelvis sent a shockwave through you, the slap of skin echoing like a drumbeat, relentless. You gasped his name, broken, pleading, but he only growled in response, his voice gravel and flame.

“Tell me,” He demanded, fingers pressing into your flesh. “Does it feel good? Fuck, tell me how much you love it.”

You could barely form words, your moans fracturing with each punishing thrust. He didn’t wait for an answer, just swore under his breath and pushed you further back into the bed, his mouth searing a path down your throat. “Yeah, you do,” he rasped, teeth scraping your pulse point. “Can feel how bad you need it. How fucking perfect you take me.”

His rhythm turned brutal, primal, the bedframe slamming against the wall as he chased his own release, dragging you with him. You clawed at his shoulders, his name a sob on your lips, and he groaned like the sound wrecked him. “That’s it—come on ______, let go. Wanna feel you come apart on me. I’ll take care of you.”

At his words you were coming apart, your spine arching like a snapped bow, a scream ripping from your throat as pleasure split you open, white-hot and brutal. His name wasn’t a prayer anymore, it was a filthy, shattered demand, raw as the fingers digging bruises into your hips, holding you down as you thrashed beneath him.

He fucked you through it, relentless, his own release slamming into him like a punch. A guttural groan tore from his chest as he buried himself to the hilt, pumping his cum so deep inside you that you felt it claiming you. His forehead dropped to yours, panting, your sweat and his mingling, the air between you sticky with sex and sin.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.

The bed was a wreck of tangled sheets and the heavy scent of sex, but neither of you moved to fix it. He had rolled onto his back beside you, one arm draped over his forehead, his chest rising and falling in slow, satiated rhythm. The heat between you had settled into something quiet, something tender.

You turned your head to look at him, the sharp line of his jaw, the sweat-damp hair at his temples, the way his lips were still slightly parted as he caught his breath. As if sensing your gaze, he shifted, turning onto his side to face you. His fingers found your hip, tracing absent circles there, feather-light compared to the bruising grip he’d had on you earlier.

"Come here," he murmured, voice rough but warm. He didn’t pull, just waited, leaving the choice to you.

You shifted closer, and his arm curled around you, drawing you in until your head rested against his chest. His heartbeat was steady under your ear, strong and sure. His other hand brushed your hair back from your face, tucking a loose strand behind your ear before his fingers trailed down your shoulder, your arm, as if relearning you in the stillness.

"You’re shaking," he said softly.

You hadn’t even noticed, just the faint tremble in your limbs, the aftershocks of pleasure and the slow return to earth. His palm smoothed over your back, steadying.

"I’ve got you," he murmured, lips pressing against the crown of your head. "Always."

There was no urgency now, no hunger demanding more. Just the quiet between breaths, the way his thumb traced idle patterns against your skin, the way his body curved around yours like he could shield you from everything.

"You know that, don’t you?" he asked after a moment, voice low. "That I’m not letting you go."

It wasn’t a question, not really. It was a vow, wrapped in the dark and the warmth of the bed, in the way his fingers laced with yours.

“Should we head back down?” You asked him.

He shook his head, eyes fluttering open just enough to look at you with a lopsided grin.

“Go back down? And risk someone walking in on us with bedhead and judgment in their eyes? No thanks.”

You snorted. “So you’re staying in bed forever?”

“Exactly,” he said, settling deeper into the pillows. “Tell my friends and family I’ve retired. Full-time blanket burrito. Part-time cuddler.”

You cringed at his corny response, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss just behind your ear.

“Besides,” he murmured, “why would I leave when you’re literally right here being all soft and gorgeous and mine.”

You felt your cheeks warm as he pulled the blanket higher around both of you.

“Wake me up in five to seven business days,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes, let the weight of him, the scent of him, the safety of him, sink into your bones. Before you knew it, the sound of his heartbeat lured you to a deep sleep.

Something in the house stirred you awake.

You let out a quiet groan and buried your face into the pillow, trying to cling to the last threads of sleep. Your head throbbed with a dull ache at your temples, the unmistakable consequence of too many drinks and too little water. You immediately regretted everything you had consumed that night.

Still half-asleep, you stretched your arm across the bed, expecting to feel the familiar warmth of Josh beside you. But your fingertips brushed only cool sheets. You blinked, confused, and lifted your head slightly, letting your eyes adjust to the dim light filtering in through the curtains.

Josh was gone.

Frowning, you sat up fully, pushing the blankets aside as you glanced around the room. His clothes were missing from where he’d left them. The space where he had been lying was already cool to the touch. He hadn’t just gone to the bathroom.

You rubbed a hand over your face, trying to make sense of it. He hadn’t said anything about leaving, and there was no note or message left behind. You knew he was the host tonight. Maybe someone downstairs had needed something, or he was helping clean up the inevitable chaos. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy that he had left so quietly.

The house had gone unusually still. No music. No voices. No footsteps on the creaky stairs. Just the low hum of silence pressing against the walls.

You grabbed your clothes from the floor and quickly dressed, your ears straining for any sign of movement, footsteps, voices, laughter, anything to suggest someone else was awake.

But there was nothing. The silence felt unnatural, like the house was holding its breath.

You hesitated at Josh’s bedroom door, hand on the knob. You wanted to call out, but something about the stillness made you stop. You didn’t want to be the one to break it.

Maybe everyone was still asleep. Maybe it was early. You had no idea what time it was, your phone was still somewhere in the chaos of the night before.

You opened the door slowly and stepped into the hallway, every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet sounding ten times louder than it should. The air was colder out here, biting at your skin.

You made your way down the stairs, the wood groaning softly under your weight, and entered the main room where everyone had been drinking and laughing just hours ago.

The fire had long since died, leaving only a faint smell of smoke in the air. Empty beer bottles and red plastic cups littered the tables and floor. A few blankets were still bunched up on the couch, but no one was under them.

A quiet, creeping urgency bloomed in your chest.

You moved faster now, checking the kitchen, the side room, even peeking down the hall toward the guest bedrooms. Nothing. No signs of anyone. It was like they had all just vanished.

Your heartbeat pounded faster, the silence around you growing heavier with every second.

They wouldn’t have gone outside, not in weather like this. You turned toward the front windows, where snow fell in thick, relentless waves, burying the world in white. The storm had only intensified since nightfall. No one in their right mind would leave the safety of the cabin now.

But your friends hadn’t been thinking clearly. The drinks, the laughter, the stupid jokes. What if one of them had dared the others to step outside? The thought sent a jolt of panic through you, your breath catching in your throat. You couldn’t just sit here until morning, pretending everything was fine. Not when they might be out there, lost in the freezing dark.

Hands trembling, you jammed your feet into your boots and snatched your jacket from the hook. Every second wasted was another second the storm swallowed them whole. You had to find them before the mountain had them forever.

As you shrugged on your jacket and turned toward the front door, something caught your eye. The bathroom door stood slightly ajar, swaying with an eerie, rhythmic creak. The wind, you told yourself. It had to be the wind, someone must’ve left the window open. But the logical explanation did nothing to stop the icy prickle of dread crawling up your spine. Your mind conjured images of shadowed figures lurking just out of sight, watching from the darkness.

Swallowing hard, you forced yourself toward the bathroom. The floorboards groaned under your weight as you inched closer, each step too loud in the suffocating silence. With a shaky breath, you pushed the door open.

Cold air rushed over you. The window gaped wide, snowflakes swirling inside like spectral fingers. Your gaze darted across the empty room, searching for movement, for anything. Then you saw it.

The mirror.

Dark, crimson letters smeared across the glass, still glistening wet. Your hand flew to your mouth, stifling a gasp. The metallic tang of blood hit your nostrils. Your lungs locked. A scream clawed at your throat, but terror had stolen your voice. All you could do was stare, frozen, at the words staring back at you:

WELCOME BACK

The words were scrawled across the mirror in dark, dripping red. You couldn’t stop staring. The letters were uneven, smeared like they’d been written in a hurry or by someone who wanted them to look that way. Blood slid slowly down the glass, a thick line breaking through the last word.

Your body locked in place, fear rooting you to the spot. Every hair on your arms stood up. You didn’t need to touch it to know it was real.

Whoever wrote that they were here. And you were alone.

Your breath hitched as the cold from the open window bit deeper into your skin. The storm outside no longer felt like the danger, it felt like the only way out.

You turned and ran, the sound of your boots pounding on the floor loud in the silence. The walls seemed to close in as you sprinted through the hallway, adrenaline numbing your fingers as you grabbed for the front door.

Your hand was just about to touch the knob when you heard it.

A muffled scream.

You froze.

It was distant, but unmistakable. Ragged, broken, and coming from somewhere deeper inside the lodge. Someone was here and they were screaming for help.

Your body shook as dread gripped you tight. You knew exactly where the scream had come from, the only place you hadn’t checked.

The basement.

Every instinct screamed at you to run. To get out, to find help, to survive. But you also knew it would be too late. Help wouldn’t come fast enough. And if someone was still alive, every second mattered.

Without giving yourself time to reconsider, you turned and headed for the basement door.

You opened it slowly, trying not to breathe too loud. When you and Sam had been down here earlier, it was dark, but now, it was pitch black. A suffocating kind of dark. You cursed under your breath and fumbled for your phone, the small flashlight beam flickering on as you started down the stairs.

The silence followed you. Heavy. Oppressive. The kind of silence that didn’t feel empty.

At the bottom, your light skimmed across the floor, revealing overturned beer crates and broken furniture scattered across the basement. The old wooden chair Josh used to joke about being haunted now lay on its side, splintered.

There had been a struggle. No question.

You tried not to gag at the thought.

Then your flashlight caught it. The door at the end of the hallway. The one Josh had told you never to open.

It was open now. Fully.

You swallowed hard, a tight knot forming in your throat. The scream had come from there. You knew it.

Steeling yourself, you stepped forward, crossing the basement and slipping through the open doorway. What you saw on the other side made your skin crawl.

It wasn’t just a room.

It was another section of the basement entirely. Narrow hallways branched off in different directions, lined with doors, storage rooms, utility closets, you couldn’t tell. The space felt hidden, secret. Like it wasn’t meant to be found.

That’s when you heard the scream again.

This time it was louder, clearer. Raw and panicked, echoing off the walls. And this time, you could make out the voice.

Ashley.

This time, your body didn’t freeze. Adrenaline surged like a current through your veins, propelling your legs into motion. You sprinted toward the sound of her scream, heart hammering, breath shallow. As you rounded a corner, the screaming doubled. Ashley’s voice now joined by Chris’s, both echoing in distorted waves through the concrete walls.

Your fear didn’t slow you. It sharpened you.

You turned the final corner and there they were.

Ashley and Chris were backed against the far wall, their faces bone-white in the dim light. Between you and them stood a mountain of a man, his silhouette swallowing the space. The grotesque Halloween mask leered at them, the eye holes black and depthless.

He didn’t notice you enter.

He was focused entirely on them, moving in slow, deliberate steps. In one gloved hand, he held a damp cloth, soaked with something dark and unidentifiable. You didn’t want to guess what it was meant for.

Chris and Ashley’s eyes snapped to you then widened.

You lifted a finger to your lips and silently begged them not to speak.

The masked man kept advancing.

Silently, your gaze swept the room. A weapon. Anything. Sweat stung your eyes as you spotted it, an empty beer bottle, half-hidden under a toppled crate. You snatched it, the glass slick in your palm. You clutched the neck tightly in your hand. Every muscle tensed as you crept forward, the floorboards mercifully silent beneath you.

You were close now. Just behind him.

Ashley’s eyes flicked from him to you again.

That did it.

The man’s head twitched, he sensed it. He sensed you.

You screamed and brought the bottle down with everything you had. Glass exploded against the back of his head. He roared in pain, stumbling forward, one hand clamped to his skull. Blood seeped from under the mask, but he didn’t go down.

The mask had taken the worst of the blow.

“Run!” you shouted.

Chris grabbed Ashley’s wrist, dragging her toward a side exit that led deeper into the basement halls, avoiding the path blocked by the man. You turned, ready to bolt back the way you’d come.

That’s when you heard it.

A voice.

Deep. Warped. Distorted through some kind of voice modulator.

It said your name.

Your name.

Your blood went cold. He knew who you were. You ran harder, crashing through the basement door and sprinting into the hallway beyond. Behind you, you heard the thundering footsteps of boots hitting the floor. He was up. And he was coming. Now, he was after you.

Your feet pounded the floor as you tore down the hallway, your breath tearing through your throat like fire. The air was thick, damp, the walls closing in as the thunder of boots echoed behind you, closer with every second.

You flew up the stairs two at a time, nearly slipping on the top step. As you burst back into the main floor of the lodge, you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You knew the layout. You had seconds, maybe less to think.

You grabbed the nearest hall table and flipped it onto its side, shoving it hard across the floor. It scraped loudly against the wood and crashed down at the top of the basement stairs, blocking the entrance. It wouldn’t stop him, but maybe it would slow him. You ran again, past the flickering firelight of the main room, dodging fallen chairs and discarded beer bottles.

He was coming.

You could feel it. That awful, unrelenting presence behind you like gravity itself.

You turned sharply into the back hallway, eyes searching for any door, any place to hide. Your chest burned, your legs already heavy. You stumbled into a guest room, slammed the door shut, and pressed your back to it, hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your breathing.

A long moment passed.

Silence.

Then the crash of wood splintering. The table at the top of the stairs had been obliterated. The makeshift barricade hadn’t bought you more than a few seconds.

He was inside. He was hunting you now.

Inside the guess room you immediately scanned the space. A bed. A closet. A dresser. No time to think. You dropped to the floor and slid beneath the bed, pressing yourself flat against the cold, dusty boards, forcing your breath to stay silent.

The moment stretched endlessly.

Then, the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the stairs echoed through the lodge. He was already upstairs, and his heavy footsteps thudded against the floor as he moved through the halls, methodically checking rooms one by one.

The hallway creaked under his weight. Then the doorknob turned, slowly.

The door opened with a soft groan, and his boots stepped into the room.

He stood there for a moment, perfectly still, and you could almost feel his presence filling the space. Your heart pounded so loudly you were convinced it would give you away.

Then his voice filled the silence, low and drawn out, distorted through the modulator.

“I seeeee you…”

Your breath froze. His boots shifted slightly as he stepped forward.

“You always had to go and help them, didn’t you?” he said, voice calm, almost amused. “Couldn’t leave the lodge like the rest of them.”

He crouched down.

From under the bed, you saw his gloved hand press to the floor just inches away from your face. He tapped his fingers slowly, rhythmically, like he was thinking, maybe savouring the moment.

“Hiding… really?” he murmured. “You’re smarter than that.”

Your entire body tensed. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe, barely blinked.

“I could drag you out right now,” he said, tone almost playful. “But where’s the fun in that?”

He stood again.

His boots turned and walked back toward the door. As he reached the hallway, his voice drifted back, distorted and singsong.

“I’ll give you a head start.”

Then the door clicked shut behind him.

You stayed frozen, still flat against the floor, too afraid to believe he was gone. The house had gone quiet again, but you knew the silence didn’t mean safety.

He was still here.

And now he was hunting.

You stayed pressed to the floor, waiting until your breathing slowed and the roar of your heartbeat dulled in your ears. Your hands were still shaking, the weight of what had just happened sinking in fully now. Somewhere in the house, that masked man was still moving. Still searching.

You couldn’t stay here. Not alone.

A plan began to form through the haze of fear. You had to find Chris and Ashley. Being together gave you a chance, splitting up would only make you easier targets. If you could get back down to the basement quietly, carefully, maybe you could all find a way out together.

You crawled out from under the bed and rose to your feet as slowly and silently as possible. Every creak of the floorboard made your skin tighten, but the room remained still. Just the low hum of the wind pressing against the lodge.

You slipped the door open a crack and peered into the hallway. Empty.

The hallway stretched out in eerie silence, every shadow too long, every corner too dark. You slipped out, closing the door behind you with barely a click. With each step, you kept low, your body tense and alert, listening for any shift, any breath that wasn’t yours.

You reached the staircase and paused at the top.

The darkness below yawned open, wide and waiting. Somewhere down there, Chris and Ashley were still hiding hopefully. You swallowed hard and began to descend, one step at a time, your hand trailing the banister to steady yourself. The wood creaked faintly beneath your weight, but you couldn’t stop now. You had to keep moving.

At the bottom of the stairs, you stopped to listen again.

Still nothing.

You turned down the hallway, the one leading toward the section of the basement where you last saw them. The silence pressed harder now, as if the air itself didn’t want to breathe. You reached a closed door, one you hadn’t checked before.

Maybe they were hiding in here. Maybe they’d found another way through.

You curled your fingers around the handle, turned it slowly, and eased the door open just a crack.

And froze.

He was there.

Standing on the other side, just inches away.

The masked man.

You stared straight into the empty black eyeholes of his mask. He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. He was just standing there as if he’d been waiting for you.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He tilted his head.

Just a little.

Like he was smiling.

The eyeholes of the mask stared through you, and for a second, your brain refused to believe it was real.

Then he moved.

Just a shift of his shoulders, a slight step forward but it was enough.

You screamed.

The sound tore out of you before you could stop it, sharp and panicked, echoing off the concrete walls. You stumbled back from the door, heart in your throat, breath ragged.

Your first instinct was to turn and run upstairs. Just get away. Put space between you and that thing, that man, whatever he was.

But you stopped yourself.

Chris and Ashley were still down here. Hiding. Waiting. Maybe bleeding.

You couldn’t leave them.

You spun and ran, not back upstairs, but down the hall, toward the far side of the basement. You didn’t hear him behind you at first, but you felt him. The floor seemed to vibrate with his footsteps as he gave chase.

You didn’t have a plan, just instinct. You turned hard at the first junction, then another, ducking into the maze of back corridors and storage rooms, trying to loop him, trying to shake him. You ducked through a low doorway, dodging a hanging pipe, nearly slipped on a damp patch of concrete but caught yourself just in time.

Behind you, the sound of his boots grew louder, closer.

You ducked into another side room, one filled with shelving and crates stacked high. You moved fast, pushing through the narrow gaps, weaving your way to the far side and slipping out just as he entered the opposite end.

You heard him stop. Then nothing.

You held your breath, pressed against the cold wall, heart hammering so loud you thought it might echo.

Had you lost him?

No. Just bought yourself seconds.

You had to get back to that side room where Chris and Ashley had gone. If you could loop through the utility corridor on the left, you might just beat him there.

You slipped back into the corridor, keeping low, your footsteps barely audible. You took a sharp left, cutting through the old utility passage with its rusted pipes and exposed wiring. Your chest burned, your legs ached, but you kept going, convinced you’d looped around fast enough to get ahead of him.

The hallway was still. Empty. You moved quietly, hugging the wall, ears straining for any hint of footsteps, breathing, anything.

Nothing.

You reached the intersection near the room Chris and Ashley had fled into, just a few steps away. Your heart lifted slightly.

Maybe you’d actually lost him.

But the moment you turned the corner -

A hand clamped down on your arm like a vice.

He’d been waiting.

He yanked you back hard, and you barely caught yourself before slamming into the wall. You screamed, twisting in his grip, but it was like being held by a wall of stone. His mask was inches from your face now, close enough to see the cracks in the paint, the dried blood on the chin. He was tall. Taller than you’d realized. Broader. Inhumanly still.

Panic surged through you. You flailed with your free hand, scrambling for anything and your fingers closed around something cold and smooth on the shelf beside you.

A vase.

Small. Decorative. Useless, until you smashed it into his forearm.

The glass shattered, sharp pieces slicing across both of you, but it did the job. He grunted and recoiled, grip loosening just enough.

You ripped free and stumbled back, your arm throbbing, tiny cuts stinging along your hand. He lunged for you again, but you ducked low and bolted toward the door.

You ducked under his arm and bolted, lungs burning, but your foot caught on a jagged piece of wood jutting from the floor. You hit the ground hard, the impact jarring up through your elbow and into your shoulder. Your scream echoed through the corridor, loud and raw. Pain exploded in your arm as you rolled onto your back, instinctively trying to push yourself up, but it was no use. The shooting ache froze your muscles, and your breath hitched in panic.

Then you heard it. The slow, deliberate sound of boots. He was coming.

You turned your head and saw him advancing through the shadows, unfazed, unhurried. The mask gleamed faintly in the dark, its hollow eyes fixed on you like a predator that already knew it had won. You scrambled backward on your elbows, dragging yourself over the cracked concrete, ignoring the sting of every movement, the burn of broken skin against the floor.

Your voice broke into a sob. “No—please—!”

But he didn’t stop.

You kicked at him, flailing, your heel catching his thigh. It barely staggered him.

His hand shot down, grabbing your ankle so tight it sent another jolt of pain shooting up your leg. You screamed again and kicked harder, clawing at the floor, reaching for anything to hold onto. But there was nothing.

He began to drag you backward, your body scraping roughly along the floor. You felt every bump, every uneven groove in the concrete biting into your spine and hips. Your jacket bunched at your shoulders as you were yanked faster now, your free leg flailing wildly.

Your screams were deafening, but they went unanswered.

You reached toward doorframes, toward corners, your fingertips grazing the wood but not catching. The further he pulled you, the darker the hallway seemed to grow, like you were being dragged into a void that existed only for you.

He turned a corner sharply, and your head hit the floor. Dizzy, disoriented, you barely registered the next motion until he stopped moving.

Then he reached down again.

With effortless force, he hoisted you into the air and slung you over his shoulder. Your stomach flipped as your body was lifted and twisted, the world tilting upside down.

You thrashed, fists pounding his back, feet kicking helplessly behind him. Your voice cracked from screaming, but you didn’t stop, not for a second.

“PUT ME DOWN! LET ME GO!”

You could barely breathe from the pressure of his shoulder against your ribs. His arm locked around the back of your legs, holding you in place like you were a bag of supplies, not a person. You felt the way his body barely shifted under your weight. You were nothing to him.

He walked forward, steady and sure, moving through the lodge like he knew it intimately.

He kicked open the front door with one brutal slam of his boot. A rush of frigid wind blasted against your face, snow catching in your hair, your lungs seizing from the sudden drop in temperature. The night outside was blindingly white, the blizzard fully alive now, howling through the trees like a pack of wild things.

You blinked through tears and snow, and there, across the yard, past the warped fence and buried stepping stones was the dilapidated shed.

The shed door groaned as he pushed it open, the blizzard’s howl immediately muffled as he stepped inside and shut it behind him. The space was small, walls lined with old tools and crates stacked with forgotten gear. It smelled of damp wood and rust. Overhead, a single hanging bulb flickered to life with a sharp click, casting the room in a pale, sickly glow.

He turned, one arm still braced around your legs, and with the other hand reached back and twisted the bolt lock on the door. Click. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the cramped space.

Then he moved toward the center of the room and dropped you unceremoniously onto a wooden stool. Your body jolted at the impact, your injured arm screaming in protest. The cold bit at your skin through your torn jacket, and the fear tightened around your throat like a rope.

“Please,” you gasped, “leave us alone.”

He didn’t respond.

He just stood there, towering, unmoving. The mask stared at you, eyes black, mouth stretched into that grotesque, permanent smile. You tried to steady your voice, but it cracked as you rambled, desperate.

“We won’t tell anyone, okay? I swear. Whatever you did, whatever you want, we won’t say a word. Just let us go.”

Still nothing.

He watched you with eerie stillness, and something about that silence made the fear even worse. You couldn’t read him. Couldn't predict him. Couldn't understand what he wanted.

Your voice broke again. “Please—”

Then he tilted his head.

“God, you’re so cute when you’re freaking out,” he said.

The voice was no longer filtered. It was familiar.

Your breath caught, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. That voice. That tone. You blinked up at him, heart pounding in your ears.

“What?” was all you managed to whisper.

Slowly, with deliberate ease, he reached up to the side of his mask. His gloved fingers found the edges, hooked under the jaw. And then he peeled it off.

The mask came away in one smooth motion, revealing a face you knew.

A face you trusted.

Josh.

Josh stared back at you, face flushed, hair damp with sweat, but his eyes weren’t the same. They were wide. Lit. Burning with something manic, something far too close to pleasure.

“Josh?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he began to laugh.

Not a chuckle. Not a smirk. A full, sudden, jarring burst of laughter that came tearing out of his throat like it had been trapped inside for too long. It echoed off the walls of the shed, too loud, too sharp, bouncing around the space like it didn’t belong.

His eyes were wide now. Wild. Glassy with some combination of adrenaline and obsession. He barely blinked as he stared at you, drinking in every flicker of your expression like it was his favorite thing in the world.

You sat frozen on the stool, confused, panting, injured, trembling, exactly how he wanted you.

“Oh my God,” he said between laughs, shaking his head with theatrical disbelief. “Wait, you thought this was real? You seriously thought this was like - some psycho in a mask coming to get you? You? Come on.”

