#devil's night series stuff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itsjusthockey · 4 months

Text

A Nonsense Christmas - Jack Hughes

(Fruitcake EP Series)

Finally.

Enjoy

Comment and interact, love u guys that do. Makes my night

w.c: 2,083 (credit to gif maker) (don’t steal my work)

“Isn’t this illegal?” You ask, following Jack down through the tunnel of the very dark and very closed Prudential Center. “Or at least frowned upon?”

He snorts in front of you and turns to meet your eyes, a cocky smirk playing on his lips as he leans toward you, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

“Being me has its privileges, baby.”

He throws you a wink, and you roll your eyes as far back as you can as you continue to follow him down toward the devil's locker room. You’ve been to the Devil's barn many times before, but never when it was this late and very obviously closed. This little rendezvous wasn’t your plan. Things that are this extravagant usually aren’t.

You are currently in Jersey, but only for a few days. The hockey world was about to go on break, and Jack had begged you to fly in before you both headed to Michigan for the holidays. You were a bit hesitant, but after a few bribes from your boyfriend, you ended up in Jersey.

Tonight is your first night, and all you want after a long week of finals and a tiring flight is to land face-first in Jack's bed and stay there—Jack has other plans. As soon as you land and drop your stuff in the apartment, he is quick to shoo you out the door again, explaining he has a surprise date night planned after your miserable finals, and you are going to love what he has planned.

At the moment, the only feeling that is plaguing your mind is nervousness. Jack’s too cocky, and he has a slight bounce in his step which usually means he’s up to no good.

You follow behind him diligently, and soon enough, you both enter the locker room. The space is as lovely as you remember it, and you follow Jack over to his stall, which is conveniently next to his baby brothers. You watch with slightly narrowed eyes as he grabs various items from his locker and hands them to you.

It isn’t until he opens his little cubby that everything falls into place. There inside is a brand new box, and when he opens it in front of you, his stupid little smirk grows even wider.

“You like?” He proudly pulls the new Bauer skates from the box, handing one over to you.

You take in the brand new pair of skates. They’re beautiful, custom, and just your size.

“You, sir, are evil.” You give him a false mean glare, but you’re slightly being honest with your statement. “You really bought me skates and trapped me here to force me to ice skate?”

He shrugs his shoulders again, smiling. “Yes, I did.”

You roll your eyes at the boy in front of you. You’ve been together for a while, a long time, and while you’re dating one of the best hockey players in the league, you can’t ice skate for shit. It’s not for a lack of trying; you really have given it your all, but you’ve just had terrible teachers. Jack has tried to teach you many times. Many, many times, to no avail.

The first time, you almost ended up with a trip to the emergency room. The second time you landed so hard on your back, you thought you were paralyzed. The third time, you almost got a concussion. So it’s simple to say you’ve tried your best, but you’ve decided to leave ice skating to the professionals.

“Come on, baby, tonight’s the night, I feel it.”

You follow him out of the locker room toward the ice. You pause when you get there, suddenly feeling a sense of nostalgia. The lights are on in the center ice, and you have to admit it looks serene and slightly beautiful in the late evening. You’ve only ever been here when it is bustling with fans, and you feel a little special getting to see it this way.

“Come on, stop stalling.” Jack teases, patting the bench for you to sit.

You follow him and seat yourself in front of him. He’s smiling big, and he looks ridiculously happy. He’s always like this when he’s here; he has a certain energy when he’s close to a rink. You’d never tell him this, but you love it when he tries to teach you, even if you are wildly nervous.

Jack kneels down, immediately getting to work. You wince slightly as he pulls the skatelaces impossibly tighter around your foot. He quickly loops them around and tucks them into the sides, ensuring there is no possibility of you tripping, which you may or may not have done before.

“There, how’s that?” Jack gently pats your ankle as he looks up at you, still kneeling on the floor.

You shake your feet around, and the brand-new Bauer skates don’t budge a bit; it’s really tight and slightly cutting off blood flow, but you would rather have that than a broken ankle.

“Feels good.”

He smiles again, standing up and grabbing your face. He pulls you in for a quick kiss, then sits next to you, pulling on his own skates. You watch as he tightens them in record speed, and soon enough, he’s launching himself across the boards.

You glare at him as he races around the ice. He skates forward, backward, and even does a little spin. He’s laughing as you’re watching him move around fluidly, and once he’s done, he skates back to you, leaning over the boards where you’re standing, safely behind the danger.

“Stop showing off J, you’re not cute.”

He barks out a laugh at your bitterness, but he smiles sweetly and extends a hand for you to grab. You hesitate, watching his open palm for a minute before you finally pluck up enough courage and swing yourself onto the ice.

As soon as your foot makes contact with the ice, you fall a bit forward, and Jack steadies your waist. You give him another glare when you catch his amused stare. He’s enjoying this way too much.

“Okay, baby, you ready for the basics?”

You nod and watch as your boyfriend goes into full teacher mode. He tells you how to go, how to change directions, and you’re off. You feel pretty good. You haven’t been injured yet, but you seem to be skating better than you ever have. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re on professional ice; maybe their talent is seeping in.

You’re moving pretty fast, actually very fast, and Jack has let go of your hands, letting you glide on your own. It isn’t until you’re getting a little too close that you realize he forgot to reach you, the most essential part of ice skating.

“Wait,” you screech a bit. “How the fuck do I stop!”

Before you can do anything, you smack into the boards and fall on your ass. You hit the ice pretty hard as you go down, and as soon as you fall, you just lay there accepting defeat.

You hear Jack's loud and annoying laughter before he gets to you. He skates up so close, and he hovers above your body, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

“You were doing so good. What happened?”

You huff in annoyance, and he holds out his hands to help you up. Once you’re back on your feet, you throw him another glare.

“I’m not having fun.”

He smiles and skates in a bit close, moving to kiss your pout away. He does, and when he pulls his face back, he gently moves a piece of stray hair out of your face.

“You’re doing good. It just takes practice.”

You nod, and a newfound sense of determination fills you. This is just ice skating, literally Jack's job, and you will fucking master it if it kills you. More so, you know for a fact that there is a family skate coming soon, and you want to impress people. You know you have it in you, so you grit your teeth, use Jack to push you, and you’re off again.

An hour later, you’re quite impressed with yourself. You’ve managed to skate around and haven’t fallen once. You’re moving good, and you’re finally able to keep up with Jack to a certain extent.

“You better watch out J, I think the league might replace you with me.”

You wink at him as he watches you proudly, and you can tell this means a lot to him, so even if it means you’ll fall a few times, you’ll do this every day.

“You’re a natural.” He circles you, and you try your best not to knock into him. “You just needed to get out of your head.”

You nod, smilingly, and you both skate for a little longer. Eventually, you grow a bit tired. It’s been a long day, and you find yourself skating toward the devil's bench in search of some much-needed water.

Jack reads your mind and beats you to the bench, swinging himself over and grabbing the water bottle. He grins a little bit and melts your heart. He shakes the water bottle and holds it high. You oblige and tilt your head back as he squirts the water into your mouth. He misses a bit, causing the water to dribble down your chin. You sputter a bit and wipe at your face, playfully glaring at him.

“Oops, my bad," Jack says, chuckling as he wipes the excess water off your cheek with his hand. "Looks like I need to work on my aim."

You shake your head, feigning annoyance, but you can’t help but find his boyish antics endearing.

“You're lucky you're cute," you tease, unable to hold back your laughter.

Jake grins impossibly wider, his eyes twinkling a bit with mischief. "Well, I guess I'll have to make it up to you then."

He reaches out and helps pull you safely off the ice. He makes quick work and cups your face with cold hands, leaning down to kiss you softly.

The familiar tingle of excitement rushes through you as your lips meet, and you melt into his embrace, warming yourself up. His kiss is passionate but sweet and tender; it sends shivers down your spine. The light sounds of the empty area fade, and you find yourself getting lost with him.

After what feels like an eternity, you pull apart, breathless but grinning from ear to ear. Jack's blue eyes sparkled as he looks at you with all the affection in the world.

“Better?" he asks with a smirk, his hand still resting on your cheek.

You nod, your heart swelling with happiness. "Much better," you whisper, unable to hide your adoration for this hockey-playing heartthrob in front of you.

You sigh wistfully and see the twitch of a smile tug at his lips as you cup his jaw and tug him down to meet you in another gentle, lingering kiss. The warmth of his touch sends a rush of emotions through you, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

“Are you hungry?” Jack whispers in your hair.

You nod and loop your arms through his bent elbows, crossing it over his back. You press a soft kiss to his jaw, and he pulls you back toward the locker room. It doesn’t take long for you both to pack up, and you’re very pleased with the successful date night. It isn’t often you get to do things like this, and every time you do, you’re reminded how special your relationship is.

Ten minutes later, you’re packed into the Range Rover, and Jack is speeding toward his favorite late-night burger place. When you pull in, you see the hanging Christmas lights, and you’re reminded of the season. It’s Christmas, and you get to spend time with him, lots of time.

He leads you in hand and hand, and you can’t help but feel utter joy as you eat and spend the rest of the night together. The holdings season is shaping up to be the best yet, and you’re unbelievably excited to spend it by his side.

531 notes · View notes

serpentandlily · 6 months

Text

Wicked Games III

Wicked Games - Dark!BatBoys x Reader

Summary: Desperate to pay off a debt, you decide to break into the penthouse of one of Prythian’s richest males, one rumored to make his money in a less than legal way. But after witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, you find yourself caught in a wicked game of cat and mouse with three of the most dangerous males in Prythian. (Modern AU)

Warnings: smut (minors dni pls), dubcon, dark themes (if you would like more in depth warnings before reading, feel free to message me!)

a/n: Thank you so much for all the love/kind words you guys have left me regarding this series! I know I'm shit at replying to comments but I do read them all and they def warm my cold lil heart. Hope you guys enjoy this one ;)

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II

༺♥༻

Part III

༺♥༻

A week had gone by with no word from Rhysand, something that both relieved and also frightened you. You were still embarrassed about that night at the club with them. You had let them touch you, had let them bring you so close to the edge. In public too. As soon as Rhysand had dropped you back off at your apartment that night, you felt mortified.

Still, the silence this week had put you on edge. Every noise made you jump, everywhere you went you looked over your shoulder constantly.

Either Rhysand had considered your debt to him paid, or this was another mind game to him. He hadn’t even texted you. And it wasn’t like you could text him. No number had shown up the last time he had texted you.

You were left in a state of limbo and you should’ve felt peace at his lack of a presence in your life, but it was only the opposite.

You were currently curled up in your bed, watching a show on your small laptop before your shift tonight, when a knock at your door had you almost throwing the laptop across the room.

You swallowed audibly, your pulse spiking. Fuck, was it Rhysand? Had your devil in disguise returned?

“Bunny, open up,” Tamlin shouted through the door. “It’s me.”

Shit. Fucking shit. You forgot that you still owed your ex money, money you were meant to get to him this week. Now part of you was wishing it was Rhysand at your door.

You got up from the bed and opened the door to see Tamlin before you, a hand resting against the top of the doorframe and a grin on his face.

You watched as his green eyes darted behind you, looking into your apartment as if he were checking for something before they returned to your face. He brushed past you into the apartment despite your noise of protest. You closed the door behind you and rested against it, crossing your arms.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said. And you meant it. If you were still being watched and a male was seen coming into your apartment, chances are he’d end up dead. “I don’t have your money yet.”

Tamlin raised a brow. “That’s what I’m here to talk about. Do you want to tell me why I got a personal visit from the Shadow this week who paid off your debt to me in full?”

Your eyes widened in shock. That was not at all what you were expecting him to say. “I’m sorry, what?”

Tamlin roamed around your apartment, picking up random trinkets and stuff thrown about. “You heard me correctly. One of Rhysand’s dogs came and paid off your debt. And I heard a rumor that you were seen with Rhysand himself at his night club. Do you want to explain that too?”

You bristled at his tone. You didn’t belong to him anymore. He had no right demanding information from you. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business. Shouldn’t you be happy that you were paid?”

Tamlin scoffed, turning to face you. “So it’s true then? You’re whoring yourself out to Rhysand of all people? Gods, bunny, I knew you were stupid but this…this is truly idiotic.”

You clenched your fists in anger. You released a long breath, trying to maintain your composure. “Tam, I think you should leave. If my debt is paid off then we have nothing to talk about.”

“Like hell we do,” he snapped at you. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all week long. Why have you been ignoring my calls?”

“I got a new phone,” you replied. “Sorry.”

He sighed and held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

You pulled your phone from your pocket and handed it over. It was easier to just do as he said instead of arguing about it. It would get him out of your apartment faster too.

His eyes widened as he looked at the new iPhone but then narrowed. “How the hell were you able to afford this?”

He grabbed it and started entering his number. “It was a gift.”

He scoffed again, sending himself a text from your phone. “So is that why you broke up with me? Was I not rich enough for you? Decided to go suck the dick of a felon for more money?”

“I really think it’s time for you to go now.” You glared at him, ripping your phone out of his hand. “For your own good.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, pushing you out of the way to storm from your apartment. “Don’t try calling me to bail you out of jail once you get caught fucking Rhysand.”

He slammed the door behind him, rattling the walls. You rolled your eyes just as your phone dinged.

Unknown: I take it by the look on Tamlin’s beastly face that you didn’t let him fuck you?

You: Still watching me? Why don’t you go find a new hobby to partake in? Unknown: Why would I do that when I get so much pleasure from watching you without you knowing where I am?

A picture was sent a second later. A blurry shot of you inside of your apartment in just your underwear. You let out a curse.

You: Fucking pervert. Unknown: If I’m a pervert, then what does that make you, little mouse? You were ready to come all over my lap in the middle of a club. Or did you already forget about that?

Fuck no you hadn’t forgot about that. It was all you thought about late at night. That desire, the hot feeling of their hands on you, the pulsating music and lights.

You: Fuck you

You made sure to add the emoji of a middle finger to the end of that message.

Unknown: Oh you will, little mouse, you will. You: Like I said, you’re delusional and sick in the head if you think I’ll ever want any part of you. Unknown: Oh, little mouse, you have no idea just how sick I am. But you will find out. Be ready by 8pm tomorrow night. And wear that little black dress again. It’d be a shame if I never had the chance to rip it off you.

You sent him the emoji of a middle finger again before tossing your phone down on your bed. You were not ready for another night with him…with them. Not when the need for all three of them still burned inside of you.

༺♥༻

It was a black SUV that was waiting outside for you this time. Azriel hadn't come to get you at your door either. The driver opened the backseat door for you and you slid in, noting it was just Rhysand waiting for you inside.

He gave you a feline grin, his eyes raking over your body, clearly pleased with what he saw.

"Where are you taking me this time?"

You didn't waste any time with a greeting. Rhys raised an eyebrow at you, waiting for something. You rolled your eyes when you realized what.

"Where are you taking me this time, sir?" you spat out.

"I'm attending a personal event tonight and I need a date."

"So is this how repaying my debt to you is going to work? Just act as your escort until you decide I've repaid you? I'm sure you can find another girl willing to accompany you for free."

He smirked at you, throwing his arm over the back of the seats, his fingers brushing against your shoulder. A shiver ran down your spine at his touch and by the glint in his eyes, you knew he had felt it.

"It's cute that you think this has anything to do with a debt you owe me, darling."

You crossed your arms with a huff, "Then what the fuck else does it have to do with?"

"Such a filthy mouth," he chided. "I already told you, little mouse. You were mine from the moment I laid my eyes on you. I gave you a week of freedom, but don't get any ideas, darling. You are mine and I will do whatever I want with you."

"I am not yours."

"And you think I'm the delusional one."

You narrowed your eyes at him. He was such an arrogant prick. Before you could reply, the car stopped and the driver interrupted their conversation.

"Sir, we are at our destination."

The driver stepped out of the car, opening the door for you. Rhysand came around the other side of the car and held out his hand for you. You begrudgingly took it.

Rhysand gave the driver a dip of the head. "Thank you, Charles."

You were standing in front of a large mansion, servants already waiting at the door to open it as you two walked up the front steps. Rhysand dipped his head at the servants as you passed and the sound of chattering became more clear once you stepped through the threshold.

A slinky looking male walked up to greet you. He was handsome, if not for the pinched look on his face, with light blonde hair and pale skin.

"Rhysand, so glad you could make it tonight," the male said, sounding anything but pleased.

"Keir," Rhysand greeted back. "I would never dream of missing one of your parties."

Keir, you had heard that name before. He was the mayor of Hewn City. Surprisingly, this was your first time ever seeing him.

The sarcasm in his voice was evident. If Rhysand didn't want to be here, then why had he come? It didn't seem like this Keir guy wanted him here either.

"And who might this be?"

Keir's eyes roamed over you, making your insides curl with disgust.

"This is y/n," Rhysand said. "My fiance."

What. The. Fuck.

He was lucky you hadn't grabbed one of the champagne flutes being passed around by servants or the wine would've sprayed out of your mouth. Why the fuck would he call you that?

Keir's eyes lingered on your hand. "Hm, no ring for the beautiful lady?"

"It's being custom made as we speak." Rhysand grinned, dangerously. "But I got ahead of myself and proposed without it. It was hard not to when she looks like this, wouldn't you agree? Didn't want her to get snatched up by some other male."

“Of course, congratulations,” Keir agreed, though it sounded anything but friendly. “If you’ll excuse me, there are some other guests I have yet to greet. Please, enjoy my party.”

You let out the breath you were holding in as the male disappeared into the crowd. Your eyes instantly shot to Rhys.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed under your breath. “Why did you introduce me as your fucking fiancé?”

“Not here, darling,” he answered with a grin, his eyes darting around to the people surrounding you.

He led you through the crowd, occasionally saying a greeting to those he recognized. Many eyes followed after him, you noticed, then lingered on you. You were met with more jealous stares from other women than you could count.

Rhysand pushed a champagne flute into your hands but you noticed he didn’t have one for himself. “Drink, darling, relax. We are here to be stared at, enjoy it.”

“You don’t seem to like Keir all that much,” you whispered to him, sipping on the champagne. “So why bother coming?”

“Because, Keir likes to believe that he has full control over his shitfilled little city and I like to remind him who is really in charge every once in a while.”

“Watch it,” you grumbled. “I live in that ‘shitfilled little city.’”

Rhysand leaned down, his breath brushing against your ear. “Not after tonight, you don’t.”

You glanced up at him. “What?”

But he stood back to his full height and said nothing else, eyes looking over the people still staring at the two of you. You felt your cheeks turn a bit red at all the attention.

You were silent as you finished your glass of champagne, placing it on the empty tray of one of the staff members walking by once it was empty.

As soon as you were done, Rhysand linked his hand with yours again.

“I think we’ve been seen enough. Come, there is something I wish to show you.”

You followed him out of the crowd and away from the main room. You soaked in the beautiful paintings and rich decor as he led you down an empty corridor and into a conservatory.

Your eyes widened as you spun around, glancing at the ornate room. Flowers of all shapes and sizes were spread everywhere, along with a few chaises and armchairs. The windowed ceiling and walls let you see the night sky, the stars glimmering above you.

It was something you had only seen in magazines and movies. It was stunning, beautiful. You turned to face Rhysand to see him staring at you already, a soft smile on his handsome face.

Your cheeks turned a bit pink, causing his smile to turn into a grin. He sunk down onto one of the chairs and tugged on your hips until you were sitting on his lap. The familiar position from the club already had your blood turning to fire.

“I hate the man,” Rhys started. “But Gods, he does have one of the best views of the stars.”

You looked up again, agreeing. One of Rhysand’s large hands wrapped around your waist, dragging you back to his hard chest while the other rested on one of your thighs.

“Are you going to tell me why you told him I was your fiancé now?” you asked as his fingers began to rub circles on your waist.

“Because you are,” Rhysand murmured, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. “I told you, little mouse, you are mine. I intend to make you my wife because I am never going to let you go now that I’ve found you.”

You were fucked in the head. Seriously. Because his kiss and his words caused heat to start coiling in your lower stomach.

“You truly are insane,” you whispered.

And he was. Rhysand was one giant, walking red flag. But you had never had good taste in men anyways.

“Am I?” he whispered back.

He kissed your shoulder again before moving up your neck to your jaw. Your breath hitched as his finger grazed the underside of your breast. He smiled against your skin, pulling you even closer.

“You know, I’ve been watching you all week long to see if you would follow my rules,” he murmured, huskily. “And darling, you have been a very, very good girl.”

You arched into his touch now, gasping as his hand trailed up your ribcage to brush against your breast. You should really be putting a stop to this. But…fuck it. It was a hot being in the hands of such a powerful man.

His hand continued its journey until it wrapped around the front of your throat.

“And good girls deserve to be rewarded,” he purred into your ear. “Don’t you think?”

His other hand pushed your thighs open and you swallowed audibly. Your eyes darted to the door leading into the conservatory where anyone could walk through.

You needed to put a stop to this. “Rhysand, someone could walk in at any moment.”

The hand that was resting on your throat gripped you by the chin instead and turned your head to look up at him. His pupils were blown, his pretty violet eyes now a dangerous black. His gaze darted between your own eyes and lips, hungrily.

“They all know better than to follow me, darling,” he said.

His hand hiked your dress up to your hips and you caught his wrist. “W-What are you doing?”

He shrugged off your grip. “Relax, little mouse. Let me take care of you.”

Your skin was flushed with desire, a whimper escaping your lips as he stroked your clothed center. He pushed your thighs further apart and you let him, cursing yourself in your head.

“That’s it, darling,” he praised. “Take your reward like the good girl you are.”

His fingers hooked around the waistband of your thong and began to drag it down your thighs.

“Really, Rhysand, s-someone could come in,” your voice cracked as he dragged your thong all the way down your leg and over your black stilettos before sliding it into his pocket.

Despite your protest, you did little to stop him. Didn’t even close your legs. You were a fucking idiot. And you would regret it later. But for now…

A wanton moan slipped from your mouth as Rhysand’ fingers stroked your bare pussy. You ground your hips into him, gasping as you felt his hardened length beneath you.

“I think that just turns you on even more, little mouse,” he teased, brushing his fingers against you again. Your cheeks flushed at how wet you were already. Something Rhysand seemed very pleased about.

He groaned as you shifted your hips again, digging into his hard cock. He started rubbing your clit with his fingers and you tossed your head back against his shoulder with another moan.

He kissed your exposed neck, grazing the fragile skin with his sharp canines.

“S-stop,” you choke out. “We shouldn’t.”

His fingers left from between your thighs and you’re protesting groan went completely against what you just said.

“Stop,” he mocked, bringing his fingers up so you could see the glistening shine on them from your arousal. He ran them down your lips, spreading the taste of yourself on them. “Does this taste like you want me to stop?”

He shoved his fingers into your mouth.

“Suck,” he commanded.

It was instinctual, primal even, to listen to him. You sucked on his fingers and he let out a groan as he watched you, turning you on more. The taste of yourself covered your tongue.

He yanked his fingers free and placed them back between your legs, lightly brushing your aching center.

“Say anything other than my name and you don’t get to come,” he growled. “Do you understand?”

You bit your lip as he began to rub your clit in circles again, staring down at where his fingers were touching you.

He forced you to look up at him again, his grip on your jaw so tight you let out a pained whimper. “I said, do you understand?”

You nodded as his fingers continued their assault, leaving you panting. “Y-yes, sir.”

He gave you a devil's grin. “Good girl.”

And then his lips smashed against yours. They were soft, softer than you imagined and you eagerly kissed him back as that electric feeling continued to build and build in your lower stomach. He tilted your chin up, deepening the kiss with a growl as his fingers slipped from where they had been rubbing your clit to tease at your entrance.