His voice dropped low, mocking, almost sing-song.

“You of all people should know me better.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Your brain was scrambling to connect dots that refused to fit together. The blood in your ears was too loud. Your pulse thudded painfully in your temple. Your injured arm throbbed with each breath.

Josh took a step closer, casual now, like this was all some kind of joke between friends. His body relaxed, but his grin didn’t fade. That grin, so wide it looked painful, so forced it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You blinked rapidly, trying to process what you were seeing.

His clothes were wrong.

Underneath the bulky jacket and mask gear, he wore layered thermal shirts and torn snow pants, mud-stained, blood-streaked. But it was the harness strapped around his torso that caught your eye. Wires. Hooks. A device clipped at his hip. A remote?

A part of you recognized the setup immediately. It was meant for effects. Speakers. Smoke. Movement. All tools to orchestrate fear.

He’d planned this.

All of it.

“Josh,” you finally managed to whisper, your voice hoarse. “What… what the hell is going on?”

He didn’t answer. Just smiled.

Then he leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing, voice low and gleeful.

“I’m just putting on a little show for our friends,” he said. “You wanted to relive the past, right? Well, welcome back to Blackwood.”

You stared at him, still trembling, your entire body screaming to move, to run, to understand. But nothing made sense.

“What are you planning, Josh?” you asked, your voice uneven. “What is this?”

That grin didn’t leave his face. But something behind it shifted. Hardened.

“I’m giving them what they deserve,” he said, stepping back just slightly, pacing in a lazy half-circle like he was warming up for a monologue. “After what they did last year. After what they did to Hannah and Beth, did you really think they were just going to get away with it?”

His voice turned bitter. Tight with anger. “They laughed. They joked. They filmed it. They watched them run out into the cold and none of them stopped them. None of them even cared.”

Your stomach twisted. You could barely breathe.

“I know,” you said quickly. “I know what happened, Josh. But you have to understand, they are sorry for what happened. They all regret it every day. You know I didn’t have anything to do with it. I wasn’t part of it.”

Josh stopped pacing. He looked at you, and, for a second his expression softened. Not sympathy, exactly. Just recognition.

“That’s true,” he said, nodding once. “You weren’t. You never would’ve gone along with that.”

Then his grin returned, sharper now.

“That’s why I was really hoping,” he continued, voice lowering, “that after our little activity earlier, you would’ve just passed out for the night. Slept through the whole thing. Left this to them.”

You stared, horror blooming slowly.

“But I guess that’s not like you,” he added, tilting his head with mock admiration. “Always poking around. Always trying to fix things. The brave one. The smart one. The one who makes it to the end.”

He leaned in again, eyes shining.

“The final girl in my prank.”

You swallowed hard, fighting the tremor in your voice as you pushed through the pain curling in your chest. “Josh, this isn’t fair. None of this. This is torture. You’re putting us through, it’s not justice. You’re scaring them to death. You’re scaring me. This isn’t the way.”

His eyes flickered, something like pain or frustration, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by the same manic fire that had never really left. He took a step closer, the cold light casting sharp shadows across his face.

“You don’t understand,” he said, voice low, raw with something like desperation.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I have to do this. I have to make them feel it. All of it. The fear. The pain. The helplessness.”

He laughed bitterly, a sound that cut sharper than any blade. “They have to feel what my sisters felt that night. The night they were broken, left to freeze and scream until everything inside them shattered.”

You shook your head, tears mixing with snowflakes melting on your cheeks. “Josh, this isn’t them anymore. People change. They’re not the same. You’re punishing us. This isn’t justice, it’s revenge twisted into something worse.”

His grin faltered, but only for a moment. “No. You don’t get to decide what this is. I’m giving them what they deserve. ”

You felt the cold tightening around your heart, realizing that no words could reach him, not now. Not when his mind had spiraled so far down that the lines between justice and vengeance, love and hate, had blurred into something dark and terrible.

Your breath hitched. “Josh, please. Please stop.”

Josh’s eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, the fire in them wavered. Just a flicker, but it was there. A fracture in the madness. Maybe it was your trembling, the way your injured arm cradled uselessly against your side, or maybe it was the tears clinging to your lashes, too thick and heavy to hide anymore.

He faltered.

His posture shifted. The manic tension in his shoulders loosened, and his expression, still split by that horrible grin, sagged at the edges.

And then, just like that, the mask of vengeance cracked.

“Oh, baby…” he murmured, voice softening as he took another step forward. “Fuck, it hurts to see you like this.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Everything in you was screaming to run, to scream, to fight but your body had folded into itself, too stunned by pain and disbelief.

Josh crouched down in front of you, the shift sudden and intimate. His gloved hand reached out slowly, almost reverently, and he brushed the damp strands of hair from your face. His fingertips were cold, but his touch was gentle, terrifyingly so.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, voice dipped in something sickly sweet. “I didn’t want it to be like this for you. You weren’t supposed to be awake. I just needed to make it real for them.”

You shook your head, a sob crawling up your throat. “I don’t want any part of this.”

“I know, I know.” He nodded quickly, like agreeing made it better. “It’s not forever, okay? Just tonight. It’s just for tonight, and I promise, I promise, no one’s gonna get hurt. Just a scare. That’s all.”

You flinched when he tried to touch your cheek. He paused, hurt flashing through his eyes.

“Hey,” he whispered, “I’d never hurt you. You know that, right? You’re not like the others. You’re the only one who ever saw me.”

The words should’ve comforted you, but they felt like chains tightening around your chest.

He leaned closer, voice barely audible now. “Just trust me. Please. After tonight, it’s over.”

You opened your mouth to speak, to plead with Josh one last time but the words died on your tongue as a voice cut through the cold night like a blade.

“He’s lying, ______.”

Your head snapped toward the sound. Josh’s did too, slower, tighter, like something in him already knew what was coming.

Mike stood at the edge of the clearing, barely upright. His face was a bruised and bloodied mess, one eye nearly swollen shut, blood dried in streaks across his temple and jaw. His clothes were torn, muddied, and soaked in crimson. In his trembling hands, he held a gun, aimed straight at Josh.

“Michael…” Josh breathed, the name dry on his tongue, like dust.

You stumbled to your feet in a daze, confusion knotting in your gut. “Mike, what…?”

Mike didn’t look at you. His eyes were locked on Josh, wild with fury and grief. “Get away from him, _____,” he said, his voice low but shaking. “He killed Jessica.”

The world dropped out from under you.

Silence rang louder than any scream could. Your breath hitched, chest rising too fast, too shallow.

“Wh… What?”

Your voice was barely audible, but it cracked like glass.

Josh didn’t move. His smile was gone now. In its place was something far more disturbing: stillness. A kind of dread that sunk deep into his bones.

“He’s lying,” Josh said, shaking his head slowly, like if he denied it gently enough, it wouldn’t be real. “No, _____, please, he’s twisting this. I didn’t touch Jessica. You know me.”

You took a step back. That one step felt like a mile.

Your eyes flicked down, finally really seeing him. His clothes, soaked through in dried maroon, his gloves, the sticky sheen around the seams. You hadn’t noticed before, or maybe you had and refused to let yourself see it.

“No…” you whispered, but it wasn’t denial anymore.

It was the beginning of understanding.

Josh's voice cracked now, desperate. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t kill her. He’s setting me up. You can’t believe him over me. Not after everything, not you.”

“Jessica’s gone,” Mike said, stepping forward, the gun trembling in his hand but his aim steady. “He snapped. It wasn’t just a scare, it never was. I watched her get pulled out of the cabin.”

You staggered, bile rising in your throat. “Josh… please tell me it’s not true.”

But he didn’t answer.

His jaw clenched. His shoulders pulled tight. And for the first time, he looked… cornered.

Not wounded. Not misunderstood.

Cornered.

You saw the truth then not in words, but in the silence. In his refusal to deny it again.

Your voice was a whisper. “You said no one would get hurt.”

Josh’s eyes filled with something like sorrow. Or maybe it was regret. It was too late to tell anymore.

You stepped, slow and unsteady, but deliberate, past the cracked earth and stopped behind Mike.

Josh’s eyes followed your every move, widening with disbelief. His face twisted, something sharp and fractured passing through it.

“No…” he said, barely audible. “No, no, no.”

You stood behind Mike, not because you wanted to, not because you fully understood what was happening but because you had to. Because whatever this was, Josh had become something you couldn’t reach. And now someone had to stop him.

Josh’s jaw clenched so tightly you could hear his teeth grind. The sorrow was gone in an instant, swallowed whole by something darker.

His lip curled. “So that’s it?” he spat. “You pick him? After everything we’ve been through, you take his side?”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. Your breath trembled in your throat, but you didn’t move away from Mike.

Josh stepped forward, just one pace, but it was enough to make Mike raise the gun higher.

“Oh, of course,” Josh sneered. “It’s Mike, the golden boy. The hero. Always showing up right when a lady needs saving.” His eyes locked on yours.

You flinched.

Josh’s voice pitched upward, fraying at the edges. “You think he cares about you? He didn’t even care about Jessica!”

“Shut up, Josh,” Mike snapped, the gun steady despite the tremor in his jaw. “This isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t it?” Josh roared, taking another step, wildness flashing across his face. “Everything is about you, Mike. You act like some noble protector, but you’re nothing. You’re just a coward hiding behind a gun and a pretty face.”

You swallowed, eyes darting between them. Josh was unraveling.

“You twisted her,” Josh hissed, voice low and venomous now, eyes never leaving yours. “You filled her head with lies. You turned her against me.”

“No one turned me,” you finally said, your voice shaking but firm. “You did that yourself.”

Josh stopped.

He looked like you had slapped him. For a breath, his rage cracked, like the wind knocked out of a storm. And then it all burned away.

His fists clenched, shaking. “You don’t mean that,” he said, voice cracking. “You love me.”

“I don’t know who you are now.” you whispered.

Mike shifted slightly, keeping the gun raised but edging closer to you. His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible above the wind.

“Go. Get back to the lodge,” he said, eyes never leaving Josh. “The others are there. You’ll be safe with them.”

Your mouth opened in protest, but no sound came. You didn’t want to leave Mike here, not with him. Not after everything. But Mike didn’t give you a choice.

“I’ll keep him here,” he murmured. “I can hold him off until help comes.”

Josh didn’t speak. His breathing had gone ragged, chest rising and falling like he was on the edge of either collapsing or exploding. His eyes flicked between you and Mike, wild and lost.

You hesitated.

Your feet felt like stone, like moving them would take everything you had left. But you forced yourself to turn slowly, still feeling the weight of Josh’s gaze on your back like ice along your spine.

You stopped at the edge of the clearing and looked back one last time.

Josh was staring at you, broken and furious all at once. His mouth was trembling, the muscles in his jaw twitching like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

It was the look of someone watching their world fall apart.

You wanted to scream at him. To ask why. To tell him that none of this had to happen. But you didn’t. Because no words would change what had already been done.

So you gave him a look. A look filled with everything he had shattered: trust, hope, and something that might have once been love.

And then you turned, and ran.

Behind you, the cold wind swallowed the last of Josh’s voice as he finally shouted after you.

“Don’t leave me!”

The wind howled through the trees like a scream torn from something ancient and dying. You pushed forward along the snow-covered path, heart thundering in your chest as if it were trying to rip its way out. Every shadow flickered with menace. Every gust of air seemed to whisper your name.

You had to get back to the lodge.

You had to warn the others.

Josh had killed Jessica.

The words echoed in your skull, a sick chant that refused to fade.

Your boots crunched over frozen earth, the snow thick and unforgiving beneath your feet. Your breath came in ragged bursts, pale clouds vanishing into the icy night. But it wasn’t the cold that made your hands tremble.

It was something else.

Something watching.

Something hungry.

A noise pierced the night.

Not behind you.

Above.

It was faint, like bones clicking together. Deliberate. Wet. Wrong. You stopped cold. A primal instinct roared through you, warning you to be still, to not look up. But curiosity was a curse stronger than fear.

Your gaze rose slowly.

Perched in the skeletal branches above was a thing born of nightmare. Its gaunt limbs clung to the bark in a grotesque mimicry of a spider, joints twitching with broken rhythm. Its skin was pulled taut across a sunken frame, a death mask of muscle and sinew. Where eyes should’ve been, there were only hollow pits, black, soulless voids that somehow saw you all the same.

It tilted its head.

Its mouth unhinged, peeling open wider than anything human, revealing jagged teeth stacked in rows, each one serrated like shattered glass. Then, it screamed, a shriek that pierced the night and ripped into your skull like barbed wire.

You ran.

Branches tore at your arms as you sprinted through the trees, stumbling, gasping, slipping in the snow. Behind you, the creature leapt from the tree. Its movements were wrong, too fast, too fluid, like time bent around it.

You could feel it gaining.

You didn’t dare look back.

Your foot caught on a root buried beneath the snow. Time slowed.

You pitched forward with a strangled cry, arms flailing, then the ground gave out beneath you.

A hollow groan. A crack like thunder.

The earth opened like a mouth.

You fell.

The world tilted and you were tumbling, flailing through a shaft of crumbling soil and ancient stone. Snow and ice scraped along your arms. Rocks tore at your legs. Then impact.

You hit the bottom with a soundless cry, the air driven from your lungs. Pain exploded through your ribs, sharp and searing. For a long, breathless moment, you just lay there, blinking into the dark.

Then came the silence. It wasn’t peace. It wasn’t still.  You were somewhere beneath the world now.

The hole you fell through was far above, just a jagged mouth letting in the faintest hint of moonlight, dust falling like snow through the beam. Everything else around you was dark stone, old timber, and silence thick as oil.

You tried to stand, your limbs protested, joints trembling. You bit back a scream as you leaned against the icy wall. Your flashlight was gone.

You were in the mines.

The old ones. Abandoned decades ago after the collapse. Everyone said they were haunted.

The darkness swallowed everything. You stood there, ribs aching, heart pounding, unable to tell how deep you’d fallen, only that you were far from the surface and farther still from anything safe. Cold sweat clung to your neck, your breath rising in shaky clouds that quickly disappeared into the black.

You had to move.

Every instinct screamed it. You weren’t alone down here. Even if the Wendigo hadn’t followed you, something in the air felt… wrong. Like the earth remembered pain. Remembered blood. And it remembered you now.

You ran your hand along the wall, slick with condensation, and took one slow step, then another. The ground was uneven, gravel and wet stone crunching beneath your boots. Your hands scraped along crumbling wood supports, fingers brushing the splinters of a beam so old it sagged like tired bones.

You blinked into the dark, willing your eyes to adjust. Shapes teased the edge of your vision, broken mine carts, shattered rails snaking like ribs across the floor. Crates rotted and half-collapsed under the weight of years. The scent of old oil, rust, and wet ash clung to the air like something still burning beneath the skin of the earth.

A glint caught your eye. You stumbled forward, heart leaping with cautious hope.

There half-buried beneath a tarp and a collapsed helmet, was a handheld torch. One of the old mining ones. Your hands trembled as you pried it free, the plastic cracked, the switch stiff with age. You held your breath and flicked it on.

Click.

A flicker. Then a dim orange beam cut through the dark, casting long shadows against the stone. Relief punched through your chest. It barely reached ten feet in front of you, but it was something.

Light.

You turned in a slow circle, the beam catching more remnants of the past. Pickaxes leaning against walls, their handles warped. A dusty boot lying on its side, the other nowhere to be seen. A broken lunchbox, rust flaked off like dead skin.

You kept going.

The tunnel forked, left into a deeper corridor choked with fallen beams, right into a narrow shaft where the air seemed colder still. You chose the right, dragging your fingers along the wall to stay balanced.

Every sound made you freeze. A pebble falling. Water dripping into a hidden pool. Once, the torch flickered and your heart stopped with it.

Then something moved ahead. You froze.

No, it was just a curtain of hanging roots, trailing down from the cracked ceiling like veins. You pushed through, brushing them aside as the tunnel widened.

More signs of death littered the space. Scraps of clothing. Fingernail gouges in the wall. Symbols scratched in the stone. A helmet with a long-dead head still inside.

Panic tightened in your throat.

You had to get out.

This place wasn’t just abandoned. It had been left behind. Sealed away for a reason.

And now you were in it.

And something else might be, too.

You’d stopped keeping track of time. Down here, hours bled together into a slow, gnawing ache of cold and silence. Your legs burned. Your throat was raw from breathing dust and fear. The dim beam of the old torch flickered more often now, the battery fading like your hope.

You had climbed over collapsed rails, crawled through gaps barely big enough for your body, and descended into shafts where the walls whispered in the dark. There was no way to tell if you were deeper or closer to the surface. It all felt the same: cold, tight, endless.

At one point, you sat down, back against a support beam, the old timber groaning above and let the torch rest in your lap. You stared at the wall across from you, blank and close, like a tombstone pressed against your nose.

Maybe this was it. Maybe you’d wander forever, slowly fading away until you were just another lost story these mines refused to give up.

Your fingers trembled. Your stomach had long since stopped growling. You leaned your head back, eyes fluttering shut. Just for a second. Just to breathe.

Then you heard it.

At first you thought it was your mind cracking, like a hallucination surfacing from the dark. But then it came again.

Mumbling.

Soft. Erratic. Human.

You froze, heart snapping to attention. The sound drifted faintly through one of the side tunnels, like someone speaking just out of earshot, voice fractured and low, words tangled in themselves.

You didn’t know whether to scream or cry.

But you rose. You kept the torch low, your steps cautious, almost silent. The air grew thicker, fouler. A rank, sweet stench clung to the stone like something dead had been soaked into it. As you rounded the corner, the sound sharpened. Words now. Rambling. Repeating.

You crept forward and then -

There he was. Josh.

Standing alone in a wide chamber, barely lit by the flicker of a dying flame from an old miner’s lantern. He rocked on his feet, arms wrapped around himself, clothes torn, hair wild and matted. His skin was pale, streaked with dirt and dried blood. His lips moved constantly, whispering to someone who wasn’t there.

“They took her. But they laughed... it wasn’t funny, I told them. I told them not to laugh!” He scratched his arms, as if something crawled beneath the skin.

Your stomach twisted. He wasn’t just lost. He was gone.

“Josh,” you said, stepping into the light.

He didn’t react at first. He kept talking, muttering about the prank, about Hannah, about the Wendigos. Then he turned slowly, eyes glassy and wide.

“Do you see them?” he asked, voice childlike. “They’re still here. They’re everywhere. I can’t sleep, not with the chewing. They’re in my head.”

“Josh… it’s me. Look at me.” You stepped closer, voice gentle but urgent. “It’s over. You're not alone.”

He blinked, face twitching, as though some part of him recognized you but didn’t know how. His lip trembled. “They’re mad at me... They’re all mad at me.”

You reached out and grabbed his shoulders. “Josh. Stop. You need to come back.”

His breathing hitched, the tension in his body wavering like a frayed wire ready to snap. He stared at you, confused. Scared. And then his eyes welled with tears.

“I just wanted it to be funny,” he whispered. “I just wanted them to feel what they felt.”

You nodded slowly, trying not to let your own fear show. “We’ll talk about it. We’ll get help. But not here. Not in this place.”

Josh’s breath hitched as the tears spilled over, tracking through the grime caked on his cheeks. For a moment, he stood trembling. Then something shifted behind his eyes. Clarity. Recognition.

His wild gaze locked onto yours, and it was like watching a storm pass through him, leaving only ruin and something fragile in its wake.

“________?” His voice cracked. “Is it really you?”

Before you could answer, he lunged forward and threw his arms around you, clutching you like a lifeline. He buried his face in your shoulder; his body wracked with sobs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of it. I didn’t. ”

His voice broke. “I didn’t kill Jessica. It was the creatures. The creatures. But she is still alive! I swear, I tried to stop them, but, I couldn’t, I couldn’t do anything—”

You tightened your grip around him, grounding him. “I believe you, Josh. I believe you.”

He choked out a breath, clinging to your jacket like a child. You let him cry. Let the years of guilt and horror pour out of him into the quiet.

“I didn’t want anyone to die,” he murmured into your chest. “It was supposed to be a joke. A dumb joke. I just wanted them to feel what my sisters felt. But it all went so wrong.”

You pulled back slightly, lifting his face. “You’re not alone anymore. But we have to get out of here, Josh. This place, it’s not going to let us go easy. You have to tell me. How did you get into the mines?”

He blinked, sniffled, then nodded, wiping at his face with a dirt-smeared sleeve. “There’s a passage. It’s not far. It leads out past the western cliff. I can show you.”

He turned and pointed to a narrow cave mouth behind one of the rusted mine carts you hadn’t thought to check before, half-buried by rubble, almost invisible in the dark.

You swallowed your nerves and wrapped your arm around his. He flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. Slowly, the two of you began walking toward the hidden tunnel, your footsteps echoing off the stone walls, the weight of the mine pressing in behind you like a final warning.

The torch sputtered but held on.

One way or another, you were getting out of this place.

You moved through the narrow tunnel, Josh’s arm barely resting on your shoulder. The air was stale but less suffocating than the open mine chambers behind you. For a while, the only sound was your own breathing and the scraping of boots on stone.

Josh broke the silence, his voice low and rough. “I don’t even know how I got this far gone. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I could fix everything. But it just... fell apart.”

You glanced at him. The exhaustion in his eyes was something you’d never seen before. “You didn’t lose yourself, Josh. You were caught in something you couldn’t control. You fought, even if it didn’t feel like it.”

He gave a humorless laugh that barely hid the pain. “Fought? Felt more like drowning. I was supposed to keep everyone safe. And I failed you. I couldn’t keep you safe.”

“No one could have stopped this,” you said, voice steady. “Not alone.”

He looked down, voice barely audible. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

You squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. We’re not done yet.”

You kept walking, the faint light from the tunnel’s exit growing stronger.

“What happens when we get out?” you asked quietly.

Josh hesitated. “I don’t know. I just want to stop feeling like this. To get some kind of normal back.”

You nodded. “We’ll get there. First, we get out.”

The faint glow at the end of the tunnel grew steadily brighter, each step forward carrying the promise of fresh air and escape. The stale, suffocating atmosphere of the mines seemed to thin with every meter, and for the first time in hours, you dared to imagine the end was near. Your lungs burned with the effort, but hope flared in your chest like a fragile flame.

Then, shattering the fragile silence, a scream ripped through the darkness ahead. It was a gut-wrenching, agonized howl that clawed its way into your bones and refused to let go. The sound was raw, unearthly, filled with pain and primal hunger, echoing off the jagged stone walls with an eerie resonance that made your skin crawl.

Your breath caught, heart hammering so loudly you feared it would give you away. You froze in place, every muscle taut with dread. Josh’s face was pale and drawn in the flickering light of the torch. His eyes widened, reflecting the same terror clawing at your throat.

Out of the blackness stepped a monstrous shape, tall and impossibly thin, its limbs twisted at grotesque angles, scraping the tunnel walls as it moved with an unnatural, jerking grace. The Wendigo.

Its skin hung tight over its bones, a patchwork of grey, stretched like old leather. Its empty eye sockets burned with cold, malevolent intelligence, and the faint glow of the torchlight caught on its razor-sharp claws as they scraped against the rock floor, producing a sound like nails dragged over a coffin lid. The thing blocked the only exit.

Your breath hitched. Terror gripped you like icy fingers squeezing your heart.

You pressed a finger to your lips, voice barely more than a trembling whisper, “Josh… be quiet. Maybe if we move slowly, we can slip past it without it noticing.”

Josh’s gaze was fixed on the creature, and something fierce flickered behind his eyes, a desperate resolve that didn’t belong to the broken man you’d found in the depths of the mines. He shook his head slowly, his voice low and strained, “No. There’s no way we can both get past it.”

His eyes locked on yours, an unspoken understanding passing between you in that heavy, silent moment. You could see what he meant, he wasn’t just admitting defeat, he was telling you he would do whatever it took to protect you, even if it meant sacrificing himself.

His shoulders tightened as if bracing for something unbearable. “I can’t do this. Not if it means you’ll get hurt.”

Your heart pounded violently in your chest, a mix of fear and fierce determination flooding through you. You shook your head vehemently, your voice raw but steady, “No, Josh. We both get past this.”

You grabbed his arm tightly, burning eyes searching his face. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

The Wendigo snarled, a chilling sound like dry bones scraping together. It took a step forward, closing the gap, its presence suffocating and filled with ancient, insatiable hunger. The cold, dead weight of its stare pressed down on you, a living nightmare poised to strike.

But you stood firm, your pulse raging in your ears, the flickering torchlight casting monstrous shadows on the walls around you.

Josh’s hand suddenly shot out and gripped your wrist, yanking the torch from your grasp. The flame wavered, casting wild shadows that danced violently along the rough walls. His eyes, so fierce moments before, softened, filled now with a tenderness that cut through the terror like a knife.

“Stop,” you whispered, voice trembling but steady. “Don’t do this. Not like this.”

You stared back, breath shallow, heart pounding louder than ever. The weight of the Wendigo’s presence was still heavy behind you, but in this fragile moment, it all felt distant, like a fading nightmare you were both desperately clinging to.

Josh stepped closer, his hands trembling as he held the dying torch between you, the flame flickering dangerously low. His gaze locked onto yours, the softest, most vulnerable look you’d seen from him all night, like he was finally laying down the last pieces of himself.

“I had the pleasure of telling you how I felt about you all these years,” he said, voice breaking with a fragile honesty. “Just for that…, I’m the happiest man on earth.”

For a heartbeat, everything around you stopped, the darkness, the fear, the endless mines. There was only him, and you, suspended in a moment that felt impossibly real and impossibly fragile.

Then, slow and deliberate, Josh leaned in, brushing his lips against yours with a gentleness that startled you. The kiss was soft, almost hesitant, like the first tentative step after a lifetime of silence.

It was delicate, fragile, but full of something fierce and true hope, maybe, or love caught in the ruins of everything else.

“Now go,” Josh whispered, his voice barely audible, but filled with a quiet urgency. Without waiting for a response, he stepped forward into the dim tunnel, the dying torch held out in front of him like a fragile shield. This left you away in the dark, away from the deathly eyes of the wendigo.

You barely had time to react before Josh began sweeping the torch wildly through the air, the flickering light carving frantic shapes against the cold stone. The Wendigo’s head snapped toward the sudden movement, its empty eye sockets burning with cruel awareness. A low, guttural growl rumbled from deep within its throat as it started to shift forward, drawn by the wavering flame and the presence of Josh.

You didn’t even notice your feet moving, pulled by some primal instinct, inching silently toward the exit. Every step was heavy with fear and disbelief, your hands trembling as you fought to hold back the sobs rising in your throat. The cold air brushing against your skin was a cruel reminder that the outside world was still real, that you might still survive this nightmare.

Your eyes never left Josh, who now stood alone between you and the monstrous creature. Gone was the wild, broken figure from earlier. In his place stood the boyish man you had fallen for, flawed, fragile, but fiercely brave.

As you reached the rusted gate marking the mine’s mouth, you forced yourself to pause, turning your head for one last look back. The torchlight illuminated Josh’s face, worn but resolute, a faint, sad smile curling his lips. His eyes locked onto yours, and though he didn’t speak, you saw him mouth the words:

“I love you.”

A quiet sob slipped free from your lips as the weight of everything crashed down. Then, steeling yourself, you turned back toward the exit, pushing open the gate and stepping into the cold night air.

Behind you, the darkness swallowed Josh and the Wendigo, leaving you alone. Alive, but forever marked by what you had left behind.

It had been a month since the night that shattered everything and somehow stitched it all back together again.

You sat on the edge of the park bench, a cup of lukewarm coffee cradled in your hands, the distant noise of traffic and laughter drifting in from the nearby streets. The world kept moving, as if it didn’t know what had happened on that mountain, what you had seen, what you had lost. And maybe it didn’t. Maybe it couldn’t. But you did. Every single second of it was etched into you like scars beneath the skin, invisible but permanent.

Your friends, Mike, Jessica, Sam, Ashley, Chris, Emily, Matt, they were all alive. Shaken, bruised, changed, but alive. That alone felt like a miracle. After everything, it could’ve gone so much worse. It should have.

In the weeks that followed, the group had become something closer than you’d ever expected. Weekly dinners, game nights, long texts sent at 3AM when sleep wouldn’t come. No one said it out loud, but you could all feel it: that need to hold on tight, to not drift apart again. That night had done more than just haunt you, it had tethered you all together with something stronger than fear. Something like survival. Something like love.

But even with the laughter, even in the light of day, Josh lingered in the back of your mind.

His name was never far from your lips in the aftermath. You’d told the police everything, about the mines, about what he’d done, and what he’d tried to undo. About the Wendigo. You left out no detail, hoping someone would understand, someone would look. And they did. At first. But when the terrain turned too dangerous, too unmapped, too strange, the search began to slow. Then stop. And in the end, the only answer they gave was a silent nod and a promise to "keep the file open."

You knew what that meant. You weren’t going to get him back.

Still, part of you couldn’t accept that. You dreamed about the way he looked at you in those final moments, like he’d finally found peace, even in the face of something monstrous. Sometimes you woke up certain he was still out there, alive somehow, hiding in the shadows. Other nights, the dreams were colder. The mine, the scream, the torch’s final flicker. You always woke up before the end.

You took a shaky breath and looked down into your coffee, watching the ripples settle. If there was one good thing to come out of that horror, it was this, these people. Your people. You had nearly lost them, and now you knew better than ever how fragile everything was.

You stood slowly, coffee in hand, the air sharp against your cheeks. The park was nearly empty now, and the soft crunch of leaves beneath your boots felt grounding. Familiar. With each step away from the bench, it was like you could finally breathe again, like you were learning how.

Then, a roar of tires shattered the calm.

A black sedan tore around the corner, engine screaming, the frame rocking slightly as it jerked to a stop just a few feet ahead of you. Your breath caught, heart already leaping into your throat. Instinctively, you took a step back, the coffee sloshing over the rim of the paper cup.

The engine cut off, and the driver’s door burst open.

“Sam?” you called out, confused.

She rounded the front of the car, sprinting toward you. Her face was bloodless, eyes wide with something that looked almost like panic. Or disbelief. She didn’t say anything at first, just stood there in front of you, chest heaving, trying to catch her breath.

You opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, but before you could speak, she reached out, clutching your arm.

“It’s Josh,” she said, voice hoarse and shaking. “They found him.”

[tearsof-scarlet]

When Thieves and Cowboys Meet - Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Word Count: 5774

Tags: A bit of angst.

Warnings: Guns and gun shots

Synopsis: In the bustling streets of Saint Denis, you’re a skilled pickpocket, always looking for your next mark. When you spot a quiet, distracted man scribbling in his notebook, you seize the chance to steal his prized pocket watch. As fate would have it, your paths cross again, pulling you into a dangerous game of trust, survival, and unexpected connection.

A/N: I like to think of this as one of Arthur's side missions early in the game (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

You had survived on your own for years now, carving out a life in the shadows of Saint Denis. Wit and charm were your weapons of choice: disarming, distracting, deceiving. Independence wasn’t easy in a city that devoured the weak and the honest alike, and sooner or later, the honest part of you had to go.

So you turned to work that thrived in the cracks. The kind with no rules, no guarantees, and no real honour. But you were good. Too good. Years of practice had refined your hands into tools of silent precision. Picking pockets wasn’t just survival anymore. It was instinct.

That’s how you found yourself leaning against a crooked iron pole in the middle of the Saint Denis market, half-shaded by the orange wash of the setting sun. The crowd pulsed around you in a blur of motion and sound. Horse hooves clattering on cobblestone, traders shouting over one another and laughter mixing with the clink of coins. It was chaos. Beautiful, familiar chaos. The kind where eyes wander, attention splits, and no one ever notices a gentle tug at their waist.

You scanned the crowd with a calm, practiced gaze. A glint of opportunity caught your eye: an older man, coat creased and heavy with wealth, his back pocket sagging with what looked to be a thick roll of money. He stood talking to a fruit vendor, oblivious.

You slid off the pole, letting your body sway with casual purpose. Passing stalls of spiced meats, dusty tomes, and tattered lace, you feigned interest, pointing, pausing, moving like someone who had all the time in the world. When you reached him, he hadn’t shifted. Still bargaining. You came up behind, eyes flicking left and right.

No one watched.

Your hand hovered, graceful and sure, fingers ready to make contact—

But just before you could reach the pocket, his hand snapped back. He plucked out the money and handed it to the vendor in one smooth motion.

You nearly groaned aloud.

The frustration clawed at your throat as you withdrew and melted back into the crowd, jaw clenched tight. One month’s worth of rent and meals, gone in a heartbeat. You slipped back to your post, shoulders tense, the failure bitter in your mouth.

The clocktower began to chime six. You watched the shadows lengthen over the stalls. Vendors were starting to pack up; buyers thinned into evening ghosts. With a sigh, you shoved off the pole, ready to call it for the day.

But then movement caught your eye.

Across the square, under the arch of a rusting gate, a man sat alone on the brick ledge. His head was bowed, hat tipped forward, completely absorbed in whatever he was scribbling in a weather-worn notebook. Ink-stained fingers moved slowly, methodically. Lost in his own world.

But it wasn’t the notebook that interested you.

From the waistcoat at his chest, a glimmer of gold peeked out—a pocket watch, gleaming faintly in the sunset. It rested just outside the pocket, still latched to a fine little chain. Old. Polished. Valuable.

Your lips parted slightly, and you ran your tongue over them without thinking. That watch could be gone in seconds. Easy enough. The railings behind him gave you cover, and he was so focused on his writing, you doubted he’d notice a bird flying past, let alone your hand brushing past his coat.

This time, you told yourself, would be different. This time, you wouldn’t miss.

You circled around the iron gate, weaving between crates and shadows, until you reached the back of the ledge where the man sat. All the while, you stole glances forward—he hadn’t moved. Still buried in that notebook like the world didn’t exist.

Good.

With measured steps, you drew closer, boots light on the cobblestones. Your eyes swept the square, alert for wandering eyes or the unmistakable blue coats of the law. No one seemed to notice you. Not yet.

Reaching the railings behind him, you knelt down slowly, one knee brushing against stone as you pretended to fuss with your shoe. Another glance—he didn’t even flinch. Still scribbling, still lost.

Now.

You moved your hand through the bars with the precision of a seasoned artist. First a scan around—just one more look to be sure. Then, your fingers glided forward, careful and deliberate, brushing over the rough wool of his waistcoat. You worked by feel, not sight. You’d done this a hundred times. Maybe more.

But then you looked up—to watch his face for any sign he’d noticed.

And you froze.

Just for a moment.

The angle gave you a perfect view beneath the shadow of his hat. His jaw was strong beneath the scruff, lips parted slightly in focus, brow furrowed in thought. He was older than you, weathered by life, but handsome, in a way that made something flicker hot and unwelcome in your chest.

Focus.

You clenched your jaw, fingers moving again, slipping into the pocket. They brushed against something cool and metallic. The chain. You pinched it between your fingers, felt the tension of the clip, then with practiced ease, you fished the watch free and detached it in one smooth motion.

Ten seconds. That’s all it took. But it always felt like a lifetime.

In the next breath, you were rising, turning, walking away like nothing had happened. No panic, no guilt. Just that sweet rush under your skin. It was an art form, and you were a master.

You moved through the thinning crowd with a spring in your step, fingers curling around your prize. Slipping it from your pocket, you admired it in the fading light. The golden watch was a little battered, scratches, a small dent on one side but it had a weight to it. A soul. The kind of thing someone kept close for years. Still, you couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at your lips. Even damaged, it would fetch a tidy sum from the right merchant. Maybe enough to lie low for a while. Maybe enough for a hot meal and a real bed.

In the days that followed the theft, you kept your head low and your routes unpredictable. You pulled a few small jobs, lifted a coin purse on the tram, swiped a silver ring from a drunk passed out in an alley but nothing bold. Nothing like the watch. Strangely, despite knowing its worth, you couldn’t bring yourself to sell it. It sat heavy in your coat pocket every day, cool against your fingertips, as if it had fused to you. You told yourself it was just caution, that the heat hadn’t died down yet but deep down, you knew it was something else. Something about that watch, or maybe the man you stole it from, had gotten under your skin.

The market bustled with its usual chaos, steam rising from food carts, boots scraping over stone, the clang of metal and chatter mixing in the dusk. Arthur had only meant to grab a few supplies and be on his way. He wasn’t the lingering type, not in a city like this. But as he tied his horse near the fountain, something in the crowd caught his eye. A flicker of movement. A familiar gait.

Then he saw her.

She stood at a produce stall, half-shadowed by crates of overripe apples. Her coat was different, her hair pulled back loosely at the nape of her neck, but he knew. Arthur’s eyes narrowed slightly. It was her. The thief. The girl who’d lifted his damn watch right off his coat like it was nothing.

She didn’t see him yet. She was too busy haggling over a bruised peach, her hand deep in her pocket, still guarding it, maybe.

Arthur didn’t move. He just watched her for a moment, caught off guard by the flutter of something he couldn’t name. She was… beautiful. Not in the delicate, polished way society women tried to be. No, she had edges. Real ones. Fierce, sharp eyes and a mouth that looked like it had forgotten how to smile gently. And yet something about her made his chest tighten, annoyingly so.

He should’ve been furious. Hell, he had been. But standing here now, all he could feel was a strange twist in his gut. A question he hadn’t figured out how to ask.

Then her eyes lifted, lazy at first, scanning the crowd, and locked with his.

You froze.

And in that single heartbeat, Arthur’s expression didn’t change, but his stance did. Straighter. Steadier. As if the chase had just begun again.

“Hey, you!”

The shout cracked through the market like a whip.

Your body stiffened, heart slamming into your ribs. The man stood tall now, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, no longer the quiet scribbler. His gaze locked on yours like a wolf catching sight of prey. There was no mistaking it, he’d seen everything. And in your pocket, was his stolen watch.

You barely had time to think. You did the one thing you always told yourself you'd never do unless it was absolutely necessary.

You ran.

Boots slapped against the stone as you darted into a narrow alleyway, shadows swallowing you whole. Behind you, a sharp whistle cut through the air. Your stomach dropped. He had a horse. Of course he had a damn horse.

Cursing under your breath, you pushed harder, legs burning as you burst back onto a wider street. The alleys of Saint Denis were a maze, but the streets were rivers, flooded with people, noise, smells. You weaved through the crowd, shoulders brushing bodies, ignoring the curses and stumbling feet around you.

But the thunder of hooves followed like a storm rolling in.

You didn’t look back. Instead, you spotted your chance, a saloon just up ahead, loud with music and laughter spilling through its open doors. Without hesitation, you flung them wide and slipped inside. Warm light hit your eyes. The air was thick with sweat, cigar smoke, and slurred voices.

Threading through the chaos, you ducked past card tables and drink-slick floors, keeping your head low. A drunk nearly crashed into you, but you slipped past him, your eyes scanning. There at the end of the room was an open window. Without a second thought, you leapt. Your hands caught the frame as your legs swung through, the rough wood scraping your knees. You pulled yourself out, landing with a dull thud in the alley behind the saloon, breath ragged.

Down the narrow path, over discarded crates and broken bottles, your body moved on instinct. Your legs ached, but the adrenaline numbed it. You turned sharp corners, ducked under rusted fire escapes, and pushed through a heavy curtain of drying laundry. The golden watch thudded against your chest with every step, like a heartbeat out of time.

You swerved left, hoping the maze-like alleys of Saint Denis would work in your favor. But the city had its own mind. This path dead-ended at a tall iron fence. You skidded to a halt, breath ragged, then spun around to backtrack.

A voice called out behind you, rough and Southern, with just a hint of grit:

“Stop runnin’.”

Arthur Morgan sat atop his horse at the alley’s mouth, eyes fixed on you, jaw set like stone. The watch glinted in his gaze more than it did in your hand. For a split second, neither of you moved. You could see now how tired he looked, not physically, but deep in the eyes. As if he’d seen more than any man ought to.

You turned, desperate, lunged for the fence behind you. Your fingers caught the bars. You got one foot up. But he was off the horse before you could swing your other leg over.

An arm wrapped around your waist, firm and unyielding. He dragged you down with ease, feet hitting the cobblestone as you kicked, shoved, twisted but it was like trying to shake a mountain.

“Let me go!” you snarled, thrashing.

“Not happenin Missy.”

You shoved hard against his chest as hard as you could, but it didn’t even make him budge. For a moment his grip loosened—not out of weakness, but surprise.

Your face was inches from his now, your breaths ragged and tangled, the stolen watch still caught between your hand and his coat. You didn’t dare drop it. Not yet.

“I didn’t know it was yours,” you lied through your teeth.

He huffed a breath. “You think that makes it better?”

You had just parted your lips to answer him, some blend of guilt and defiance ready to tumble out, when the distant echo of hooves disrupted the hush of the alley. They grew louder, sharper, until the silhouettes of riders emerged from the mouth of the street.

The clinking buckles, polished boots, and unmistakable navy coats gave them away instantly.

“Ah, well, well, well…” one of the officers called, voice curling with smug amusement. “If it ain’t Miss ______.”

Your breath caught in your throat. No. Not now. Of all the cursed moments, why this one? Why him?

“I gotta say,” the man continued as he swung from his saddle with a heavy thud, “you’ve stirred up a mighty bit of trouble tryin’ to find you.”

Arthur’s brow creased, his whole frame shifting beside you. You felt the weight of his confusion, the sudden looseness in his grip. His hands dropped from your arms as he turned to face the men, his gaze flicking between their uniforms and your stunned expression.

The officer stepped closer, eyeing you both with a sneer that made your stomach twist. “Much obliged, sir,” he said to Arthur, clearly mistaking the scene. “We appreciate the help bringin’ her in. You’ll be compensated real generous for it.”

Arthur didn’t speak as his frown deepened. And then the officer, noting his hesitation, reached into his coat and retrieved a folded poster, stained and creased from use. He shoved it forward.

Arthur took it with slow fingers.

WANTED — DEAD OR ALIVE.

A charcoal sketch stared back at him. You. Fierce eyes. That same wildness in the jaw he’d just been admiring. But what stole his breath was the print at the bottom.

$1,000 REWARD.

His gut tightened. A thousand dollars. Enough to feed the camp, keep Dutch off his back, pay off a dozen bounties. His fingers clenched around the paper. He couldn’t help it. It was instinct and survival. For all of them.

And then he looked at you. You weren’t speaking. Just watching him, silently pleading, those wide, terrified eyes boring into his like they were begging for a future that was slipping through both your fingers.

Arthur’s throat went dry.

“So what happens to the young lady once y’all take her in?” he asked, voice steady despite the storm inside him.

The officers hesitated, exchanging a brief look before one of them finally answered.

“She’s been wanted three years over. Stolen from some high places. Jewellery, ledgers, secrets.” He gave you a look like you were poison.

“She’ll hang. Most likely by week’s end.”

Arthur’s heart knocked once, hard in his chest. He’d seen plenty of deaths. Dealt plenty, too. But this? You weren’t some outlaw gunslinger. You were... something else. Sharp. Beautiful. Alive in a way most people forgot how to be. And now, standing here, trembling just inches from him, he could feel your fear. It wasn’t put on. It wasn’t a game.

Your breath stilled in your throat, a cold dread creeping up your spine. God, you’d always figured you’d die fast, maybe in a back alley with a knife in your gut or a bullet in your back, but a hanging? In public? Like some animal?

You couldn’t tear your eyes from Arthur.

He stood rooted in place, silent, the bounty poster limp in his gloved hand. His jaw clenched, brow furrowed deep. The flicker of uncertainty in his eyes was plain to see, even now. You didn’t dare speak, you didn’t want to beg. Not yet. Not in front of the law.

“Well?” one of the officers prodded, growing impatient. “Hand her over then, sir. We’ll take it from here.”

Arthur looked at the poster again. One thousand dollars. More than enough to feed the camp. Enough for Dutch to finally get his way for a while. Medicine for the sick. Bullets. Blankets. Hope.

And yet he looked back at you. You, the pickpocket who’d nearly gotten away with it. The same woman who’d been dumb enough to still carry his watch like it meant something. The same woman who despite the fear trembling beneath your skin, held her chin a little too high and her mouth a little too tight, like you still wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of crying.

Arthur let out a slow breath through his nose.

“You said she stole from the people of this town?” he asked, voice low.

“That’s right,” said the officer, his patience thinning. “From saloons, shops, tourists, even the mayor’s own nephew. The girl’s a damn plague.”

Arthur gave a slow nod, slipping the poster back into the officer’s hand.

“Alright,” he said, his voice calm, almost disarmingly so. “Just needed to be sure.”

The officer grunted in approval, taking the paper and tucking it away.

And that’s when Arthur moved.

With a speed that contradicted his size, he turned, grabbed your wrist, and yanked you toward him. Before the lawmen could blink, he had you behind his back and his revolver drawn, barrel glinting in the fading light.

“Don’t,” he warned, low and deadly, “try nothin’ stupid. Stay behind me”

“What the hell’re you doin’?!” one of them barked, hand flying to his own holster.

But Arthur already had you moving, his body shielding yours as he backed you both toward his horse, who had shifted anxiously at the alley’s edge.

You didn’t dare breathe as his arm tightened around your waist, lifting you onto the saddle with practiced ease. The world tilted, leather creaked, and then he swung up behind you.

“Hold on,” he muttered, just before he spurred the horse hard.

The animal lunged forward with a powerful thrust of muscle, hooves striking sparks on cobblestone. Gunshots cracked through the alley, shouts rose up but the horse was already surging down the street, dodging carts, cutting corners, Arthur’s arms braced tightly around you.

Your heart was hammering, not just from the chase, but from the heat of him behind you—his breath near your ear, the strength in his chest pressed to your back. You didn’t dare look behind, but you could hear the chaos fading, the yells dimming into distance.

The city blurred past, brick and lamp-light twisting into streaks as you raced toward the outskirts. It was only once the trees of the swamp replaced buildings, and the din of Saint Denis gave way to crickets and wind that Arthur finally slowed the horse, pulling it to a heavy-breathing trot near the riverbank.

He said nothing at first, only climbed down and held out a hand to help you dismount. Your legs trembled when you touched the ground, though whether it was from fear, adrenaline, or the feel of his hand steadying yours, you weren’t sure.

He looked at you then. Really looked.

“You alright?” he asked, voice gravel low, yet touched with something softer.

You nodded, chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. “Why’d you do that?”

Arthur’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, not yet. “Guess I don’t like bullies much,” he said. Then, after a beat, “And maybe I didn’t want to see you hang.”

You blinked at him, stunned. And before you could speak, he turned, busying himself with adjusting the saddle. But you caught it, that glance over his shoulder, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long.

The woods were quiet, save for the rhythmic lap of water against the riverbank and the tired huffing of Arthur’s horse as it cooled beneath the trees. You’d ridden hard, the scent of Saint Denis still clinging to your clothes, sweat mixing with smoke and fear. Now the forest pressed in around you, a quiet cocoon of moss and moonlight, offering both shelter and judgment.

Arthur hadn’t said a word since he pulled you up behind him and galloped out of the city. Not one. He’d only stopped once the lights of Saint Denis had vanished behind the treeline and the moon had risen high above the horizon, full and pale. You sat now on a fallen log near the river’s edge, arms wrapped tightly around your knees. Every muscle ached. Your breath had long since steadied, but your heart hadn't.

You heard the jangle of his saddle as he shifted, rummaging through a bag that didn’t need rummaging. He wasn’t looking for anything. He was buying time.

You knew the silence wouldn’t last.

And then, his voice, low and dry:

“You were carryin’ it.”

Your head turned, eyes narrowing. “What?”

Arthur straightened, facing you now. There was a glint in his eyes, something sharp, something hurt. “The watch,” he said, jaw tight. “You still had it. All this time. A whole goddamn week.”

Your stomach turned. You stood slowly. “So?”

“So why didn’t you sell it?” he snapped. “You’ve been runnin’ from the law, sleepin’ in alleyways I’d bet, and you still got a gold watch tucked in your coat like it’s some kind of family heirloom. Why?”

“I don’t know!” you fired back, voice rising with the heat of it all. “I just... couldn’t.”

Arthur threw his hands up. “Jesus, that makes no sense—”

“No, it doesn’t!” you cut in, stepping toward him, eyes blazing. “But I tried, alright? I tried to pawn it. Twice. Got all the way to the damn counter and then... I just couldn’t. It didn’t feel right.”

He stared at you, arms crossed, his posture unreadable.

“It’s just a thing,” he said flatly.

You shook your head, laughing bitterly. “Yeah, maybe to you. But to me it started to feel like more than that. Like it wasn’t just something I took. Every time I touched it, I thought about you. I imagined you scribbling in your notebook. I guess I felt guilty.”

Arthur blinked, his expression faltering. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, suddenly looking like a man who didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Damn,” he muttered. “You’re a strange one.”

“You think I don’t know that?” you said, quieter now, chest heaving. “I knew it was an old watch. I couldn’t help but think it meant something special to you.”

He nodded slowly, eyes dark under the brim of his hat. Then, after a long pause, he said something you hadn’t expected.

“That watch belonged to my mama.”

You blinked. Your breath caught.

“She gave it to me when I was a boy,” he went on, voice low and rough-edged. “Didn’t have much, but she held onto that thing like it was made of diamonds. Said it’d keep me grounded. Keep me good. After she passed, I kept it close. Not ‘cause I needed the time. Just ‘cause it was hers.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. The air around you grew heavier.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “I didn’t know.”