He swallowed the moan that came from you with his kiss before he suddenly thrusted one finger inside of you. You gasped in pleasure, which he took advantage of, sticking his tongue in your mouth and claiming it as his.

You withered in his lap, grinding against his hard cock as you panted, his finger thrusting in and out of you. Your vision nearly went white as he added a second one, filling you so deliciously.

Your head fell back against his shoulders, breaking your kiss apart. “Rhys.”

He trailed kisses down your jaw to your neck, nipping and sucking on your flesh. “You’re doing so good, darling. Gods, you are so tight. I can’t wait to feel you wrapped around my dick.”

You groaned at his lewd words, your orgasm building.

“Rhys,” you begged, grinding your hips in rhythm with his fingers. You had been so on edge all week and thinking about that night in the club, so you knew it wouldn’t take very long to make you come around his fingers.

“That’s it. Come for me, darling,” he purred into your ear.

His thumb brushed against your clit and that was the final thing that tipped you over the edge. You mewled his name over and over again as your orgasm crashed through your whole body, arching into him. He kept thrusting his fingers in and out, riding you until your nails were biting into his skin.

You fell limp in his arms as he finally pulled his fingers from you. You watched through hazy eyes as he brought them to his own lips this time and licked them clean. “Gods, you taste so good.”

You were still trying to catch your breath, letting him pull your dress back down. He admired your flushed face, your swollen lips with a grin. “See, wasn’t that so much better than being punished?”

You nodded, your eyes still hooded and Rhysand chuckled.

“Is my little mouse tired now?” he cooed. He patted your butt, helping you stand on shaky legs. “Come, let me take you home, darling.”

He guided you out of the mansion with a hand on the back of your neck until you reached the black SUV waiting for you. Charles was there, opening the door already. Rhys helped you slide inside before coming around the other side of the car.

He pulled you into his side, letting you rest your body against his as the car started up, and you let him, finding some comfort in his warmth. Within a few seconds of driving, you felt your eyes slowly start to shut.

What felt like a minute later, you were jostled awake only to realize Rhysand was carrying you out of the car. You blinked, trying to wake fully but still felt so lethargic. How long had you been driving for? Keir’s

mansion hadn’t been that far from your apartment.

“Where are we?” you slurred as Rhys pushed your head into the croak of his neck, carrying you up what seemed to be steps.

“Home, darling,” he murmured to you.

You didn’t think twice about his words or you might’ve realized that you had a different understanding of what that meant than he did. Only nodded and closed your eyes again, falling back into a blissful sleep.

༺♥༻

When you woke up the next day, you were met with the sight of an unfamiliar room. You jolted up, the black sheets you had been under pooling at your waist. You had no idea where you were. Your eyes darted around the huge, ornate room.

The walls were a cream color with gold moulding. A huge window was on the left side of the room, beautiful dark red curtains partially covering its view. You were in a four poster bed with a gauzy canopy. There were a total of three doors on the various walls, all closed except one that led into what looked like a bathroom.

Where the hell were you? The last thing you remembered from last night was Rhysand telling you he was taking you home. But this was certainly not your home. Hell, there was no way you were even in Hewn City. You could tell by the lack of smog in the sky from the view out of the window.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed,

rising. You frowned when you realized you were no longer wearing the dress from last night but a skimpy nightgown. The wood floor was cold under your feet as you made your way to the bathroom, happy to find a still packaged toothbrush and toothpaste.

Once you had freshened up, you explored the other doors in the room. The first one you opened led to an empty hallway. You quickly shut it and went to the other one which opened to a walk-in closet. Your eyes narrowed as you took in the only things hanging in there. Lingerie of all types in all different colors, sheer and silk robes, and heels.

You grumbled to yourself, grabbing one of the silk robes and putting it on over your nightgown, not that it did much to cover you more.

You hesitantly made your way into the empty hallway, slowly walking as you listened for any signs of people. There were doors lining the walls but you didn't open them, hoping to find a living room or something of that sort instead. You must've been in a mansion because you swore the hallways seemed neverending.

"Is that a little mouse I see scurrying around?"

You let out a noise of surprise, jumping at the loud, cheery voice that called out from behind you. You whipped around to see Cassian standing at the end of the hallway, his chest bare with his shirt thrown over his shoulder and glistening with sweat. You couldn't stop your eyes from roaming his body, his insane, god-like body. Gods, who the hell made him?

When you met his eyes again, the grin on his face told you he knew that you had just been checking him out. You glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest. "Where am I? What is this place?"

"This," Cassian chimed, "is our home, little mouse. Rhysand's mansion. Our compound. Call it what you want."

"I thought he lived at The Sidra."

Cassian ran a hand through his shoulder length hair. "No, who the fuck would want to live in Hewn City—no offense! That is just where we do our business when it involves that city, so no one knows where we actually live."

"Okay," you said slowly. "So where the hell are we? And why am I here?"

“This property is so big, it’s basically its own small town. You won’t find anyone else for miles and miles, little mouse, so don’t bother running,” he winked at you. “As for why, I’ll let Rhys explain that. Speaking of, he asked me to check if you were awake and to escort you to his office.”

You begrudgingly walked to him, letting him start the course to Rhysand’s office, hoping to get some answers.

“I heard you two had quite the night, little mouse,” Cassian said, grinning down at you.

You had to admit, next to Cassian you were basically a little mouse. The male was a giant, at least a foot taller than you. But something about his demeanor made him less threatening. He seemed like the friendliest out of the three. Not as dark and foreboding as the other two.

Your cheeks turned red as you looked away. “So Rhysand is the type to kiss and tell. How juvenile.”

Cassian let out a laugh that made you do a double take. He was beautiful. Not as pretty as Azriel or regal as Rhysand, but equally attractive in his own way. More masculine and brutal in his beauty.

“I’m telling him you said that,” he said.

You shrugged your shoulders, examining the place as you walked down the hallway. Outside of the room you had been in, the rest of the place had a much more modern feel, with dark gray walls and dark flooring.

“Here we are,” Cassian said, stopping you just before a large set of double doors. He pushed them open, gesturing at you to walk-in first like a gentleman.

Rhysand’s office was huge. The first thing you noticed was the wall that was a window, overlooking the backyard. Rhysand was sitting at a large desk in front of it, in an armchair that resembled a throne.

Bookshelves lined the walls, many books and expensive looking trinkets on them. On the other side of the room was a weapons rack locked behind a gated case full of guns and pistols.

Your eyes went back to the desk, noticing now that Azriel was also in here.

“Sleeping beauty is awake,” Cassian announced in greeting. “Found her roaming around the halls.”

“Thank you, Cass,” Rhysand said with a dip of the head.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I think it’s time I give our little friend Devlon a visit.”

Cass nodded at Rhys and stepped out of the office, closing the doors behind him. You watched him until he disappeared from view before turning back to face the other two.

“Come here, little mouse,” Rhysand said, pointing to the empty chair that Azriel was leaning against across from him.

You took a seat, looking at Rhysand cautiously. He was wearing a black t-shirt that showed off the black swirling tattoos on his arms, ones you hadn’t seen before.

“Why am I here? I thought you were taking me home last night, not kidnapping me,” you snapped.

Rhys placed his arms over his head, leaning back in his chair like a king with no crown. “You are home, darling.”

“Stop with the bullshit, Rhysand. Take me home. Now.”

“Like I said, little mouse, you are home. This is your home now. I won’t have my fiancé living in that squalor.”

“I’m not your fucking fiancé! You’re psychotic! Take me home!”

“We really have to do something about that mouth, don’t you agree, Az?” Rhysand looked at the shadow that was hovering behind you.

He must’ve nodded because Rhysand looked back down at you.

“I’m not playing around, Rhysand,” you growled. “Take me home!”

Rhysand rose, placing his palms on the desk as he peered down at you. “And I’m not playing around either. It is not safe for you to live in Hewn City now that I’ve told Keir that you’re my fiancé.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Why on earth did you have to tell him that then? I am not your fiance. I am not your girlfriend. I am simply someone who owes you a debt that you literally met only two weeks ago.”

“I’m growing tired of this, little mouse,” Rhysand snarled, prowling around the desk until he stood before you. “I think I have made myself very clear. This has nothing to do with a debt. You are mine. Mine.”

“And I’m growing tired of you acting like you own me! I am not yours!”

“Really? Let me ask you this, little mouse. Does anybody else make your body sing the way I do? Has anyone’s touch ever turned you on fire like mine? Admit it. Your body belongs to me. All I’m missing is your heart. But that’ll soon be mine as well.”

You felt heat creep up your neck because he was right. A simple touch from Rhysand did cause a spark inside of you that you had never even felt before. Even Cassian’s touch that night at the club had awoken something in you. Like your darkest desires had been unleashed that day and now, no other touch would compare. But you didn’t want him to know that. For your own dignity.

“You think very highly of yourself, Rhysand,” you scoffed, looking away.

But he had seen the color on your cheeks, had seen the darkness burning in your eyes.

“Look at me,” he ordered. You swallowed, your eyes darting back up to his striking face. A muscle in his jaw was clenched and he rose to his full height. “You live here now. This is your home. It is not safe for you to return to your apartment and frankly, you were never safe there to begin with. I’ve already had someone retrieve the important things from your place and they are all waiting for you in your new room, the one you woke up in. You are not locked up here. I will give you a car. You may come and go, but you will always tell either me, Azriel or Cassian when you are going to leave.”

He had a point. Your neighborhood was extremely unsafe. And if people knew what you meant to Rhys, it would only put a target on your back. You cursed him in your head. This had been his plan all along. To find a reason to make you live here.

“And what if I take the car and never come back?” you asked, staring defiantly up at him.

He smirked. “Then I will find you and we can play this game of cat and mouse forever.”

You bit your lip, wanting to retort but the look in his eyes, that feral, crazed looked stopped you. This was the most powerful and dangerous male in all of Prythian and you knew without a doubt that he would find you, no matter how far you ran. This beautiful, lethal male was obsessed with you…and you were fucked up for being so utterly turned on by it.

“Did I make myself clear?”

You nodded and he looked at you expectantly.

“Yes sir,” you grumbled.

Just because you were agreeing, just because you were filled with craving and desire, didn’t mean you were just going to throw yourself at him. No, you would make this just as difficult as he did.

“Good. Now get on your knees,” he commanded.

Your eyes widened. “W-what?”

“I said get on your knees, little mouse.”

You hated the way your body listened, falling to the floor in front of him.

“Take off my belt,” he ordered.

You glared up at him. “Fuck you.”

“See, that’s why you’re in trouble right now. That filthy mouth,” Rhysand growled. “Take off my belt, little mouse. Don’t make me ask you again.”

You continued to glare at him as you reached up and started to undo his belt, your cheeks heating with embarrassment as you realized he was rock hard underneath his pants. You yanked it from him roughly and he smirked as he grabbed it from you, handing it to Azriel over your head.

Your brows furrowed in confusion as Azriel bent down on his haunches behind you. Rhysand gave him a nod of the head and suddenly, two scarred hands were grabbing your wrists and twisting them behind your back. You let out a yelp as you felt Azriel loop the belt around them, trying to shrug him off, but he was much stronger. He tightened the belt until your wrists were secured behind your back to the point of pain.

“What are you doing?” you hissed up at Rhysand.

Rhysand unbuttoned his pants with one hand while the other landed on your head, stroking your hair. “Teaching you another lesson, little mouse. If you want to have a filthy mouth, then I expect that you to do filthy things with that mouth.”

He unzipped his pants and pulled his hard cock free. Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of him, at how large he was. You had felt it against you, of course, but seeing it was different. You couldn’t help but imagine it ramming into you over and over again until you screamed.

“Open your mouth,” he directed.

You shook your head, pressing your lips together.

“Open your mouth, now,” he ordered again, his voice as dark as night. You just glared up at him, keeping your mouth firmly shut. He let out a scoff and looked at Azriel who was still kneeling behind you. “Azriel.”

You didn’t know what that command meant until you felt Azriel’s hand wrap around your throat from behind. You restrained from opening your mouth and he began to squeeze and squeeze. You whimpered at the pain but kept your mouth shut until your lungs were empty of air, burning in your chest. He eased the pressure a little bit and you finally gasped for air.

Rhysand took the opportunity to thrust his dick into your mouth, using the hand on the back of your head to guide you. You choked as he hit the back of your throat, tears forming in your eyes. He let out a groan, tossing his head back.

“Come on, little mouse, suck my cock and you might get a reward yourself,” he growled.

Fuck it, you decided. If you were going to do this, you were going to completely own him like he thought he did you. You hallowed out your cheeks and flattened your tongue, bobbing your head. He hissed, his hand tangling in your hair. You ran your tongue down the vein on the underside of his cock, pulling another groan from him.

You glared up at him, tears slipping down your cheeks as you choked on his dick, taking him as far as you could. He started pushing your head back and forth for you, fisting your hair. You used every trick you had in your arsenal, drawing moan after moan from his mouth.

“Fuck, darling, your mouth feels so good,” he growled.

You continued to glare at him.

“Oh don’t look at me like that. I know you’re enjoying this,” he grunted, thrusting his cock in your mouth, fucking your face as you could do nothing, not even brace yourself against his thighs with your arms held behind your back.

You scoffed around his cock, denying his claim.

“So if Azriel were to touch you right now, he wouldn’t find your dripping with how much this turns you on?”

You growled, causing him to groan again at the vibration. He looked at Azriel and suddenly a hand was reaching down between your legs, pushing your panties to the side and stroking your center. You moaned at the touch of his fingers, already knowing what he found. He lifted his fingers, showing off the glistening arousal coating them.

“Thought so,” Rhysand grinned, fisting your hair even tighter. “Continue, Azriel.”

You had no idea what that meant until you felt Azriel’s fingers stroking your pussy again. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he rubbed circles around your clit. You were absolutely throbbing.

Rhysand continued to thrust into your mouth, grunting as his pace quickened. “Gods, you take me so well, darling. Like your mouth was made for this cock. Fuck.”

His dirty words only turned you on more. You could feel your own arousal dripping down the side of your thigh. Azriel’s other hand slid between your legs, his fingers teasing your entrance as he continued to rub your clit. You gasped as he slid a finger inside of you, pulling it back out slowly, and then roughly thrusting it back in.

You were certain you had never been more turned on in your life before. Stuck between these two males, one fingering you from behind while the other used your mouth brutally. You cried as Azriel added a second finger, continuing in pace with Rhysand’s thrusts into your mouth.

“Fuck,” Rhysand snarled, his thrusts became sharper, faster. Tears were pouring from your eyes as he hit the back of your throat time and time again, making you choke on his dick. “That’s it, darling. Gods, just like that. Fuck.”

It was so hot how much control you had over Rhysand in this moment, despite the position they had put you in. He was a slave to you right now. You were the owner of his pleasure. You moaned around his dick as Azriel quickened the thrusts of his fingers inside of you.

You felt Rhysand tightened in your mouth before he slammed your head to meet his thrust, burying his cock into your throat, chanting your name over and over. You choked as hot liquid spurted into your throat but Rhysand kept you there, his cock buried in your mouth, not letting you go. You swallowed all of his cum until the veins in his arms were protruding from the overstimulation. He finally pulled out of your mouth, letting you gasp for air.

As soon as your mouth was free, Azriel ripped a hand away from your pussy and grabbed you by the back of the throat. He pushed you forward until your face was pressed against the ground, your ass in the air. You moaned as he pushed his fingers deeper into you while holding you down.

“God, please,” you mewled.

“I am no God,” Azriel growled into your ear, his voice so dark and sensual, it pushed you closer to the edge.

His hand tightened on your throat until your vision was nearly white and your body was shaking with pleasure. You felt your orgasm building and building, pushing your hips back to meet each thrust of his fingers until you cried out his name, wave after wave of pleasure taking over your body.

He didn’t stop as you pulsated around his fingers, didn’t stop until you were crying and begging him to. Only then did he yank his fingers free. Your body went limp as you panted, his hand finally leaving your throat so you could breathe properly.

“And that is what you get for obeying me, little mouse” Rhysand purred from above you.

༺♥༻

The next day, Rhysand gave you a full tour of the entire place. You were blown away. There were two huge garages full of sports cars, motorcycles and SUVS. An indoor and outdoor gym. Three different pools and hottubs. A weapons room. A fancy, formal dining room along with another more intimate one. Many different rooms for meetings. An intel room full of high-tech computers and equipment. A large living room with a massive tv, fireplace and sitting area. A beautiful kitchen that was stocked with just about everything you could dream of.

It was truly an unbelievable place. He even had gardens outside, five different gaming rooms, a lounge, four different bar set-ups. Cassian had been right when he described it as a compound.

Once the tour was over, it had taken just a little over an hour, Rhysand led you to the kitchen to get some lunch. They also apparently had a personal chef who made all their meals. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. You had been poor all your life. Had never even been to a hotel that was half as nice as this place was.

Rhysand was explaining some of the rules they had here when Azriel and Cassian walked into the kitchen, both shirtless. Your eyes raked over their bodies, unable to stop yourself. You looked back at Rhysand to see him grinning. You scowled at him. You waited until they left before you said anything.

“Do you also make them walk around half dressed?” you gestured to your own attire. Your closet was still only full of lingerie and robes. When you had asked for clothes, Rhysand had just told you he much preferred you like this.

“Oh no, darling, they are doing that on your behalf,” he purred.

Your eyebrows raised. “What? On my behalf? What do you mean?”

“Well, you see, Cassian and Azriel have a bit of a bet going on.”

“What does that have to do with them hardly wearing clothes?”

“They’re both trying to entice you, darling. The bet is for which one of them you’re going to fuck first.”

“Who says I want to fuck either of them?”

“Still playing this same game, little mouse?” He gave you a look that had your jaw clenching.

“And what about you? Are you not part of this bet?”

“Oh no, darling. They both know you’re going to be fucking me first,” he grinned. “They have strict orders not to have you before I do.”

“Is that so?”

You bit back a grin, suddenly twisting at the thought of a new challenge. You looked at the door the two male had disappeared through. You were absolutely going to do everything you could to make one of them disobey Rhysand. It would be fun to finally have some control over the situation, to finally knock the arrogant leader down a peg.

But which one was likely to give in first?

Well, that was something you were definitely going to find out.

༺♥༻

Tag list: @justdreamstars @minakay @f4iry-bell @godletmebeanf1wag @judig92 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @peaceandcrackers @glitterypirateduck @gorlillaglue25 @the-lake-is-calling @danikamariemain @sousydive @mis-lil-red @hallucynatiing @librafairy @poshestpigeon @sirenaobscura @red-rabbit-13 @elle4404

*If you asked to be on the taglist but don't see your username, tumblr wouldn't let me tag you for some reason :(

685 notes · View notes

elizabethwritesmen · 3 months

Text

The Devil Wears Lace

chapter 9 : November 3, 2024

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader

summary: it’s the next morning and simon shows you a new side of himself. you let out some secrets too, and it seems a happy ending is in store.

warnings: dirty dirty smut, unmasked simon, degradation and praise, choking, all the usual stuff, emotional vulnerability, size kink if you squint, oral f receiving, that should be all let me know if i missed any!

a/n: this is the final chapter. I want to thank all of you for reading and for any love you’ve shown my story!

series masterlist

November 3, 2024

The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed, face falling as I looked around the room for Simon. Had he left?

I stood up, padding my way to the doorway and out into the hall, searching every room and getting discouraged. That is, until the smell of something cooking hit my nose.

I frowned, heading for the kitchen and pausing dead in my tracks in the doorway, eyes going wide and jaw going slack.

“Simon?” I called, voice meek.

His back was to me as he was facing the stove, working away at whatever he was making. He was wearing new clothes, but that wasn’t what shocked me.

There, on the dining room table, laid his mask.

All I could see from where I stood was the back of his head, his dirty blonde hair disheveled and a little wet. I could smell him, the scent of pine soap filling the air. My breath caught in my throat as he began to turn around, and on instinct, I closed my eyes, squeezing them tight.

“What’re you doing?” he chuckled.

“Giving you privacy to put it back on,” I explained, slapping my hands over my face for extra emphasis.

“Do you want me to put it back on?”

“Don’t you want to? So I won’t see you?”

He sighed, and I could feel his footsteps approaching me. His big hands closed around my wrists, pulling my hands away from my face and leaving me with closed eyes.

“Do you really think I’d walk around your kitchen without it on if I cared about you seeing me?”

“Guess not,” I shrugged, opening one eye and then the other. He was staring down at me, and I gaped.

He was handsome, more so than I could’ve ever imagined and I was suddenly thankful he wore a mask everywhere because his face was positively sinful. He had a scar on his eyebrow and one by his eye, and his nose was a bit crooked. I could tell he had been through it but that only added to how beautiful he was. His eyes were even prettier this way, too, framed by his perfect features and boring into me, a bit pinched together from the stress of me seeing him for the first time. I smoothed those wrinkles out with my fingers, my eyes greedy for everything they could get.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” he asked me, rough as usual but with a note of something new. Fear.

“Sometimes, words just aren’t enough,” I responded, and he gasped slightly. “You’re perfect, if that’s what you wanna know.” I ran my hands through his hair, cupping the back of his neck. “And your secret is safe with me.”

He groaned, leaning down and kissing me once, twice, then three times, each one deeper than the last. I hummed into it, savoring the feeling of his face against mine. A second later, he pulled away, walking back over to the stove and continuing cooking. I walked with him, leaning up against the counter and watching him flip the bacon. There was a pan full of scrambled eggs on the back burner, and a plate of toast beside him. I frowned.

“Where’d you get all this stuff from?” I asked him, knowing for sure I did not have any of it the night before.

“I woke up early and went to base to grab some soap and a change of clothes. I stopped at the grocery store on the way back to get you some things, you didn’t have very much in here.”

“Simon,” I sighed, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he shrugged.

“I’ll pay you back.”

“No,” he adamantly shook his head, “You’re a waitress going to one of the most expensive colleges in the world. You’re not paying me back anything. I’ve got your groceries from now on, and whatever else you need.”

“No, I can’t let you-“

“The military pays well and I don’t spend it on anything. I want to spend it on you. Let me.”

I just stared at the intense look in his eyes for a second before nodding slowly, reluctantly agreeing to what he was asking. And I kept staring, eyes roaming his face as he finished up cooking. It didn’t take long for them to wander down the rest of him, lingering on the expanse of his shoulders and of his hips, his arms, his legs. He was so built, a wall of muscle standing right there in my kitchen making me breakfast. They made their way back to his face, wanting to soak it in some more and memorize it because I wasn’t sure if showing me was a one time thing or if he was gonna be unmasked every time we were alone. He had a smirk on his lips and I knew he could see what I was doing, mapping him out, but I didn’t care. I just kept going, focusing in on the sharp plane of his jaw and how it contracted with the soft brush of his hair. Fuck, he really was handsome like I’d said, and the more I looked at him the more I realized it was true. Just looking at him had me turned on and I wished there was an off button because I wasn’t sure he’d wanna go again.

“You’re staring,” he grunted as he turned the stove off and made two plates of food.

“Can’t help it,” my response was simple.

“Can’t help it, huh?” he set the food aside and walked over to me, arms on either side of me, trapping me between him and the counter as I gazed up at him.

“You look good,” I explained myself, shy and meek under him, unable to express exactly what I wanted but hoping he’d give into me.

He just looked at me for a second, eyes trailing down my face, then my neck and chest, and coming back up to rest on mine.

“You look good,” he repeated the words back to me and I giggled, easing up and winding my arms around his neck to press a kiss to his cheek. It felt nice, his stubble against me, warm and right.

He didn’t even let me pull back, turning and taking my lips in his own in the most all consuming kiss I’d ever had. I hummed into his mouth as he picked me up and set me on the counter, pulling me to the edge so I could wrap my legs around him. I held on tight to him as he kept going, and I felt like I was on an entirely new wave of arousal now that he was unmasked. Not that the mask wasn’t sexy in its own way, but this was the real Simon and he wanted me like I wanted him.

“Simon,” I broke away to speak, but he paid no attention, mouth moving from my cheek, to my jaw, to my neck and drawing a hum out of me before I came back to my senses, “Simon!” I repeated and he stopped, standing straight to look at me. “Does…” I couldn’t phrase it. Of course I couldn’t. Such a bumbling idiot. “You showed me your face and I - I was just wondering, does this - Well, what does it mean - I mean it doesn’t have to -“ He silenced me with one more kiss, cutting me off right there.

“It means you’re stuck with me.”

A smile broke out across my face, I couldn’t think of a better fate.

“You wanna be stuck with me, too?”

“Why’d you think I’m buying your groceries?”

I giggled one more time and he groaned, head falling back into the crook of my neck.

Between kisses, he mumbled “Y’so - fuckin’ - cute -“ and after that last word I felt a sharp bite and gasped, mewling as he used his tongue to soothe it over.

He tugged at the hem of my T shirt, pulling it over my head gently and tossing it aside, barely taking a second to look at me before dropping to his knees. He spread my legs wide in front of him, pulling my thong to the side to expose me. “You want me, baby? Want my mouth on this pretty little cunt?” I nodded, biting my lip to keep from moaning at his words and he chuckled darkly, “Use your words, princess.”

At that, I couldn’t stifle my moan, “Please, need your mouth Simon, need whatever you’ll give me.”

“Such a slut,” he mused.

“Just for you,” I hummed and that was all it took for him to dive in, tongue everywhere, lapping at my entrance while his exposed nose nudged at my clit. I couldn’t help but rut against him and he used one arm to keep my hips still, taking me to a whole new level of pleasure because he wouldn’t let me fight it. A loud moan ripped through me as he slipped one finger in, then added another one quickly, going a little slower than he had the night before and letting his tongue do most of the work.

“Gonna come apart for me already, baby?” he smirked. Cocky bastard. “Never takes you long, huh, always ready to cum all over me.”

I moaned again, staring down at him as my walls fluttered and I felt it building. He was right. I was gonna cum, and it was quick and I couldn’t even be embarrassed because I don’t think anyone could resist with him.

I was almost there, clenched tight around his fingers when he pulled out and pulled away, leaving me cold in his absence.

“What’re you doing? Please come back. Where are you going?”

“Relax,” he sighed, grabbing me and lifting me, giving me no choice but to wrap my legs around him. He carried me to the bedroom, laying me down on the bed and settling on top of me.

He leaned back, reaching for the bottom of his own shirt and began to tug, and my throat went dry. My body stopped working for a second, just waiting.

He ripped it off, tossing it aside and letting me take him in. “Am I gonna have to remind you to breathe every time we do this?” he chuckled and my eyes snapped to his, my cheeks turning red because he was right again.

“You might,” I sheepishly answered and he smiled.

He stood up off the bed and took his pants and boxers off, kicking them to the side as well and fuck if he wasn’t the most perfect person I’d ever seen. He had scars everywhere, like the ones on his face, but even they couldn’t manage to flaw him, everything about him was just too good. Too strong.

I whimpered as he climbed on top of me, lining himself up instantly, “Tell me what you want, princess,” he breathed out.

“Mm please Simon need you inside of me please fuck just-“ He full on laughed at my desperation and my feeble attempts to buck my hips into him, settling me down and pressing inside slowly, just like he had the night before. And this time, it took me just as long to adjust, but once I had he set a pace and I was fucked in more ways than one.

“You look perfect like this, taking my cock so good,” he groaned and I threw my head back into the pillows, exposing my throat for him to leave kisses and bites and whatever else he wanted. My hands fisted in his hair, pulling him to me and kissing him then just staring up in his eyes. He was pounding me for all it was worth, not giving me a second of reprieve but I didn’t want it. I couldn’t help but notice how gentle he was with me, though, even when he was fucking me into oblivion, and it made an even more dangerous thought creep into the back of my mind. I loved him. And I knew it beyond certainty. Maybe I had for a while. He had to know it too, why else would I have come all this way for him?

My eyes on his got watery as he leaned in and kissed me and I almost screamed as he hit the perfect spot in me, then absolutely screamed as he did it again and again.

“Shh, I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered in my ear, holding me close, the whole situation becoming even more intimate than it already was.

“Gonna cum, Simon,” I mumbled, hips thrusting up to match his and he groaned.

“Let it go for me baby, come on,” his hips lost their rhythm and I knew he was close. That thought was enough to send me straight over the edge, groaning and toes curling as I thrashed against the bed, him holding me steady the whole time. Once we were both satisfied and had come down, he pulled slowly out of me and got up, pulling me up with him and bringing me to the bathroom. He sat me on the counter and took his time helping me clean up, then gave me a sweet kiss on the lips. “Got you all marked up,” he hummed, admiring his handiwork for a second and I laughed.

“Yeah, ‘least you don’t have to worry about anyone else approaching me. You have ‘em at least ten reasons not to.”

“Wasn’t worried in the first place, you know who you wanna be with and it ain’t them.”

I gazed at him, going dumb for him yet again, and he smiled, giving me one more kiss.

“Simon,” I started, my voice taking on a more serious tone and that teary eyed feeling from before taking back over. There was a new level of vulnerability in my voice and he furrowed his brows, waiting patiently for what I had to say. “You ruined me.”

His eyes widened a bit and I grew more and more anxious with every second that passed, not knowing how he felt, or if he was okay with what I said. He probably didn’t. He probably didn’t even care. I felt like I was gonna hyperventilate by the time he finally responded.

“You ruined me, too.”

#simon ghost x you #simon ghost smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x you #ghost x reader smut #ghost smut #cod smut

269 notes · View notes

dear-bunnyboo · 11 months

Text

❝Ice Royalty || Jack Hughes❞

my baby Jacky won the poll i put up last night!! this is my first nhl fic here on tumblr so i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it.

this scenario was actually anonymously requested but i am an idiot and accidentally deleted that person’s request sooo if you are the one who requested for a figure skater!reader, this one is for you. i hope you enjoy it, love.

should i make this a series? comment if you want a part 2 ;)

Pairing: Jack Hughes x Figure Skater!Reader

Summary: What happens when New Jersey Devils’ star player meets Olympic female figure skating champion?

Warnings: cursing, fluff, first meeting awkwardness, teasing, some light flirting

Series Masterlist || NHL Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Jack mentally groaned as he tried to get rid of the sleep in his system.

The Devils had their usual morning skate but today was the earliest one they’ve ever had. Why? Because according to their team coach— they have been slacking off lately. This usually happens once the team gets back from off season, still hung up over their break.

They would usually get use to the flow of everything pretty quickly before the start of the season but that was proven futile when they lost their first two games.

So here they were, 5 in the morning in full gear walking out of the locker room slightly sluggish.

Jack was quietly twirling his hockey stick as they pile out of the tunnel, but before they could reach the ice they were met with music filling the arena, camera crew surrounding the ice as they followed a woman who was gliding across the ice.

“Excuse me, but what is happening here?” Nico the team’s captain ask the man who stood by the glass watching the production crew.

“I’m sorry but we have booked the rink for this hour for Ms. Y/N Y/L/N’s special on NBC News. We are about to wrap up our last take, if your team can wait for a while that would be great.” Said the man who they were assuming to be the director.

“That was stunning, Y/N! Let’s do that again and then we can wrap up and do the interviews.”

Y/N Y/L/N

Jack swears he knows that name from somewhere, he just can’t seem to know where from.

“Her name sounds familiar” he stated as they proceeded to settle down on the benches where they were directed to stay, they had a clear view of the woman in red who’s back was turned towards them as they touched up her hair and makeup.

“Y/N Y/L/N won gold for figure skating at the Olympics just a month ago.” Dawson piped in as he proceeded to attempt to fix the mess that sat on top of his head.

“She’s legit.” said Luke

Before Jack could even question his brother over the sudden knowledge over professional figure skating his thoughts were cut off by the director yelling.

“Roll Camera… Roll sound… Action!”

And on cue the same music played across the arena. The woman who Jack now know as Y/N started moving gracefully— her arms elongated in front of her as she glided across the ice before jumping high up and spinning and landing without breaking a sweat.

Y/N was laser focused on her routine, the music controlling her body as she continued with her jumps. She slid in front of the bench focusing on her form before pulling through and doing a quad jump and landing successfully gaining her the same euphoric feeling she always feels when doing so.

After doing her last jumps and turns she ended her piece with her last post.

“Cut! That was fantastic, Y/N darling. Take a quick break and then we can start the interviews inside you’re dressing room.” The director instructed before hastily directing the crew to pack up and move inside.

Y/N skated towards her manager and mom who happened to be her coach— they were waiting for her by the benches with her stuff.

“That was amazing as usual, Y/N. You’re mom and I need to look over the questions for the interview, so get dressed and we will meet you at dressing room in an hour or so.” She explained before answering another call.

“You were perfect, my love. Now hurry up get dressed I need to make sure they don’t ask you dumb questions.”

Y/N simply chuckled as she walked off the ice to put on her skate guards on. Once she was done packing up her stuff, she walked towards the direction of her dressing room but before she could a gaggle of hockey players started to clap.

Turning around to face the players who were all sporting their hockey gear, she was met with cheers and praises from the guys causing her cheeks to turn red from the attention.

The guys were now running towards the ice not after giving her a nod or a praise.

“You were amazing.” Said Jack as he neared her.

Facing the brunette she gave him one of her best smiles.

“Thank you, I’ve been doing this my entire life so I better be amazing.” She said jokingly making Jack chuckle.

Now that Jack was in front of her, he marveled over her presence— Jack stared at every single freckle, every glitter on her face before landing on her eyes which was watching him amused.

“Well, I have to go. I still have lots to do.” Y/N chuckled as she turned to move to her dressing room.

Jack finally got out of his daze, mentally slapping himself in the face for potentially creeping the poor girl out by staring at her like a creep.

“Do you even watch hockey?” He yelled to her

“Excuse me?” Y/N turned back around her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

I sounded like a fucking asshole Jack said mentally.

“That’s not what I meant. I-I mean it is what i meant but not the way it sounded— I mean, do you watch hockey?” He rambled.

“Oh yeah, I do. Grew up watching it because of my younger brothers— they play hockey too” Y/N smiles. Jack pretty much almost melted on the spot.

“No way? Really?”

“Yeah, they are part of the USA Development Program— they’ll be drafted soon.” Y/N praises her younger brothers as Jack watched her in amusement

Unbeknownst to him, his teammates were watching him in amusement as well.

“That’s so cool, wait so if you grew up watching hockey that means you know–” Jack finishes by pointing at himself.

“I do know who you are, Jack” she chuckles.

“Oh, well I wouldn’t have known cause you didn’t come up and–”

“Scream and begged for a picture and an autograph? I could if you’re into that sorta thing.” She cuts him off slightly teasing him which Y/N found entertaining.

“No! I didn’t mean that. Fuck, I probably sound like an ass.” He sighs rubbing his neck.

“You don’t. It’s cool, you are cool.” Y/N maintained eye contact the entire conversation slightly intimidating Jack in the process.

“I really need to go, Jack. It was nice meeting you.” She said checking her phone before smiling back at him again.

“Yeah yeah, I’m sorry for holding you up, but before you go–” he said before mustering up the courage to ask her, “would you want to come to our game this weekend? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Y/N simply giggled and smirked at him.

“What makes you think I don’t have a ticket already?”

“You do?” He asked shocked.

“I do. Now, you’re teammates have been watching us for a while now, they must be waiting for you. Practice hard and score for me on Saturday.” She winked before walking away from the now astounded hockey player.

“Told you she’s legit.” Luke skated towards him laughing at his face in the process.

She’s legitimately gonna be his end. Jack knows it.

dividers: @cafekitsune

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

ೃ⁀➷ comment or message me to be added to the tag list :)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ SUBMIT A REQUESTS AND ASK ME ANYTHING!

: ̗̀➛ requests are always open ♡

-𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲ఌ

#jack hughes #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #jack hughes x reader #new jersey devils #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #nhl #nhl hockey

860 notes · View notes

realisticfanfictions · 4 months

Text

Being Sanji's Girlfriend & Baratie's Head Waitress - Part 3.

Sanji x Waitress!Reader: Part One, Part Two.

Working at Baratie wasn't without its challenges, and the fights that sprung up because of them weren't rare either. You and your boyfriend never sweated the small stuff, after all working in a high stress environment made you, well, stressed. But maybe some things can't be resolved that easily.

Tags: Sanji x Reader, Waitress!Reader, constant bickering, mostly fluff with some angst, (heavy) swearing.

A/N: This one is slightly shorter, but it expands more on Y/N's chartacter and finally introduces her to the rest of the crew! BTW, this series may or may not have turned me into a Taz Skyler fan.

Word Count is 3,475. Hope you enjoy!

Tag list (comment to join!): @siriuslyblackonback

Did you overreact? No. Did you feel bad when you saw the look on Sanji's face as he watched you leave the kitchen? Why the fuck would you? You took a left down the almost endless corridors that made up the Baratie. It wasn't your fault that some kid thought you were a pirate, or 'acted like one', whatever the hell that meant. No, you did know what that meant, and it pissed you off. He meant that you were aggressive, or uncouth, or whatever other adjective fit the slobbering, passed out pirates that littered the Baratie's deck come morning. The same ones that spent the entire night making disgusting comments about how they'd like to force themselves onto the waitresses, or pull a gun out just for the hell of it. But you know what? It wasn't your fault you were like this. You were a byproduct of the most fucked up parts of the world, forged from the suffering of years past and created into what you were by the Devil himself.

And it certainly wasn't your fault when that same kid, the foolish, naive and sheltered brat who had the gull to say that you acted like that, tried to recruit your boyfriend into that cult they called piracy and you got upset. "Freedom, my ass." You hissed under your breath, venom seeping off of every word. You weren't a good person, but at least you didn't try to rip off a restaurant under the guise of being the 'Future King of the Pirates'. You didn't indoctrinate people into that abhorrent lifestyle and pretend that it was all about adventure, and not about pillaging and murder. And you certainly don't pretend that pirates are innocent, little fucking sailors on the high sea singing sea shanties all day long, when all they're good for is taking,

and taking,

and TAKING!

With a yell, you drove your fist into the wall, sending shards of wood scattering in a million directions. You didn't even realise that you were shaking until you fell against the wall, your legs morphing into some gelatinous abomination that couldn't even keep you upright. Did you overreact? The hole in the wall was your answer.

One, you took a deep breath. You're lucky you have a whipped boyfriend who you've somehow conned into putting up with you even though you're fucking nuts.

Two, you exhaled. No, you both have issues and it's pointless to criticise or get hung up on the small things.

Three, your lungs filled with air. You're a fucking disgrace, how dare you storm out there like that?

Four, the carbon left your lungs. You'll need to explain yourself, and apologise for your outburst. You are human and you make mistakes, Sanji will understand. He's good like that.

Five, the air burned as you breathed it in. The amount of mistakes you make is incredible. Your entire existence is one big fucking mistake.

Breathe, (Y/N). Count to five. Breathe in air and breathe out your toxicity. You were a bad person. But, you are stronger than your past, and you deserve better than to be known for your mistakes.

You repeated it like a mantra, a prayer you recited more often than you'd like to admit. The tips of your fingers found themselves entangled in your hair. You overreacted. Why the fuck do you keep overreacting?

"Are you okay?" The voice jolted you back to your senses. With a quiet gasp slipping from your lips, you snapped your head to the source of the sound. There stood someone you vaguely remember serving - a young woman about your age with hair as orange as tangerines. She had a wary look on her face and stood a fair distance from you, but seemed at least somewhat concerned.

You couldn't help but laugh dryly. "I'm alright, thank you." When you untangled your hands from your hair, you tried to ignore the strands that came along with it. "How can I help you?"

Her eyes flicked up and down. "Out of the two of us, I think you're the one who needs help." She paused. "You're our waitress, right? The one who helped us get the table."

By the time she was done speaking, you had pushed yourself off the wall and tugged at the hem of your shirt to drag out any crinkles. "I'm not exactly the model employee at the moment, but that's me. I'm not working currently, but you can always ask if you need something."

A contemplative look crossed her face. "If you're off the clock, why don't you come have a drink?"

You held up a hand. "Sorry, but I'm not really meant to be-"

"It's just a drink." She stated and walked a couple feet toward you. "Just as thanks for the table, and you look like you need one."

Her eyes were honest, and although you could see something hidden far behind them like a memory she was trying to forget, your shoulders dropped and you nodded. "That would be lovely, thank you."

She smiles and turns to walk toward what you now realised was the sounds of the bar. With how close you were to well-over one-hundred patrons, you weren't surprised that you were found practically hyperventilating in the corner. You were, however, glad that it was this kind stranger. Or perhaps she wasn't kind at all, you weren't sure yet.

The orange-haired woman brings you past passed out sailors to the back of the deck where the silhouettes of two men already were. "You're (Y/N), right?" She asked as she took a seat and offered you a glass from the table. "I'm Nami." She pointed to the man in the pirate costume noisily slurping out of a ceramic bowl - the Ultimate Tropical Dream, your mind reminded you. "That's Ussop," She then pointed without looking to the man beside her who's eyes hadn't left you since you approached. "And that's Zoro." She nodded as she took a sip of her drink. "Take a seat."

You hesitated, but sat down. Your eyes naturally drifted to the green-haired man, Zoro. "Pleased to make your acquaintance." While you spoke to the group, its true intention was a question. Did he know you?

Zoro sat back and hummed. "Likewise." He grunted and took a swing. No. Then his gaze finally broke from you to the other male. "Pace yourself."

Ussop moaned into his drink and slurped. "I don't think there's any liquor in this, it tastes just like candy."

"Last time I said that, I woke up face down under a table." The swordsman muttered both as an admission of fault and a warning to the naive pirate.

You nodded, taking a quick sip of your own drink. "The Ultimate Tropical Dream has four-seven ounces of rum, four of vodka, and seven of filler. Fucking filthy fads get you shit-faced faster than a fleeting face, but Fred can help with that. He's the fourth one down and sometimes he won't do it, but just needs some persuasion. So when you want to get a Tropical Dream, you force the four to pour four-fourths Warmth North, four-sevens froth, seven-fours broth, no cloth, henceforth no wroth. Got it?"

All three stared in your direction, blinking. "I... think I'm fine, thanks." Ussop replied and took another sip.

"I need a drink." Zoro mutters and brought his glass up to his face. His eyes crossed over to Nami. "That glass have gold on the bottom, or what?" At her confused expression, he tilts his head. "You haven't stopped staring at it."

She looked over at you, and you shrugged. "I'm just a waiter."

Her gaze lingered on you for a second, before going back to Zoro. "You don't think what Luffy did was messed up?"

The swordsman paused and set his drink down. "Yeah. He should've told us." You took a sip out of your own drink as they talked. "But in case you haven't noticed, we've been making enemies everywhere we go. Psycho-clowns, killer butlers. What's a vice-admiral gonna do to us?" You almost choked on your drink.

"No, you don't get it." Nami's face shifted between emotions. "I can't get caught, not when I'm so close-" She cut herself off and stared at her cup for a second, before getting up. "Who's ready for another drink? My treat."

Zoro hummed. "My favourite kind of drink." He watched as she walked off, and his gaze turned back to you. "You seem a bit lost."

You huffed. "All I know is my drinking partners are being hunted down by a vice-admiral, of course I'm fucking lost."

For some reason, that caused the uptight man to let out a small chuckle. "Drinking partners, huh?" He commented and swirled the contents of his glass. "Haven't had a drinking partner in a while."

As he spoke, you finished off your glass and set it down with a wince. "Me neither, Sanji's great but can't handle anything with booze in it to save his life."

"That's that waiter boyfriend of yours." He said as he looked at your finished glass and took a sip of his drink. "Where's he now?"

You shrugged. "Your boss tried to recruit him, so I did the mature thing and stormed out."

A smile grew on his face. "Really? That's Luffy for you. Is he joining?"

"No offense, but I don't think he'd wanna run with your type."

At that, his eyes squinted ever so slightly. "My type?"

"Pirates," You reminded him. "He's not really the pillaging type."

"Neither are we."

You hummed. "It's a wonder how you can pay for all this then." You pointed to Ussop, who's now beginning to blink very slowly. "A Tropical Dream costs at least seventy-five berri without all that fancy shit added to it, and everything needs to be paid upfront. I'm looking at this table and... I see about three-hundred berri worth of drinks? Not including other drinks the waitresses must've taken. And I'm pretty sure pirates don't have normal jobs, and you don't seem like hired guns." You leaned back, staring into his eyes. "So if you're not plundering, then who is?"

Zoro stared at you with an unreadable expression. His eyes ghosted over your form, lingering near your thigh where you kept your gun, before lifting back up to your face. He looked away and finished his drink.

When Nami got back, the tense atmosphere was lifted and you were able to properly enjoy yourself. True to the swordsman's words, Ussop was under the table before he finished his second Vodka Sunrise. He giggled and you had to catch him as he slid down the couch, righting him up with a laugh. “I'm fine.” He slobbed out, his words almost incomprehensibly slurred.

You shook your head with a smile plastered on your face, pushing him into his seat. “I'm pretty sure you're not.” You replied with a small chuckle.

"What'd I tell you?" Zoro asked after he finished his beer with a sigh. "You can't handle your liquor at all."

You smiled and took a sip of your drink. "Sanji can't either, he gets a red face just smelling it."

The shit-faced man, who apparently was a sniper according to Nami, puffed out his chest. "Hey! I can... drink." He pushed off of you and wobbled to his feet. You held out your hands as you watched him stumble forward. "I'm going to get us... more drinks!" He slurred and almost tripped over his feet, but managed to walk himself over in the vague direction of the bar.

You laughed and took a gulp of your drink. "He's certainly a character."

Zoro nodded, face split with his own smile. "Ussop's spirited, but not good with spirits." You both shared a small chuckle and went to drink, but frowned at your empty glass. Hearing Nami chuckle, you looked back up and laughed at the completely distracted Ussop who had begun to drunkenly sway his body around.

"He does have a certain grace about him. Like a frantic, uncoordinated..."

"Sea slug." Zoro contributed with a smirk.

Nami nodded. "That's it. That's what he's like." Her eyes remain fixed on him. "Look at him. Like he doesn't have a care in the world."

Her tone was unusual to say the least, and you placed your glass back down on the table. Zoro was the first to speak. "What are you carrying around that's so heavy?" Whether it was the alcohol, or him feeling more comfortable around you, he didn't so much as look your way when asking the navigator.

Nami's eyes flashed between the both of you. "You have no idea."

You scoffed and pinched a chip from the centre of the table. "You'd be surprised. You're an open book."

Zoro nodded. "And I bet I know more about you than you do about me."

Nami quirked an eyebrow at the both of you. "Yeah right, you both are open books."

"Care to prove it?" When he prompted her, she recoiled slightly but otherwise didn't have much of a reaction. He grabbed the bottle of rum from the table and poured it into some empty shot glasses. "Whoever guesses something right about the other person, that person has to drink." He looked over at you and nudged a glass in your direction. "You in?"