Arthur didn’t say anything right away. He just stared at the fire, the flickering light making shadows of his thoughts.

After a moment, you reached into your coat and pulled it out. The gold glinted faintly in your palm. It looked smaller now. Fragile, almost. Like something sacred.

“I think,” you said gently, rising to your feet, “this belongs with her. With you.”

You stepped toward him, hand outstretched.

Arthur looked at it. Really looked. For a second, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he reached out and took it. His fingers brushed yours, rough and warm. The touch lingered just a moment longer than it needed to.

“Thank you,” he said softly, eyes meeting yours.

“No,” you shook your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Don’t thank me. I should’ve never taken it.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But you gave it back. That’s more than most would’ve done.”

You both stood there, the fire between you, and something else too—something quieter, less defined. A flicker of understanding. The hint of something beginning.

Arthur looked down at the watch in his hand, then tucked it carefully into his coat. When he looked back at you, some of the weight behind his eyes had eased.

“You ever steal from me again,” he said, voice dry, “I’ll tie your damn hands together.”

You huffed a laugh despite yourself. “Fair enough.”

Arthur shifted his weight, the fire casting gold across the planes of his face, softening the hardness in his jaw. He seemed to be wrestling with something, the way his thumb absently brushed the edge of the pocket where the watch now rested. You watched the movement, strangely comforted by it, though the silence between you had grown thick.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes still on the flames. “So…” he said, voice low, “what now? You got a plan?”

The question hit harder than you expected. You blinked, staring at the fire like it might conjure something useful—anything. But all that came was the truth.

“I don’t know,” you said quietly. “I didn’t really think I’d get this far.”

Arthur glanced at you, head tilted slightly, brow furrowed in something like sympathy—but not quite. Not pity, either. Just understanding.

“That bounty’s not gonna disappear on its own,” he said, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “Sooner or later, they’ll come lookin’ again.”

You huffed a breath, tired and bitter. “You think I don’t know that? Hell, I’ve spent the last three years running like my life depended on it. Because it did.”

He nodded slowly. “I get it. I do. But running ain’t living.”

You shot him a look, tired but sharp. “You ever try paying off a thousand-dollar bounty with a pocket full of nothing?”

Arthur didn’t smile, didn’t scold. He just said, “I’ve seen worse debts settled. There’s ways. You lie low. Work slow. Save what you can. There’s a fella up near Valentine… keeps quiet. You got the money, he’ll wipe your name clean from the boards.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh, folding your arms. “You really think I could walk into a post office and hand over a thousand dollars like I’m buying a train ticket? I wouldn’t even know where to start. I don’t belong in that kind of life.”

Arthur didn’t answer right away. He reached over and picked up a small twig, tossing it into the fire. Sparks hissed and danced upward, vanishing into the black sky above. Then, finally, he said, “Then maybe you start with someplace to rest. Someplace where nobody’s lookin’ to string you up.”

You looked at him sharply. “What are you saying?”

“I’m sayin’ you come back with me,” he said, simply. “To camp.”

You stared, lips parting slightly. “You want me to go with you?”

Arthur shrugged, eyes meeting yours under the brim of his hat. “We got people there… folks like you. Like me. People who ain’t got nowhere else to go. Misfits. Outlaws. Folks the world don’t much care for.”

“And they’ll be fine with me? A wanted thief?”

“They’ll be fine with what I say,” he said, a flicker of steel in his voice. “And I say you’re with me.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. The idea of belonging somewhere—even temporarily—felt foreign, dangerous. You’d trusted before. It had gotten you scars.

“Why would you do that?” you asked. “Why risk it?”

Arthur looked down, pulling the watch out again. He turned it over once in his hand, the firelight kissing its worn gold surface. “Because someone once told me to look out for people. My mama. She believed in kindness… even when it didn’t make sense. Said if you can offer it, you should.”

You felt something shift in your chest. A tightness you hadn’t noticed before, loosening.

“I gave the watch back,” you said, softly. “That doesn’t mean I’m good.”

Arthur looked up at you then, gaze unwavering. “No. But it means there’s somethin’ good still left in you.”

Your breath caught, and you had to look away, afraid of how much his words touched a part of you that had been buried for too long. The part that still wanted to be worth something. The part that was tired of running.

After a moment, you spoke, barely above a whisper. “Alright.”

Arthur blinked. “Alright?”

“I’ll go with you,” you said, louder now. “To your camp.”

A slow nod from him. “We’ll leave at first light. Ride out steady. Shouldn’t take more than a day.”

You settled back against the blanket he’d laid out for you, the warmth of the fire slowly seeping into your bones. You could hear the soft creak of leather as Arthur stood and moved to check his saddle, always watchful, always aware. But now, strangely, you didn’t mind the silence. It wasn’t hollow anymore.

You glanced at him, silhouetted against the glow of the fire. Something had changed. Not everything. Not yet. But enough.

The fire burned low by the time you both fell quiet again. The night stretched out around the clearing, blanketed in a hush that was almost peaceful. You lay back against your bedroll, arms crossed loosely over your chest, the stars wheeling slowly overhead.

Arthur was only a few feet away, leaned back against a fallen log, hat tilted low but not quite asleep. He was still keeping watch, out of habit more than necessity. You wondered if he ever really slept.

Sometime after you heard his breath even out, slow and steady, you stirred. Quietly, careful not to wake him, you sat up. The night air was cool, brushing against your face like a whisper. The fire cracked softly, casting long shadows against the trees.

You weren’t trying to pry.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But your eyes drifted to his satchel, slouched beside his bedroll. The flap hung slightly open. Inside, the edges of a worn leather notebook peeked out—well-used, softened at the corners, the spine nearly breaking from how often it had been opened.

You hesitated.

Then, before you could second-guess it, your fingers slipped inside and pulled it free.

Your eyes darted to Arthur. He hadn’t stirred.

You opened the book slowly.

Pages full of writing met you, observations, thoughts, pieces of a mind far more contemplative than you’d imagined. His penmanship was rough but steady. Sometimes angry, sometimes careful. But it was the drawings that made your breath catch.

Landscapes. Campfires. Horses in motion. A man you recognized as Dutch. A child you didn’t.

You turned the pages gently, your eyes catching on a sketch unlike the others. The lines were softer here, less hurried. The charcoal strokes delicate but deliberate, capturing a fleeting moment with surprising clarity.

There you were.

Leaning against a weathered wooden pole at the edge of a bustling market street. The fabric of your coat folded naturally around your shoulders; the hood pushed back just enough to reveal a few loose strands of hair falling over your forehead. Your posture was casual but guarded, one knee bent, foot resting lightly against the pole’s base, arms crossed loosely as if bracing against the cool air or perhaps the weight of your own thoughts.

Your gaze was cast sideways, eyes narrowed just a fraction, watching something—or someone—beyond the edge of the paper’s frame. The tension in your jaw was subtle, a quiet challenge in your stance. Not quite defiance, but the careful distance of someone used to being overlooked yet unwilling to be caught completely unaware.

Around you, the market swirled in faint outlines: bustling figures with baskets, stalls heavy with produce, blurred shapes of horses and wagons. But your figure stood still, a stark contrast to the life rushing past. The artist’s hand had paused here, capturing not just your form but the quiet intensity in that moment, the unspoken story behind your watchful eyes.

It was a glimpse of you before everything happened, before the theft, before the chase. A moment frozen between uncertainty and something almost like hope.

The drawing held more than just your likeness. It held the first spark of connection. Arthur had seen and somehow kept.

You closed the notebook slowly, heart heavier than before. He had noticed you long before you ever dared to look at him.

In that small, quiet way of his, Arthur Morgan had been thinking of you, too. Even when you were gone. Even when he thought you might’ve betrayed him.

You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, closed your eyes, and let sleep finally come warmer than it should have been. Not from the fire. But from something else entirely.

The first light of dawn filtered through the wooden slats of the barn, casting long shadows across the dusty floor. Outside, the world was just beginning to stir, the distant calls of roosters, the soft rustle of wind through the trees. Inside, the quiet was filled with the rustle of leather and the soft clink of metal as you and Arthur packed your few belongings.

You folded your coat carefully, tucking the now-returned watch safely inside your bag. Arthur was busy saddling his horse, his movements steady and sure, but every now and then he glanced your way, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You caught his eye and, with a mischievous grin, called out, “Cowboy.”

He looked up, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrugged, voice light but teasing. “I don’t know… just feels right.”

Arthur smirked, tightening the straps on his saddle. “Well then,” he said, turning fully toward you, “guess I better come up with a name for you too.”

You arched a brow. “Oh yeah? And what’s that gonna be?”

He stepped closer, eyes gleaming with that familiar mix of amusement and something softer, almost like affection. “Thief.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile that spread across your face. “Thief, huh?”

“That’s right. Fits you,” he said with a wink.

And just like that, the nickname stuck, an odd, imperfect bond between two people caught somewhere between past mistakes and a new beginning.

Together, you swung up onto the horse, ready to leave the town behind and head toward the uncertain promise of the camp, and whatever came next.

[tearsof-scarlet]

situationship - carmy berzatto x reader

situationship

noun

a romantic or sexual relationship that is not considered to be formal or established.

Where one person wants a relationship, but the other person doesn't and they're having sex with each other.

Carmy and you have begun seeing each other after both of your late-night shifts. You both share each other passion for the culinary arts, him in cooking and you in baking. While you have been enjoying his company, the thought of what the two of you were bubbled in the back of your mind. You both lead very stressful lives and the idea of being in a relationship scares you too much to ever consider it. But when Carmy admits he’s falling for you, the vulnerability between you both becomes undeniable. Faced with the possibility of something more, you wrestle with the fear that it might pull you both apart

Contains: Angst

Words: 3680

A/N: yes, the reader is a baker. yes this storyline is one of many similar stories but honestly, I've never loved a dynamic more don’t @ me.

After another long night at the bakery, you slide off your apron, still dusted with flour and the faint scent of freshly baked bread clinging to you. As you locked up the bakery you felt his presence behind you.  Carmy’s waiting for you outside, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his face shadowed in the streetlight glow. The small glow from his cigarette dangling from his mouth lightened his face. You know he’s tired too, worn from the brutal hours at the restaurant, but he gives you a small smile when he sees you. You’ve fallen into a routine—meeting up after your shifts, talking in the quiet dark, sharing pastries and leftovers from the night, finding comfort in the company of someone who gets it.

You walk down the street together, sometimes talking about the night’s chaos, sometimes in a companionable silence. Tonight, you asked him about the outcome of his chicken piccata as he talked through changes he made to perfect it. You reach his place, and without words, you both step into his barely-furnished apartment. The emptiness is a familiar comfort. Carmy kicks off his shoes, and you pull a couple of leftover pastries from your bag, placing them on the counter. You would never ask Carmy to cook for you, even though he has persisted many a times.  There’s no real plan—there never is—but somehow it works for both of you.

You pull out a plain brioche from the bag and hand it to him, watching as he takes a bite. His eyes flutter shut, and he lets out a low groan, the sound slipping out as if he’d forgotten you were there. You can’t help but smile as he leans back against the counter, savoring each bite like it’s the first real food he’s had all day.

“You added more eggs?” he asks, looking at you through half-lidded eyes, his voice softer, like he’s savoring more than just the bread. There’s a warmth there, something rare in him, almost tender.

You nod, still smiling. “Thought it’d give it a little more richness. Guess it worked.”

Carmy lets out a small laugh, shaking his head in that way he does when he’s impressed but doesn’t want to admit it. “Swear, you make the best baked goods in Chicago,” he says, his voice carrying a rough sincerity that catches you off guard.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter opposite him, crossing your arms as you meet his gaze. “Coming from you? That’s high praise,” you tease, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. But you also feel a knot tighten in your chest—this thing between you two feels good, too good. And you’re not sure where that leaves you.

He looks away for a moment, the casual confidence flickering, replaced by something a little darker, a little hesitant. “Nah, I mean it,” he says, his voice softer. “You know, if I could bake like you…” He trails off, his eyes downcast, as if he’s lost in a thought he’s not sure he wants to share. His words crush you, the blindness to see how talented he is.

Carmy’s eyes linger on you, something unreadable flickering beneath the exhaustion. Then, without a word, he steps closer, his gaze fixed on you like he’s finally found the courage to say what he couldn’t before. Slowly, deliberately, he leans in and brushes his lips against the corner of your mouth. The kiss is barely there, light as a whisper, but it sends a pulse through you, both familiar and brand new.

You let out a soft breath, and for a heartbeat, you’re both suspended in this moment, standing there in the quiet intimacy of his dim kitchen, the glow of streetlights casting faint shadows on the walls. He pauses, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his breaths shallow. His eyes find yours, intense yet hesitant, and you see the silent question lingering there—Is this okay?

Without waiting for him to overthink it, you tilt your head, closing the gap between you again, this time more certain, more wanting. Your hands rise to his jaw, your thumbs brushing against the stubble as you pull him in. He sighs softly into the kiss, letting his guard slip, the tension melting from his shoulders as his hands settle at your waist, gentle but grounding.

He tastes faintly of cigarettes and coffee, rough around the edges, but it only makes him feel more real, more him. His fingers curl slightly into your shirt, pulling you closer, and his kiss deepens, a quiet intensity beneath it, as if he’s pouring everything he can’t say into this single, shared breath. You feel his exhaustion in every movement, in the way he clings to you just a little tighter, like he’s afraid this moment will disappear if he lets go.

He pulls back, just enough to look at you, his face softened, his eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. He’s breathing hard, but his expression is raw and open, a rare vulnerability slipping through his guarded exterior.

“I—” He stops, as if he doesn’t trust himself to keep going. You can see the struggle in his eyes, the effort it takes him to let down even a fraction of the walls he’s built. His thumb traces small, absentminded circles along your side, grounding himself.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you whisper, gently running a hand through his hair, letting him know that he doesn’t have to be anything other than what he is, right here, right now.

“This… us…,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse. “I want this to be more than… whatever we’re doing right now.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, and a part of you aches at his honesty, his vulnerability. But there’s a knot of doubt tightening in your chest, one you can’t ignore. You pull back, just enough to create a sliver of space between you, and shake your head.

“Carmy, I don’t… I don’t think it’ll work,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “We’re both too wrapped up in our own worlds. You’re at that restaurant every waking hour, and I’m at the bakery. It’s—this isn’t workable.”

He stares at you, his brows knitting together, a flash of hurt crossing his face before it hardens into something more desperate. “No. No, I don’t buy that,” he says, a raw edge to his voice. “You think I don’t know how much you love what you do? I get it. I’m the same way, and I’m still here, wanting this.”

You shake your head, frustration and a pang of sadness welling up inside you. “You don’t get it, Carm. It’s not just about wanting it. We’re both so… driven, so wrapped up in what we do, that there’s no room for anything else. We’d be pulling each other apart.”

His jaw tightens, and he takes a step closer, his hands still gripping your arms, holding on as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “I don’t believe that,” he insists, his voice trembling. “I know I’m all-in with the restaurant, but I’m not blind to this. I know what we have here, and I’m not ready to just walk away from it. Don’t… don’t tell me it wouldn’t work without even trying.”

You close your eyes, your heart pounding, his words striking at the walls you’re trying to put up. “Carmy, you’re already on the edge. You’re exhausted every night, and so am I. How much more can we take on? If we get closer, if this turns into something serious, it’ll just… complicate things. And I don’t want to be another thing that drains you, that wears you down.”

He lets out a frustrated breath, his hands dropping to his sides as he steps back, his face contorted with a mixture of anger and hurt. “You think you’d drain me?” he says, practically begging you to see things his way. “You’re one of the few things that makes any of this worth it. Do you get that? I spend all day, every damn day, feeling like I’m just barely keeping it together, but when I’m with you, I actually… I actually breathe.”

His words hang in the air, raw and exposed, and it’s clear how much he’s putting on the line. You want to reach out, to take his hand, but the doubt won’t let go. “I’m not saying I don’t feel something for you, Carm,” you say softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “I just… I’m scared that this will just become another thing you end up resenting when it gets hard. And you and I both know how that goes.”

Carmy’s fists clench at his sides, his gaze locked on yours, his eyes almost pleading. “Please. Just… please, don’t shut this down before we even have a chance. I’m trying here. I know I’m a mess, but I’m trying.” His voice breaks a little, and he shakes his head, his expression desperate. “You think I don’t worry about this too? About what it could do to us? But I’d rather try and make it work than regret not even giving it a shot.”

You shake your head, the weight of his words lingering in the air, but the reality of what you're asking him to do presses down on you. Your heart aches as you step back, putting space between you two, as if distance will make this easier. But it doesn’t. It only makes it harder.

“I can’t do this right now, Carmy,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, strained, the words leaving your mouth like they’re coated in regret. “I just… can’t.”

The look in his eyes is like a punch to the chest—hope and desperation all tangled up, like he’s waiting for you to change your mind. But you can’t. You already know how much this will hurt both of you. You take a shaky breath, pulling yourself together even though it feels like you’re falling apart.

Without waiting for him to respond, you grab your bag, trying not to meet his gaze. “I’ll see you around,” you manage to say, voice shaky as you step toward the door. But before you reach the handle, you hear his voice, quieter this time but still full of that urgency.

“Don’t walk away from this, please.”

You don’t look back. You can’t. You step out into the cold night air, the door closing softly behind you.

As you make your way home, your chest feels heavy, like you’re carrying an anchor. It’s hard to breathe, and your mind keeps replaying the last few minutes—the kiss, his words, the way his face twisted with hurt, desperation, and longing. But you couldn’t—you couldn’t—let it happen, not when you know how much it could destroy.

Once you’re home, you try to shake it off, try to ignore the way your heart aches. But the ache doesn’t go away. In the silence of your room, you crawl into bed, trying to sleep. You manage to close your eyes, but sleep doesn’t come easily. And then, your phone buzzes—one message. You pick it up, and it’s from Carmy.

“you are my favourite person. you make everything worth it”

 Your heart stutters. You clutch the phone to your chest, feeling the weight of his words hit you all over again. You don’t know how to respond. How could you? He’s asking you to step into something that could break you both. And yet… his words cling to you like they have their own gravity.

Eventually, you force your eyes shut and try to sleep, but it feels impossible. Every time you start to drift off, his face pops into your mind, and you’re back there again—back to that moment in his kitchen, the rawness of his words, the hunger in his eyes.

The next morning, you wake to the harsh sound of your alarm ringing at 4 AM, your body aching from exhaustion but knowing you have to get up. The bakery won’t open itself, and the hours of work ahead of you keep your mind busy. You roll out of bed, washing up quickly before pulling on your apron and heading downstairs. The familiar smells of dough, sugar, and flour fill the air as you prepare for the day’s bake. Your hands move through the motions, mind drifting despite your best efforts to focus.

But when you walk into the bakery, you freeze. There, standing in the doorway, is Carmy. He’s leaning against the wall, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking just as worn and exhausted as the night before. But there’s something else there now—a determination that cuts through the exhaustion, a silent resolve.

"Can we talk?" he asks, voice softer than you expect.

You swallow hard, staring at him for a long beat before nodding. You don’t know what else to do, and despite everything, there’s a part of you that wants to hear him out.

You step aside, letting him into the dark, deserted bakery. The kitchen lights flicker on as you walk past him, the quiet hum of the refrigerator and ovens filling the silence. He follows you in, his steps tentative, unsure.

Once inside, he leans against the counter, hands still deep in his jacket pockets, looking out of place in the quiet emptiness of the bakery. You begin your prep—kneading dough, measuring flour—but you’re acutely aware of his presence, the air thick with things unsaid. Finally, when you can’t stand the silence any longer, you look up at him.

“What is it, Carmy?” you ask, your voice unsteady.

He’s quiet for a long moment, his eyes not quite meeting yours, studying the counter like it holds all the answers. Finally, he takes a breath, running a hand through his messy hair.

He’s quiet for a long moment, his eyes not quite meeting yours, studying the counter like it holds all the answers. Finally, he takes a breath, running a hand through his messy hair.

“I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for,” he starts, his voice low but clear. “But I don’t know how to walk away from you. I know we’re both stuck in our worlds, but…” He pauses, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. “I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something here worth fighting for.”

Your heart twists. You feel the weight of his words, the sincerity that bleeds through even as he stands there, vulnerable and unsure. You keep your focus on the dough, pretending to be absorbed in it even though you can feel his eyes on you, waiting.

“I don’t know what to think,” he continues, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m asking for a chance. Just a shot. I know what it’s like to want something so bad you can feel it, but I don’t want to live the rest of my life wondering what would’ve happened if I hadn’t tried. Please, just… just tell me I’m not crazy for feeling this way.”

His voice falters, and it feels like the room shrinks around you. You can hear the vulnerability in him, the way he’s baring himself just for you. Carmy’s breath catches in the silence, and the weight of his gaze presses on you until it feels suffocating.

His words hang in the air, like a challenge you don’t know if you can meet. You feel your heart tug in response, the truth of what he’s saying pulling you in even though your mind is screaming at you to be cautious, to keep the distance. The space between your bodies feels impossibly small, but you remain still, your hands working the dough almost mechanically, as if you can control the moment by staying focused on something—anything—else.

But Carmy doesn’t give you the space you’re looking for. Without warning, his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist firmly, pulling your arm away from the dough. Your breath hitches in surprise as his fingers curl around you, the warmth of his touch searing through your skin.

“Look at me,” he demands softly, his voice a breathless plea.

You lift your eyes to meet his, and the vulnerability in his gaze is more than you can bear. He takes a slow breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort, before he finally says the words that you’ve been dreading, and yet somehow needing to hear.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he says, his voice thick, almost cracking. His words are out before he can stop them, and you can see the rawness of them—how much he means it. “But I think the day I saw you, I knew something was going to change.”

The air between you is charged now, electric. Your heart races in your chest, and for the first time, you’re no longer fighting the pull between you. His eyes are searching yours, looking for some kind of answer, some reassurance that this isn’t all just a fantasy to him. The room feels impossibly small, the weight of the moment pressing down, but it’s not a weight you want to escape.

Before you can say anything, your hands move on their own, pulling him toward you, your lips crashing into his with a force that surprises you both. His hand slides into your hair, the other slipping around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he can’t bear even a sliver of distance between you. The kiss is hungry, desperate, all the words neither of you can say poured into it, all the fear, the longing, the possibility of something more.

You taste the rawness of him—coffee, cigarettes, the trace of exhaustion—and it only makes him feel more real, more human. Your hands tangle in his shirt, pulling him tighter, as if you could make the moment last forever, as if you could erase all the doubts that have lingered between you.

The kiss deepens, and you feel his body pressed against yours, the heat of him seeping through the space between your clothes. There’s no room for anything else now—no bakery, no restaurant, no walls between you. Just this. Just him.

When you finally pull back, both of you panting, eyes searching each other’s faces as if trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions rushing through both of you, you realize that this is it. There’s no turning back now.

“I’m not crazy, am I?” Carmy whispers, his voice shaky with something close to hope, but tinged with doubt.

You shake your head slowly, your heart in your throat. “No,” you whisper back, barely able to breathe. “You’re not crazy.”

He laughs, the sound low and rich, burying his head into your neck as his arms wrap around you, pulling you close. You feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and for a moment, everything else fades away. "I’m going to make this work, I swear, baby." The words are soft but firm, wrapped in the kind of sincerity that makes your heart ache with a gentle kind of joy.

You smile, feeling his words settle deep in your chest, and kiss him gently on the cheek, your lips lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Now get out, I’ve got ten dozen croissants to make before 7am.” Your voice is teasing, but there's a tenderness behind it, a quiet promise that everything will be okay.

He lifts his head, his dark eyes searching yours, a playful spark dancing there. "You don’t need help?" he asks, eyebrow raised, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, like he's already planning to do whatever it takes to stay by your side. Without waiting for your response, he’s already rolling up his sleeves, his movements so effortless, so sure.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t suppress the laugh that escapes, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside. “Fine," you concede with a mock sternness, but your heart is fluttering. "But follow my instructions and don’t change any of the ingredients, Berzatto." You half threaten, the words playful but laced with affection, like a gentle challenge.

He smirks, "Yes, ma’am," his voice rich with amusement, before he turns toward the sink. The soft sound of water running fills the kitchen, but all you can focus on is the way he moves—confident, but somehow always a little clumsy in the best way. When he turns back, you can’t help but laugh softly at the sight of flour already dotting his clothes and smudging his face from your make out session.

You watch him, your heart warming at the sight of him trying so hard, his smile a little sheepish but full of that genuine joy that you’ve come to love. There’s something about him in this moment—so real, so raw, and so undeniably him and it makes you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

You shake your head, unable to stop your own smile from spreading wider. He looks like a mess, but in the best way, and for the first time in a long while, everything feels so right.

And as you stand there, the soft hum of the bakery in the background, the smell of fresh dough filling the air, you realize that despite the chaos of your worlds, despite the unknowns that lie ahead, you wouldn’t change a thing. And you know, without a doubt, that this is only the beginning.

[tearsof-scarlet]

run run run - ethan landry

Pairing: Ethan Landry x female! reader

Warning: I wanted to make this more spooky/creepy than romantic. Therefore, Ethan can be pretty creepy in some parts, also yandere (?) This is your warning!

TW: Gore, blood, swearing and slight mention of childhood issues (one sentence)

Summary: You have been noticing Ethan’s eyes on you whenever you are with him and your friends. As the college semester progresses, and ghost face’s murder count goes up you can’t help but notice Ethan’s strange demeanour and his interest in becoming closer to you.

note: offically 1st october yay! spooky season so i thought this was fitting

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to come to a party tonight?” you shouted at Mindy over the bass, your voice tight with unease. “This completely breaks your own horror movie rules, doesn’t it?”

Mindy laughed, the sound tinny and distant over the noise of the party. “Oh, come on, relax, ____. There’s like a hundred people here. We’re totally safe.” She shoved a red plastic cup into your hand, the liquid inside sloshing with something strong and biting.

She glanced at you, her smile fading when she saw the look on your face—your wide, nervous eyes darting toward the dark corners of the house, your shoulders tense, like you were waiting for something to happen. Something bad.

Mindy sighed and placed a hand on your shoulder, her touch warm but uncomfortably heavy. “Hey, I get it. You’ve been stressed out with school… and everything else.” Her voice lowered, almost like she didn’t want to say it out loud. “But tonight, we need to have fun. We won’t leave each other’s sight, okay? Promise.”

Her words hovered in the air like a faint breath, barely pushing away the gnawing unease coiling in your stomach. Still, you nodded, the fight draining from you. She was right, in a way. You’d been on edge for weeks now, barely sleeping, barely leaving your dorm. The murders had done that to everyone.

Three students. Brutally killed. The last one… she had lived in your hall. You could still hear the screams echoing in your mind, as if they were happening right now. That night had changed everything. You’d run out of your room, heart pounding, only to find her crumpled on the pavement, her blood spilling thick and dark onto the cold concrete. The smell of iron had filled the air, and the sound… the slow, wet drip of her blood as it pooled beneath her still body—it had frozen you in place.

The campus police had come too late. They always came too late.

Now, you locked yourself in your room, only leaving for class. Yet here you were, standing in the middle of a frat house, surrounded by pounding bass and laughter that felt too loud, too hollow, like everyone was trying to drown out the looming terror. You took a deep breath, raised your cup in a half-hearted toast to Mindy, and gulped down the drink.

After a few more, you began to loosen up, the alcohol dulling the edge of your fear. You danced with your friends, feeling the beat pulse through your body. For a moment, you let yourself forget—forget the screams, the blood, the shadow that seemed to hang over the campus like a curse. You were having fun again.

But after a while, the room grew stifling, the sweat slicking your skin. You tapped Tara on the shoulder. “I’m gonna get some air!” you shouted over the music.

Tara glanced at you, her brow furrowing. “You want me to come with?”

You followed her gaze to Chad, who stood behind her, their hands almost touching as they danced. They’d been pining for each other for months now, and you didn’t want to interrupt. “No, I’m fine,” you assured her, forcing a smile. “I won’t go far.”

Sliding through the packed bodies, you finally pushed through the door and stepped outside. The cold night air hit you hard, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering. The muted thump of the bass from inside faded into the background as you stared out into the darkness.

You pulled out your phone, squinting at the screen as a message from Sam lit up. She was checking in on Tara, as usual. As you tapped out a reply, you heard it—the faint rustling of bushes nearby. Your heart skipped. You froze, staring into the dark.

The bushes shuddered again, a sharp, unnatural sound that sliced through the stillness. Your grip tightened on your phone. “Hello?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, swallowed by the heavy silence around you.

Nothing. The stillness pressed in, suffocating. Your fingers fumbled for the flashlight on your phone, the screen blurring as your hands shook. Just as you were about to turn it on, you felt it—a hand, cold and sudden, on your shoulder.

You spun around, your scream strangled in your throat as you staggered back, slamming into the wall behind you. A tall figure loomed before you, the dim streetlight casting long, sharp shadows over their face.

“Hey! Whoa, ____! It’s just me!”

Your breath came in ragged gasps as the figure stepped closer, their features sliding into focus. It was Ethan. His hands were raised in a placating gesture, but his presence was too sudden, too close.

“Ethan…” you breathed, still trying to calm the rapid pounding in your chest. Your eyes swept over him, your mind working through the fog of panic. Ethan was Chad’s roommate, the quiet guy from econ. He seemed harmless. Quiet. Almost forgettable.

He tilted his head, his lips curving into an awkward smile. “Yeah, uh… we have econ together, remember?” His voice sounded normal, but there was something off. Something that didn’t quite fit.

You nodded slowly, but your body remained tense. Something about the way he stood there, just outside the reach of the streetlight, sent a prickling sensation crawling up your spine.

“Sorry,” you muttered, trying to laugh it off, though your voice sounded thin, hollow. “I guess I was… lost in my own world.”

Ethan chuckled softly, but the sound didn’t reach his eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze flicking past you to the house, then back to the dark bushes. “Yeah… I called your name a couple of times, but you didn’t hear me.”

His words lingered in the air, thick with something you couldn’t quite place. You glanced at the bushes again, where the noise had come from. They were still now, but the uneasy feeling gnawed at the back of your mind.

And Ethan just stood there, watching you.

You chuckled nervously, glancing at Ethan. “I didn’t see you inside the party. Where were you?”

Ethan blinked, as if caught off guard by the question. “Oh, I actually just got here,” he explained, his voice calm but oddly flat.

You quickly checked your phone—12:45 a.m. It was late, too late to just be arriving. A strange unease curled in your gut. Something about it felt… off. Most people were already wasted by now, or had left.

“You’re a bit late, don’t you think?” you said with a forced laugh, trying to break the awkward silence hanging between you. “Why didn’t you come with Chad?”

There was a pause. Ethan’s eyes flickered, almost imperceptibly, down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “I had to finish Mr. Smith’s econ assignment. It took longer than I thought,” he said, too quickly. His tone was casual, but there was something in the way he said it that felt rehearsed, like he’d been waiting for you to ask.

Before you could press him about it, he cut you off, his voice light but a little too eager. “So, what are you doing out here all alone?”

“I just needed some air,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “The alcohol… it’s kind of hitting me.”

Ethan’s eyes stayed locked on you, and you noticed he’d moved closer, almost without you realizing. There was barely a foot between you now, his presence looming, the subtle scent of something you couldn’t place filling the space. “I didn’t really think of you as the drinking type,” he said softly, his voice barely louder than the hum of the distant party. “I never see you at these things.”

He was closer now—too close. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, the way his shadow seemed to stretch longer, darker, in the dim light. You swallowed, your throat dry. “Yeah, it’s not really my scene,” you said with a weak smile, your attempt at humor faltering. “Mindy dragged me here. I think she just wanted to… you know… get laid.”

You forced a laugh, but it felt strange, hollow, like the words were getting caught in the thick tension around you. Ethan didn’t laugh. He just watched you, his eyes gleaming in the faint light from the streetlamp, his lips curling into something that almost looked like a smile—but there was no warmth in it.

“Yeah… I bet she did,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur, as he tilted his head slightly. The movement was slow, deliberate, like he was studying you. You tried to take a step back, but your back was already against the wall, the cold bricks pressing into your skin through your clothes.

You noticed then how quiet it had gotten. The bass from inside the house was still thumping, but it felt distant, muted, like you were trapped in a bubble, cut off from everything. The air felt heavier now, like it was pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

Ethan’s gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable. “Funny how we’ve never really talked before, huh? Not until now.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. There was something unsettling in the way he said it, something that made your pulse quicken, your instincts screaming at you to run. But his body blocked your path, his presence too large, too close. And as he stood there, smiling that strange, empty smile, you realized that despite the noise, the people, the lights—you were completely alone with him.

Ethan's gaze lingered on you, his smile too controlled, too deliberate. “You know,” he continued, his voice low, almost conspiratorial, “I’ve always noticed you in class. You’ve got this… quiet thing going on. It’s kind of mysterious.”

The compliment landed wrong, like a piece of shattered glass, sharp and cutting. You tried to force a smile, but the tension was becoming suffocating. You shifted, desperate to break the eye contact, to shake off the eerie feeling gnawing at your nerves.

“Uh, thanks… I guess?” you mumbled, trying to sound casual. The words felt flimsy, weak, like they were getting lost in the fog of the darkened street.

Ethan stepped closer, his breath warm on your skin now, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “It’s nice to see you outside of that classroom. I think we’d get along well… outside of school, you know?”

Maybe it was because you both never talked but you didn’t realise how handsome Ethan was. Your face flushed at his words. Your stomach twisted as your pulse quickened.

Before you could respond, the door burst open with a loud creak, and Mindy stumbled out, giggling. “Oh, there you are!” she slurred, her voice way too loud in the eerie quiet. She didn’t notice the tension clinging to the air between you and Ethan.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” she hiccuped, making her way over, nearly tripping over her own feet. “I think I’m ready to go home. You coming?” She leaned heavily on you, the smell of alcohol strong on her breath as she swayed, oblivious to the way Ethan’s expression had shifted, the smile slipping from his face, replaced by something cold and unreadable.

Your heart raced, relief flooding through you as you felt the weight of her body against yours. “Yeah, let’s go,” you said quickly, forcing a smile as you gently peeled yourself away from Ethan’s proximity. “It’s getting late.”

Ethan’s gaze flicked between the two of you, his smile returning but now strained, his eyes darker. “Leaving already?” he asked, his voice casual, but something sharp lurked beneath it. “I thought we were just starting to have fun.”

Mindy snorted, completely unaware of the tension. “Oh please, fun can wait until tomorrow! I’m totally wasted.”

You gave Ethan a tight smile, your heart still pounding. “Yeah, maybe I’ll see you tomorrow,” you echoed, though the last thing you wanted was to see him again.

He didn’t move, didn’t say anything, just watched as you turned away with Mindy. The chill in the air felt sharper now, like icy fingers brushing against your skin. As you walked away, you could feel his eyes boring into your back, the weight of his stare following you down the dark street.

And just before you crossed the threshold of the house, Mindy tugging you inside, you risked one last glance over your shoulder.

Ethan was still standing there, his figure barely visible in the shadows, his smile gone. His eyes gleamed under the streetlamp, locked on you, unblinking, as if he were watching and waiting for something only he knew was coming.

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache, the dull throb of a hangover pulsing behind your eyes. The room spun slightly as you blinked into the dim light, trying to piece together fragments of the night before. Mindy was sprawled next to you on the couch, still out cold, her hair a mess, and her phone clutched loosely in her hand. The sound of muffled voices drifted from outside your apartment door, but you were too groggy to make sense of them.

You sat up slowly, rubbing your temples and groaning. The room felt too quiet, too still, after the chaos of the party. For a moment, everything seemed normal, and you almost let yourself forget the creeping sense of dread that had followed you all night.

Just as you were about to lie back down, the door burst open, and Sam, Tara, and Chad hurried in, their faces pale and grim. Tara looked especially shaken, her hands trembling as she pushed her hair out of her face.

“What the hell—” you started, but the words stuck in your throat when you saw their expressions.

Sam, always the calm one, stepped forward, her eyes locking onto yours with a seriousness that sent a chill down your spine. “You heard what happened last night, right?”

You frowned, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Chad closed the door behind them, his face unusually somber. “There was another murder,” he said, his voice low. “Just a block from the party. They found a student—his throat was slashed.”

Your stomach dropped. You glanced at Mindy, who was starting to stir, but her groggy movements felt far away as the weight of Chad’s words settled over you.

“What?” you whispered, feeling the blood drain from your face. “Who—who was it?”

Sam swallowed; her voice carefully controlled. “Noah. From your economics class.”

The world seemed to tilt as the name hit you like a punch to the gut. Noah. You blinked, trying to process what they were telling you. Noah, the funny guy from class, the one you used to crush on. The guy you hadn’t thought about in months, suddenly gone.

You stared at them; your mouth dry. “Noah? But I—” You trailed off, your mind racing. Noah. You’d passed him in the halls, seen him during class, always on the edges of your thoughts but never close enough to matter. And now… now he was dead?

“When?” Mindy mumbled groggily, finally waking up, rubbing her eyes as she sat up. “What’s going on?”

Tara bit her lip, her eyes filled with worry. “Last night. Before we left the party. It happened not far from where you guys were. It could’ve been one of us.”

You shivered, flashes of last night coming back in fragmented images. The party. The alcohol. The darkness outside. And Ethan… standing there under the streetlamp, watching you with that strange, lingering look. But none of you suspected him. Why would you? Ethan was quiet, awkward even. Harmless. You hadn’t even really thought about him when you left the party, your mind too occupied with getting Mindy home and crashing for the night.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. “I… I didn’t even hear anything,” you stammered. “We were right there.”

Chad crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. “None of us did. It must’ve happened after the party started dying down.”

Sam stepped closer, her expression grim. “You knew him, right? Noah?”

You nodded slowly, your heart heavy with the weight of the name. “Yeah… we had econ together. We weren’t close or anything, but… I used to have a crush on him. A long time ago.”

Tara sighed, her voice soft with sympathy. “I’m so sorry, ____. This is messed up. First the other murders, and now this? What if the killer is still around? What if they’re targeting more people?”

You bit your lip, the knot of fear tightening in your chest. The thought of the killer being that close… of someone hunting students like prey, sent a shiver down your spine. Noah’s face flashed in your mind, and you couldn’t help but wonder—had he been scared? Had he known what was coming?

 “I… I need a minute,” you muttered, standing abruptly. Sam reached out as if to stop you, but you pulled away, your thoughts swirling too fast to keep up. “I just need some air, okay?”

Without waiting for a response, you grabbed your bag and slipped out the door. The cool hallway air hit your skin, but it didn’t do much to calm your racing mind. The echoes of the conversation, of another person’s death, followed you down the stairs and into the street. The bustling campus felt distant, as if everything had slowed, the reality of another murder dragging you into a fog of anxiety.

The library was where you ended up, the one place that had always helped you focus. The quiet, the smell of old books, the heavy silence — it usually worked like a balm for your nerves. But not today. You slid into one of the back study booths, pulled out your econ notes, and stared blankly at the words. Your mind was far from the pages in front of you.

The quiet in the library should have been comforting, but it was almost too quiet. The silence was thick, unsettling. Every creak of a chair or shuffle of papers seemed amplified, and you kept glancing up, half-expecting someone to be watching you.

You shook your head, trying to shove the creeping paranoia aside. You had to keep it together, for your sake and for your friends’. With a campus killer still out there, you had to be on guard.

But then, the sound of footsteps broke through the quiet, slow and deliberate, heading in your direction. You looked up, and there, standing just a few feet from your booth, was Ethan.

His expression was cautious, his eyes scanning the empty tables around you before settling on yours. “Hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual, almost too soft for the silence of the library.

Your stomach clenched, the eerie feeling from last night creeping back. You hadn’t seen him at the party after that strange conversation outside, and now here he was, showing up again when you were alone.

“Hey,” you said, forcing a tight smile. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Ethan shrugged, his hands shoved into his pockets as he shifted on his feet. “Yeah, I’ve been trying to catch up on some work. Thought I’d check in on you, though… I heard about Noah. It's messed up.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as your eyes flicked back to your notes. “Yeah, it is. I can’t believe it.”

He didn’t sit down, but he leaned slightly against the edge of the table, his eyes never leaving you. “Were you guys close?”

You shook your head. “Not really… we had classes together. That’s it.”

Ethan’s face was hard to read, his concern genuine, but there was something off, something that didn’t sit right. Maybe it was just the paranoia creeping in again, but the fact that he was here, now, of all places, unsettled you.

“I mean,” you continued, “it’s just… I don’t know, I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.” You tried to focus on your notes, but his presence made it impossible to concentrate.

“I get it,” Ethan said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It's scary. A lot of people are on edge right now. I guess you were pretty close to where it happened, too.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the memory of last night flashing in your mind — the way Ethan had appeared out of nowhere under the streetlamp. “Yeah… I guess we were.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze a little too intense, lingering on your face. “You sure you’re okay? You look… tense.”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, the lie slipping out before you could think. “Just a lot to process.”

Ethan frowned, his eyes flicking to your hands, which were gripping your pen a little too tightly. “If you ever need to talk… I’m around.”

You forced another smile. “Thanks, Ethan. I appreciate it.”

But even as the words left your mouth, a part of you screamed to get away. Something was wrong, but you couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it was the fact that Noah had just been murdered, or maybe it was the way Ethan kept showing up, always just on the edge of things.

Before he could say anything else, you packed up your notes. “I should get going,” you said, standing abruptly. “Got a lot of studying to do.”

“Wait,” Ethan said quickly as you turned to leave. “Let me walk you home. I don’t think it’s safe to be out here alone right now.”

You hesitated for a moment, a part of you wanting to refuse out of stubbornness, but the darkness outside felt heavy, and the unease gnawing at your gut pushed you to accept. “Okay,” you replied, trying to sound casual. “That’d be… nice.”

As you stepped out of the library, the chill in the air was sharper than before. You pulled your jacket tighter around you, glancing sideways at Ethan, who fell into step beside you. The shadows from the trees danced eerily in the dim streetlights, and a part of you felt relieved to have him there.

“I can’t believe another student was murdered,” you said, trying to break the silence. “It’s terrifying. I didn’t think it would hit this close to home.”

Ethan nodded, his expression somber. “I know. It’s crazy to think we were all just at that party, and now…” He trailed off, and you could sense the weight of the situation hanging over both of you.

As you walked, you started to relax a little, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease with each step.  Ethan smiled faintly. “It’s strange how quickly things can change, isn’t it? One moment, you’re just living your life, and the next, it’s like the ground gets pulled out from under you.”

You glanced at him, surprised by how relatable he was being. “Yeah, exactly. It makes you realize how fragile everything is.”

The two of you walked in silence for a few moments, the only sounds being the distant laughter from the campus and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. It felt oddly comforting to share this moment, and you found yourself more at ease with him than before.

As you approached your apartment building, Ethan turned to you, his expression earnest. “You know, if you ever need someone to walk you home or just… hang out, you can text me. I don’t mind being your personal escort.” He chuckled lightly, and the warmth in his tone made you smile.

“Really?” you asked, surprised by the offer. “You don’t have to do that. I don’t want to put you out or anything.”

Ethan shrugged, his hands still stuffed in his pockets. “It’s not a problem at all. I’d feel better knowing you’re safe. Besides, it gives me an excuse to hang out with you more.”

There was a brief pause, and you could feel your heart flutter slightly at his words. “Okay, I’ll take you up on that. It’s nice to know I have someone to walk with.”

He pulled out his phone and quickly punched in a number, then handed it to you. “Here, just in case. Text me if you need anything. I mean it.”

You took the phone, your fingers brushing against his as you typed in your number. A small thrill coursed through you, but the tension in the back of your mind was still there, whispering caution. “Thanks, Ethan. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” he said, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Just stay safe, alright? I’ll be around.”

You nodded, watching as he walked away, a strange mix of comfort and unease settling in your stomach. The night felt darker now, but somehow less lonely with the thought that you had someone looking out for you. Yet the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right lingered in the air, a shadow that refused to be ignored.

As you entered your apartment, you couldn’t shake the feeling that while Ethan might seem harmless, the world outside was anything but. You locked the door behind you and leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath, reminding yourself to stay alert. With a killer still on the loose, it was more important than ever to watch your back.

The silence in your apartment felt heavy as you settled onto the couch, trying to shake off the remnants of the day. Mindy had gone out with Anika, leaving you alone, and while a part of you relished the quiet, another part was restless. The unsettling news about Noah echoed in your mind, refusing to fade into the background.

Just as you reached for the TV remote, your phone buzzed. You glanced at the screen, surprised to see an unknown number. Hesitating for a moment, you answered. “Hello?”

“Hello, ____” a voice purred, low and taunting. Your stomach dropped as you recognized the sinister tone that sent shivers down your spine.

“Who is this?” you demanded, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear creeping in.

“You don’t know who I am?” the voice teased, dripping with menace. “I just wanted to check in on you. Heard you were scared. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. In fact, I’m going to enjoy ripping your skin apart.”

The threat hung in the air like a dark cloud, your heart racing. “You think you can scare me? You’re pathetic,” you shot back, surprising yourself with your own bravado. “How about you actually do something and come get me.”

“Me do something?” the voice on the other end laughed, “I saw you standing there watching that poor girl bleed out. Didn’t really look like you were doing much to help her, hm?”

The hand holding your phone began to shake bringing up the memory. “You fucking asshole.” You swore as your voice shook.

A pause followed, and the voice chuckled softly. “I love it when you play tough. It makes this even more exciting.”

“Show your face you fucking coward!”

Just then, the door to Mindy’s room creaked open, and your heart stopped. Out burst a figure clad in a Ghostface costume, the mask reflecting the dim light of the room, a glint of a knife in hand. Panic surged as you realized that you hadn’t checked that room all day.

Without thinking, you bolted from the couch, instinct taking over as you lunged for the nearest kitchen chair. The figure rushed at you, the blade aimed right for your gut, but you were faster. You swung the chair hard, knocking him off balance. Although he missed your stomach, it didn’t stop the blade from slicing your cheek as he stumbled.

You screamed feeling the blood dripping down your face, adrenaline pushing you to fight back.

The assailant stumbled back, momentarily caught off guard. You seized the opportunity and swung the chair again, this time connecting with his shoulder, making him grunt in surprise.

Despite his height and strength, you were determined. You could see the flash of annoyance beneath the mask, and that fuelled your fight.  He lunged again, but you ducked just in time, the blade slicing through the air where you’d just been standing. You grabbed a nearby knife from the counter, holding it defensively in front of you.

The Ghostface figure paused, seeming to weigh his options. Slowly he lifted his voice changer “You’re braver than I thought,” he said, the amusement in his voice clear even through the mask.

He ran cornering you in the kitchen, grabbing your wrist and attempting to twist the knife from your grasp. You fought against his grip, adrenaline surging as you twisted your body and kicked him in the knee. He staggered back, the knife slipping from your hand but not before you landed another blow against his side.

You heard him growl under the mask, but there was a hint of surprise in his voice. You were stronger than he had anticipated.

You quickly glanced around, searching for anything to help you. The phone! You needed to call for help. You darted toward the living room, but he was right on your heels.

With every ounce of determination, you turned to face him again, prepared to fight.

He lunged again, and you barely managed to sidestep, shoving him hard enough to send him crashing to the floor. The knife clattered away, its metallic sound echoing in the silence of the apartment. Your heart raced as you scrambled to grab it, but before you could reach it, you felt a grip around your ankle, yanking you back down to the floor with a brutal thud. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, and you gasped, struggling to catch your breath as you looked over.

Ghostface was rising from the ground, his silhouette dark and menacing. Panic surged through you as you reached for the knife again, your fingertips just grazing its handle. If only you could stretch a little further. But before you could grasp it, a heavy black leather boot crushed down on your hand, eliciting a shriek of agony from your lips. The masked figure loomed over you, his eyes locked onto yours as he snatched the knife from the floor, a glimmer of triumph flashing in the dim light.

He straddled you, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, leaving you utterly helpless. The ghostly mask was a mere breath away, its hollow eyes boring into your soul. Terror coursed through you, your body writhing beneath him as exhaustion threatened to pull you under.

With a sickening gentleness, he brushed a hand along the open gash on your cheek, spreading the blood across your skin like a twisted artist painting his masterpiece. You cringed, disgust and fear mingling in your gut, as he raised the knife, the blade catching the light and reflecting it back at you in a wicked flash.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he traced the knife down your jawline, then across your chest, the cold steel drawing dangerously close to your heart. Just as he lifted the knife above his head, preparing to plunge it down, a thunderous banging erupted from the front door, drowning the room in chaos. Keys jangled, and frantic voices shouted your name, echoing through the apartment.

Ghostface froze, the knife suspended in the air, his breath coming in sharp, angry huffs as he glanced toward the noise. You could almost feel the anger radiating off him, the momentary distraction breaking his focus. His eyes narrowed as he weighed his options, the dark mask hiding a tempest of rage and frustration beneath.

The eyes of his masks bore into you, a sinister promise lingering in the air that he would return to finish you off. Slowly, he backed away, the blade still glinting ominously in his grasp, leaving you gasping for breath on the floor, the taste of fear lingering on your tongue. You could only watch as he melted into the shadows, knowing he would return.

Before you could respond, he darted towards Mindy’s room, you heard the sound of the killer throwing the window open just as you heard the pounding of footsteps outside your door.