You shrugged. "Sure."

But it seemed as though Nami forgot you were there. She leaned toward Zoro and forced a smile. "Go ahead, tell me all about myself."

He thought about it for a second, then spoke. "I bet you grew up in a big city, running schemes, hanging out in swanky bars like this one."

"You must be thirsty." Her tone dripped with venom.

"You're saying I'm wrong?"

She paused for a second. "I grew up in a small village. Barely a village. Just a handful of houses in the centre of a tangerine grove. Drink." You watched her as she spoke, a dreamy look in her eyes before she came back to reality.

He set down his shot glass. "Your turn."

Nami smirked. "I had you read all the way back in Orange town. I'll bet you didn't have any friends as a kid."

"I had friends."

"Swords don't count."

Zoro was quiet. "I had one friend."

The orange-haired woman's smile grew sad. "Hell, one more than I had." She also went quiet. "Drink."

Zoro grew a smile on his face. "Drink." They both had a shot, then he turned to you. "You're quiet, all of a sudden."

You forced a smile. "Just letting you two bond over your miserable childhoods."

Nami let out a scoff, but a smile wormed its way onto her face. "Fine. I'll bet you had a miserable childhood too?"

"Be more specific."

Zoro hummed. "So it was a miserable childhood?" He smirked and looked away, waited a moment, then returned his gaze. "I bet the reason you hate pirates is 'cause you had a really strict marine dad."

You chuckled and shook your head, the comment catching you off guard. "Can't be further from the truth." You replied and raised your shot glass. "Drink."

Nami piped up. "I'll bet you hate pirates because one raided your village."

"I didn't grow up in a village," You gestured to her. "It was privately owned land about three hours from any major landmark. The only way to get there was by trekking through miles of swamp filled with crocodiles the size of ships, or by docking on a tiny piece of coast hidden by whirlpools."

She finished her drink. "Privately owned land?"

"Nobles." You replied. "They owned half the island, and owned all the business on the other half. They were pretentious, entitled and made us live in houses no bigger than a shitter, but they were good people." You pushed down the memory. "Anyway, I'm sick of being asked stuff. I'm going to guess." You cleared your throat and looked to Zoro. "I bet that you grew up never having a real connection with anyone."

He tilted his head and was silent for a moment. "Define 'real connection.'"

You adjusted yourself in your seat. "You've never loved someone and you've never felt loved. That's why it's hard for you to trust people, you've never had anyone to trust."

He gave a half-shrug and took a shot. "Lucky."

You smiled and looked at Nami. "And I bet that you did something you're not proud of."

Her smile didn't fade, but the genuineness of it did. "How do you mean?"

"You have a look in your eye. Concealed guilt. You think you're a bad person because you've done something you think is bad."

"Well, actions speak louder than words."

"You're wrong." You respond flatly. "A child rapist can give to charity, and a serial killer can help a little old lady down a flight of stairs. It doesn't mean they're a good person. A Saint can trip someone, and a child can bully their friend. It doesn't mean they're bad people."

"So, if it's a mistake it can be excused."

"No. It's intent. That's why we forgive people when they trip us, or if someone accidentally splashes us with water - it's not their intent to cause offense or harm. If you don't intend to harm people, then you're not a bad person. if you, say, wish to create a more peaceful world for people to live in, but you intend to enslave others to do so, then you're a bad person."

"Then, what if by doing something important, you have to do something bad?" The look in her eye was fierce, but you could see past that.

"That's different again. If you're on a rescue mission to save orphans or puppies and you're dangling from a ledge with a rope connecting you to another person, wouldn't you have to cut them loose?"

"But, you've still killed them."

"You don't know that. Without having you fall on top of them, they could survive and reunite with you after you've saved the kids or whatever the fuck it is. You're not a terrible person, you're a good person who had to do a terrible thing. You didn't want to." You gestured to her with your drink in hand. "I think you had your orphans you had to save, and you had to cut someone loose."

You both stared at each other, the atmosphere suddenly becoming tense and unbearable.

"Hey guys, meet my new best friend." Ussop suddenly landed on your lap and looked behind him. "What'd you say your name was again?"

You looked behind you, and a pit formed in your stomach. There stood a man in a decorative coat with a cross hanging from his neck. You recognised him instantly, and judging from Zoro's expression, he did too. "Which one of you is Monkey D. Luffy?"

Nami, finally tearing her eyes from you, smiled. "Who wants to know?"

Zoro straightened. "You're Dracule Mihawk."

Your hand went toward your gun, but a set of piercing eyes halted your movement. It was like being held in chains, and your fingers refused to move. He loomed over you menacingly. "I have business with your captain. If you know what's good for you, you'll hand him over."

"We don't know anyone named Luffy. Right, Zoro?" As smart as she looked, she caught on quick. Zoro rose to his feet, and you were released from your invisible restraints when Mihawk's eyes ghosted over to him. "Zoro?"

The swordsman stepped toward him. "I've been following your career since I was a child. It's an honour to finally meet you, sir."

"Thank you."

He walked past the older swordsman. "Which is why it pains me to inform you that tomorrow, you're going to die."

Your body was thrown into shock, and Nami spoke instead. "What?"

He ignored the both of you and turned to face Mihawk. "I, Roronoa Zoro, challenge you to a duel to the death."

All of you sobered up quickly, and you grabbed your gun. But Mihawk ignored you, turning to face your drinking companion with the tilt of his head. "I've never heard of you."

"They call me the Demon Pirate Hunter," Like a predator analysing his prey, Mihawk's eyes ghosted over his form. "But my lifelong dream is to best you in single combat, and become the greatest swordsman in the world."

"You're serious?"

"Accept my challenge. You'll see how serious I am."

Mihawk paused for a moment, then nodded. "Very well." His strides were long as he approached the young man. "Tomorrow at dawn. And when I'm done with you, pirate hunter, I'll take your captain." The older swordsman's face didn't change, but his walk was different. He disappeared into the shadows of night.

Nami's face was twisted into one of horror. "What have you done?"

A/N: Wow! This chapter gave me some trouble! It was originally going to be completely different, but the flow was off and it honestly would have ruined Zoro's character. So I ended up having to rewrite all of it. I've been slightly teasing it, but next part will have more action in it! I just wanted to establish character relationships and actually give Y/N reasons to do things, as well as get more of her motivation/backstory out there.

#sanji x reader #opla sanji x reader #opla sanji x y/n #opla x reader #opla sanji #sanji vinsmoke #one piece #anime #fanfiction #writing #black leg sanji #one piece sanji #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #roronoa zoro #blackleg sanji #straw hat pirates

227 notes · View notes

fettuccinealfred0 · 4 months

Text

Til Death Do Us Part | Part 4

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 7.6k

(CW: general vampirism, very light descriptions of injury)

Summary:

Astarion’s cold hand reaches out to catch your own as you move to drop it back to your side and he presses your palm against his cheek. His skin is like silk and you can hardly stop yourself from softly running your thumb over his beautiful cheekbone.

He leans in closer, lips just a breath away from yours. You hope he will lean down and kiss you. That he will wrap you in his arms and never let you go. You close your eyes and tilt your head up in anticipation.

Instead, you feel him pull away, your hand dropping limply back to your side. It stings your heart.

“Sleep well, wife,” Astarion says, before he’s turning on his heel and walking swiftly down the hallway.

Read on ao3 here

“What are you reading?” Astarion asks, flopping himself onto the settee next to you.

You lift the book up so he can see the cover. Bram Stroker’s Dracula. “I’m doing research on vampires.”

“Very funny,” Astarion says with a sour face. It makes you giggle as you turn back to your book.

Astarion watches you for a moment before he lets out a frustrated huff that you know is meant to draw your attention back to him.

“Why are you spending all your time surrounded by dusty old books when you could ask me, a real vampire?” He does a self-important flourish with his hand that causes you to snort out another laugh.

It seems too harsh to say ‘because I still don’t know if I can trust a word that comes out of your mouth.’ And really, you do mostly trust him now. You just can’t shake the feeling that there’s something bigger going on around here.

You see Astarion whispering with Shadowheart and Gale in dark corners. You see the weird visitors- the giant, friendly woman, the stern looking warrior-woman, and the man with two different colored eyes- that Astarion always immediately rushes into his study. You had tried listening at the door the last time they came, but you still couldn’t hear anything.

Astarion couldn’t necessarily be called paranoid because, yeah, you were listening at the door. But to be fair, his actions were definitely suspicious. And what were you supposed to do- not try to solve this puzzle which had so wonderfully presented itself to you?

“Come, little flower, ask me anything. I promise there’s plenty of juicy details that are far too scandalous for your books to mention,” Astarion lightly pulls your attention back to him when he notices you chewing on your lip as you think.

He’s hooked you there and he knows it- you never could resist the opportunity to indulge your curiosity. You curl up your feet so Astarion can settle more comfortably next to you and he slings his arm over the back of the settee. Perhaps you imagined it, but you could swear you caught his eyes darting down to your bare calf when you shifted, before you could adjust your skirts to cover yourself.

“What happens if you come into contact with garlic?”

“Aside from bad breath?” Astarion wrinkles his nose. “It’s not deadly or anything, it just reeks. No sane vampire would ever go near the stuff.”

“What about silver?”

“A very pretty metal, though I’m partial to gold,” He answers, gesturing down to his waistcoat, which is made of a shimmery golden silk with swirling floral patterns. Your husband never was one for minimalism.

“What about running water?” You ask, practically having to rip your eyes away from his waistcoat. For under his waistcoat, lay his chest. And the idea of that lovely expanse of alabaster skin had quickly become an image which plagued you in the dark of night.

“Should I be growing concerned about this line of questioning? You seem to only want to know about things that can harm me. I thought your questions would be much more fun.”

You smirk at him. “Please. If I wanted to hurt you, I already would have.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that at all, you feisty little devil,” Astarion says with a wicked grin. His red eyes flicker dangerously, like fire. “As for running water- I do love a bath. Though, it would be all the more delightful if you decided to join me. I could make it… very worth your while.”

His eyes rake over you and you struggle in vain to ignore the familiar flames of heat licking at your cheeks. You can’t decide if the cause is embarrassment or arousal, or both.

“Do you remember what color your eyes were?” You ask, figuring you’ve teased him enough with your initial questions.. Astarion looks genuinely shocked for a moment before his forehead creases a bit. “You know, I’m not sure I do. It’s been so long.”

“How long?” you ask cautiously, like you’re approaching a wild animal. You expect him to skitter away at this line of questioning. Astarion doesn’t like deeply personal questions. He likes wordplay and teasing and, occasionally, dropping the odd fact about himself if you listened closely enough.

“A couple hundred years,” he answers. It breaks your heart to hear that. To know he’s spent so long like this. He couldn’t have been older than his thirties when he was turned, which means he had been a vampire many lifetimes longer than he was alive. Does he even remember what it was like?

“I think they were gray. Or maybe green?” Astarion is still thinking, lost in his own little world. He sits for another moment. “Whatever. You have to admit that the red suits me, doesn’t it, darling?”

He shoots you a wink, said red eyes glinting playfully. You almost have whiplash from how quickly he was able to fall back into his flirtatious performance. By now, you have spent enough time with Astarion to know this act is what he reverts back to when he wants to reestablish control in a conversation, when he wants to stop himself from settling into uncomfortable emotions.

“Your eyes were blue,” you tell him and he looks at you warily. “I ran across the portrait of your family one day. You looked so much like your mother.”

You don’t tell him of all the hours you had spent studying the painting, turning the image over and over in your mind trying to figure out how this piece fit into the puzzle.

“Why would you tell me that?”

And to your surprise, he’s angry at your words. You note this reaction in your mind- that bringing up his past will warrant anger and leave you without any useful information.

“So you could reclaim a part of yourself that was either stolen from you or that you forgot,” you say softly. Astarion’s eyebrows bunch together and he looks deep in thought. It’s making the room too heavy, his thoughts seem too dark.

“How were you turned?” You ask, trying to distract him while also trying to get more of your questions answered.

When he speaks, his tone seems too measured, too rehearsed. “Someone is turned when a vampire drains them dry and buries their body. It’s a rite of passage to dig yourself out of your grave. Of course, the body has to be buried almost immediately or the ritual won’t work and the person will just be dead. It’s a… delicate balance.”

He technically did answer your question, but the story of his turning is noticeably missing.

“Have you ever turned someone?”

“No, I didn’t have that ability for a long time. And now, I don’t really care to.” He’s trying to feign nonchalance, but you see the way his fist is clenched so tightly in his lap that his nails are digging painfully into his palms. He’s hiding something.

“But you’re a vampire?” Your own brow furrows in confusion, because it doesn’t make sense that he would be a vampire but not be able to turn someone.

“Am I?” Astarion asks sarcastically, examining his skin. “I hadn’t noticed. Thank you for that astute observation.”

You nudge him with your foot. “You know what I meant.”

“Yes, but it’s just so fun to tease you, pet. I simply can’t resist.”

He’s trying to get himself out of this line of questioning by baiting you with teasing. But the way he’s still holding his shoulders so tightly, you know there’s still valuable information to be gained.

“So, you’re not a ‘real’ vampire?” you ask again, trying to coax him back on track.

“Now I am.” Astarion takes a deep breath in and out. “For a long time, I was just a vampire spawn.”

“How’s that any different?” You had read a bit about vampires and vampire spawn while doing your vampire research in the library, but the accounts were so varied that it was hard to discern what was true or false. From what you could gather, a vampire spawn serves a vampire lord. And it is rather strange that Astarion doesn’t seem to have any running around the manor.

Astarion is still quiet, so you rephrase the question. “What’s the story behind how you were turned, then?”

“I’m not going to answer that,” Astarion finally snaps, shooting you a glare.

“You said I could ask you anything.” You remind him, sure to keep your tone calm and measured.

“I said you could ask, I didn’t say that I would answer,” he says through gritted teeth. He’s so tense, jaw tight and shoulders nearly up to his ears.

You pout and he softens a bit, lowering his arm from the back of the settee to graze his fingertips gently over the back of your hand.

“There are some stories that only serve to harm when they are told, little flower,” he says quietly and the pained look on his face sends a twinge to your heart that makes you drop the subject entirely.

In moments like this, you must remind yourself that his beauty is a shield- a defense mechanism meant to amplify his pain and provoke a response from you. Even though you are aware of this, the way Astarion looks when he’s in pain has you nearly falling to your knees and begging forgiveness for ever daring to hurt him..

“What happens if you drink the blood of someone who’s drunk?” you ask, trying to lighten the mood after the heavy turn.

You know he’ll welcome a silly question like that. And the radiant smile that lights up Astarion’s face is worth dropping your real line of question. You could ask another time. Right now, you would do just about anything to keep him smiling like this in front of you.

“Darling, I thought you’d never ask! You can get drunk from them, but you have to drink a lot and the effects fade far too quickly. I much prefer wine for a quick buzz.”

“Makes sense with that cellar I found downstairs,” you tease. Though, cellar was a bit of an understatement. Grand network of caverns filled with more wine than you could ever conceive of existing was a more apt description.

“Darling, you should know by now that I collect and cherish the things I enjoy,” Astarion says in a deep, husky voice, eyes looking up at you sinfully from underneath his pale lashes.

The image of him cherishing you fills your mind and sets your face aflame. It would be so easy for his hand to reach out, to tilt your chin up and present your face to his. All he would have to do is lean over, just a little bit closer, and his pretty pink lips would press against yours. They would be soft and cool against your burning skin.

No. Stay focused. This was the time for getting some much needed answers out of Astarion, not the time for silly romantic fantasies.

“Do you like being a vampire?” you ask after clearing your throat. You take great care to keep your voice as calm as possible, afraid you might again be leading Astarion into tumultuous waters.

Astarion takes a moment before he speaks and you can watch his thoughts play out on his face. The slight frown when he first processes your question, the way his eyes dart around the room as if he will think up some witty response to distract you, the gentle furrow in his brow as he tries to think of a genuine response.

“I honestly don’t know how to answer that.” He’s trying hard to keep his own voice measured and controlled when he speaks. “It’s… complicated. I certainly don’t regret being turned. Not anymore, at least.”

Not anymore. So, he did regret being turned at some point. But why? What horrors has he witnessed that were so unspeakable? Was his turning really that traumatic?

Perhaps he had been in a war? You had read many stories that portrayed war as the worst of what humanity could do to one another. But no, that’s ridiculous. Astarion is nobility, he practiced law. And Astarion isn’t the type to involve himself in other’s petty squabbles, anyway.

But the faraway, pained look in Astarion’s eye has you thinking that whatever he had suffered must have been akin to the worst of war.

“Would you ever want to be a vampire?” He surprises you by turning the question back on you. You curl your arms around your knees, pulling them closer to your chest. Your reaction isn’t an immediate no, which surprises you a bit.

“I don’t know. Depends on the circumstances, I think,” you tell him.

What you really mean is that it depends on if eternity would look like this. If eternity would involve reading in the gardens or Astarion and you sitting next to each other on a settee and talking. Those might be terms you could agree to.

“I think I would really miss the sunlight,” you give Astarion a sad smile.

No sunlight means no gardens during the day, no talking strolls in the forest, no swimming in a river and sunbathing on a rock to dry yourself off. The life of a vampire is cold and dark and lonely. Only, maybe it wouldn’t be quite so lonely for you?

“A small price to pay for eternal life,” Astarion says with what you have come to understand is his hollow performance voice. Meant to dazzle an audience and distract people from the fact that his real feelings contradict what he is saying.

You watch him carefully as he settles deeper into the couch, crossing his arms over his chest and attempting to tamper whatever melancholy had been brewing inside him.

“Come on then, darling, read to me,” he says, giving you a wicked grin, “I can tell you what they got wrong in your little book.”

You read aloud and Astarion chimes in with little quips like ‘that’s not right,’ and ‘what do you think about me taking two more brides like this Dracula fellow, pet?’ and ‘good gods, just skip over the parts about Renfield, he’s a disgusting, pathetic character.’

But as you continue to read, Astarion slowly lets his head rest against the back of the couch and his eyes grow heavy before they eventually fall closed. The frequency of his interruptions slows until he’s just giving little hums of acknowledgement when you read something especially shocking or profound.

When you make it over two pages without a single interruption, you pause to look over at him. His deep, even breaths lead you to think he might have fallen asleep. With a smile, you turn back to the book and keep reading, perfectly content to never let this moment end, even if the number of remaining pages was starting to dwindle.

—---------

The longer you spent around Astarion, the more you realize that he did occasionally sprinkle the truth into his words- for even the best charlatans use truth to make their facades seem more real. Astarion wasn’t unique in that regard.

As such, you were determined to find the flakes of truth in Astarion’s story, determined to piece together the puzzle of the man you called your husband. It would be your most challenging and most rewarding prize yet.

So, you study him. You watch and you learn every tiny expression on his face. Astarion might be a masterful performer, but there were involuntary reactions even he could not control- a slight furrow of the brow, an inhale, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. And sometimes, there were flashes of something in his eyes- joy, wonder, terror, despair- so quick that a lesser trained eye might have missed them completely.

You notice these details because they are important to your cause. And yet, they stick around in your head for hours, repeating like some terribly wonderful time loop.

And you find yourself craving his company. You tell yourself that it’s not because you particularly enjoy his presence, but because every interaction gives you more information, gets you one step closer to discovering the truth beneath the mask. And yes, he was beautiful and wonderful to look at, but you only gazed upon him so often because you were collecting valuable data.

Though… it was remarkable how he seemingly had no bad angles. How the candlelight bent to his whim, following him around and dancing against his skin.

And gods damn him, Astarion can be funny, when he wants to be. He’s well-read and full of little tales and salacious secrets about the other nobles and their ancestors. In another life, you would have thought the gods crafted him especially for you- your perfect conversation partner.

Although Astarion will never love you, never desire you in the way that you secretly know you will always want him, you think he has come to find some enjoyment in your companionship, too. Some of his smiles seem a bit too real, some of his laughs a little too wild to be rehearsed. You imagine he regards you as a sort of… pet. Or, if you really dare to dream, perhaps a friend.

You must constantly remind yourself that his flirtations are empty, practiced phrases that are meant to disarm you. They do not show you he cares for you or that he wants you. You try to ignore that deep, viscous part of you that calls out to him, that wants him to think of you fondly, that hopes that you are driving him as mad with your presence as he drives you.

Over the past month, you’ve become semi-nocturnal. You find Astarion is much more active once the sun has gone down and the later you stay awake, the more time you get to spend with him. It’s unsettling how naturally your life seems to shift to accommodate him.

When you do make your way out to the garden in the late afternoons, Halsin happily congratulates you in his friendly, over-the-top way on the state of your marriage and how you and Astarion have managed to grow together despite your initial difficulties. You know he means it sincerely, but the words leave you a stuttering, embarrassed mess. You didn’t think you were being so obvious about your growing… affection for Astarion.

So, you start reading in the library more often than the garden, now that the air has started to turn crisp in the autumn nights.

Or at least, you’ve convinced yourself that’s the reason why and not because you secretly hope that Astarion will come join you.

And he does join you, some days. He’ll stride in with a book or some papers and take up residence on the couch across from you. On the really good days, he’ll sit on the couch beside you and ask you to read aloud and you get to lean against him while you read to him.

Tonight, he decided to accompany you to the library after dinner. He’s sitting in a chair across from your favorite settee and he’s only wearing a flowing white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You keep sneaking peeks up at him, mesmerized by the blue veins in his arms and how the lean muscles move when he turns a page. You’re trying really hard to be subtle- only letting yourself glance up for a moment every couple of minutes.

But, gods, it’s so difficult to focus on the words in front of you with that expanse of skin teasing you.

“You haven’t turned a page in a very long time, darling,” Astarion says without even looking up from his own book.

“And how attentive are you to your own reading if you’ve been listening for me to turn the page?” You shoot back.

“Oh, I’ve been finished for ages. I just couldn’t stand to leave you.” He gives you that devilish, tantalizing grin where one corner of his mouth curves up more than the other. It sends your heart fluttering like a hummingbird in your chest.

“Well,” you sigh, shutting your book and attempting to act casual, as if your formerly self-declared enemy hadn’t just caught you gawking at his forearms. “I suppose I’m not going to get any more of this finished tonight.”

“I apologize, I know my presence is entirely too distracting,” Astarion says, and the arrogant look on his face makes you roll your eyes. He’s not wrong, but he'd be entirely too pleased with himself the rest of the evening if you admitted it out loud.

“Yes, how does anyone get anything done with you around?” you say sarcastically instead.

“I haven’t the faintest idea how,” Astarion lets out a suffering sigh, as if his beauty is too much for the world to handle (it is). You can’t let yourself think about it too long or you’ll devolve in idle fantasies about what it might feel like to trace those beautiful veins in his arms all the way up to his chest.

You snap your book shut, “Want to join me on a walk around the gardens?”

You need to get out of here, where the stifling air and Astarion’s flowy white shirt are clouding your mind. But you don’t want this night to end yet. Not just yet. In truth, you gladly and greedily take as much time as Astarion’s willing to give you.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be in the world.”

He says it with that easy, flirtatious tone and you know he probably doesn’t really mean it. But that deep part of you that feeds on Astarion’s praise still preens.

The cool air is refreshing when you step outside and your head finally begins to clear. Astarion holds his arm out for you and you let your fingers brush against the skin of his forearm as you tuck yourself into his side.

When you turn to look at him, he’s practically luminescent. The moonlight was made for him, bouncing off his white curls and casting a gentle glow over his pale skin. As the moon reflected the sun’s light, Astarion seemed to reflect the moon’s. You were simply lucky to bask in his presence.