You stood there, heart pounding in your chest, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. The reality of what just happened crashed down on you, but you weren’t going to let fear consume you. You had fought back, and you were still standing.

As the door burst open and Mindy, Anika, and a couple of campus security officers rushed in, you turned to them still on the ground, shaking but resolute. “Oh my god ____!” Mindy yelled. “Are you alright?”

“Did you really have to leave your window open?” You half joked to her closing your eyes about to pass out from exhaustion.

The night was far from over, but you knew one thing for sure: you weren’t going to let fear control you. You would fight back, no matter the cost.

The next morning, the sunlight barely broke through the curtains, casting a muted glow in your apartment. The events of last night played on a loop in your mind, the terror still fresh as you wrapped yourself in a blanket, sitting on the couch with trembling hands.

A knock on the door startled you, and your heart raced again. Cautiously, you got up and peeked through the peephole. Relief washed over you when you saw Ethan standing there, a box of donuts in his hands, looking slightly dishevelled but earnest.

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door. “Hey,” you greeted, trying to mask your unease with a half-smile.

“Hey! I brought you some donuts,” he said, lifting the box in a gesture of goodwill. “Thought you might need some comfort food after… everything.”

You stepped aside to let him in, the warmth of his presence both comforting and disquieting. As he settled on the kitchen island, you could feel the tension still lingering in the air between you. Ethan opened the box, revealing an array of sugary treats. “I figured these would help brighten your day,” he said, trying to sound cheerful.

“Thanks,” you replied, grabbing a donut but not really feeling like eating. “It’s really sweet of you.”

He took a bite of a donut, flashing a smile, but the moment felt strained. You could sense his concern, but all you could think about was the adrenaline and fear still coursing through your veins from last night. Finally, the unease bubbled to the surface, and you cut through the pleasantries. “Where were you last night, Ethan?”

His expression changed instantly, the warmth in his eyes replaced by something unreadable. “What do you mean?” he asked, brow furrowing slightly.

“I just… I didn’t see you. I thought maybe you were around,” you said, your voice trembling a little, unsure of where this was heading.

A shadow passed over his face, and he leaned back slightly, folding his arms across his chest. “You don’t think it was me that attacked you, do you?”

The question hung in the air, thick and suffocating. You could feel your heart race again, the way he said it made you question everything. “I—” you stammered, but the thought had already taken root in your mind. You couldn’t help but make note of Ethan next to the kitchen knives.

“I mean, I was just worried about you,” he continued, his voice steady but his eyes betraying a hint of defensiveness. “I didn’t know what was happening until Chad called me.”

“Right, but…” you hesitated, searching his face for any signs of deceit. “You know I was attacked, and it just feels… strange that you’re here right after it happened.”

Ethan’s expression hardened, the playful demeanour falling away completely. “Strange? Because I care about you?” His tone had shifted, and the tension in the room was palpable, wrapping around you like a rope.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words and the implications behind them. “I just… I don’t know who to trust right now,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ethan held your gaze, his eyes piercing as if trying to gauge your sincerity. “I would never hurt you,” he said firmly, the conviction in his voice sending chills down your spine. “You know that, right?”

You wanted to believe him, but the events of last night played back in your mind, and the uncertainty clawed at your insides. “It’s just hard to feel safe,” you replied, dropping your gaze to the floor, the donuts forgotten between you.

He reached out, placing a hand on your knee, and you flinched at the sudden contact, your body still on high alert. “I get it. I do. But I’m here for you, and I promise I’ll help you feel safe,” he said, the earnestness returning to his voice.

As you looked up at him, the doubt still lingered, swirling in the back of your mind. You wanted to trust him, but fear was a powerful force, twisting your thoughts and making you question everything, even the intentions of those closest to you.

Ethan's gaze softened as he searched your eyes, the tension in the room slowly ebbing. “Look, I know this is a lot to take in,” he began, his voice low and steady. “But there’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve wanted to say for a long time.”

Your heart raced, anticipation and fear swirling within you. “What is it?” you asked, your breath hitching slightly.

He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully. “I’ve always liked you,” he confessed, his tone sincere. “Since the first time we met in class, I thought you were amazing. Smart, funny... just… you.”

The admission caught you off guard, a rush of emotions flooding through you. “Ethan, I—” you started, but he quickly cut you off.

“Please, let me finish,” he urged, his intensity making you feel exposed and vulnerable. “When I heard about what happened, I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. I was scared, and I realized how much I care about you. I didn’t want to admit it before, but now… with everything happening, it feels wrong not to.”

Your mind raced as his words hung in the air. You’d always found Ethan intriguing, his easy charm and confidence drawing you in. But now, faced with the reality of the threat that loomed over you, emotions were tangled in a chaotic mess.

“I appreciate you saying that,” you replied, your voice trembling. “But right now, I’m just trying to process everything. It’s hard to think about… feelings when I’m just trying to stay alive.”

“I get that,” he said, his expression shifting to one of understanding. “But I want to help you. If it means being there for you, then that’s what I’ll do. I’m not just saying this because of what happened last night; I genuinely want to be part of your life.”

You felt your defences waver as you looked into his eyes, seeing a sincerity that calmed some of the fear gripping you. “And what if it was you?” you asked quietly, still grappling with your thoughts. “What if you’re just saying this now to—”

“Shh,” he interrupted softly, reaching out to gently take your hand in his. “I promise you, it wasn’t me. I couldn’t hurt you, not now, not ever. Please believe that.” His grip was firm, a grounding force amidst the chaos in your mind.

As the weight of his words settled, you found a flicker of comfort in his touch. “I want to believe you, Ethan. It’s just… everything feels so twisted right now. I need time.”

“Take all the time you need,” he assured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles soothingly. “But I’ll be here. Whenever you need someone to talk to, or even if you just want company, I’ll be here.”

You nodded slowly, grateful for his support but still wary. The confession lingered between you, adding complexity to your relationship in a time of crisis. “Thanks for the donuts, by the way,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “They might be exactly what I need right now.”

A small smile broke through his serious facade. “Just trying to make sure you’re taken care of,” he replied, his voice warmer now.

You both shared a brief laugh, the tension in the air easing slightly, but beneath it all, the fear remained—a reminder that danger still lurked outside your door. As you sat there, hand in hand, you knew that while you were still scared, you had someone willing to stand by you through the darkness.

As the silence stretched between you, the air thick with unspoken emotions, you both locked eyes, a magnetic pull drawing you closer. Ethan’s gaze flickered over your face, pausing at your lips, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze.

Without thinking, you both lunged toward each other, colliding in a rush of warmth and urgency. The kiss was electric, igniting a spark that sent a thrill coursing through you. You could taste the sweetness of the donuts on his lips, mingling with the desperation of the moment. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the connection as your bodies pressed together.

You melted into him, the chaos of the night before fading into the background. This was a moment of escape, a breath of fresh air amidst the horror. His lips moved against yours with a passion that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It felt as though everything around you had vanished, leaving only the two of you in this intimate bubble.

Ethan pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, breaths mingling in the shared space between you. “Wow,” he whispered, a mix of surprise and delight dancing in his eyes. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Neither did I,” you admitted, your heart racing. The heat of the kiss lingered on your lips, and you couldn’t help but smile. “But it felt… right.”

“Yeah, it really did.” He searched your face, his expression earnest. “I just want you to know, whatever happens next, I’m here for you. Not just because of… everything going on, but because I want to be.”

You nodded, feeling a rush of affection for him. “I appreciate that, Ethan. I really do.” The weight of his words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and you felt a sense of safety in his presence.

Before you could say more, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway, breaking the moment. Your heart sank slightly, the reality of the situation crashing back in. “I think Mindy and Anika are back,” you said, glancing toward the door.

Ethan nodded, the momentary intimacy still hanging in the air as he pulled back, his hands reluctantly leaving your waist. “Let’s talk more later?” he suggested, a hopeful smile on his face.

“Definitely,” you replied, feeling a rush of warmth. You could sense that this was just the beginning, and despite the lingering fear, a spark of hope flickered in your chest.

Just then, the door swung open, and Mindy entered, her face a mix of concern and relief. “Hey, you two! I hope we’re not interrupting anything too serious…” She trailed off, a teasing smile forming as she glanced between you and Ethan.

You exchanged a quick, sheepish look with Ethan, the reality of the moment settling in. “Just… talking,” you said, trying to play it cool.

Mindy raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced but willing to let it slide. “Well, good. Because we need to figure out what our next steps are. We can’t let that creep get away with what he did.”

Ethan nodded, his demeanour shifting back to seriousness. “Absolutely. We need to come up with a plan to keep everyone safe.”

As you shifted back to the reality of the situation, you couldn’t shake the warmth of the kiss and the promise of what was to come. You were still scared, but you weren’t alone anymore.

You gathered in the living room, the atmosphere tense but charged with a newfound determination. Ethan leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, while Mindy paced in front of the group, her eyes alight with purpose. Sam and Tara exchanged anxious glances, while Chad fiddled nervously with his phone. Sam stood at the center, ready to take charge.

“Okay, listen up,” Sam said, raising her voice to draw everyone’s attention. “We need a plan. We can’t let Ghostface get to any of us again.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “If we stick together, we have a better chance of trapping him. We can’t let him pick us off one by one.”

Chad nodded eagerly. “Yeah, if we can lure him out somehow, we can catch him off guard. I mean, he’s just a person, right? We can take him. Sam found a place we can use as a base. It’s an old house out in the woods. We can fortify it and use it as a safe zone.”

Ethan straightened; his expression serious. Mindy raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “An occupied home? You’re sure it’s safe?”

Sam nodded. “I did some research. It’s been vacant for a while, and it’s far enough away from campus that we can keep a low profile. We can set up defenses and make a plan to draw Ghostface in.”

Tara chimed in, her voice steady. “I like it. We can set up cameras, make sure we know when he’s around. We can create distractions if he tries to sneak up on us.”

You felt a flicker of hope as the group rallied around the idea. Everyone was on board, and for the first time since the attack, you felt a sense of unity. You exchanged a glance with Ethan, and he gave you a reassuring nod.

“Let’s gather what we need,” Sam continued, her voice firm. “We’ll head to the house, set up defenses, and then we can discuss how we want to draw him out. This ends tonight.”

As the group began to disperse, you felt a rush of adrenaline. The fear was still there, lurking just beneath the surface, but with your friends by your side, you felt like you could face anything.

“Hey,” Ethan said, catching your arm before you left the room. “Are you okay? I mean… after everything.”

You smiled softly, grateful for his concern. “I’m hanging in there. But I’ll be better once we put a stop to this.”

He grinned, the tension easing between you. “Good. We’ll figure this out together.”

As the others gathered supplies and made plans, you felt a mix of anxiety and determination. This was your chance to take control, to reclaim your life and confront the horror that had invaded your world.

Later that evening, you all piled into a couple of cars, the air thick with a sense of urgency. As you drove away from campus, the shadows of the trees loomed ominously, but you felt a spark of hope lighting the way. You were no longer just running scared — you were ready to fight back.

When you finally arrived at the house, its dark silhouette against the night sky sent a chill down your spine. But you reminded yourself of the goal. Inside, you would find a way to take down Ghostface once and for all.

As you stepped inside, the creaky floorboards groaned beneath your feet, and you shared a nervous glance with the group. This was it. Time to prepare. Time to take a stand.

The atmosphere inside the old house was tense as you all set up makeshift defences. Knives were scattered across surfaces, each of you staying close to one another, forming a protective circle. The flickering lights cast unsettling shadows on the walls, heightening the feeling of unease.

As you went through your makeshift plans, Mindy suddenly paused, her eyes narrowing. “Did anyone else hear that?” she asked, her voice low and cautious.

Everyone fell silent, straining to listen. The faint creak of the floorboards echoed from the other side of the house, sending a shiver down your spine. Sam exchanged worried glances with the group, her brows furrowed in concern. “We need to split up and check it out,” she decided, though you could hear the reluctance in her tone.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Tara interjected; her voice tinged with anxiety. “What if it’s Ghostface?”

“We’ll be careful,” Sam reassured, her voice steady. “We can cover more ground this way. Just keep your phones on and stay in contact.”

Reluctantly, you all agreed. You formed smaller groups to search the house, your heart racing as you and Ethan ended up together, the two of you making your way to a secluded area of the building that seemed to grow darker with each step.

“Great,” you muttered, trying to shake off the unease. “Just the two of us in the creepy part of the house.”

Ethan smiled slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “At least we have knives,” he said, gesturing to the weapon in your hand. But as you glanced at him, his demeanor shifted. The playfulness faded, replaced by something darker.

“So… who do you think Ghostface is?” he asked, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. “I mean, do you have any suspects?”

You felt a chill run down your spine. His gaze was intense, studying you as if trying to gauge your reaction. “I don’t know,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light. “Could be anyone, right?”

Ethan stepped closer, invading your personal space, and the mood shifted again. “But what if it’s someone we know?” His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see a hint of something unsettling in them. “What if it’s someone we trust?”

You shifted uncomfortably, the walls of the secluded area feeling like they were closing in on you. “Ethan, this isn’t really the time for this kind of talk,” you said, your heart racing.

He didn’t step back, though; instead, he leaned in a little closer. “I just want to make sure you’re safe, you know? There’s a lot at stake here. I mean, do you really think any of us are safe?”

His words hung heavy in the air, and you took a step back, trying to maintain your composure. “I think we’ll be fine as long as we stick together. That’s what we agreed on.”

He tilted his head slightly, a strange smile curling on his lips. “Together, sure. But what if we’re not safe even in a group? What if Ghostface is just waiting for the right moment to pick us off?”

You felt the knot in your stomach tighten. “I don’t want to think about that, Ethan. We need to stay focused on finding him.”

Ethan chuckled softly, but there was an edge to it, a hint of something menacing lurking beneath the surface. “You’re right. Focus is key. But just remember…” He leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Trust can be a dangerous game.”

Before you could respond, a loud crash echoed through the house, followed by frantic shouts from the others. Panic surged through you as adrenaline spiked, drowning out Ethan’s unsettling presence.

“Ethan, we need to go!” you urged, moving toward the sound of your friends’ voices. But he hesitated, his eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“Are you sure you want to?” he asked, a hint of challenge in his tone.

You didn’t have time for this. “Yes! Come on!” you shouted, your heart racing as you bolted toward the noise, the weight of uncertainty and dread settling heavily in your chest. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong, and you needed to get back to the others before it was too late.

Ethan’s hand clasped around yours as you both sprinted toward the sounds of your friends, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. Each footstep echoed in the dimly lit halls, your heart racing with a mix of fear and determination.

“What did you hear?” you asked breathlessly, glancing back at him as you approached the living room where the others had gathered.

Chad looked up, his expression tense. “It sounded like something fell over. But now it’s… silent.”

You exchanged worried glances with Sam, Mindy, and Tara. “Shouldn’t we check it out?” you asked, a sense of foreboding creeping into your thoughts.

Ethan and Chad nodded at each other, an unspoken agreement passing between them. “We’ll go check the basement,” Ethan said, determination etched on his face. “You girls stay here. Just keep an eye out.”

As the two of them headed toward the basement door, you felt a mix of relief and anxiety wash over you. You turned to the girls, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Okay, we need to come up with a plan in case Ghostface shows up again.”

But just as you began to strategize, the sudden shrill ring of a phone cut through the stillness of the house, causing everyone to jump. You instinctively checked your pockets, and a sinking feeling filled your stomach when you realized it was your phone ringing.

“Oh no,” you whispered, the colour draining from your face as the familiar number flashed on the screen—an unknown caller.

“Don’t answer it!” Tara urged, but your hand moved almost instinctively to accept the call, your curiosity mingling with dread.

“Hello?” you managed, your voice shaky.

A chilling laugh echoed through the speaker, and you felt your blood run cold. “Poor ____,” Ghostface taunted, his voice dripping with malice. “I bet you think you’re really smart, thinking you and your friends can outsmart me.”

The tension in the room grew thick as Sam mouthed to you to keep him talking. The other girls glanced nervously around the room, ready to react at the slightest indication of danger.

“Why are you calling me?” you said, trying to sound braver than you felt. “What do you want?”

“Want?” he echoed mockingly. “I want you to feel that delicious thrill of fear. You should be grateful; I’m giving you a front-row seat to your own demise.”

Panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to remain calm. “You won’t get away with this,” you said, attempting to sound strong. “We’re going to stop you.”

“Is that so?” he said, his voice low and menacing. “And how exactly do you plan to do that? Your little friends are scattered, and soon they won’t know what hit them. You’re all alone now.”

Your heart raced as you took a step back, feeling trapped in this conversation. The thought of being alone in this vast, dark house made your skin crawl. “You’re wrong. I’m not alone. My friends are here, and they’ll come for me.”

“Come for you?” he laughed, a chilling sound that echoed through the line. “By the time they realize what’s really happening, it’ll be too late. They’re too busy playing their little games.”

As his words sunk in, your grip on the phone tightened. “What do you mean?” you asked, forcing yourself to stay engaged, though every instinct told you to hang up and run.

“Just that… your little heroes in the basement might find something they weren’t expecting. It’s always the last place you look, isn’t it?”

Your breath hitched at his words, realization dawning. You had to warn Ethan and Chad. “What did you do?” you demanded, feeling a mix of anger and fear bubbling within you.

“Let’s just say, your friends are in for a surprise. Tick tock, ____.”

You stared at the phone in shock, your heart racing, the ringing in your ears mingling with the chilling echo of Ghostface’s laughter still haunting you. “No… no…” you whispered, dread coiling tightly around your chest as the weight of panic settled in like a dark fog.

“What did he say?” Tara urged, stepping closer, her eyes wide with concern and fear.

“He’s messing with Ethan and Chad. We have to find them now!” you cried, urgency flooding your voice as you turned toward the basement door, dread gnawing at your gut.

“No, ____! You have to stay here and keep him talking,” Sam insisted, her voice sharp and firm, cutting through your panic.

You shook your head, the thought of having to endure another second of his taunts twisting like a knife in your heart. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can!” Mindy said, gripping your shoulders tightly, her gaze steady yet filled with urgency. “We’ll go check the basement. We have to make sure they’re safe.”

The tears you’d been holding back slipped down your cheeks, and you nodded reluctantly, understanding the weight of their decision. The thought of being alone, trapped in the dark, sent shivers down your spine, but the fear for Ethan and Chad pushed you to comply.

All three of them shared a final, encouraging look before rushing down the basement stairs, their voices echoing as they called out for Chad and Ethan. Your heart raced as you watched them disappear, the basement door swinging wide open—a sliver of safety in the enveloping darkness.

Now you were alone in the decaying house, the silence swallowing you whole, only the distant laughter of Ghostface echoing in your mind.

Taking a shaky breath, you steadied yourself and held the phone tightly, the weight of the ghostly presence looming over you. You needed to keep him engaged, to buy your friends time, but the thought of his voice on the line sent chills crawling up your spine.

“Hello?” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with fear.

“Poor ____,” he crooned, the mockery in his tone sending a shiver of revulsion through you. “All alone now? Your precious friends can’t help you anymore.”

A surge of anger ignited within you, forcing you to push through the terror. “What do you want?” you spat, your voice trembling but fierce.

“I want you to feel that delicious thrill of fear, the kind that makes your heart race and your blood run cold. You’re all so naïve, thinking you can outsmart me.” His laughter bubbled through the line, sinister and echoing.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you lied, trying to mask the tremor in your voice, gripping the phone so tightly your knuckles turned white.

“Is that so?” he teased, a dark amusement lurking in his words. “I can hear it in your voice. Your heart is pounding, and soon it will be pounding even faster.”

The oppressive silence of the house pressed in on you, each creak of the floorboards amplifying your dread. You could almost feel his presence lurking in the shadows, waiting, watching. You scanned all around the room listening for any noise.

“Where are they?” you demanded, forcing yourself to sound braver. “What have you done?”

“Where are they?” he echoed, mockingly. “Maybe they’re just playing hide and seek. Or maybe they’ve found a new game… one that ends with a little more blood.”

Your breath caught in your throat as the realization washed over you. “You won’t get away with this,” you hissed, desperation creeping into your words.

“Get away?” he laughed, the sound echoing around you like a haunting melody. “Oh, darling, I’m just getting started.”

As his mocking words echoed in your ears, the sudden sound of the basement door slamming shut jolted you into a state of pure terror. “No!” you screamed, instinctively moving toward the now locked door, panic surging through your veins. You pounded your fists against it, desperate to break it down.

“Take a step closer and I’ll kill them all,” Ghostface hissed, his voice cold and menacing.

“Please, don’t!” you pleaded, fear clawing at your throat. The realization of your friends being in danger wrapped around you like a snake, squeezing the air from your lungs.

He continued to taunt you, relishing in your desperation. “They’re so busy playing their little games, they won’t even know what hit them. You should have stayed quiet, ____.”

Each word dripped with malice, but as the panic began to simmer, a seething anger replaced your fear. “I swear to God I’ll kill you myself, you piece of shit!” you shouted, your voice filled with raw defiance.

In that moment, the door behind you swung open, and before you could react, Ghostface lunged forward, wrapping his arms around you. He lifted you effortlessly, pulling you away from the door, his grip like iron.

You struggled violently, twisting and turning, trying to break free from his grasp. “Let go of me!” you screamed, kicking and thrashing, but he held you tight, a sickening grin hidden beneath the mask.

Then you heard the unmistakable sound of a blade being drawn, the metal whispering against the air, much larger than the knives you and your friends had brought. Your heart raced as he moved the knife toward your chest, the cold steel glinting ominously in the dim light.

Summoning every ounce of strength and adrenaline you could muster, you grabbed his wrist with both hands, forcing it away from your body. The blade grazed your skin, but you pushed with all your might, breaking his hold for just a moment.

In a last desperate attempt, you threw your head back, feeling the satisfying crunch of your skull meeting his face. He let out a surprised grunt and dropped you, the sudden release sending you tumbling to the floor.

You didn’t hesitate. You scrambled to your feet and bolted for the open door, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you raced down the hallway, heart pounding like a war drum in your chest.

You glanced back just in time to see Ghostface regaining his composure, fury etched into his movements as he lunged after you. The mask hid his expression, but you could feel the rage emanating from him like a dark cloud, fuelling your determination to escape.

You sprinted through the narrow corridors of the decaying house, fear pushing you forward as you sought an exit, a way to warn your friends, to regroup. The walls seemed to close in around you, shadows shifting and whispering, but you focused on the way ahead.

You could hear him gaining on you, the sound of his heavy boots thudding against the floor reverberating in your ears.

You were glancing around for any sign of your friends. The air felt thick with tension, and every shadow seemed to stretch ominously. “Sam! Mindy! Tara!” you shouted, your voice echoing as you scanned the room for any familiar faces.

There was no answer, just the haunting silence of the empty house. Panic surged anew as you realized you might be all alone against him, but you couldn’t let fear take control. You had to find a weapon, something to defend yourself with.

Spotting a heavy lamp in the corner, you dashed toward it. As you were about to grab it Ghostface busted to the room. The mask reflected the dim light, a twisted visage of intent and malice.

Instead of rushing toward you, Ghostface stood still, the blade hanging loosely at his side as he stared at you with a twisted tilt of his head. The silence stretched between you, the only sound being the frantic rhythm of your own breathing. Every instinct screamed for you to run, but the terror of the moment froze you in place, your heart pounding in your chest as acceptance of your fate slowly crept in.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring your vision. “Who are you?” you managed to choke out, your voice trembling as you stared into the void of the mask, trying to find any sign of humanity within.

After what felt like an eternity, he slowly reached for the mask, pulling it back to reveal his face. Your heart plummeted as you focused on the boyish charm and familiar brown locks of hair. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. It was Ethan Landry all along. The biggest grin you’d ever seen spread across his face, a twisted mix of joy and madness.

“Ethan?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, disbelief coursing through you.

“You know, ____ You should really know when to trust your instincts,” he said, a dark smirk playing on his lips. “Like sometimes I wasn’t even trying to hide it!”

You felt like you were going to be sick. You couldn’t bare to look at him. His words sent a shiver down your spine as the truth settled over you like a suffocating blanket. “You… you were in on this?” You felt the bile rise in your throat, anger mixing with confusion. “All this time, you were playing us? With me?”

Ethan stepped closer, the playful grin still plastered across his face, but the glint in his eyes was anything but friendly. “Oh, it was so easy.” He gestured around the room, the knife gleaming in his hand. “The trust you all had in me, it made this so much more fun. You have no idea how satisfying it is to watch you scramble for answers, to see you run in circles while I orchestrated everything from the shadows.”

“You killed people, Ethan. Innocent people. Why?” you gasped, your voice trembling with a mix of horror and disbelief.