Arm in arm, you wander through the garden, pointing out your favorite flowers to Astarion and checking in on the blooms. It’s reached that part of autumn where some perennials have started to sleep, ready to reawaken in the spring. The sunflowers, always one of your favorites, are drooping for the night, waiting to chase after the sun again tomorrow, and you frown a bit when you see them.

“It’s a shame you never get to see the gardens during the day. The colors, the blooming flowers. It’s truly one of the most remarkable things I’ve ever seen in my life,” you say, as you and Astarion move into the rose garden. Everything new you find out about vampirism makes it sound like an isolating, dreary existence. You make a mental note that Astarion could use some cut flowers in his study every now and then, though it feels like a poor substitute for the splendor of the full gardens.

Because it is your mission to study Astarion, you don’t miss the fleeting, pained look that passes over his face, the look he always gets when you dig a bit too close to a truth he’d rather keep buried.

You used to push him on these, but you quickly found that got you nowhere. No, Astarion responded far better to a gentle touch rather than provocation and name calling. You were coming to realize that he would tell you in time, in his own way. And you had started to find that you didn’t mind waiting for answers if it kept you in his company that much longer.

And oh, how rewarding those answers were when he gifted them to you in the dark of the night, offering up little pieces of himself like Tara delivering you a dead mouse.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be prattling on- '' you try to backtrack, to apologize for the sadness that you have caused to enter his eyes.

You sometimes wonder what his eyes would look like if they were still blue- would they be pale blue like soft ocean waves or rich and deep like the blue flowers in the garden?

With his red eyes in front of you, his sadness is akin to pain, all blood and gore and unspoken horrors. No, you decide, if Astarion had blue eyes they must look like dark rain clouds when he is sad. For if Astarion weeped, would the heavens themselves not cry for him?

“Nonsense,” Astarion cuts you off and you’re acutely aware of how your husband has been studying you just as intently as you were watching him. Admittedly, the two of you were remarkably similar underneath it all. All sharp teeth and claws masking scared and fragile hearts.

He gives your hand a little squeeze where it rests on his forearm. “It’s wonderful to see the world through your eyes.”

He says it so casually, like he hasn’t caused your knees to buckle and your soul to leave your body. Occasionally, he slips in sentiments like that, with no regard for your poor heart. You’re dangerously close to having hope that he actually means them.

But no, you remind yourself. There was no way Astarion’s words could be trusted. He said things, he did things to get a reaction out of you because he grew bored and because he knew how badly you wanted him, how badly everyone wanted him. There was no reason to hope. He had entertained you at the ball because he was hungry, he had married you to tie up loose ends, and he spent time with you now because he had very little other company up here in his lonely manor.

You do not mean as much to him as he does to you.

You distract yourself from that thought spiral by talking, amazed at how easy and willing you are to offer up information to him now, “I used to have a book with flowers drawn in it as a little girl that I would stare at all day. There were so many that I’d never thought I’d get to see in real life, until I came here. And there were some flowers that I didn’t even know existed until I saw them here for the first time. These gardens are everything I could have ever dreamed of.”

Astarion gives you a smile that lights up his whole face and he seems so proud, like the whole purpose of his life is to make you happy. Your heart sings again and you shush her immediately.

Astarion’s beauty was not something you would ever grow used to. And in the lighting tonight, his profile sent a cold shock through your body. You had never felt so alive. You had never yearned for death more.

“My mother used to love the gardens here. She used to always try to get me to help her plant things. I wish…” He trails off, reaching out to stroke a delicate rose petal with his fingers. “Well, I wish I would have appreciated that more when I was younger. You never realize as a child how precious those memories will one day become.”

“And I wish you could have seen it then,” he says, letting out a wistful sigh. “You would have loved it. The gardens were even grander and more vast than what they are now. When I returned, they were in such disrepair that it pained me to look at them for ages. I hired Halsin to help restore them and he did a wonderful job, of course, but it’s just…”

He continues to stare at the flower he holds in his hand, unable to find the words to finish his sentence.

“Not the same?” you complete the thought for him and he nods.

And although his words fill you with a deep sadness, you rejoice for a moment. Astarion offers up information about himself so rarely that his words tonight are practically a feast. You tuck away that little piece of his backstory in your mind to analyze later. Though, as usual, he leaves you with more questions than answers.

Where had he returned from? Where was it that he had spent most of his vampiric life? And you still don’t know the circumstances of how he was turned into a vampire or how that plays into creating the man standing before you.

You let your fingers rub in circles against his forearm as you think.

Astarion’s rests his hand over yours. “Your hands are cold, little flower. And we both know a pretty thing like you blooms better in the daytime. I think it’s time to get you back inside.”

You try to protest but a yawn escapes you and Astarion gives you a knowing look that forces you to roll your eyes and allow him to start guiding you back toward the manor. His footsteps are slow, as if he’s trying to prolong your time together.

“Thank you, Astarion,” you say quietly, when you reach your room.

Facing him, the low, flowing neckline on his shirt has the lines of his collarbone perfectly in your sight and you’re scared you won’t be able to resist reaching out and touching them if you have to look at that for much longer.

Astarion seems unable to resist touching you, either, and his hand reaches out to tug on the chain of your necklace which holds your wedding ring. It must have snaked its way out from under the collar of your dress at some point during the night. He rolls the gold band between his fingers, his expression unreadable.

“You’re wearing your ring,” Astarion states the obvious, his voice low and husky with some emotion you can’t decipher.

“Yes,” you whisper. It’s not embarrassing, per say, but it does feel a bit like Astarion has broken his way past your ribcage and is staring directly at your beating heart.

“When did you start doing that?”

He tilts his head and one, single white curl dislodges itself from his meticulously styled hair. You watch it fall gently, like a feather floating through the air.

“About a week after…” you trail off. It was still weird to admit it out loud. About a week after you were married. It had been a couple months since that day and everything after has felt like a feverish dream.

You can’t focus when Astarion is looking at you like this- eyes all warm and rich and red like the fading embers of a fire. And the loose curl that caresses the skin of his ear is just taunting you so sweetly. Your hand moves almost of its own accord, reaching out to brush it back into place and ghosting over the shell of Astarion’s ear. You catch his slight shiver.

Instead, you feel him pull away, your hand dropping limply back to your side. It stings your heart.

“Sleep well, wife,” Astarion says, before he’s turning on his heel and walking swiftly down the hallway.

Wife.

He called you that so rarely and combined with the rosemary and bergamot lingering in the air after him, you feel a bit dizzy.

Oh, it’s the first time he’s called you that without a hint of teasing or sarcasm. No, tonight he said it almost with reverence- as if you were a gift to him. He had said it like a true husband might. That silly sense of hope thrums again in your veins.

But hope for what? That this marriage built on deception and hatred might turn itself around into something based in love? You chastise yourself for feeding into girlish fantasies. You needed to stop reading so many romance books.

No, you were just relieved that Astarion and you had managed to grow into something that could be considered a friendship. That he respected you enough to give you back the control that so many husbands wielded viciously over their wives. You were content since you were safe, and never pressured into uncomfortable circumstances, and spent your days doing whatever you wished.

You did not really want Astarion to kiss you.

It is the baser, lonely part of you that wants him to kiss you, that wants to hold him, that cries out for his touch. You would want to kiss anyone after taking a midnight stroll in a romantic garden. Astarion just happened to make it especially confusing by being the most beautiful man in the world.

And yet, you still yearn for his attention, you long for his smiles like a flower chases after the sun. And was his smile not capable of rivaling the sun? The pure joy, the pure energy surging beneath the surface.

No, when Astarion smiled, the sun itself bowed her head in surrender to his beauty.

—------------------

Gale might have been right, though you were loath to admit it.

You really did have a hard time sitting still for your portrait. It was only a couple hours each day in the afternoon, but all the sitting and doing nothing felt like torture. You could have done it if you had been allowed a book, but the stupid artist needed to be able to see your stupid face.

On the second afternoon, Astarion wanders in, inspecting the painting critically, eyes narrowed and a hand held up to his chin as he scrutinizes it.

“The shade of her eyes is all wrong,” he finally says with a displeased frown.

“I’m sorry, my lord, the painting isn’t finished yet.” The artist attempts to defend himself but you can tell he quickly sets to work correcting the ‘mistake.’

Astarion comes in the next day, and the next, and the next and just watches over the artist’s shoulder. The poor man is sweating so bad he’s creating a small puddle on the floor. It’s rather amusing. You have to refrain from laughing the whole time.

The man can’t seem to be able to paint a single detail without Astarion critiquing his choices and giving corrections. It’s a flurry of ‘see how her mouth moves up in the corner when she smiles,’ and ‘no, look again at how the candlelight moves against her skin,’ and ‘her hair doesn’t curl around her face like that, you’ve made her look like a poodle.’

You’ve come to think that Gale was wrong and perhaps Astarion is the worst kind of fine art snob who believes they could do everything better than the actual artists. And granted, he probably could- Astarion was also the annoying type of person who was preternaturally gifted at everything they tried.

When Astarion finally deigns the painting satisfactory after many, many days of nit-picking, you’re allowed to see the final product. It truly is a marvelous piece. You are sure you have never looked more beautiful- not even at the ball where you met Astarion or on your wedding night. No, in this painting, you can only be described as ethereal, a small scrap of the heavens that created Astarion.

It feels as if you are seeing yourself anew, through the eyes of someone who loves you.

“I expect nothing less than perfection when it comes to you, my love,” Astarion says, a gentle hand on your waist as he stands behind you and keenly observes your reaction.

But the painting is not what has pulled the air from your lungs.

My Love.

That's new. In your time as a married woman, you had grown accustomed to the endearments that Astarion loved to dole out and had deciphered his uses for each. He seemed to have a personal vendetta against calling you by your name.

Darling was for emphasis and dramatic effect. Dearest was a bit sarcastic and typically saved for use around others. Pet was for when he really wanted to be a condescending asshole or a teasing little shit.

Little flower was perhaps the closest thing to a real endearment that Astarion had in his vocabulary, saved for the soft moments when the mood between the two of you could perhaps be considered friendly.

But my love was unprecedented, uncharted territory.

And with the way Astarion is looking at you, with eyes so open that his soul is practically bleeding out of them, you wonder if for the first time he actually means what he is saying. That maybe some part of his heart does hold affection for you. It seems impossible.

He spends the rest of the evening peppering darlings and my dears in nearly every sentence, like he’s overcompensating for the slip up earlier.

Your portrait is hung next to his in the gallery. And you do have to admit that the two of you look wonderful together.

—----------------------

You don’t like when Astarion leaves on trips. Especially since he never wants to take you with him. Apparently, you had annoyed Astarion so much about the issue that he now resorted to not even telling you when he was going to leave.

Instead, you awoke one afternoon to Shadowheart informing you that he was away on business for the next few days. You’re fairly certain he’s lying- that whatever he’s out doing involved those maps and papers you found on his desk when you had broken into his study.

You’re a bit peeved that he didn’t even bother to leave you a goodbye note but mostly, you want him to come back.

You know he will arrive home with a flourish and an extravagant gift. His last trips had awarded you with a lovely new silk dress, a newly released book, and a tiara, of all things. Out of the three, the book was the only item that was really useful and you had spent a few nights reading it to Astarion while his head rested in your lap. Though, you did wear the dress and tiara to dinner after you had received each and the pleased mood it put Astarion in was worth dressing up for no reason.

This time, Astarion has been gone for two days and you feel as if you are going to lose your mind with how desperately you need him to come back.

You’re pacing the length of the drawing room, working your lip between your teeth and focusing on how you want Astarion back so you can yell at him for leaving without telling you and not because you miss the little grins he gives you when you see him in the hallway. Or the way he’s started tracing patterns on the inside of your palm when you sit together after you read. Or how he sometimes stares at you with such awe you feel as though he is looking at your very soul.

You do not miss Astarion. It just… feels wrong when he isn’t around.

You’re still pacing and deeply rationalizing how much you definitely do not miss him when you hear the front door open. Your body begins moving before your brain could even register what you were doing.

The sight before you is a nightmare. Astarion’s arm is wrapped around a woman’s shoulder and she’s supporting most of his weight as she drags him through the door. You recognize her instantly due to her imposing frame. You had seen her around the manor from time to time when she would visit for those secret meetings that she, and the mean-looking woman, and two-color eyed man had with Astarion.

She had always been kind to you when you had seen her around, always quick to offer up a smile. But not now. Her forehead is creased deeply with worry and you faintly register her yelling for help over the ringing in your ears.

Astarion looks bad, which is a word you never thought could be used to describe him. His skin is already so pale, but now, he looks nearly white and there’s blood splattered across his face. His free hand is clutching at his side in a way that implies he’s been badly wounded.

You’re frozen in fear. What could you possibly do to help?

Shadowheart, who must have been on her way to bring you tea as you paced, immediately shoves the tray onto the first surface she can find.

“What happened?” Her voice is grim and she’s rushing forward, helping to support Astarion’s weight on the other side. He lets out a pitiful groan of pain as they settle him on a couch.

“Got ambushed on the way back. Too many of them, we couldn’t fight them off,” the tall woman answers.

But her explanation seems… off. Astarion’s carriage is grand, sure, and robbers like to target the wealthy, especially in the dead of night. But you had a hard time believing this woman would be incapable of fighting off a couple street thugs. An attack that would warrant this level of injury seems much more organized.

No. Something else is going on. What sort of business was Astarion tangled up in?

Shadowheart is a blur as she bustles around, collecting herbs, cloth bandages, and a needle and thread. You never knew she was a healer. Was everyone around here keeping secrets from you?

And you’re just standing there, uselessly, incapable of doing anything other than watch as your own heart bleeds out in front of you.

Your feet do manage to carry you to Astarion’s side and you try to stay out of Shadowheart’s way as she works, but all you want right now is to pull him into your arms and soothe the pain on his face.

“Astarion?” you call his name, your shaky hand reaching out to move a stray curl away from his face. It looks all wrong- his white hair drenched with red blood. His eyes crack open and a dreamy smile spreads across his face when he sees you.

“Come to grace your dying husband with a kiss, sweet wife?” Astarion’s eyes are hazy, but you can still detect a teasing sparkle in them. You’re relieved for a moment, because his condition surely can’t be that bad if he’s still managing to tease you.

You let out a laugh. “Leave it to you to be flirting on your deathbed.”

Shadowheart’s worried voice breaks you out of your momentary comfort. “He needs blood, desperately.”

“We need to get someone from the village,” you say, making a motion to get up and go call for someone, but Astarion’s hand is wrapping gently around your wrist. His grip is worryingly loose and you can tell it’s all the strength he’s able to muster right now.

“Not enough time,” Shadowheart shakes her head. Her voice is fraught with anxiety and it sends a needle of ice through you. Shadowheart didn’t scare easily. “He needs blood now.”

“Can you?” you ask and she shakes her head again.

“My blood’s no good and neither is Karlach’s,” Shadowheart nods her chin up at the tall woman.

“Is there anyone here who can give him blood?” You cry out. Someone had to be able to help- Gale, Halsin, another servant.

“Just you.”

When you look down at Astarion, there’s a cold hand squeezing at your heart and you realize that you don’t have a choice. You grab the dagger that’s strapped to Astarion’s belt- which, why did he have a dagger if he was going on a normal business trip? You glide the sharp edge along your palm, ignoring the sting of pain as you cut it open.

His eyes are closed as you squeeze your palm shut to help the blood pool and drip onto his lips. Almost immediately, his eyes are shooting open and he’s dragging your palm to his mouth.

It’s obscene to watch him- he lets out a groan as his soft tongue swirls and sucks against your skin. In another time, in another circumstance, there would be that familiar desire pooling deep within you as you watched him.

Suddenly, the idea of Astarion drinking anyone else’s blood ever again fills you with a jealousy so deep that you’re scared of what you might do if you get your hands on that unlucky soul.

A bit of color returns to his face and he presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your wrist, seemingly as thanks. Later that night, as you sit at his bedside as he recovers, you’ll be pressing your own lips to the same spot, as if that silly act could imitate the feel of his lips against your own.

Astarion’s eyes are still hazy and unfocused as he purrs, “Delicious, of course. I can only think of one other way I could devour you that would be better than that.”

The fact that he loses consciousness immediately after saying that probably has the opposite effect than he intended. You’ll have to tease him about that after he wakes up. And he will wake up. Because you can’t bear with the thought of a life without him.

---------------

Notes:

Okay, I fully recognize that Dracula didn't come out until 1897 and I did say this was a regency AU, but we are simply ignoring inconvenient facts for the sake of a bad joke. Sorry, I get make to the rules around here!

This chapter was so much fun to write because I'm a slut for yearning but I can't even describe how excited I am to share chapter 5 next week!!!!!! It's a doozy! We finally get a peak into Astarion's smooth little brain and well… I did promise eventual smut. I hope you all know how much I appreciate everyone who reads this little story and I hope everyone is having as much fun with this as I am!

As always, thanks to AliensNSuch on ao3 for beta-reading! She is my live studio audience cheering in the comments of the absurdly long google doc where I keep this fic and, for that, I love her.

Taglist: @idkbrodontaskme @ayselluna @maruichio @fanfic-share

Just let me know in the comments or by shooting me a message if you would like to be added/removed from the taglist!

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #x reader #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #til death do us part

161 notes · View notes

lonelym00n · 11 months

Text

The End.

Part five of The Devil Likes the Pirate Series

Tara Carpenter x Reader

Word Count: 8.9k

Summary: All good things must come to an end, even if the path to get there is a difficult one.

Warnings: Spoilers for Scream VI, some violence, and a few buckets of angst!

A/N: That's it, it's done! For my first ever series, it's not terrible! Sure it could be better, but I'll happily settle for it being good. I never would've thought that my silly oneshot would've turned into this, but I'm so glad it did!

The Carpenter’s apartment goes from being quiet enough to hear a pin drop, to the loud thunder of arguing voices.

Sam orders Tara to pack a bag, to get all of her stuff together quickly so they can take off.

Tara refuses, stating that Sam is overacting and that she doesn’t want to disrupt her life here in New York.

While the sisters are locked in a battle of crossed swords, you are preoccupied with your own feelings of unease. Mindy has been eyeing you with something akin to skepticism for the past few minutes and you are desperately trying not to panic under her scrutiny.

You have an idea of the conclusion that she’s likely come to. The attacks occurred last night, the same night that everyone was conveniently accounted for inside the apartment. Everyone but you.

All the current signs point to you and as daunting as it is, you can’t deny that if you were in Mindy’s shoes, you’d suspect yourself too. It didn’t take a mind as sharp as Mindy’s to piece together what it might mean that Ghostface reappeared at the same time that you were absent.

A sliver of luck is evidently on your side, because no one else but Mindy has stopped to consider potential suspects.

You know that it’s going to be hard to talk Mindy out of her distrust in you, but you have to attempt to sway her opinion before she notifies the rest of the group.

Without alerting anyone else, you cautiously wave Mindy over to you.

Begrudgingly, she makes her way across the room. Her arms are crossed firmly over her chest while you chew your lip nervously.

“I know how it looks, Minds, but it wasn’t me.”

She snorts, “You do realize that’s exactly what the killer would say, don’t you?”

You attempt to swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat. This conversation was going to be harder than you thought.

In the days that you were avoiding the rest of the group, Mindy had opened up to you about her trauma. She’d relayed that her uncle was known as the expert, the guy who knew just what to do to not only survive the killer, but to expose them. A ghost of a smile had appeared across her lips when she told you that she’d followed in his footsteps and taken up the same role.

The task of convincing the expert that they’re wrong is overwhelmingly difficult, one incorrect move and no one will trust you for however long these attacks last.

“I swear that I went back to my room.”

There’s a wide and pleading look in your eyes, but it’s going to take a lot more than that to persuade her.

You’re scrambling for anything that can back up your alibi. “My roommate saw me! I can text her, shit I’ll call her.”

Before you can dial the girl’s number, Mindy’s hand lands on your wrist. You snap your eyes up to meet hers.

“Alright, stop. I know how much you hate talking to her, you don’t have to call her.”

You heave out a sigh of relief.

“You’re not off the hook completely, maybe you were at your dorm but there’s still a chance you could be lying. It’s not enough to check you off my list entirely, but I’ll leave it alone for now.”

“I get it,” swallowing thickly, you nod.

“Good.”

Mindy turns to return back to the group, but stops short.

“You’re my friend and I care about you, but I won’t give you a second chance. If you screw up and do anything else that I find suspicious, I’ll make sure that none of us ever talk to you again.”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, but you don’t need to. You know she’d keep true to her word, and so you can only hope you don’t find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time again.

You remain in your spot against the wall for a while. It’s in your best interest to try and blend in, so you’re in no rush to reenter the room.

Most of the others are still sitting on the couch, Sam’s pacing back and forth on the phone. Tara stands in the entryway of her room with her arms crossed defiantly.

Sam turns to face everyone, “I’m going down to the station.”

She strides over to the door and Tara speeds over before she can exit.

“I’m coming with you.”

Sam goes to argue, but Tara cuts her off, “We’re supposed to stick together, aren’t we?”

Though you are situated directly adjacent to the entryway, neither of the Carpenter sisters spare you a glance as they leave the apartment.

A sense of apprehension creeps up into your chest, and though it’s glaringly obvious, you have a sinking suspicion that everything is about to go terribly wrong, terribly quickly.

Attempting to ignore the fact that you’ve now become a character in a real life horror movie, you survey the rest of the room once more. Mindy and Anika are hushedly whispering between themselves, Quinn has returned to her room, and Ethan is distracting Chad with some video on his phone.

You want to leave, to lock yourself into your dorm room to process the fact that there’s a pretty high chance that you might die at the hands of a knife-bearing psycho in a halloween costume, but you can’t. You can’t risk being alone right now, not only because you’d be privy to an attack, but because Mindy’s words haven’t stopped swirling around in your head. No second chance.

So, despite your want to be alone, you trudge over to the couch and perch on the edge of it. Your hands come up to cover your face as you try your best to think of anything other than the worst case scenario of the situation you’ve found yourself in.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you and the other occupants of the small apartment, another attack has occurred in the rundown bodega up the street.

Sam and Tara, who just barely evaded the long-barrel of Ghostface’s shotgun, are now sitting in the precinct’s interrogation room, accompanied by Detective Wayne Bailey.

Once he receives both of the Carpenter’s alibis for the attack the night prior, he shifts his questioning to the other members of the group.

Mindy and Chad are promptly vouched for, leaving you, Quinn, Anika, and Ethan vulnerable to Bailey’s queries.

The gruff man asks about everyone else’s whereabouts last night, excluding Quinn who, as her father, he can check off the list.

A reluctant conversation silently takes place between the sisters.

Sam gives her sister a sorrowful look, as if to say, ‘We both know who wasn’t there, we have to tell him.’

Tara’s eyes widen, signaling her response, ‘But Sam-’

Sam places a heavy hand on Tara’s shoulder, patting it lightly. She turns to Detective Bailey.

“Anika, and Ethan stayed over at our apartment after the movie night.”

“And Y/N Y/L/N?”

Sam pauses, trying to avoid catching her sister’s pleading glance.

“She left late last night, we don’t know where she went.”

Bailey jots something down on his notepad before looking back up at the two sisters.

“We’ll call her in for questioning.”

Tara stays frozen in her seat, unmoving. All the while, her mind is shouting at her to jump to your defense.

Her lips, however, remain pressed together in a thin, disconcerted line. She wants so badly to believe that you’re innocent, but a tiny nagging voice sings songs that you’re guilty and that you’re out for her blood, out to finish what Amber Freeman couldn’t.

Distantly, Tara notices that Bailey gets up to leave the room. She and Sam sit in silence, the older girl afraid to say anything in fear of upsetting her volatile sister.

Twenty minutes or so later, Detective Bailey returns.

“Before you ladies go, there’s someone here who wants to see you.”

The sisters stand and exit the room per Bailey’s instruction. A blond-haired woman shuffles forward.

Sam’s eyes light up, “Kirby!”

The blond chuckles, “Sam!”

Kirby greets Tara, the small girl giving her a tight-lipped smile in return.

As the two catch-up, the sight of a figure being led in by an officer snags Tara’s attention.

Back with the rest of the group, you remained in your own little bubble while everyone else chatted amongst themselves.

Following the pattern that has been laid out for you, your peace was quickly disturbed.

You had nearly dropped your phone when it rang loudly throughout the Carpenter’s apartment. You answered the call, only to be told by the police that you were to report to the station. The call was kept brief, but you knew the reason behind it nonetheless.

Things only declined from that point forward.

You were nervous, extremely so. You didn’t kill the film teacher, nor did you kill Jason or Greg, but the fact that you were being treated as a suspect for the murders had you anxious enough.

You stood up on shaky legs, fumbling towards the door. Mindy pulled Anika closer to her at your haste, while Chad and Ethan merely side eyed you.

No one said anything as you left, and despite the want to sob into your hoodie, you kept your head high and bit your tongue.

The officer who led you into the station was nice enough, her eyes didn’t scream guilty guilty guilty like your supposed friends’ did.

You kept your eyes firmly on your shoes throughout the walk. A tiny, familiar gasp made you stop short in your path.

You looked up and met Tara’s eyes. You were conflicted at how you felt when you looked at her, your usual longing and adoration joined by several other emotions. Heartache, desolation, and gut-wrenching hurt.

She didn’t say anything to you, just blinked back at you with those gorgeous deep brown eyes, her expression completely unreadable.

You understood well enough that the cops were only aware of your potential involvement because someone had mentioned your name to them. You’d thought that Mindy had somehow silently tipped them off at first and sure, you were wounded by it, but the knowledge that it had been Tara? Well that nearly devastated you beyond repair.

If Mindy giving the police your name was a stab to the heart, then Tara having been the one to do it was six shots to the head and a complete dismemberment of your body.

You were entirely conscious of what the girl had gone through with the Woodsboro attacks, and how her previous girlfriend had been the one behind it all. But even so, was it fair for Tara to be treating you this way?

Since you've fallen for the girl, she’s done nothing but emotionally harm you. It started with her flirtatious teasing that drew you into her like a blissfully unaware moth to a too bright flame. She’d had you hook, line, and sinker, but to worsen your infatuation, she’d kissed you. You were trapped by then, drowning in everything that came in the small package that was Tara Carpenter.

Just as fast as she’d pulled you in, she’d pushed you away. She left you to piece yourself back together, and once you finally repaired the cracks, she was back, admitting that she’d wanted you all along.

And now, immediately after her admission, she’s accusing you of murder.

Though your head spun from the back-and-forth, you knew that you’d stupidly always be patiently waiting for her to reel you back in.

So no, it probably wasn’t fair for Tara to be treating you this way, but it wouldn’t stop you from wanting her all the same. How could you possibly distance yourself from her when she was all that you’d ever wanted?

Your eyes sting with the familiar need to cry at how pathetic you feel. You’re hopelessly in love with the girl who thinks you’ve committed murder. Isn’t that just spect-fucking-tacular.

You throw her a dejected look and allow the officer to continue ushering you into the interrogation room.

If Tara glances your way at any point after your nonverbal interaction, you don’t stop to notice.

You have bigger fish to fry than your ill-advised love for her, like the fact that not only do she and all of your friends see you as a potential murderer, but the NYPD does too.

You’re sitting in the room for a while, left to fester in the stale air. You’ve watched Criminal Minds and Law & Order, you know that this is a common tactic used to make criminals grow skittish. Though you are not a criminal, the biting silence in the room makes the tactic work on you all the same.

Your lip has been chewed raw and as you begin to faintly taste the sharp copper of blood, the heavy door swings open.

Two people walk in, introducing themselves as Detective Bailey and FBI Agent Kirby Reed.

Your skin pales at the title of the woman and the flash of her badge. They’d brought in an FBI Agent to question you?

They pull out the chairs in front of you and take a seat.

Detective Bailey clears his throat, “Y/N, we understand that you’re a friend of Samantha and Tara Carpenter.”

You nod tightly.

“We have reason to believe the sisters are under attack by a copycat Ghostface killer. Are you aware that both Carpenters were recently ambushed at a bodega near their apartment?”

The blood drains from your face at the mention of Ghostface by name. Wait-

“Tara was attacked?”

Kirby and Bailey exchange a look at your failure to include Sam in your question.

You, on the other hand, are mentally losing it. Tara was attacked, she must be so scared, so shaken up. It was easy to be distracted by your own involvement in the attacks, but god, this was Tara’s second time going through it.

Seeing how panicked you are, Kirby has to refrain from placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“She’s okay, Sam too. Just a few cuts and scrapes here and there.”

The fact that she hadn’t been heavily injured comforts you. You nod to Kirby in thanks.

Bailey, on the other hand, doesn’t care too much about your emotions. It’s clear that he’s taken over the bad cop persona, while Kirby plays the good cop.

“So, where were you tonight?”

Oh right, you’re here to be interrogated for murder. Any thoughts of Tara’s wellbeing float away at the reminder that she gave your name to the cops for potential murder.

“I was with Mindy, Anika, Chad, and Ethan, at Sam and Tara’s apartment. I came here as soon as I got the call.”

Bailey grunts and scribbles your response onto the notepad in front of him.

Once he’s done, he lifts his gaze up to meet yours and raises a singular, probing eyebrow.

“And what about last night?”

You bite your lip, suddenly feeling very fidgety.

“I went back to my dorm room and went to sleep.”

“Did anyone else see you? Can anyone confirm that?” Bailey stares you down, a tad bit menacingly.

“My roommate, she saw me this morning before she left.”

Detective Bailey reluctantly accepts your answer, and requests your roommate's contact information to confirm that she’d seen you. You give it to him readily.

Kirby speaks up, voice gentle, “I just have a few more questions, and then we can let you go.”

Something about the way she’s treating you so kindly makes you even more anxious. Whether it’s that or her status as an FBI Agent, you aren’t sure.

She speaks slowly, like your English Lit professor does when she wants the class to catch on to the author’s analogy buried deep beneath the text.

“I specialize in determining whether certain murders have any connection to Ghostface. I know a lot about copycat killers, and what might motivate someone to put on a mask and become a ghostface.”

You get what she’s trying to convey. Boiling it all down, she’s good at telling Ghostface apart from non-ghostfaces. She can tell the guilty apart from the innocent. Wait that means-

Suddenly, you’re no longer scared of Kirby.

Suddenly, you’re hanging off of her every word like she’s a life raft in the middle of a barren ocean. And metaphorically, she is. She’s your last hope in the series of accusing fingers that have been pointed your way.

Her eyes gleam with the sense that you’ve understood her hidden implication.

“So,” she pushes a singular photo in front of you, “Can you tell me who this is?”

The photo in front of you is a movie poster, with all the words edited off. A tall man stares down the camera, complete with blue coveralls and a pale white mask with tufts of hair coming out of the top.

Though you aren’t a huge horror buff, you recognize the character. But is it right to know who he is, or should you lie?

“Um,” you swallow and pause for a second, “That’s Michael Myers, from Halloween.”

Kirby hums, and slides three more photos forward.

The first one has a character that wears a red and green striped sweater, with razors extending from his fingers. Freddy Krueger.

The second picture’s character is donning a menacing grin, and has distinct clown-like makeup on. If the makeup doesn’t give it away, the singular red balloon does. Pennywise.

The third character you are admittedly less familiar with. It’s a bald man with a stark white complexion. A series of nails adorn his head, and he has a long leather getup. In his palm, he displays a glowing box. Pinface? Pinhead?

You lift a sweaty hand to point at the first picture. Your voice is shaky, “Freddy Krueger from The Nightmare on Elm Street.”

You point to the second picture, “The movie IT, it’s Pennywise.”

Finally, your finger lands on the last picture. You’re hesitant, you think you know the answer but you’re still unsure if you should be getting these right or not. Would the killer know all these characters?

“I don’t know the name of the movie. And I’m not entirely sure, but I think that’s Pinhead.”

You think Kirby is pleased with your answer, because she simply collects the pictures and places them back into their folder.

“I know it's a bit of a weird process, but it actually gives me a lot of information. That’s all I need from you, you can go now.”

Kirby’s face remains impassive, not revealing her current thoughts. Detective Bailey, on the other hand, is looking at you with something akin to a scowl.

You stand up, legs slightly wobbly. Kirby and Bailey get up to leave as well. Bailey continues down the hallway while Kirby holds the door for you. Before you can make it fully past the door frame, a strong hand landing on your shoulder makes you jump.

Kirby glances over her shoulder to make sure Bailey is out of earshot. She pulls a card out of her jacket and discreetly slides it into the front pocket of your sweatshirt. “Call me if you need something, or if anything happens. Especially if it’s anything that could be related to you-know-who.”

You look up at her gratefully, nodding. It’s her close-lipped way of saying she trusts you.

She releases your shoulder with a small pat, and you all but scramble out of the police station.

Once outside, you check your phone for any missed messages. Surprisingly, you see one from Mindy, telling you to meet her and everyone else at the park just off of campus.

The same park that led to your Tara-related downward spiral. The same park that was home to the catalyst of your current separation from the rest of the group. Lovely, just lovely.

Reluctantly, you make your way over to the meeting spot, completely unsure of what horrible scenario would be awaiting you this time.

Once at the park, you stop a distance away from the group to take in the scene. They’re seated together on the benches, the only empty seat next to Quinn. Mindy stands front and center, no doubt about to shed her expert wisdom on everyone.

As much as you’d rather turn and walk away, you shuffle forward and make your way over to sit next to Quinn. The group has gone silent at your arrival, but you keep your gaze firmly on your shoes, not wanting to face the judging looks that are being sent your way.

Mindy claps her hands together to break the tense silence, “Okay nerds, listen up. As terrifying as this all is, I’m actually glad I get a chance to redeem myself for not calling the killers last time.”

She takes a deep breath, “The way I see it, someone is out to make a sequel to the requel.”

Anika interrupts with a question, “Um, what’s a requel?”

Mindy gives her a sweet smile, “You’re beautiful sweetie, let’s hold questions til the end.”

After a few comments from Sam and Tara about Stab, Mindy launches into a ramble about sequels and requels and franchises. You’re listening distantly, but are more distracted by the weight of your own exhaustion. Being interrogated by two officers of the law took a lot more out of you than you thought it would.

Your thoughts are placed on a back burner at Ethan’s voice entering the conversation.

“Am I in the friend group?”

Mindy nods, along with a few others.

“Am I-,” his voice breaks slightly, “Am I gonna die a virgin?”

Mindy laughs through her nose, sharing a look with Anika at the boy’s admittance.

“Weird overshare, but that brings us to our suspects.”

You stiffen at the mention of the group’s suspects. So that’s why she’d texted you to come, not just to explain the rules, but to ridicule you in front of everyone.

She gestures towards the flustered boy, “Ethan, the shy dorky kid who no one suspects because he’s so shy and dorky.”

He splutters for a moment, “Wait- I’m a suspect just because I’m Chad’s roommate?”

Mindy scoffs, “Roommate lotteries can be juked, you could’ve fixed it to get closer to us.”

He remains silent, dumbfounded. Mindy moves on.

“Quinn, the slutty roommate, a horror movie classic!”

Quinn arches a perfectly plucked brow, “Sex positive, but thank you?”

Mindy rolls her eyes at the terminology. “How’d you end up rooming with Sam and Tara?”

“I answered their ad online?” She glances at the Carpenters.

“Say no more!” Mindy barks out a laugh, “You’ve already implicated yourself!”

Sam, sensing that Mindy is getting a bit too carried away with her antics steps in, “It was an anonymous ad, Mindy.

Tara nods, “Plus we vetted her, and her dad’s a cop.”

Mindy’s eyes widen and she exclaims, “‘Cuz having a cop dad is the perfect cover, do you not remember how these movies work, Tara?!”

Tara sits back in her seat, huffing.

Mindy shifts her attention to her girlfriend, “Next up, Anika.”

The girl blows her a kiss and Mindy catches it goofily. Her face quickly morphs into a straight look, “Never trust the love interest.”

Anika pales.

“And finally, speaking of love interests.” The horror-loving girl whips to your direction, and regards you more seriously than she had the others. You want nothing more than to shrivel up and shrink down to the size of an ant.

“Y/N, who might I remind everyone, we met while she was wearing a devil costume.”

The feeling of everyone’s eyes burning into you makes you want to throw up.

“We’ve known you the least amount of time, and I can’t be the only one who finds it weird that the only people you’re friends with are here right now. A killer, clearly trying to keep all ties short.”

You flinch and open your mouth to respond, but Mindy continues.

“You were noticeably absent the same night the killings began. And if that doesn’t implicate you enough, your perfect motive will.”

Though you want to scream at how unfair this is, you can only sigh and give in. At this point, you’ve realized there’s nothing you can do to make yourself seem less suspicious. They all think it’s you, so why defend yourself when it would only fall on ears that are unwilling to listen?

“And what would my motive be?”

Mindy grins, victoriously.

“You’re in love with Tara, and not just surface level love, no no no.” She laughs to herself, “You’re actually in love with her, and it goes so far deep that there’s no way out of it.”

The urge to throw up and empty your guts is stronger than ever. You’re pissed, but more so shocked that Mindy has stooped so far as to reveal this to the whole group. And right in front of Tara. She knows now, knows everything. The girl who can’t even decide if she wants to be with you now knows the full extent of your feelings for her. Fucking great.

The last piece of your dignity is gone forever. Mindy speaks again, “She broke your heart when she said she only wanted to be friends. Trampled it even, and you were so upset that you decided to break hers too. Only literally.”

She faces everyone, clearly proud of herself, “There you have it folks, the perfect motive! Break my heart and I’ll break yours, but worse! A flawless romance-horror mashup.”

Everyone remains silent, just blinking at Mindy in astonishment.

Your restrained sniffles break the silence.

You rise, not even bothering to hide your tears or wipe them away. You’re broken, worse than you’ve ever been before.

Before you can stomp away, you meet Mindy’s eyes, letting her see exactly how upset, angry, and ruined you are feeling.

Your tone is even and still as you spit in her direction, “Screw you, Mindy.”

With that, you walk away, uncaring if it makes you look any more suspicious.

Watching as you move further and further away, Mindy finally decides to talk once more.

“I went too far, didn’t I?” She knew she always had a flair for the dramatics and it wasn’t the first time someone had been offended during one of her killer call-outs.

Sam had been the last victim to be scorned by Mindy’s words, “Yeah, yeah I think it’s pretty obvious you went too far Mindy.”

Ever the protective big sister, she glances over at Tara to see how the younger girl has taken the news.

Tara is sat as straight as an arrow, eyes wide and blinking slowly. She looks utterly gobsmacked and as much as a little part of Sam wants to giggle like a child at her sister’s expression, the older and more mature version of her wins over.

“T, you okay?” Her voice is soft like a blanket, a tone she reserves just for Tara.

Tara comes back to life at Sam’s question. She shakes her head heatedly, “No, I’m not okay. Mindy, what the fuck?”

Mindy bristles slightly at Tara’s anger, no one likes being on the receiving end of her chihuahua-like biting remarks.

“Tara I-”

“Mindy, why the hell would you tell everyone that? She told you all of that and you just threw it right in her face?”

Mindy’s silence spurs Tara on.

“It’s one thing to accuse her of being Ghostface but to say all that? Really?”

Tara scoffs and pushes herself out of her seat. She starts striding to catch up with you, to say what exactly, she isn’t quite sure yet, but she’ll figure it out on the way.

To her dismay, a familiar hand catches her wrist and twists her around.

It’s Sam, because who else would chase after an agitated Tara Carpenter?

“Tara, you can’t go after her.”

“She’s upset Sam, and it’s not safe for her to be alone and upset with a killer on the loose.”

Sam frowns, lips almost forming a pout, but nods in agreement. “I know Tara. She’s really upset. But it’s not safe for you to be alone with someone who could very well be the killer.”

Though the shorter girl is still unsure of whether or not you could actually be the one behind the mask, it's the last thing she's thinking of in this moment. A snarl forms on her face, “So you agree with Mindy.”

The older Carpenter is quick to defend herself, “I’m not saying I agree with Mindy, I just don’t think that you and I should split up. Can we keep staying together Tara, please? I can’t let you get hurt again.”

Tara deflates like a balloon, the angry miniature dog that lives in her finally gone. She nods in resignation and lets Sam lead her back to the group.

Meanwhile, you finally make it back to your dorm. You pluck Kirby’s business card out of your pocket and carefully examine it. The only information given is a phone number and her name.

You debate calling her for a moment, maybe you’d be able to find some comfort in the agent. She was the only one who didn’t think you were Ghostface, after all.

You decide against it, choosing to instead stew in your overwhelming emotions. You’d finally been granted time to process the onslaught of events, a brief calm in the inevitable storm.

Just as it was weeks before, your bed remains your safe space. You move to plug your phone into your charger, but stop short upon seeing a message.

Tara: hey, we’re making dinner at the apt and having evryone stay over tn.

Tara: u should come

The invitation leaves you frozen for a minute. Why would she want you to stay over with everyone else? Was this some sick move for her to corner you and reject you once and for all?

You aren’t sure what to respond with, so you leave her text unanswered. You can’t think rationally right now, so you plug your phone in, lay your head on your pillow, and succumb to the swirl of your emotions.

You lay there, staring up at your ceiling and sobbing, for what must be a few hours. Your friends think you’re a killer, and Tara knows the full extent of your love for her.

Your phone, ever the annoyance, interrupts your breakdown with the alert of an incoming call.

Groaning, you roll over and pick it up without looking.

“Hello?,” your hoarse voice croaks out.

“Why hello, Y/N. About time we talked, don’t you think?”

The voice is teasing, like it’s somehow toying with you.

A chill shoots up your spine, and you sit up against your headboard. You sort of recognize the voice, but you can’t place how you know it.

“Who’s this?”

A laugh rings out and it somehow freaks you out even more.

“Since I like you, I’ll give you a hint. What’s your favorite scary movie?”

You drop your phone onto your lap and scramble away from it, as if it was purely responsible for how terrified you feel.

Shit, shit, shit.

Back when you were avoiding everyone, Mindy had insisted for you to watch Stab 1 with her, since you’d never seen it before. You tried to refuse, but she shut you up with just one look. Rolling your eyes, you allowed her to put the movie on.

Though she was providing commentary throughout the entire opening, you’d heard the voice that had spoken with Casey Becker on the phone.

You heard Casey’s killer ask her the same question you’d just been asked.

Fuck.

It was him, somehow, someway, he’d gotten your number and was calling you.

You were on the phone with none other than Ghostface.

Shit.

The person on the line chuckles, their altered voice muffled because of the way the phone is being pressed into your comforter, “Now I’ve got your attention.”

With trembling hands, you pick your phone up. “What do you want with me?”

“To thank you. Y’know because of you, I get a little more wiggle room. More time to be off on my own, carving up another person or two, or planning out exactly how I’m going to kill Tara.”

“Leave her alone!”

“Oooh feisty, but not a chance. I think I’ll burn her alive and shoot her in the head, just like she did to Amber.”

“Amber was a psycho and so are you!”

“Maybe, but you’re the one who everyone thinks is psycho.”

Clenching your fists, you remain silent.

Ghostface continues, “I think I’ve decided I want to play a little game. A new game I made just for you.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, full of pure fear. “I’m not playing any games.”

“Too bad. It’s a guessing game, it’s simple really. You guess if I’m in your bathroom waiting to spill your guts all over the place, or if I’m under Tara’s bed, ready to slice through her skin at any second.”

Your blood runs cold as you turn towards the tiny bathroom connected to your dorm room. The door is shut, and an eerie silence fills the room. Ghostface could be in there right now, and you’d be dead in seconds. Worse, he could be biding his time for the perfect time to strike an unsuspecting Tara.

“Tick tock,” the killer sings.

You steel yourself and cautiously position yourself upright, ready to bolt towards your door.

“You’re in my bathroom, come out and get me you fucker.”

The bathroom door stays shut, and you’re left poised in a tense position, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, I’m afraid you’re wrong.” Oh god.

“Don’t hurt her!”

“I have to. We have unfinished business.” The words are spat out, clearly in raw anger.

The teasing tone plays through the voice modulator once more, “Thanks for being apart from everyone again, it really helps that you’re always able to take the fall for me.”

Ghostface ends the call. You clamber out of bed, toss on the nearest pair of shoes, and sprint out of the door, though not before grabbing the 3.5 x 2 inch card off of your dresser.

While racing like a madman to the Carpenter’s apartment, you dial Kirby’s number.

After one ring, she picks up. “Agent Reed.”

“Kirby!” You’re panting as you hurry along.

“Y/N?”

“Yes! Kirby you have to get to Tara and Sam’s now! Ghostface is there.”

You can faintly make out her rustling around, likely collecting her jacket and gun.

“I’m on my way. What happened, how do you know?”

“He called me, Kirby. He’s setting me up!”

“Shit, okay get there as soon as you can.”

“I’m trying!”

This can’t happen to you, not again. Your stupid emotions about everyone thinking you were guilty fucked things up even more. If they didn’t hate you and suspect you before, your absence now definitely cements your fate.

Your only hope is to make it there in time to help defend against Ghostface.

But alas, luck isn’t on your side. When you arrive at the Carpenter’s apartment, you’re met with yellow caution tape and the flashing red and blue lights of both ambulances and police cars.

Too little, too late.

You aren’t even sure what to do, not knowing if it’s better for you to turn and walk away, or to feebly defend yourself like a broken record. You see a body bag being rolled by on a stretcher, and the sight of it makes everything that you’re feeling so much worse.

One of your friends is dead.

You aren’t angry at them for how they treated you anymore, how they turned their backs on you so quickly. You can’t be angry. Not when someone died at the hands of whoever was behind this. Not when you’re being so cruelly reminded that this isn’t a petty fight, or a game night squabble.

One of your friends is dead.

You’re sad, instead. So immensely sad. And scared, your limbs still shake from the residual fear leftover from the phone call. The killer was taunting you on the phone, so shouldn’t you have been the next one to go? Whoever died didn’t deserve to, not while you just got to freely exist.

But like Mindy had said, you’ve been brought into a franchise, and everyone has a role in a franchise. Your friend is now nothing more than a notch under the famed killer’s belt, a tally for the rankings of a video titled ‘which slasher villain has the highest kill count?’

And your role?

You’re the killer’s toy, their beat-up ragdoll held together by loosened strings that they’d stopped caring about years ago, but still blame for every mess they create.

You’re the scapegoat, the one to blame, traveling down a path of loneliness and carrying around the killer’s sins for all to judge you for. Just when your innocence is proven, you’ll die, a sacrifice the killer is all too happy to make.

You sigh heavily, the weight of your thoughts resting deeply on your shoulders. You can’t feel sorry for yourself though. Not when you’re still alive, still breathing.

You can’t walk away, because running from your problems has just made everything worse.