Ethan sneered at you, his expression morphing into something darker. “Why did I do all this?” He chuckled softly, the sound devoid of any real humor. “Maybe I don’t have a reason. Maybe I’m just a psychopath who wanted to slash the necks of anyone who crossed my path. Maybe I have some fucked-up childhood that twisted me into this.” Continuing his rant, the air thick with tension. He finally paused taking a large step towards me pointing his knife at me.

“Or maybe it’s because the girl I loved for two years never took the time to know anything about me but my fucking name.”

His words struck you like a physical blow, your heart sinking at the weight of his confession. Ethan liked you all these years and never told you. Confusion and betrayal flooded your mind as you furrowed your brows, struggling to process the revelation. “But you never said anything” you stated, your voice shaking.

He took a step closer, the knife gleaming menacingly in his hand. All he had to do was reach out and the knife could easy bury into your stomach. “I always had a thing for you _____. So pretty and naïve. You were so busy with your perfect little life, your perfect little friends, that you never noticed me. I was always there, lurking in the background, waiting for my chance.” The anger in his voice was palpable, each word laced with bitterness. “And when I realized how easy it was to manipulate you all, I couldn’t resist. It was a rush like no other.”

Your heart raced as you processed his twisted proposal, his words wrapping around your mind like a noose. “So what are you going to do? Kill everyone?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear creeping into your chest.

Ethan sneered at you, his expression darkening. “Not everyone, princess,” he replied, his voice low and menacing. He traced the blade of his knife across the stitches on your cheek, the sharp metal sending a chill down your spine. “See, I’ve always loved you, and I can feel you like me too. Don’t try to deny it, ____.”

You flinched at his touch, the intimacy of the gesture feeling like a betrayal to your own senses. “You’re insane!” you gasped, trying to pull away from him, but he held you firmly in place.

“If you come with me, nobody has to die,” he continued, his tone shifting, becoming almost persuasive. “We can go somewhere far away. Just me and you.” His hands cupped your cheeks, brushing away your tears with a gentleness that felt horrifyingly out of place. “I can give you a perfect life. Just say yes.”

A surge of revulsion coursed through you, mixing with the grief and confusion swirling in your heart. “A perfect life?” you echoed, incredulity spilling from your lips. “You think this is love? You think dragging me into your madness is the answer?”

He leaned closer, his breath hot against your skin, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made you want to look away. “It doesn’t have to be this way, ____,” he whispered, a trace of desperation lacing his words. “I can protect you from everyone who’s ever hurt you. All I need is your trust.”

You felt your heart hammering against your ribcage, the gravity of his words weighing heavily on you. “Trust?” you replied, incredulous. “You’ve murdered people, Ethan! How could I ever trust you?”

A flicker of anger crossed his face, but it quickly transformed into something more sorrowful. “You don’t understand. You never have. I did this for us! To show you what true passion looks like, to free us from the shackles of normalcy.” He brushed your tears away with his thumb, and you recoiled at his touch. “Can’t you see? We’re meant to be together!”

Your mind raced, desperately searching for a way out of this nightmare. “This isn’t love! This is obsession!” you shouted, your voice trembling with emotion. “You’re deluding yourself if you think I could ever be with someone who does this!”

His expression hardened, the mask of charm slipping away, revealing the raw intensity of his twisted mind. “You’ll see. You’re just scared now, but once you’re free of those pathetic friends, you’ll understand.” He stepped back, holding the knife threateningly. “Say yes, and we can escape this together.”

You felt the weight of the knife’s threat looming over you, and a part of you wanted to cry, to scream. But another part of you—deep down—was ignited with a fierce resolve.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nodded, forcing a shaky smile in response to his expectant gaze. Ethan’s smile widened, a spark of excitement igniting in his eyes as he took a breath, his enthusiasm palpable. He brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “I need to hear you say it back. Say you love me.”

With as much sincerity as you could muster, you forced the words out, “I love you, Ethan.”

You watched as his eyes glistened, emotion swelling within him. “I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, his voice tender, almost vulnerable.

Without warning, he pressed his lips against yours, and you felt a wave of nausea rise in your throat. Fighting every instinct to push him away, you placed one hand gently on his chest, trying to connect despite the revulsion gnawing at your insides. The moment stretching out as you struggled to accept the twisted affection he was offering. As he deepened the kiss, your other hand snaked around your back.

When he finally pulled away, his cheeks were flushed with a mix of excitement and something darker. “Time to go,” he said, his expression a blend of eagerness and anticipation.

You nodded slowly, your heart racing. “Yes, time to go,” you repeated, hoping to buy yourself a moment longer.

Before he could react, adrenaline surged through you. In one swift motion, you grabbed the heavy lamp beside you and slammed it into the side of his head. The loud crash of glass echoed through the room, accompanied by Ethan’s startled yell, jolting your body into action.

He fell to the floor, agony etched across his face, momentarily stunned. Without hesitation, you yanked the knife from his weakened grasp, the cold steel feeling heavy in your hand. Channelling your rage and fear, you straddled him, pinning him down as you watched his face covered in deep red blood and glass shards.

Ethan’s eyes, once filled with twisted affection, now reflected shock and confusion as he realized the tables had turned. This time you were on top of him, and he was below you. As he opened his mouth to speak, you didn’t give him the chance. With a fierce resolve, you plunged the knife down into the center of his chest, feeling the resistance of flesh and bone.

His breath caught in his throat, a strangled gasp escaping his lips as he stared up at you in disbelief. You could see the flicker of life dimming in his eyes, the realization of his fate settling in. In that moment, the weight of your actions bore down on you, a mix of horror and relief flooding your senses. You had fought back, and you wouldn’t let him take you down with him. As his body went limp beneath you, you felt a surge of strength, knowing you did it. You had survived. It was over.

As you caught your breath you stared down at Ethan. A very charming young man who maybe you could have seen being with. Swallowing you brushed his curls away from his face. Why you did this, you do not know.

Before you could do anything else you heard the sound of the basement door being bashed open. Breaking from your thoughts, you jumped up and ran to the door, your heart racing as the panic-laden voices of your friends flooded your ears.

“____!” Mindy yelled, urgency threading through her words. “It is Ethan! He stabbed Chad, but he’s going to be okay!”

“Relax!” you told everyone, your exhaustion weighing heavily on you. “He’s gone. He’s in that room.”

Sam nodded, determination etched on her face as she made her way toward the room where Ethan lay. Mindy and Tara rushed to surround you, enveloping you in a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” Tara asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“Yes,” you replied, the relief washing over you like a soothing wave. “Now that everything is over.”

Suddenly, you heard Sam’s voice ringing out, filled with confusion and urgency. “____, there’s no one here!”

Time seemed to freeze as an icy chill gripped your veins. You immediately raised yourself up and sprinted to the room where you had left him. The sight that greeted you made your heart plummet. What should have been the aftermath of a struggle was now nothing more than a splatter of blood and shattered glass on the floor.

Your stomach churned, but instead of panic, a weary sigh escaped your lips as you lowered your shoulders, your mind racing with disbelief. “He won’t be back,” you told Sam, trying to project strength even as doubt crept in.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Yes, not when I’m here,” you asserted, conviction igniting a flame within you. With that, you turned and walked out of the building, leaving behind the remnants of the nightmare that had just unfolded.

Outside, the cold night air filled your lungs, and you took a moment to ground yourself, closing your eyes and letting the world come back into focus. Mindy and Tara walked beside you, their hands clasped tightly, a silent support system as you processed the chaos that had just occurred.

“We need to get Chad to the hospital,” Mindy said, glancing at you with a mix of concern and determination.

“Right,” you replied, your voice steadying. “Let’s do that.”

As you made your way to the car, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you felt a weight lifting off your shoulders. You had fought back. You had survived. But the echoes of the night would linger in your mind for a long time.

As everyone jumped into the car, you felt an unsettling rumble echoing behind you, sending a shiver down your spine. The sound crept through the night air, emerging from the dense shadows of the bushes nearby. Heart pounding, you turned to stare into the darkness, instinctively holding your breath as dread clawed at your throat.

Mindy, her voice laced with concern, broke the tense silence. “_____, is everything okay?”

You paused, your heart racing in your chest, the rumbling growing louder, thrumming like a heartbeat in the stillness of the night. The shadows seemed to writhe, and for a moment, it felt as if they were alive, watching, waiting. The panic surged within you, threatening to spill over as uncertainty filled the air.

Drawing in a shaky breath, you forced yourself to turn away from the darkness. “Yes,” you stated, though the tremor in your voice betrayed your facade. You mustered a small smile, one that felt more like a mask than genuine reassurance and slipped into the car.

In the car, as you sped toward the hospital, you looked at your friends, their faces illuminated by the dashboard lights. You felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude wash over you, and in that moment, you realized that despite the darkness that had nearly consumed you, you made it out.

Freedom, you whispered in your mind, a desperate prayer more than a thought. But deep down, your pulse quickened, knowing the truth—he would come back. He always did. His presence lingered in every shadow, a predator waiting, watching. No matter how far you ran, how many locks you turned, he was out there.

But this time, you would be ready—and he would regret ever coming back.

[tearsof-scarlet]

Embers of Desire (Daryl Dixon/FemReader)

Summary: You find your way to the prison after escaping from Woodbury. While stealing food Daryl finds out and attempts to convince you to join the prison.

Words: 5,581

Warnings: SMUT! (and mentions of the governor x reader)

A/N: Don't know if this will be a series or not :3

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It had been six days without water and the sound of a stream was like the gates of heaven opening. As your eyes landed on small flow of water in the middle of the forest your knees gave out, throwing your body on the rough soil. Your hands cupped the water and threw it into your mouth. You let out a gasp of relief of the cool liquid sent chills down your spine.

It had been six days since you left Woodbury. Ever since you arrived there six months ago, you knew something was off. The Governor took a strong liking to you as soon as you arrived. Initially he wanted to know how a young lady managed to survive out in the open with no shelter or family. After proving yourself as a skilled worker and smart with weapons he decided to keep himself close to you. When he would leave with his group, his answers were always very vague and blunt. You found it hard to adjust back to normal living in Woodbury. None of the people wanted to talk about the walkers beyond the gates, acting like they didn’t even exist. You couldn’t let it go; you would attempt to get a glance between the openings of the gates to see if any walkers were about. I guess you could say you got claustrophobic near the end. The final straw was when the governor put his hands on you. The feel of his filthy hand on your waist and the other one on your cheek inflicted nausea on you. Your fist hit his nose before he had the chance to do anything. You didn’t even have time to watch the blood drip down his face before you grabbed your bag and left. While leaving immediately was the best option for you, preparation would’ve have helped. All you had was the bag you came with all those months ago containing a revolver and a collection of knives. Since then, you remained in the woods, ensuring you stayed quiet and out of sight of anyone and anything.

While the water was a godsend, the rehydration had reactivated your stomach. The noise of your stomach turning was almost painful. Apart from a single squirrel you caught on the first day, food was scarce. As you were kneeling next to the stream using the excess water to wash your face, your eyes noticed the sky now dimming. Soon it will be time to find shelter and rest up. As you had no camping gear, you had resulted to climbing up large trees and finding a nook to sleep in. As you dragged yourself away from the stream, you continued to look for a tree to sleep in. When you thought you was out of luck a large tree came into your view. It was perfect and you could clearly see branches that you could easily climb. Bracing yourself you pulled yourself up on to the tree. you threw yourself on a strong enough bough to support your weight. Sighing with exhaustion, you felt your eyes go heavy. An advantage of sleeping in the trees, you could have a clear enough view of the landscape. Sometimes on dark night like these stars would appear and just for a second, you wouldn’t have to think about the world you were living in. Tonight was one of these nights. As you started to drift off, your eyes caught something in the distance. My immediate instinct was to grip your bag, ready to pull your gun out. As your eyes focused in the dark, you could make out puffs of smoke. Someone is alive out there. While you didn’t want to run into anyone, your mind drifted to the idea of food. Battling within yourself, you thought about whether or not to check out the fire or stay out of range of any strangers. My stomach seemed to convince your mind to scope out the area without being caught and find out if they had any food. you would be slow and quiet. Before you had the chance to think about your decision your feet were moving towards the smoke.

As your destination came into view your eyebrows furrowed at the sight. A prison? you had to laugh to yourself. My eyes scanned to the watchtowers darted around the prison walls. No sign of life. you walked along the barbed wired along the perimeter, looking for an opening. Whoever is here knew the importance of keeping everything out here out. A couple of walkers were scattered around the perimeter. Those who entered your path were quietly silenced with a sharp stab into their forehead. Finally, your eyes landed on a small hole between the soil and gate. After using your hands to create a bigger opening for your body, you sild yourself in. Gripping your knife, you made your way towards the smoke. My eyes scanned around the prison; it seemed too silent here. It soon became evident to you there was a group living here. There was cars, firewood and livestock scattered around the area. Whoever was here has been here for along. The smoke was finally revealed to be a small firepit. It was slowly dying from lack of firewood. Whoever started it had abandoned it. While it wasn’t significant what stood next to it made your eyes dilate. Three standing sticks with cooked fish attached to them. you swear you felt yourself drool at the sight. Grasping your knife your legs moved towards them. Once within arms reached, you slid your bag off your back. Taking the first fish from the stick, you quietly placed it into your bag. As you reached the last fish, your stomach groaned at the feel of warm food in your hands. you couldn’t help yourself, doing one last glance around yourself your teeth sunk into the fish. you swear you almost moaned at the sensation of swallowing something nutritious.

“Hungry missy?”

In a flash you dropped your food on the ground and your revolver was pointed at the voice behind you. In the darkness it took your eyes a second to adjust to the figure in the shadows. It took a step forward in the light. His bow was raised pointing at you. you immediately chambered your gun at the sight of his weapon.

“Please don’t let me disturb you.”

Did he think this was some joke? He took another step forward, his bow still raised covering his face from view.

“Don’t come any closer. Or you won’t like what happens next.” you replied in the most serious voice you could muster.

At the sound of your voice, his bow dropped allowing him to have a clear vision of you. you swallowed at the sight of the long-haired man. His eyes travelled you up and down, his face softening slightly. It filled you with rage.

“Don’t think just because I’m a girl I won’t fire a shot into your forehead.” You spat pushing the gun towards him. You knew if it came to it, your gun would be faster than his crossbow.

He tiled his head at your words. After a small pause he placed the crossbow down on the ground.

“Do you need food?”

“I don’t need anything from you. You’re going to turn around and I am going to leave. That way you won’t get hurt.” you spat back at his question. His face had the expression of you know I just saw you steal fish from me. you ignored his expression.

“There is a lot of walkers out tonight due to the full moon, I wouldn’t recommend it.” The man stated.

you would rather take your chances with walkers than those alive you thought to yourself. As the man saw you weren’t going to cooperate with him, he sighed and turned away from you. My hand gripping the gun lowered. you stepped away from him, making your way back to the opening you created. As you were about to put your gun away, headlights appeared in the distance. As the car came into view your blood ran cold. It was the governor’s Geep.

Swinging yourself back to the man, you positioned yourself in front of him.

“Hide me please.” you spoke almost whispering to him. you were prepared for an argument or a yelling match, but the man only rested his hand on your elbow and pulled you towards an old shack. you stepped in as he closed the door. The shack had windows facing the governor’s car.

Inside the shack, the air was thick with dust and the smell of decay. The man motioned for you to stay quiet as he peeked through a crack in the wooden walls to observe the approaching vehicle. My heart pounded in your chest as the governor's Geep rolled to a stop just outside.

Through the cracks, you could see the silhouette of the governor stepping out of the vehicle, his entourage of armed men following closely behind. My grip tightened on your revolver as you prepared for the worst.

Daryl stood in front of them, remaining calm, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger. His presence was strangely comforting amidst the chaos outside.

As the governor's voice echoed through the night, your stomach churned with dread. you couldn't make out the words, but you knew he was searching for you. His offer of food and weapons in exchange for you still rang in your ears, a chilling reminder of the dangers lurking in this post-apocalyptic world.

The light of the car revealed the menacing figure of the governor himself. His eyes narrowed as they locked onto Daryl, a cruel smile spreading across his lips.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he sneered, his gaze flickering to the man beside you. "Daryl Dixon.”

Daryl stood his ground, his expression unreadable as he faced the governor. “What business do you have here?”

From your position you could see the evil sneer on the Governor’s face. “I’m looking for a girl. Young one. Probably carrying her revolver. She’s one of mine.”

Daryl’s body was stiff, in a flash he replied. “Ain’t seen no girl around here. So, you should take you and your buddies out of here.”

The Governor laughed at his words, resting his hands on his hips. “I know that ain’t true. I know you and your group take any random stranger in. I also know for a fact she was running in this direction.”

“Why don’t you leave the girl alone. Huh? Is she that important?”

The governor chuckled darkly, taking a step closer. "Oh, but she has everything to do with me, Daryl. You see, she's a troublemaker that needs to be taught a lesson. And you always deal with troublemakers one way or another."

you braced yourself, your grip tightened on your gun, aiming directly at the governor. My finger was pressed on the trigger. But before you could react, Daryl stepped forward in front of the governor.

"She's not going anywhere with you," he growled, his voice low and threatening. "You want trouble? You'll have to go through me first."

The tension in the air was palpable as the standoff unfolded. The governor's men tensed, hands inching towards their weapons. The Governor held his hand up to stop his men from raising their weapons. The governor's voice cut through the tension of the night like a blade.

"Daryl, I'm offering you food, weapons, anything you need in exchange for that girl you're hiding in there," the governor's voice carried a tone of authority, yet underneath lurked a hint of desperation.

Daryl's jaw clenched as he stared down the governor's offer. He knew the implications of his decision, weighing the safety of you against the resources and security the governor could provide. But Daryl had made his choice long before the governor's arrival.

"I appreciate the offer, but I can't do that," Daryl's voice was firm, his gaze unwavering.

The governor's expression darkened, a flicker of anger passing through his eyes. "You're making a mistake, Daryl. That girl is nothing but trouble. She'll kill you."

Daryl remained resolute; his stance unwavering as he faced the governor. "She's under your protection now. And I won't hand her over to you."

The governor's jaw tightened; his frustration evident as he realized Daryl wouldn't be swayed. With a curt nod, he turned on his heel, signalling to his men to follow.

As the sound of the Geep faded into the distance, Daryl let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He turned to you; his expression softened with relief.

"You okay?" Daryl's voice was gentle as he approached you, concern etched into his features.

you lowered your gun, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you nodded in response. "Thanks to you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Daryl offered a small, reassuring smile before his expression turned serious. "Listen, I know this isn't easy, but you can't stay out here alone. It's too dangerous."

you glanced away, uncertainty clouding your thoughts. "But I'm a danger to your group. You saw what happened back there. I attract trouble like a magnet."

Daryl's gaze softened, his hand reaching out to gently grasp your shoulder. "You're not a danger. You're just... lost. We all are, in this world. But you don't have to face it alone."

His words stirred something within you, a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos surrounding us. But the fear of bringing harm to those he cared about still lingered.

"What if I bring danger to your group? What if I can't protect yourself, let alone anyone else?" you whispered, your voice laced with doubt.

Daryl's grip tightened slightly, his eyes locking with mine in a reassuring gaze. "You're stronger than you think. And you don't have to do this alone. We can help each other, survive together."

His words resonated with you, touching a part of you that you thought had been lost forever. you knew the risks, but you also knew that you couldn't continue to wander this world alone, constantly on the run.

Taking a deep breath, you met Daryl's gaze with newfound determination. "Okay," you said softly, a sense of relief washing over you. "I'll stay. But only if you'll have me."

Daryl's smile widened, a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. "Welcome to the group," he said, his voice filled with genuine kindness.

As you both stood there, surrounded by the remnants of a world ravaged by chaos, you knew that you had found something precious amidst the ruins: a sense of belonging, and a companion to face the darkness with. And for that, you were grateful beyond words.

……………………….

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the desolate landscape, Daryl and you set out on a supply trip. Our mission was simple: gather as much food and supplies as you could scavenge from the abandoned stores and houses in the nearby town.

The air was thick with tension as they navigated the empty streets, our footsteps echoing against the silent buildings. Daryl led the way, his crossbow slung over his shoulder, while you followed closely behind, keeping a vigilant eye out for any signs of danger.

As you both rummaged through the deserted stores, filling our bags with canned goods and medical supplies, a comfortable silence settled between us. It was a rare moment of peace in our chaotic lives, you found yourself grateful for Daryl's steady presence by your side.

Daryl led the way, crossbow in hand, his senses sharp, and his eyes scanning the surroundings. you followed closely, your revolver at the ready, your gaze shifting between the deserted buildings and the man beside you.

"So, uh, where are you from?" Daryl's gravelly voice cut through the silence, breaking the monotony of our footsteps.

you glanced at him, surprised by the sudden inquiry. He’s actually trying to make conversation with you. "Originally, I'm from a small town up north. Before all this... happened," you replied, a hint of nostalgia in your voice.

Daryl nodded, his eyes never leaving the path ahead. "Small towns, huh? Less people to deal with."

"Yeah, until there were too many people trying to leave and not enough places to go." you sighed, memories of the initial chaos flooding back. "How about you? Where'd you grow up?"

Daryl's lips curved into a faint smile, almost lost in the shadows. "Georgia. Out in the sticks. Always preferred the woods to the city."

Our conversation flowed slowly, like a hesitant stream finding its course. We exchanged stories of our pre-apocalypse lives, memories that felt like they belonged to another world. With each word shared, the tension between us seemed to ease, replaced by a growing sense of camaraderie.

With each passing moment, they grew more attuned to each other's movements, their actions becoming synchronized as they worked in tandem to gather supplies. Daryl's rugged features softened slightly as he glanced over his shoulder, meeting your gaze with a faint smile.

Caught off guard by the intensity of his stare, you felt your heart flutter in your chest. you quickly looked away, pretending to inspect a shelf of canned goods as you tried to steady her racing pulse.

Unbeknownst to you, Daryl's gaze lingered on you, his fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and touch you. But he held himself back, fighting the overwhelming desire that threatened to consume him.

Instead, he let his hand brush against mine as you both reached for the same can of beans, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt of electricity coursing through both of us. My breath caught in your throat, your cheeks flushing with heat as you met Daryl's gaze once more.

Careful," he murmured, a low rasp in his voice that only intensified the sensation between us. "Don't want you getting hurt over a can of beans."

you managed a nervous chuckle, your fingers fumbling slightly as you continued to fill our backpacks. "Wouldn't be the first time I've faced danger for a meal."

Daryl's eyes flickered with amusement, a silent acknowledgment of the shared struggles that brought us together. "Guess we're all a bit desperate these days."

The banter continued; a delicate dance of words that hinted at something more profound. As you both moved through the aisles, Daryl pointed out items he deemed useful, his explanations often accompanied by a small smile that reached his eyes.

"I reckon these batteries might still have some juice left in 'em," he commented, his fingers grazing over a dusty shelf of electronics.

you nodded, trying to hide the growing warmth spreading through your chest. "Good find. We could use them for the radio, keep in touch with the others."

Daryl's gaze lingered on mine, a moment of silent understanding passing between us. "Yeah, keepin' in touch. Important."

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the aisles. We found ourselves in the canned fruit section, and you couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of choosing between peaches and pears in a world where survival was the priority.

Daryl joined in, the sound of his laughter resonating in the empty store. "Guess we're living the high life now, huh?"

A genuine smile graced his rugged features, and you found yourself drawn to him in ways that surpassed mere survival instincts. The unspoken connection lingered in the air; a magnetic force that pulled us closer with each shared moment.

As you headed back towards the prison, our conversation shifted to lighter topics - favourite movies, childhood memories, and the small joys that felt like distant dreams in this new world.

"You ever watch fireflies on a summer night?" Daryl's question caught you off guard, a wistful expression in his eyes.

"Yeah, back when things were... normal," you replied, a pang of nostalgia tugging at your heart.

Daryl's gaze softened, the weight of shared memories settling between us. "Maybe one day we'll find a place where things can be a bit more normal again."

The words hung in the air, carrying a quiet promise of hope. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in hues of orange and pink, you stole a glance at Daryl.

His silhouette against the fading light held a certain allure, the rugged contours of his face softened by the gentle glow of twilight. It was moments like these when the barriers between us seemed to fade away, leaving only the raw vulnerability that simmered beneath the surface.

Lost in thought, you couldn't help but voice the question that had been lingering on your mind for far too long. "Daryl, why are you always so quiet?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. Daryl's expression shifted, a flicker of discomfort crossing his features before he quickly masked it with his trademark stoicism.

"I ain't got much to say. Just trying to survive," he muttered, his voice gruff with defensiveness.

But you could see through the facade, the walls he'd built around himself brick by brick. There was a depth to Daryl that went beyond his silent exterior, a complexity that begged to be unravelled.