The cops are distracted, so you slide underneath the caution tape. You sluggishly drag your feet towards the ambulance, further into the throng.

Mindy’s sitting in the back of the vehicle, a blanket wrapped around her shivering form.

You approach her, moving as shakily as a baby deer.

She sees you out of the corner of her eye. You watch as hers widen exponentially, “Stay the fuck back.”

You halt. The fearful and disgusted look in her eyes at the sight of you swallows you whole.

Tears cloud your vision, “Are you okay?”

She remains quiet, just staring at you, unblinking.

“Dumb question.”

Mindy blinks again.

You don’t know what to say, and you don’t get a chance to. You’re being ripped away from Mindy, met with Sam’s blazing eyes.

You can just barely see Tara behind her, looking smaller than ever.

Sam grips your chin, forcing you to look up at her.

“Where the fuck were you?” She barks.

The murderous glare she’s leveling you with has you shrinking into your skin. “I- I was in my room.”

“Liar!”

“Sam, please. You have to believe me, I’m not lying.” You’re crying now, because she’s still looking at you like an untamed beast waiting to rip your heart out.

Near blubbering, you continue, “He called me, Ghostface called me.”

The reminder of how scared and alone you felt on the phone with Ghostface makes your cry even harder, and Sam softens slightly, albeit still glaring at you.

“What’d he say?”

“He thanked me for helping him look less suspicious. He said it gave him more time to plan his next kills.” It’s a conscious decision not to include that he’d specifically mentioned how he’d kill Tara. Sam would rip your head off right on the spot.

She stares at you, trying to decipher if you’re telling the truth.

You heave in a breath, preparing yourself to finish your recount, “He made me play a guessing game. He told me to guess whether he was waiting to kill me, or Tara.”

Sam is scarily still. In the distance, you can see Chad harshly slamming Ethan into a van.

If Sam, Tara, Mindy, Chad, and Ethan are here, then that leaves…

Quinn. And Anika. God.

If you weren’t about to be strangled by Sam, you’d likely curl into a ball and sob at the knowledge that the two girls you’d seen earlier today are gone.

You’d beg and plead with Sam if it meant she’d believe you. “I ran here as soon as I realized he was gonna hurt her. You have to believe me.”

You stare up at her with shiny eyes, praying she accepts your story.

Without warning, you’re released from the death grip that she had on you. Sam backs away from you without saying a word, slinking back towards Tara.

You meet the younger Carpenter’s gaze for one brief second, before you tear your eyes away. You couldn’t afford to decipher how she currently felt towards you. It hurt enough to be painted as the killer, you didn’t need her rejection of your love for her to pile up on top of your already too intense hurt.

From your spot alone, in the middle of the group, you can hear Mindy telling an apologetic Ethan to get away from her. She tells him how the two of you are at the top of her list, and that she didn’t need either of you near her ever again.

Though you aren’t part of the conversation, her words still bruise. You might’ve called her your best friend once, probably still would, but she’d forever condemn your name.

You wallow in your sorrow while Gale shows up, sharing a regretful exchange with the two sisters. Kirby comes soon after, also checking up on the Carpenters.

Gale announces to everyone that she’s found what’s likely the killer’s hideout, and everyone silently follows along while she leads the way.

You walk a ways behind the group, arms wrapped around your own waist both defensively and protectively. A firm body knocks their shoulder against yours, breaking you out of your daze.

Kirby levels you with a worried look, “You good kid?”

“Don’t worry about me, ask the others.”

She clicks her tongue at your response, “Already did, now I wanna know how you’re doing.”

You reach a hand up and drag it through your hair, “Mindy hates me, probably Chad too by association. I can’t tell how Sam feels, if she thinks it’s me or not. And I can’t even bring myself to look at Tara, let alone ask her if she thinks I’m out to murder her.”

Kirby shoots you a sympathetic look, “That’s a lot for one person to deal with.”

You shrug, “Yeah well, nothing I can do about that.”

The two of you finish the walk towards the abandoned theater in silence.

Before you enter, Kirby places a hand on your arm to stop you.

“We’re gonna catch who’s behind this eventually. Why don’t you stick with me for the time being?”

Your eyes light up, “I’d love that.”

And truthfully you would. Staying by Kirby’s side will not only be comforting, but will also ensure that you’re no longer left to accidentally fall into a situation that makes you look guilty. For the first time since all of this started, you feel seen, like you finally have a friend that’s on your side.

She smiles at you and the two of you enter the theater. You soon realize that it’s less of a theater, and more of a shrine dedicated to the Ghostfaces of the past.

Everyone fans out to inspect the items. You’re stuck to Kirby’s side like glue, inching your way towards a display case.

She carefully places her hands atop the case, scanning her eyes across the items.

Pointing out a few items, she speaks out to no one in particular. “Charlie stabbed me with that knife, and that’s the same flannel Jill was wearing.”

You hum sadly, what she went through must have been so horrible.

The rest of the visit to the shrine is lonely for you. Kirby leaves to bond with Mindy, then to check on Tara. You’re left to stand in a corner, trying to blend in with the shadows.

When Kirby returns, the group clusters together, forming a plan.

As you sit by Kirby’s side in the van, the plan quickly goes to shit. The killer’s call is traced back to Gale’s apartment, leaving the Carpenter sisters to race to her rescue.

You and Kirby head back to the precinct for a while, where she combs through her files once more. She gets a call about a new plan, and the two of you hop back into her car, headed back towards the abandoned theater.

Sam, Tara, and Chad stand outside.

Chad points to you, where you’re standing by Kirby’s side. “Is it safe for her to come in with us?”

You swallow at his retort.

Kirby calmly comes to your defense, “Safer than leaving her alone, yes. Where’s Mindy?”

Sam explains that Mindy got separated and had to take a different train with Ethan.

Kirby quirks an eyebrow, “Okay, well it’s better if we wait inside.”

The others go their separate ways, leaving you and Kirby to stand by the door. She double checks the ammunition in her gun, and makes sure her bulletproof vest is intact.

A few minutes pass where you’re left to sit and wait. With Kirby distracted with her gun and you distracted with your thoughts, neither of you notice the figure creeping up behind her.

Kirby falls to the ground, groaning before she falls unconscious. Before you can think of screaming, you’re hit hard in the back of the head.

You land next to Kirby on the ground, head spinning as your world fades to black.

You’re groggy as you wake, but you quickly notice that Kirby is nowhere to be found. You stand and take a minute to regain your bearings.

Once you’ve calmed down, you start to make out the faint sounds of voices in the main room. You slowly approach, stopping dead in your tracks once you see what’s going on.

Sam and Tara are clutching bricks, trying to defend themselves from Quinn and Ethan, who are wearing the ghostface robes and taunting the sisters with knives.

Detective Bailey stands in front of them, waving around a gun as he monologues.

To your dismay, Quinn notices you.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite accomplice.”

Bailey turns to face you, grinning.

“Come on over, join us!”

The rest of the group can’t see from where his back is turned, but his gun is aimed at you and his eyes are threatening. You comply, terrified as you inch forward.

When you’re within reach, Bailey reaches out and wraps an arm tightly around your shoulders, the force of his arm nearly knocking the wind out of you.

He turns to taunt the two sisters, “We couldn’t have done it without her. Your little girlfriend was a great help, Tara.”

Sam and Tara look shocked and then betrayal fills their eyes.

You’re confused, caught up in fear and panic.

Sam’s scoffs, “You needed four people just to take me out? That’s pathetic.”

Only now do you realize what’s going on. Bailey’s making it seem like you’ve been helping them all along, still not allowing you to be innocent.

Your eyes are wide and begging for the umpteenth time, “Wait, I didn’t help them!”

Ethan rolls his eyes, a tiny hidden smirk on his face, “Drop the act! This is the fun part Y/N, remember? Like we talked about.”

You try to wiggle out of Bailey’s grip, but he’s unwavering.

Your struggling causes you to meet Tara’s eyes. She looks devastated, like her worst thoughts were coming to life.

“Let me go! I didn’t help them, Tara please! Please it wasn’t me! They’re lying!”

Your cheeks are wet with your tears.

Bailey looks between you and Tara for a second before a smirk slowly spreads across his face.

“Well Tara, it looks like it’s up to you.” He tucks his gun into his waistband and pulls out a knife.

He gestures to you with the knife, “Girlfriend, or killer?”

The knife presses against your abdomen, ready to strike.

Time pauses for a second, while your eyes are locked on Tara’s. You’re pleading, the most desperate you’ve been up to this point. Your life is quite literally on the line, and if Tara chooses not to trust you, you’re dead.

Her mouth is agape, opening and closing, as she glances to Sam for help. Sam shakes her head and mouths a trust no one to her sister.

Tara remains conflicted.

Bailey growls, “Girlfriend or killer, Tara. Choose one.”

Tara’s gaze hardens, but you can still see how her eyes are flitting around worriedly.

She’s biting her lip hard.

You decide to try to sway her one more time, this is the girl you love, who knows how much you love her, though not by your choice. You don’t know if she returns your feelings, but this isn’t the time to be fearful of rejection. At least if she still doesn’t believe your innocence, you’ll die knowing you did everything you could to save yourself.

You don’t sound desperate anymore, just broken. “Tara, I- I love you. And I wouldn’t do this to you, or Sam, or any of our friends. You know me better than anyone else, so you should know I’m telling the truth. I have been all along.”

The room is still and silent.

Tara looks into your eyes, and whatever it is she sees, it makes her finally open her mouth to respond. She’s looking right at you as she speaks, “I believe you.”

It’s then that the room erupts into chaos.

You’re blinded with pain as Bailey’s knife enters your insides and twists around.

“You got it right Tara, but you’re too late.”

The knife is pulled out and thrusted back in. A trail of blood leaks out of your mouth.

Quinn and Ethan laugh. Tara’s screams ring loudly throughout the shrine, but she is held from running towards you by Sam.

You’ve lost track of how many times the knife has entered your body. The pain is so intense that you can’t even feel it anymore.

Your vision is spotty, and you slide limply out of Bailey’s grip to crash unceremoniously to the ground.

You’re left to wonder why no one’s ever said how sickening it is to feel your own life draining from your body. Maybe because they didn’t live to retell the pain?

As your eyes drift shut, you think back to the first night you’d met Tara. How you found her to be so alluring, so painstakingly beautiful. You remember the offhand internal comment you made after hours of blushing under her relentless teasing, when you’d said to yourself that this girl would someday be the death of you.

You’d laugh at the irony if you had enough energy to do so.

With the hopes of being reincarnated into a simpler life, you finally stop fighting death’s cold grasp and allow yourself to fade away.

And fade away you do.

Until the paramedics are pumping you full of drugs, their arms flying around you with practiced precision. They’re stitching, and bandaging, and doing everything they can to save your life.

Somehow, someway, they do it. They save you.

A week later, your eyes open for the first time.

The room is empty, your only company being a vase full of wilted flowers.

You’re covered by a thin blue blanket from the waist down. You’d reach down and assess the damage, but your arms don’t want to cooperate, still too weak to comply with your brain’s request.

Besides, you’re alive, shouldn’t that be all that matters?

It’s then that you hear two voices out in the hallway, growing louder as they likely approach your room.

The door opens, and you suck in a breath. It’s Sam and Tara, the latter of the two clutching a fresh bouquet of flowers in her uninjured arm.

They haven’t noticed you’re awake yet, still continuing their previous conversation.

“Hi.” You mentally kick yourself for always having the most awkward greetings.

They gasp and turn to face you.

“You’re awake!” Tara flies towards you and carefully embraces you, mindful of your barely healed injuries. You make a small noise in response, though eventually slowly lift your arms to return the hug.

Sam leaves to go inform the nurse of your condition.

The small girl pulls away to set the flowers down, before moving to gingerly sit on the side of the bed.

She lifts a hand to cup your face, silently stroking your cheek with her thumb.

“I owe you a huge apology,” she begins.

You shake your head, “We have plenty of time to talk about that, let’s just exist for now, yeah?”

She nods, big brown eyes scanning your face nervously. You watch curiously, as she seemingly works up some confidence.

“Is it true, what Mindy said?”

You pale, and meekly nod your head, knowing she’s referring to when Mindy exposed your love for her.

She’s launching herself towards you again, stopping with her lips mere millimeters away from your lips, a silent question of permission lurking in her eyes.

You glance down at her lips, wondering if they’re as soft as they were the first time you’d kissed her.

She takes that as your answer, and closes the gap. You’re drowning again, in everything that is Tara Carpenter, but there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

There’d be time to talk later, to work through your issues of trust with her and everyone else, but for now?

You were perfectly content with the blissful feeling of being consumed by Tara, of her expressing everything left unsaid with just her lips.

You’re scarred and hurt, beaten and bruised, but none of it matters.

You’re kissing Tara, and she’s enough. More than that, she’s all you’ll ever need.

Bonus note: Everyone thank @cartierdreamx for the happy ending, as much as I love it, r's death would've really fueled the evil angst rat that lives inside of me. Send me your thoughts, I'm so excited to hear what you all think after reading!

Taglist: @thenextdawn @dreifhraniquo29 @fanboy7794 @thelonewriter247 @simp4natasha @cartierdreamx @btay3115 @friedryes @bananasplits-world @alexkolax @ordelixx @adaydreamaway08 @youralphawolf72

As always, so sorry if I forgot to add anyone to the list that asked to be added! I tried my best to add everyone!! <3

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x you #scream fanfic #devil likes the pirate series #lonelym00n fic

480 notes · View notes

away-ward · 15 days

Note

i cannot for the life of me make a decision about this, so do you have any headcanons on opinions on what banks would've been like if she had gone to high school ?? what tropes or clichés she would've been closest to embodying ?? because we know em was a nerd, that winter struggled for the obvious reasons but ultimately was fine in hs and fairly normal, rika was decently popular but far from the cheerleader level... but banks, i can't place what she would've been like if she'd gone to high school. we know she's very smart, but i can't see her as someone holed up in a library. then, we can also probably deduce that if she had gone to high school, damon would've been crazy protective but i still can't really make a set decision on much else regarding how banks' storyline/personality would've gone if she did indeed attend Thunder Bay prep or some other high school, minus these small details.

i do think she & emory would've got on like a house on fire if she attended TBP as they would've been in the same grade and probably had similar opinions on high school hierarchy and the horsemen and general thunder bay weirdness and extravagancy. they would've dissed people so thoroughly and easily with their quips and banter, for sure.

Ohh I have thought about this.

It can go so many ways, because as same with Emory, the debate is "was she naturally someone different and the circumstances made her this way? Or is it that she survived the circumstances because this is who she is naturally?"

Did Banks do so well in Gabriel's house because that's who she is, or did being in that house make her that way. In Hideaway, she mentions that she never cut her long hair because it was the last part of "Nikova." Additionally, her struggle with Damon is wanting to be her own person and to experience things other teenagers - normal teenagers - experience. But if she were a normal teenager, would she still value those experiences, or would they be mundane and expected?

I chose to think High School AU Banks would fall somewhere in the middle. She'd still be a bit of a tom-boy, and a bit of a rebel. In my AUs, she still lives with Lucinda, but Damon wants her close, so Gabriel pays for her to attend TBP. She's smart, but not without effort. She's not afraid to get involved throw down if she sees something she doesn't like. She's careful, though, and never throws the first punch, so she can always claim self-defense. It's helpful that she's a bit of a sarcastic smart ass and naturally skilled at goading people.

In school, she'd appear to be generally nonchalant about stuff, but she actually has a lot of opinions. It comes as a surprise to the teachers, who were not expecting Damon Torrance's younger sister to be so... outspoken. And argumentative.

Having a bit more freedom, and hopefully a healthy relationship with her brother, she’d probably be known for fighting with Damon in the halls over how protective he is. Like, he can’t even let her project partner talk to her without going all big brother on her.

Seriously, get a life, dude. Maybe if you had as much confidence talking to your little dancer friend as you do telling me what to do, you’d actually have a girlfriend. Newsflash, bro, there are certain things I can’t and won’t do for you.

I don’t see her wanting to participate in any extracurricular activities, but with a school like Thunder Bay Prep, it would probably be expected. I can’t see her wanting to be on a team, so Girl’s Basketball probably isn’t a good match…

Oh. You know, with her being a bit of a sleuth in Hideaway and tailing Kai to get his routine, she’d probably make a good Yearbook photographer. Or maybe working on their school paper. Maybe something along those lines that keeps her out of the spotlight. Though, I don't know what Banks would want to do growing up. Maybe she does go into student government, wanting to make changes that actually make sense and benefit the students, instead of planting a tree as the senior gift for the fifth year in a row (do these people even know what they could do with this much money, or do they only know how to add when it's involving cases of beer and tits?). Maybe she does it because she's tired of seeing Chloe get everything and wanted to challenge her, and then sort of accidentally ended up class president.

Actually, I like that...Emory makes fun of her for it all the time.

Speaking of Emory, they are best friends. Both come from more humble backgrounds, which would naturally make them targets for bullies, but not this time. Because the whole school knows wherever Emory goes, Banks is close by. And wherever Banks is, Damon is close by. And wherever Damon is, the Horsemen are close by. Not to mention, Will is a horseman, and he’s always close to wherever Emory is…

Not that Banks and Em need them. They're pretty good with the tongue lashings, themselves.

Without a doubt, Banks goes to every single one of Emmy’s activities to show support. She hangs out when Emmy’s working on her projects, and helps when she needs a hand. They both have a crush on a Horseman, but they only talk (read: tease each other) about that when they can guarantee no one can hear them.

I headcanon Banks, Emmy, and Elle are a pretty solid trio. Emmy's smart and artsy, Elle's a soft-hearted romantic, always talking about dating but never taking her own advice, and Banks plays the rebel without a cause who loves her two friends.

Anyway, have some pics that would definitely be in Banks' friend's (so Emmy and Elle) camera roll.

that last one's from Banks of will and emmy. (i've never seen love, rosie, so I don't know context. but I know in a willemmy high school au that has yet to be written, this scene will happen)

Let me know what you think! Or if my headcanons helped inspire some of yours. This was really fun, thanks for the ask.

#asked and answered 270 #asked and answered #devil's night series #devil's night series stuff #devils night #nikova banks #ko's headcanons

178 notes · View notes

eviebane · 4 months

Text

you guys loved my part 1 and 2 of Badly Explained Good Omens so i'm just going to keep doing it. fight me. (disclaimer: this series will be written when i'm either sleep deprived, caffeine overloaded, or drunk. feel free to speculate which one it is this time)

right so Season 1 of Good Omens is basically, these two man-shaped creatures who definitely don't want to lick each other's faces get together in a park full of spies & snitches so they can talk without raising suspicion (foolproof plan, obviously). it's basically a romeo and juliet thing, except romeo is an angelic bookseller hoarder and juilet is a snake demon who will make u re-evaluate your sexual orientation. and possibly give you gender envy. your average stuff, right.

so gender envy boy (Crowley) goes, hey, my lot made me uber the devil's son to an american diplomat the other night, and the angel (Aziraphale) goes, if you're going to destroy the world via evil baby style, can you lot at least not make it into some cheesy american movie. at least make it something actually cool. anyway so they're chatting about the end of the world, as you do, and Crowley goes y'know, Hell is gonna fuck the whole world up and Azi goes Nah, we beat your dumbarses before, we will again, and Crowley goes ANYWAY if everyone gets slaughtered, guess what? no more food, no more music. your life is gonna be boring af

so they go on a little date and Crowley keeps winding him up about how boring shit's gonna be when all the humans have been murdered in the ethereal/occult purge, and Aziraphale finally goes Yeah OK, but you realise I can't do shit about it right? like it's God's will and Crowley goes Nah nah nah, look. Look. Right. so I gotta look after this devil child for a few years and use my sexy nanny vibes to make sure he's evil. why don't YOU also infiltrate this devil child's household and teach him not to kill snails? it'll be like cosmic balance. yin/yang. the kid will be a normal little shit like most preteen boys, rather than starting apocalypses little shit.

Aziraphale is so captivated by his slutty charm and sparkling eyes that he agrees.

so they stalk the kid, dress up like old welsh gardeners and dominatrix nanny to teach him to love slugs and crush his foes under his boot. surprisingly, the kid is relatively normal. although he hates dinosaurs, so that's obviously concerning. Crowley suggests cold blooded murder of the child but Aziraphale's like Nah why don't i cosplay Fell the Marvellous again at his birthday party and Crowley goes why the fuck do I love this loser

anyway so as it turns out, the nuns that Crowley uber'd this baby to 11 years ago ended up with the wrong parents. The best friends husbands roadtrip to go fuck up the nuns, but actually Crowley's maggot colleague (no thats not an insult) burned the nunnery down and it's now a paintball arena, where currently a bunch of repressed office workers are shooting each other. there's a noteworthy bit where the husbands get hit with a paintball, Crowley becomes a naga (except reverse the top and bottom bits. Yeah it's terrifying) just to make a dude shit himself, then Aziraphale puppy dog eyes Crowley to get the stain off his coat because it ruins his vibes and that's not kool.

Crowley tries to make out with Aziraphale against the wall but then forgets the kissing part, then he bippity-boppity-boos a surviving ex-nun so they can interrogate her. the whole trip is pretty useless and it ends up becoming just them two flirt-fighting for a day. Oh also Crowley runs over a witch, but it's fine because she's an American

As it turns out, the witch left a book behind in Crowley's car and Aziraphale yoinks it like the book kleptomaniac he is, then binges it like your new favourite 150k fanfic

Crowley literally climbs the walls in boredom (unfortunately got cut, but still happened in my mind). They eventually meet up in Secret Rendezvous Spot #3 where they have a lover's quarrel and Crowley slut walks off

Next thing ya know, there's a witchfinder (yea don't worry too much about him) at Aziraphale's door and he tries to exorcise him via a prophecy book, a cute little retro desk bell and a fuckin lighter. Anyway.

So Aziraphale was trying to talk to God before the nutbag showed up via a magic angel circle that does a little star trek hologram. He ends up talking to God's secretary (not the fun kind) and he's like, Yeah no God's having PTO rn. Also you're being drafted into war 'cause shit's about to go down and Aziraphale's like Ahhh ok cool neat. let me just like, do a bit of tidying up first, oh and I have to pick up the dry cleaning, um then I need to make dinner, so anyway i'll be there soon. totally. yup. so excited to go fight hot sexy with pretty yellow eyes- bad, evil demons.

Aziraphale accidently cha cha slides into the circle and his body crumbles (same) and he pops into Heaven without a body. He gets yelled at by Anderson for not having a body or that sword he gave the humans 6000 years ago, and honestly I can't help but think it's Heaven's fault for not stock taking enough

Aziraphale's like Haha yeah Anderson I'm not fighting no war, I have a hot sexy yellow-eyed pretty beautiful smart funny demon to ki- uuuh, I mean, I'm a pacifist now, BYE and he yeets himself back to the mortal plane via a floaty picture of Earth

He finds Crowley going on a bender and doodling A+C=<3 on the pub table. Aziraphale's like Right Crowley get your shit together, we got an Apocalypse to stop in Tadfield

Crowley ends up getting trapped in London via a giant doom circle of fire that he designed, but he's like Ah nah fuck it, my Bentley can take it and it DOES. I mean it does explode, but only after it gets him to Tadfield. What a stellar car. 10/10

The husbands try to murder the child with a fireworks gun, that fails, then they watch the child encourage his friends to insult three cosmic beings to death. Yah it actually works, too.

The child then insults Lucifer into the void, and that's it, ba ba boom, apocalypse averted. The husbands do what they do best; get crunk.