"Everyone has something to say," you insisted, your tone gentle yet persistent. "There's a story behind those eyes, Daryl. I can see it."

He glanced away, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features before he composed himself. "Ain't nothin' you need to worry about. Just focus on stayin' alive."

The rejection stung, but you sensed the pain beneath his tough exterior. We continued the journey back to the hideout in silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between us.

Daryl's gaze flickered, a complex mix of emotions passing through his eyes. "Ain't used to sharin'. Don't see the point."

"Maybe you haven't found the right person to share with," you suggested, your eyes locking with his in a silent plea.

He averted his gaze, shaking his head laughing. "You're too damn persistent."

you chuckled, the tension easing as you scooted a little closer to him. "I can’t help that I am curious. I just find you interesting."

For a moment, he looked conflicted, torn between the safety of his silence and the longing for connection. The dance continued, the sun casting a warm glow on our faces, the air thick with unspoken words.

you could feel Daryl's gaze lingering on you, his eyes tracing the curve of your jawline and the gentle slope of your neck.

With each glance, the tension between us mounted, a potent mixture of longing and uncertainty. My eyes scanned all his features bathed in the soft glow of the fading sunlight. Looking at his hands and the accompanying veins, you felt a surge of desire pool in the pit of your stomach.

As if sensing your thoughts, Daryl moved to sit closer to you slowed, his movements deliberate as he closed the distance between us. The air crackled with anticipation, charged with the unspoken promise of what was to come.

Without a word, Daryl reached out, his fingers grazing your cheek with a feather-light touch. A shiver coursed through you at the contact, your skin tingling with electricity. His touch was tentative yet filled with raw intensity, a silent confession of the desire that burned between us.

you met his gaze, your breath catching in your throat as you drowned in the depths of his eyes. There was a hunger there, a primal need that mirrored your own, and in that moment, you knew that you were powerless to resist him.

Leaning in, Daryl's lips brushed against mine in a tender caress, you could feel his laboured breaths against your mouth.

“Can I?”

His hands were now cupping your face, making you stare directly into his eyes.

“Please?” He said in a low almost begging tone.

Speechless, all you could do is nod. His kiss was slow and dreamy, a gentle exploration of lips and tongues as you both got lost in each other.

Time seemed to stand still as you both kissed, the world around us fading into oblivion as you surrendered to the intoxicating pull of desire. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between us, our bodies pressed together in a heated embrace.

You melted into his touch, your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair as you deepened the kiss, craving more of him with each passing moment. The heat of his body seared through you, igniting a fire that consumed us both in its passionate embrace.

you felt his groin press against you. He wanted it just as much as you did. His hands slid under your t shirt, his warm fingers dancing along your stomach and ribcage. My eyes bore into his, a look of pure delight watching you.

“I want you. All of you,” He whispered.

Before you could utter a word, Daryl swept you up in his arms, your legs instinctively winding around his muscular waist. With an ease that spoke volumes of his strength, he carried you into a secluded field, the tall grass dancing lazily in the cool breeze. He set you down gently, as if you were the most precious of treasures, the soft grass beneath providing a cushion for your body. He towered over you, his gaze heavy with desire and admiration. You peered up at him through a veil of long lashes, a silent plea evident in your eyes.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

His concern was endearing, but you were beyond the point of no return. Without saying a word, you removed your shirt, the cool air grazing your exposed skin causing goosebumps to erupt. Daryl swallowed audibly, his gaze darkening in response to your silent affirmation.

His hands went to his belt deftly, the sound of the buckle echoing in the otherwise quiet field. As he freed himself, your breath hitched in anticipation. His arousal was evident, hard and throbbing as he began to stroke himself, his eyes hungrily roaming over your body. You felt a delicious warmth spread through you, a heady combination of desire and anticipation.

"Do you see what you do to me?" He rasped, his voice breaking slightly as he tried to steady his breath.

Unable to bear the sight of him pleasuring himself any longer, you propped yourself up on your elbows and moved closer, intent on taking over. But before you could reach him, he stopped you, pushing you gently back onto the grass.

"No, not yet," he murmured, shaking his head.

His eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as he watched your impatience. A small smirk played on his lips as he asked, "Can I take care of you first?"

Your response was immediate, the words tumbling out in a desperate plea, "Please, Daryl."

He silenced your pleas with a searing kiss, his lips trailing a path of fire down to your stomach. He paused for a moment before discarding your jeans, leaving you bare beneath him. Your breath hitched as his thumb traced a delicate path along your clothed sex, your eyes fluttering shut at the sensation.

His fingers hooked under the fabric of your underwear, pulling them off with a teasing slowness. His eyes never left your body, drinking in the sight of your arousal. His fingers gently parted you, his gaze darkening at the sight of your wetness.

"You have no idea what I've wanted to do to you," he whispered, his voice rough with desire. "From the moment I saw you, I wanted to claim you."

His touch was torturous in its slow intimacy, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. You found yourself grinding against his hand, your body seeking more contact.

"Why don't you tell me what you want, princess?" He asked, his gaze never leaving yours.

You shook your head, unable to find the words. His fingers continued their teasing circling around your sensitive bud, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

"Come on, sweetheart, let me hear you say it," he encouraged, his voice low and coaxing.

His touch was a tantalizing torture. You turned your head away, a soft plea escaping your lips.

"Please, Daryl," you mumbled, unable to meet his gaze.

His free hand gently coaxed your face back towards him. You knew he wouldn't stop until he heard you say the words. A blush of pleasure and embarrassment bloomed on your cheeks.

"Please, Daryl. Make me come," you whispered, your hands hiding your face in embarrassment.

His grin widened at your words, and without another word, he lowered his head to your centre. His tongue traced a long, slow path up your slit, causing you to moan. Before you could plead for more, his mouth closed over your bud, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His hand kept your thighs parted while the other anchored you to the ground, ensuring you couldn't escape the pleasure he was bestowing upon you. His tongue lavished attention on your sensitive bud, his pace driving you closer to the edge.

"So good," he murmured against your skin, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through you.

When you were able to open your eyes, you found him looking up at you, his gaze intense and filled with desire. The sight of Daryl pleasuring you, his eyes locked with yours, was enough to push you over the edge.

As the knot of pleasure in your stomach tightened, your body starting to squirm beneath his touch. He continued his ministrations, the pleasure building until you were on the brink of release.

As the pulse of pleasure started to rip through you, you clutched at the grass beneath, your body arching off the ground. Daryl continued his relentless assault, his tongue and lips working in tandem to draw every last shudder from your trembling body.

"Oh god, Daryl!" you gasped, your body convulsing in the throes of pleasure. Your vision blurred as an earth-shattering orgasm washed over you. You could hear Daryl's muffled groan as he continued to pleasure you through your climax, the sensation almost too much to bear.

Gradually, your breaths began to slow, your body going limp beneath him. Daryl gently kissed his way back up your body, his eyes never leaving yours. His arousal was still evident, straining against his abdomen, but he made no move to touch himself.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice rough with desire.

You nodded, a weak smile playing on your lips. "I'm more than okay," you murmured.

His lips captured yours in a heated kiss, his body pressing closer. The taste of yourself on his lips sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through you. Pulling away, Daryl propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes dark with lust.

"I need you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The sight of him, so raw and vulnerable, was enough to bring your post-orgasmic haze crashing down. You reached between you, your hand wrapping around his arousal. He groaned at the contact, his head falling forward to rest on your shoulder.

"Please, Daryl. I need you too," you whispered. The words were barely out of your mouth before he was positioning himself at your entrance, his eyes locked with yours.

With one slow thrust, he filled you completely. You gasped at the sensation, your body stretching to accommodate him. He stilled, allowing you to adjust to his size before starting to move. His thrusts were slow and measured at first, building in intensity as you moaned beneath him.

The sight of him above you, his body slick with sweat and his eyes heavy with lust, was enough to reignite the fire within you. Your body responded to his, meeting each of his thrusts with one of your own.

His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more desperate. The coil in your stomach started to tighten again, your body tensing in anticipation. Daryl seemed to sense this, his hand reaching down to circle your sensitive bud.

It was too much. The combination of his thrusts and his fingers sent you spiralling into another intense orgasm. Your body clenched around him, your cries of pleasure echoing in the quiet field.

With a few more ragged thrusts, Daryl followed you over the edge. He collapsed on top of you, his breaths coming in short gasps. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as you both came down from your highs.

"You're amazing," he murmured against your neck, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your skin.

You smiled, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back. "You're not so bad yourself, Daryl."

Daryl laughed and drew you closer to him, his arms enveloping you in a tender embrace. The way he held you, it was as if he was trying to capture the moment, to hold onto it forever, not wanting to let it end. His grip tightened ever so slightly, a silent indication of his reluctance to let this moment, this connection between you two, fade away. His every gesture, every touch, spoke volumes of his longing to hold onto this moment, to not let it end.

[tearsof-scarlet]

Megumi and his White Divine Dog over the years + Gojou (Jujutsu Kaisen)

exf/源

[tearsof-scarlet]

One Way or Another (yandere!Dabi x f!Reader)

Pairing: Yandere!Dabi x f!Reader, Hawks x f!Reader

Synopsis: Being a doctor at the hero hospital is stressful enough. However, what happens when your beloved friend Hawks begins to take a liking to you? And what if he isn’t the only one who has his eye on you? An evil Dabi starts to fall for you immensely after one dark night. Nothing can hold him back from his urge to have you.

Part 1 / ?

Words: 3.5k

Warning: This story will eventually have mentions of stalking, violence, gore, language, and hard smut. Viewer’s discretion is advised.

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The sounds of birds tweeting filled your ears. Today your bed seemed just that more comfortable as the sunlight dripped though your curtains. The sound of the traffic in your city was at a minimum as you sighed into your pillow. Finally, a day off from work. This week had kicked your ass hard. Your job at the Hero hospital was a privilege and a burden. While you were one of a very small group who could treat and aid the top heroes, it was a very stressful job. The hours weren’t exactly nine to five and some nights you were heading home with your head low in complete exhaustion. However, you still loved your job. You had a great sense of pride knowing that you could give back to the heroes who protected you and everyone around you. 

But today is your day off.  You knew how to separate your job and your personal life.  You lay in bed thinking of what you planned to do with your free time.  Your kitchen could do with a cleaning, but the idea of sitting on the couch watching bad reality television sounded more appeasing to you. You smiled into your pillow, finally a day to relax and do absolutely nothing.

Then your phone buzzed.

You opened one eye to see your boss’ caller ID on your screen. You grabbed the phone from your nightstand and reluctantly answered. Before you could even say hello, the sound of your boss yelling over the phone broke the silence in your room.

"_______ get in here now we need you!"

 With your shoelaces undone and a piece of toast in your mouth, you dashed outside of your apartment with your work bag tossed on your back. Your boss informed you of a villain attack in the city centre which caused some heroes to be injured. Fire injuries were your specialty, so you were called immediately. Your legs were running to the train station, hoping not to miss the train to the hospital and having to wait another ten minutes for the next train.

While you were fixing your tie around your neck, your eyes caught sight of a small red object flying across in front of you. After a small moment of confusion, you heard the sound of wings flapping behind you and immediately knew who it was.

"Hey hey hey, didn’t know you were into running these days ______?"

You scoffed, swallowing the last bit of your toast as you dodged hitting into a random person in the street.

"Not now Hawks" You yelled up at him. "I’m running late."

Hawks. Number 2 Hero. You both met each other when he had only just graduated from this hero training. He survived a nasty attack from a villain, resulting in his feathers being pretty damaged. You were the one who took care of him and patched him up.  He was in the hospital for two days straight and most of that time was spent with you monitoring his health. His determination to become a top hero and his snarky charisma allow you two to immediately have a connection. After he was discharged, he still kept in contact with you and now he could consider you one of his closest friends. Till this day, he is forever grateful for you helping him, but these days teasing you seems more fun to him.

The man was now gliding alongside you, clearly mocking your lack of speed.

"Why am I not surprised?" He chuckled, eyeing you.

You sent him a stern glare. Unfortunately, you could not argue with him and run at the same time without losing your breath.

"You know, sweetheart, the train is about to leave in a minute, and unless you just gained a speed quirk, chances are you're not going to make it," he teased.

You held your tongue at his words. When you first told him you didn’t have a quirk, he thought you were joking and laughed in your face. Needless to say, you weren’t too happy about that. So whenever he sees the chance, he always enjoys pointing it out.

Hawks continued to fly beside you, now sighing and crossing his arms behind his head.

"Only if you knew someone who could get you to the hospital in time." He groaned.

He raised his eyebrow at you. You knew what he was trying to imply. Your stomach immediately started to do flips at the thought of it. You hated heights and Hawks knew this about you. But he also knows about how much your work matters to you.

You eyed your watch on your wrist, already you were ten minutes late. You glanced down to see Hawks’ red feathers tying your shoelaces. You finally stopped running and stood trying to catch your breath.  You ignored the rational thoughts in your head and returned back to glare at Hawks.

"I swear Hawks if you do anything funny." You sneered at him.

His face immediately lit up with glee and a smirk spread across his face.

"Trust me _____. It will be like floating on a cloud. " He reassured you by putting his hand on his heart.

"Just don’t throw up on me again." He hushed quickly. 

Before you even had time to swear at him, he whooshed behind you and lifted you up in his arms. You immediately let out a squeak in fear, earning a laugh from Hawks. Your hands gripped his neck and your body tensed up as you both started to rise to the sky. You both were now above the skyscrapers and the whole city seemed so small. It was truly breath taking and you wondered if Hawks ever just spent his days looking down at the city.  

You cast a quick glance down at the people who had turned into ants. Your stomach dropped and you turned your face into hawks’ chest for the rest of the journey to avoid throwing up.

"You can look up now doll."

You cranked your head to see if Hawks was telling the truth. You were relieved to see that his feet were touching the ground. He had landed on the hospital roof, a perfect spot.

"Nice landing" you jerked at him.

"You’re welcome Miss." He said, rolling his eyes.

You hopped out of his arms and stood attempting to fix yourself up before you entered the hospital. You could tell the wind messed up your hair quite a bit.

"You look fine ____."

Now you were the one to roll your eyes. Last time he said that you walked into your meeting with your lipstick smeared across your face.

"Shouldn’t you have been helping save your colleagues from that villain attack?"

"Had to make sure my _____ was safe first." Hawks was always skilled at avoiding questions he didn’t want to answer. You chalked it up to his media training.

You made your way to the door leading down to the hospital as soon as you felt you had put yourself together decently. Hawks' mouth dropped at your actions. He flew to block the door to prevent you from leaving.

"Nothing else you want to say?" He pestered at you. "No thank you, hawks or hawks; you are my hero; you are incredible?"

He really made a poor impression of you.

"Thank you, Hawks. Now shove it. " You snapped thinking of the time you are wasting with him up here. Your words, however, did not convince the young hero.

"How about takeaway and a movie at your place?" He questioned.

"Did you just invite yourself over to my place?" You sneered at him; your arms now crossed.

"Is it a deal?" He spoke. You were beginning to realise that there was no way hawks was going to let you though unless you said yes. You both haven’t done anything together in a while, you thought to yourself.

"Deal." You nodded.

Hawks’ feathers fluttered and he busted into a sing-song voice.

"Perfect! I’ll buy the food and you can pick the movie. Bye _____! " He yelled, tossing himself over the building as he flew away into the clouds.

Your mouth dropped at how he was able to make you agree to invite him over to your house within a minute. You sighed, rolling your eyes as you pushed the door open to enter the hospital.

As you entered your unit of the hospital, your boss was stood there waiting for you and your co-workers busily hurrying around.

"Look who finally decided to turn up."

You did your best not to glare at him.  You apologised profusely about being late to him and how it wouldn’t happen again.

"I heard she was seen with her boyfriend Hawks" A staff member piped up with a sneer.

You cringed at her words and her attempt to cause drama in front of your boss. Hawks is many things, but your boyfriend is definitely not one of them. 

"He is not my boyfriend. He was helping me to work. " You defended yourself. 

"I don’t want to hear anymore of the bird boy. Get working now _____. " Your boss yelled. 

You gave a low nod and immediately jumped into work, making your way over to your first patient.

 _______________________________________________________________

When you actually finished with the last patient, you had no idea what time it was. You gathered your belongings and exited the building, only to find the city engulfed in darkness. You sighed, your shoulders heavy from fatigue. The thought of a relaxing bath and a comfortable bed appealed to you. You checked your phone to find that the train station had closed long ago. Your eyes darted across the street for a taxi, but you had no luck. Walking it was, you thought.

You tried your best to stick to bright lit areas of the city. It was one of the disadvantages of being quirkless, you were practically defenceless. If a villain wanted to kill you, they would have no problem with doing it. That is why you prefer to work behind the scenes helping the heroes rather than being at the front of the violence.

Your walking stopped as you reached an alleyway. You debated or not if you should enter it. If you stuck to the bright areas, you wouldn’t reach your apartment for another fifteen minutes. However, if you went down this dark alleyway it would only take you five minutes. You stood listening for any noise to indicate if there was anyone down the dark path. After standing in silence, you made the decision to chance it. You took a breath and made your way down the narrow street.

All was well and you finally started to calm down as you walked. You thought of what leftovers you had in your fridge to eat when you heard the noise of glass breaking behind you. Your blood turned to ice as your body froze into place. When you looked to the source of the racket, a single drop of sweat ran down your brow.

A man with his head hanging low sat beside one of the big trash bins. You quickly realised the man wasn't all there when he didn't acknowledge you as you walked by. Your brain was screaming at you to keep walking. Your heart and morals, on the other hand, told you to check on the man's safety. You bit your lower lip, carefully weighing your options. Your morals came out on top.

"Sir?" you asked.

You were met with silence since the man did not respond. As you got closer, it became clear that the man was in pain. When you were within arm’s reach, you cautiously put your hand on the individual's neck to check for a pulse. Fortunately, it was at a consistent rate. You now knelt beside him. You tapped his shoulder lightly. Finally, the man let out a groan. You breathed a sigh of relief.

You gently pushed his head back, allowing you to see his face in the moonlight. You immediately noticed the faulty stitching and staples all around his face and body. The damaged deep purpled skin contrasted sharply with his pale skin. His eyelids hung low, but the brightness of the moon resulted in the stranger opening his eyes halfway. You were almost in shock at his bright blue eyes as they stared into yours.

"Am I dreaming?" He mumbled painfully.

You shook your head as you examined his body.

"What is the problem sir?" You questioned.

He sent a sly grin at you. Your concern was able to amuse the man. His finger weakly pointed at his opposite arm. One of the stitches on his arm had obviously ripped open and blood was steadily pouring out and onto the dirty ground.

You stared at the wound for a moment and considered if he needed to be taken to the hospital.

Almost as if he were reading your mind, he said, "No hospitals."

You chose not to question him and began to act on your feet. You removed your bag from your back and pulled out your first aid kit and some tools you used at work. You began to place a thread into your incision needle and prepared the medical stapler for use.

You could sense his apprehensiveness as he eyed your needle.

"Trust me sir, I’m a doctor." You explained to him.

"You'd better cut the sir crap; you're making me feel like an old man." He laughed lightly,

Feeling like you were getting somewhere with him, you continued the conversation. 

"Do you have a name?" You asked, hoping to distract him from the pain about to happen.

The man had a slight hesitation as his name fell from his mouth.

"Dabi."

You placed some hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball as you continued to talk to him.

"You have a lovely name, Dabi."

"I bet you say that to all your patients."

You smiled at his words and you placed the cotton on his wound. He immediately tensed up and hissed in pain as the alcohol did its job.

"I can promise you I don’t, Dabi." His name fell off your lips with such ease.

After you felt the wound was disinfected, you grabbed the needle and began to stitch his skin together. Dabi was now sat up straight admiring your concentration with the needle. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had cared for him like this.

"Did you get caught up in that villain attack this morning? “You asked him.

Dabi's mouth turned into a smirk, "I guess you can say I was."

"I bet it was scary," you said.

Dabi raised his eyebrow at you. "Do I look like the sort of person who gets scared?"

You took your attention from his wound and looked at his unamused face. You giggled slightly at his expression.

"You can tell me. I promise I won’t tell anyone. " You teased him.

He chuckled at your humour. You really did do a good job at distracting him from the pain.

"Those villains are pieces of shit, aren’t they?" He said, hoping for your opinion.

As you took the stapler in your hand, you moved on to the staples of the wound.

"Hmm, I don’t know if I would say that." You mentioned focusing on placing the stapler in the right position on his skin.

"What? You side with the League of Villains? " Dabi pried at you, staring at you with interest.

"Not exactly." You explained, "I believe a lot of the villains didn’t exactly have a choice of which side they wanted to be on. Also, working with Heroes, you begin to see that quirks determine what society thinks of you. If you don’t have a quirk, then you must be useless. If you have a dangerous quirk, then you are destined to be a villain. I find it all very frustrating if I am honest. "

Dabi listened intently to your rambling. It was nice to see someone agree with some of his opinions. You were obviously very intelligent. As you continued to work on his arm, he made note of your face and its beauty.

As you had just finished the last staple, you asked him, "Did you patch your skin up yourself?"

"Yeah, I did. I prefer to do it my own way because the majority of my skin is brunt to a crisp.” He explained.

"You have a fire quirk?"

He nodded as your eyes moved across his body to look at his skin. Your eyes finally meet his face. Without even thinking, you reached your hand out to cup in check and brushed your thumb along the staples in his face.

Dabi let out a small gasp. It had been a while since someone had touched him. You finally realised what you did and immediately yanked your hand away from him and stood up, hoping he wouldn’t see you blush in embarrassment.

"I’m really sorry Dabi" you said, putting your face in your hand, "I’ve just never seen anyone with a fire quirk like this."

He smiled at your embarrassment.

"Don’t worry. There is no need to be sorry. I didn’t mind it. " He reassured you.

You sighed and reached a hand out to help him up off the ground.

As he towered over your frame, you suddenly realised how tall he was in comparison to you. As soon as you realised your work was done, you let his hand out of yours.

"Well Dabi" you said, "I guess I better be heading home."

"Thank you" was all he said.

While your arms hugged you around your stomach, his deep blue gaze on you made you feel even more insecure.

"Are you going to be okay?" You asked him.

A small smile was on his face.

"Don’t worry about me."

You nodded to let him know you understood.

"Then I better go." You said, turning away from him.

Before Dabi could open his mouth to say anything to you, a black car drove into the alleyway with a large honk of its horn.  The tinted window rolled down the slightest bit and a voice called out Dabi’s name.

"That’s my ride," Dabi explained.

He didn't want to abandon you in the dark, but he also knew that you getting into the car would be impossible.

"Well take care Dabi", You said your last words and turned the corner away from him and the car.

You knew that it wouldn’t have been a good idea if you stayed any longer. You did your duty and left without anything else occurring. You had visions of the man’s blue eyes and face. You could tell from his body and face he was probably conventionally attractive before his burn scars. You ignored the flutters you had in your stomach as you took the stairs up to your apartment floor.

After entering the code to your apartment, you quickly tossed your bag to the floor and threw your jacket off. You sighed with relief to finally be home alone. Peace and quiet was the thing you needed after your long day.

"Finally home sweetheart?"

When you saw the man behind you holding a plate of takeaway sushi, you shrieked and nearly fell to the floor in shock.

"Hawks you little-!"

________________________________________________________________

Dabi threw up his hands in frustration as he approached the LOV's hideout. He completely forgot to ask for your name. After you had taken care of his injuries, the very least he could do was ask for your name.

He sighed and sat on the grimy couch. His thoughts returned to the events of your and his meeting. He was still bewildered that you chose to help a random stranger in the dark. Dabi knew that if it hadn't been for you, he would have bled out until he passed out and died. His fingertips traced the stitching on his arm that you had done. It was noticeably better done than his own work.

"What are you smiling about?" Toga spoke up, breaking Dabi of his thoughts.

His face immediately dropped, and he muttered a nothing. Toga shrugged off his reply and reached for the TV remote. The sound of the TV made Dabi’s head throb, so he stood up and headed out of the room to find somewhere more peaceful to rest for the night.

"What was the situation like in the hospital tonight Doctor?" the interviewer asked.

"Well, I would personally like to thank the heroes who were able to transport the citizens and other heroes who were harmed in the attack to the hospital so quickly."

The sound of your voice echoing throughout the room made Dabi freeze in place. He turned around to face the TV and ordered Toga to turn up the volume.

Dabi barely heard your voice as he continued to stare in a trance at your lovely face.

"We would like to thank you and your unit for all your help today. We are all grateful. " The interview told you.

You nodded and smiled at the camera as you wished everyone well.

Your name suddenly appeared at the bottom of the screen.

"Doctor _____ ______"

Dabi's face lit up with a big grin, and he couldn't help but laugh. He figured it wouldn't be that difficult to find you after all.