Heaven & Hell kidnap the husbands and tries to give them their Worst Employee of the Century rewards, but the husbands survive it via clever trickery and Being A Little Shit, and they ride off into the sunset and confess their love at the Ritz via affectionate insults

the end

season 2

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #goodomens #gomens #badly explained good omens #crack #for the record i have written an entire (yes all 4 books) summary of the hunger games if anyone wants it. its as appalling as this is

111 notes · View notes

hexhomos · 2 months

Note

Sorry, I'm asking here because asks aren't on your doomreed account, but do you have any fic recs for them ? You and vinnies art have intrigued me 😭 they both seem like such wet cats in different ways, and I love that

help i didnt know asks were off fixed that now thank you... I have two fics i keep in my back pocket as like, exemplary distillations of their whole thing (one in college vs one of their usual superhero stuff,) these are;

Supersymmetry and Night Blooms

Rly good examples of their usual shenanigans, the second one is directly based on a canon comic issue that *feels* like fanfic by a prolific yaoi author, the first is set in a modern-time re-imagining of the fantastic four where they meet in a supergenius internship thinktank for gifted youngsters. There's other fics that are good but i think they might be super confusing without canon context! which leads me to my second point. After you read these fics...

A lot, and i mean A LOT of official doomreed stuff feels straight up like fanfic. Either because its so beautifully woven or insane in concept (doctor doom points a gun at the real life Jack Kirby and Stan Lee to get himself written back into reed's life in his 3rd ever classic appearance, in the 60's, THAT'S the bodyswap issue)

or because the literal authors themselves come out to say 'they're soulmates' or 'they're in love' and Im talking abt this:

(^joseph culp, the first ever doom actor from 1994)

(^fantastic four (2019))

I've got even more stuff under the cut!! AND recs!!! CLICK! v v v

(^jonathan hickman, author of arguably the best FF saga & Secret Wars (2015)!!!)

(^Cantwell, author of the Doctor Doom comic!!)

These are excerpts from the canon fantastic four book, DOOMGATE:

There's even an RPG INSTRUCTION MODULE based on the idea of an earth where Reed & Victor partner up in college, Reed dies a tragic death (via their lab experiments) and Victor assumes such a traumatized widow role in his honor that he grows up to be a golden hero and protector of earth LOL (still a bit nuts):

This is not even to touch on the breadth of all their comic issues and little moments together. Victor canonically delivers Reed's second child and he chooses her name! Shes treated like his child too and calls him uncle doom!!

...Victor even asks Reed out on candlelit dinner dates for a yearly Latverian holiday!

In fact, that's the great starter doom/reed issue i keep recommending: read [ My Dinner With Doom right here. ]

If you enjoy that, check out my [ broader post guide for doomreed reading. ]

Still on the fence? try out these single comic issues:

Doctor Doom:

*Fantastic Four (1961) annual 2 (Classic origin of Doom issue) *Some call it MAGIC (the introduction of Doom's struggle w/ the devil for his mother's soul)

Doomreed:

*Marvel Two-in-One (2017) annual 1 *Marvel Two-in-One (2017) #11 (2nd fic i linked is based on this!!!!!!!!!) *'Duel Intentions' short story *Doom 2099 (2019) *Fantastic Four #700 special *Shame Itself (noncanon satire mini)

Anyway I've had a lot of fun reading these series generally and their big, year-spanning arcs are incredible. People hype up Secret Wars for a reason, Hickman's fantastic four builds up a really compelling doom/reed epic of cosmic divorce proportions. And its about love! And Forgiveness!

#hexposts #doomreed #meta tag #victor von doom #reed richards #fantastic four #mister fantastic #doctor doom #mr fantastic #dr doom #fantastic 4 #marvel comics #FF #fic rec #long post

100 notes · View notes

elizabethwritesmen · 3 months

Text

The Devil Wears Lace

chapter 6 : October 28, 2023

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader

summary: it’s halloween and your treat is a visit from ghost but it turns into more of a trick when a new bartender gets a little too friendly with him. you do what you’ve got to do to keep his eyes on you and end up with more than you bargained for.

warnings: smut, oral (m and f receiving), degradation and praise, dancing on a bar, public nudity, reader gets harassed again, simon gets angry again, slut shaming and a lot of shit talking about the new bartender goes on in this chapter, i think that’s all but let me know if i missed anything!

series masterlist

October 28, 2023

The bar was having a Halloween party.

I didn’t want to go, I’d been working all day at my new job and was exhausted, but Sabrina insisted.

What was my new job, you might ask? Well, the previous May I’d graduated with a Masters in criminology. I wanted to seek higher education but was still deciding what and where. In the meantime, I was interning at a law office nearby. It paid shockingly well, they were a small practice but extremely successful and valued their employees a lot so they showed it by giving them a lot of money.

I didn’t have time to go pick out a costume, so Sabrina assured me she would get me one, much to my dismay. Due to this, I went there straight after work, bringing my makeup and stuff with me so I could just get ready at the bar like I had many times before.

She met me at the door with a bag and shoved it in my hands, giggling all the while, making me frown. What had she cooked up?

I was mortified when I opened the bag and found combat boots, the smallest black dress I had ever seen, and someone’s fatigue shirt. Whose? I don’t know. I wondered the same thing.

“I am so not wearing this. Somewhere is bound to be open, I’ll go see-“

“NO! You know good and well this is the best way to get these dumbass military boys to buy you drinks.”

“Who says I want these dumbass military boys to buy me drinks?”

“You do, trust me, you need a night of flirting with a bunch of men more than anyone else I know. Now get your sexy ass in the back and get ready!”

I sighed, rolling my eyes so hard I thought they would get stuck that way, and did as she told me, heading to the small room in the back that we usually changed and touched up makeup in. It had bad lighting but we’d placed lamps in front of the mirrors, and it had a small set of lockers for anyone who worked there to put valuables in, but they didn’t actually lock so I didn’t understand the purpose of them.

Once I managed to get everything on, I had to admit I looked good. Turned out the dress was basically just a nearly sheer lace slip, but it blended in perfectly with my black bra and thong, which made it feel just a tad bit more modest than it actually was. The combat boots actually paired well with it and the fatigue shirt. I already had gold jewelry on, and I just kept it, thinking it made the look even a little better. All that was left was to touch up my makeup and curls.

Once I stepped out into the bar area, leaving my clothes behind trusting nothing would happen to them, I was bombarded by Sabrina, Dylan, and the new bartender who’d taken my place. She was cute, honestly, tall and skinny with big dimples on her cheeks. I figured she was doing well, and she seemed nice.

“You look so good!” They told me, fawning over me. I laughed, waving them off, sitting at the bar and waiting for it to get busy. It always did on the night of the Halloween party, without fail.

The music was loud, and all of it was either dark and sexy or Halloween themed. Decorations were hung up, less in depth than I usually did. Sabrina always hated decorating and I guess the new girl did, too.

“Hey,” Sabrina sat next to me, “It feels like it’s been forever!”

“It’s been like, three days,” I deadpanned, brows furrowed and she laughed.

“Yeah, but we used to spend damn near every day together. It’s so lame here without you.”

“But you have that new girl, right? She seems nice, maybe you could be friends.”

She rolled her eyes and I got comfier in my seat, knowing she was about to tell me all about the drama. “She’s awful.”

“I gathered that from the eye roll, now spill!”

“Alright, so when she first got here, she acted like she was just really eager to learn. Then ‘eager to learn’ turned into ‘eager to feel up my husband every chance she got.’ Fucking slut.”

I gasped, leaning in farther, “She felt up Dylan?”

“Yes!” she sounded exasperated, “He was showing her how to make a couple drinks and she just got right up on his side and started rubbing his arms and his back!”

“That bitch,” I furrowed my brows.

“I know! So he told me to take over showing her the ropes, and I have, but I wanna just fuckin’ fire the stupid cunt. She’s an idiot anyway and she can’t do anything right!”

“Well then why hasn’t he fired her yet?”

“Because his dad is wrapped around her finger and doesn’t want him to.”

“That bitch!” I huffed, “Well if she touches him again I’ll beat her ass for you. I don’t work here anymore, I can’t get in trouble.”

“I know you will. Just tell me first so I can film it, we’ll pop some popcorn and have a movie night.”

I raised my drink and she clinked it with her own, taking a sip with me. I eyed the new girl, in awe that she could seem so nice but be such a snake.

Around 9, the place was full, and I was dancing with a few friends that had shown up. We were just jumping around on the floor, a few guys around us dancing with us. It was fun, more fun than I’d had in a while.

I didn’t even notice they’d shown up until one of my friends started talking about the sexy guy in the mask. I furrowed my eyebrows, hope sparking in my chest as I looked around and saw him at the bar, the new girl in front of him, leaned over, giving him a front row seat to her tits. I nearly fumed, excusing myself and briskly making my way over.

I stood behind him for a second, trying to catch a hint of their conversation. It didn’t seem like he was giving her much from what I could tell, and she seemed to be getting more and more desperate for his attention by the second.

“Ghost,” I cleared my throat from behind him.

“I was wondering how long it’d take you to realize I was here.” He spoke without even turning around. The new girl made her way to the other side of the bar, giving him a moment alone.

“Maybe I was waiting for you to come to me.”

“You looked like you were having fun, didn’t want to disturb you.”

“I was,” I sighed, “Are you gonna look at me? Or are you gonna keep staring at her tits?”

He chuckled, turning around fully to face me in his seat. My breath hitched, I didn’t expect him to do that.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he patronized me, “You wanted my attention now you got it.”

I took a few steps closer to him, “Just a little sad. See, you’re supposed to be looking at me.”

“Well, I’m looking at you now,” his voice was low and dark and his hands settled on my hips, pulling me a little closer, “What’re you wanting, huh? A compliment? Want me to tell you how good you look in this little piece of fabric you call a dress?” I nodded frantically, biting my lips and his eyes followed the motion, “You haven’t earned it.”

I gasped, eyes widening and he laughed again, this time fuller. His hands tightened on my hips as he lifted me into the stool beside him, gesturing new girl over and ordering me and Malibu Pineapple. I caught the dirty look she sent me, but I didn’t have a fuck to give. My brain was short circuiting over the way he just.. lifted me into the chair, and the way he remembered what I wanted to drink.

“Thank you,” I offered him a smile, taking a sip.

“Probably not the first free drink you’ve gotten tonight.”

“No, it’s not. But it’s my favorite free drink I’ve gotten tonight.”

“Suck up.”

“I would, if you’d just give me the chance,” I winked and the whites of his eyes showed a little more for a second as he widened them.

“You’re impossible.”

“Then why do you keep coming back for more?”

My hands were on his thighs then, both of us facing each other in our chairs, and I let my hands roam slightly but not to anywhere too scandalous.

“Guess what the fuck that bitch just did!” Sabrina’s voice broke the trance, and I looked at her expectantly, “She said you cockblocked her and started whining about you. Like I’m gonna choose her side over yours, be fuckin’ for real for a second!”

I raised my eyebrows, “Cockblocked, huh? Sounds like new girl wants you bad, Ghost.” He grunted in response, lifting his mask to take a sip of his whiskey. “Don’t moan and groan at me, you were the one undressing her with your eyes. Want me to get her number for you? Maybe you can take her home.”

Sabrina looked at a loss for words, and her eyebrows were raised in concern but she saw her way out of the situation. Smart choice.

“Sweetheart, stop.” His voice was a command. Deep and final. But I just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

“Oh, honey, I’m just getting started,” With that, I was up and across the bar, dancing with my friends again and trying to ignore him. A few guys came up to me, one wrapping his arm around me and trying to grind on me but I pushed him away a little with a laugh.

“You can buy me a drink, but you can’t touch,” I teased, but my face went dark and his hand landed a smack on my ass.

“If you didn’t wanna be touched, why’d you wear this?” he asked me, leaning his head down for a kiss that I dodged, elbowing him hard in his chest.

“My outfit isn’t a free pass to touch me, you stupid fuck.”

“At least I’m not a stupid slut,” he slapped my ass again, but this time I was ready for him. I grabbed his arm and twisted hard, wrenching it around behind him. Once I had him where I wanted him, I kicked the back of his knee and sent him to the floor, me standing over him and holding him hostage there.

“You want a broken arm? Because you’re sure asking for one.” My tone was angry, forceful, more assertive than I could ever remember it being.

“Fuck, get off of me,” he growled, trying to pull away but I twisted harder and he let out a gasp.

“Get the fuck out of the bar, and don’t come back until you can learn to keep your hands to yourself,” I growled at him, letting him go just to kick him in the back and send him all the way to the floor in a heap. He turned over and laid there, staring up at me.

“That’s not your choice to make,” he smirked, still cocky after what had just happened and I raised a brow.

“No, it’s mine, and I agree with her. Get out.” Dylan’s voice was like a lifeline as he grabbed the guy by the shirt and pushed him out of the doors. I breathed a sigh of relief when he was gone. “Good job, killer,” he high fived me and I grinned, “If you didn’t have that fancy new job I’d ask you to be the new security guard.”

I giggled as he walked away, trying to come down from the adrenaline of everything. The bustle around me made it hard, though, so I walked outside, holding myself tight to battle the cold. I heard the door open and shut behind me and imagined it was Sabrina, but I knew I was wrong when he walked towards me, his heavy footsteps giving him away.

“You alright?” he asked me, and I turned around slowly, nodding.

“I’m fine.”

“That was pretty impressive, what you did in there. Maybe you can take care of yourself.”

“I’ve told you that a million times but you had to see it to believe it, huh,” I chuckled but my words were venom, staring down at my feet.

“You gonna tell me why you’re acting like this?” he changed the subject.

I responded with a quick, “No.” He looked frustrated, speechless almost.

“You can just tell me you’re jealous. It’s obvious enough.”

“Jealous? Of what? Sally McSlutface laying her boobs out on the bar like a personal menu for you? Yeah, I’m green with envy, let me tell you,” my tone was biting, sarcasm laced in every word, pure hate dripping from me when I talked about her. Maybe she hadn’t done anything to deserve it. Maybe Ghost wasn’t mine and I had no claim to him. Maybe he could talk to whoever the hell he wanted and look at whatever the hell he wanted.

He breathed out a laugh, staring at the sky hopelessly, begging for the patience he needed to deal with me. “You are green.” His eyes snapped back down to me. “Whose shirt you got on, anyway? One of these soldiers that comes in here and hits on you? What’d you have to do for it?”

“I didn’t do anything for it, asshole, I don’t know whose it is.”

“Right, that makes sense,” his tone was patronizing again and it set me on fire, anger building inside of me.

“You’re gonna get mad about me wearing someone else’s fatigues when you’re in there eyeing up that dumb bitch like she’s fucking candy or something? You fucking asshole.”

“I’m not mad, baby, you’re the only one that’s mad,” but he sure sounded mad, and I didn’t believe a word that came out of his mouth. I didn’t even dwell on the word baby.

“I’m not mad!” I yelled, then tried to calm myself down, “You know what? Go fuck her. See how much I care. I have my own plans for the night.”

I attempted to walk past him, but he grabbed my arm, stopping me in my tracks. “Don’t do anything stupid just because you’re throwing a fit like a fucking brat.”

“Wanna see how much of a brat I am?” I couldn’t tell whether my words were foreboding or inviting. “Come back inside.”

I shook away from him and stormed into the bar, beelining it to Sabrina and Dylan.

“Remember two years ago when I danced on the bar for Halloween?”

“Yeah,” they both nodded.

“I’m doing it again. Put on the song.”

Their eyebrows were raised but they nodded, and Dylan went to the stereo system to get it going.

“You good?”

“I’m fine. I’m taking your advice and moving on. Or showing him what he’s missing. Whatever, I don’t give a fuck. Plus it’ll make that new girl mad.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” she grinned, “Get your fine ass up there and show them who’s boss!”

I grinned back as the familiar tune began. I made my way onto the bar and some of the guys there noticed and began to gather around. Right at that moment, Ghost walked back inside and the second his eyes found me, he looked homicidal.

I began swaying my hips to the beat, winking at him and increasing my movement with every lyric.

Heaven help me, the devil wears lace and she can’t be tamed.

If I were wealthy, spend every last dime just to hear her say my name.

I flipped my hair around, slipping the big shirt off and throwing it to Sabrina who was watching from behind the bar with a huge smile on her face. She handed me a bottle, one of the cheapest liquors they had as the chorus hit.

So light me in flames

Just as hot as you need

Let me see the good girl you wanted to be

I turned my back to the group of people gawking and cheering, bending over and reaching between my spread out legs to pour two shots worth of liquid into one of the guy’s mouths, which brought on more cheers.

My eyes caught his as I turned back around and felt myself up, hands sliding from my chest to my thighs, squeezing the fat there as my motions got sharper with every beat.

All of my praise, only from me

I can be the one who can set you free

He made his way over to the bar and I grinned, turning my back again and doing a small spin, hanging on to the rail at the top of the bar for support then shimmying down, surely flashing some people but I wasn’t concerned.

Fall from your grace

Turn up the heat

I feel I’m going down, hands gripping the sheets

I sat sideways on the bar, leaning back on my arms and arching tightly with my head thrown back, then turned over and raised my hips, arms stretched in front of me and ass on display and he snapped. He ripped his jacket off and threw it over me, hauling me off the bar and outside. The people there seemed dumbstruck, and I barely heard the end of the chorus before the door shut.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he growled, setting me down in front of him.

“Do I have to think about everything I do before I do it?”

He let out a sharp laugh, “You are the most danger prone girl I have ever known. Yes, you have to think about dumbass decisions before you make them.”

“All I did was dance on a bar,” I rolled my eyes, pulling his jacket tighter around me in the cold.

“Yeah, right, that’s all you did. Now everyone in there has seen your ass, you feel good about that?”

I set my jaw, letting it tick as I thought over my answer. “You’re talking to me like I’m some kind of whore. Maybe I just wanted your attention.”

“You have that already. Give me a real reason.”

“Maybe I just wanted the attention you gave her.”

“What attention? You’re so fucking delusional. I didn’t even look at her. I don’t give a fuck about her. I came here for you. My team came here for you, and they’re in there having the time of their lives because they got more of you than they bargained for. There’s only one girl that I want to drive me up the fucking wall, and it’s not her!” he was yelling, seething really, his tone harsh and cutting deep but then I let his words settle in along with the feeling of stupidity.

“Ghost, I-“

“Fuck, don’t call me that, my name is Simon,” his voice was still raised and it’s like he didn’t even realize what he’d said until it was out, and we were both taken harshly aback.

I let my mouth drop open a little, taking one step closer to him.

“Simon,” I tried it out and I liked the way it felt rolling off my tongue. I think he liked it too, judging by the way his face softened and his eyes darkened. “Forgive me,” I implored, getting further into his personal space. Crowding him out, really, until my perfume must’ve been suffocating him, thinly veiled by the jacket he’d thrown over me. He didn’t answer. “Forgive me,” I repeated, urgently this time. “Want me to get on my knees and beg? I will. Not for anyone else, but for you, I’ll do it.” He just kept staring at me as I rambled on, “I was jealous, Simon. So jealous, can’t help it with the way she was looking at you. Had me so angry-“

He cut me off, yanking his mask up to his nose and grabbing my throat, pulling me to him and kissing me. I yelped, shocked by the impact, but it only took me seconds to fall into a rhythm, melting where I stood and whimpering for more.

“Such a little slut, begging for me like this and I haven’t even touched you,” he groaned, pulling away to kiss down my neck. I let out a shaky moan, arching into him as his mouth drifted lower.

“Fuck, Simon, please,” I whined, and he laughed.

“I should’ve told you my name a long time ago,” he mused as he brought his mouth back to mine, claiming it as his own. He backed me slowly into the wall, huge hands circling under my thighs and lifting until my legs were wrapped around him and I was caged in his arms.

I got more desperate, squeezing him closer and breaking the kiss to groan when he pressed into me. He was big. Big was an understatement.

“Don’t think that’s gonna fit,” I breathed out and he laughed, nuzzling into me.

“Not tonight it’s not.”

“What?” I was panicking, the need for him growing in me with every passing second.

“Not gonna take you for the first time after a fight like that, baby,” he kissed me again, “Gonna make you wait for it.”

“I’ve been waiting-“

“Don’t whine,” he shut me up, “Makes me want you too bad. Now come on, let’s go back in.”

I pouted as he set me on my feet, all turned on with nowhere to let it out. I followed him as he dragged me inside, pulling his mask down at the same time.

We garnered some stares as we walked in, hand in hand, people obviously knowing exactly what was going on. There were some surprised looks, I wasn’t exactly known for being seen with a man or even settling for a man at all. People were used to be flitting about, flirting but never enough to care.

“Everything okay?” Soap asked as we approached their table, where Sabrina and Dylan were already standing, chatting away.

“We’re just fine,” Simon nodded, and I stayed quiet, blush on my cheeks still, and my eyes might as well have had hearts in them as I gazed at him.

“You’ve got a little… bruise….” Sabrina muttered, grazing her thumb over a spot on my neck and I gasped, pulling the jacket up higher. Everyone laughed at that, and it looked like even Simon smirked but I couldn’t quite tell under the mask.

He pulled out a chair for me and one for himself right beside me and I sat down. They kept cracking their little jokes and I kept not saying much, too lost in thought. I wanted him and I wanted him bad.

I placed my hand on his thigh, rubbing slightly and making my way further and further up. He slapped it away but I just put it back, continuing my ascent. “If I leave, will you follow me?” I whispered the question in his ear, and he just looked at me, but the way his eyes grazed over me let me know he was on the hook. I smirked, pulling my hand away and fleeing to the back room.

The new girl came in behind me, her face twisted in blatant annoyance.

“You can’t be back here,” she spat.

“Yet somehow, I am,” I giggled, waving her away, “Anything else?”

“I thought you were nice when I first met you earlier, but you’re really just a bitch, huh?” I cocked a brow as she let those words slip.

“Do you want to find out just how much of a bitch I am?” I questioned, and she didn’t back down. “Get out. Now. Go ride a dick in the bathroom or something like you’ve been trying to all night.”

“I think I will, in fact I think I’ll go for that man in the mask,” she smirked and before I could even laugh, he came in.

“Fuck off,” he grunted, “This seat’s taken.”

I snorted and she just gawked.

“She isn’t even supposed to be in here!” she huffed.

“Go tattle on her, then,” he barked, and she jumped, making her way out of the room. Once we were alone, he closed the door, turning the lock behind him. I smirked, walking towards him slowly, slipping the jacket further and further off with every step until it was on the floor.

“Just gonna leave my jacket on the ground like that?” he asked.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make up for it,” I winked, finally reaching him and placing my hands on his chest, balling them in the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Sweetheart,” he groaned, “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“I don’t care, as long as I win,” I clicked my tongue, sinking slowly down to one knee, and then the other.

He let out a ragged breath as my hands slid down, tugging his belt until it was unbuckled and sliding out of the loops. Then I got his button and zipper undone, pulling down just enough to expose his boxers slightly.

“Aw, my poor Simon, you just wanted me to touch you, huh?” I cooed, pulling the boxers down enough to expose the tip. “I got you this turned on, baby?”

“Don’t forget your place,” he growled, but his actions were sweet as he brushed my hair back from my face lightly.

“I know my place,” I smiled, “On my knees with my mouth wrapped around you.”

He all but growled, hips bucking into my touch. When I raised a brow, he admitted, “Been a while.”

“For me, too,” I offered, hoping it would make him feel better, before pulling his boxers down further and exposing the entirety of him.

“Fuck,” I gasped, “You’re huge.”

“Gonna keep talking about it or put your mouth on it?”

I didn’t need any more encouragement, getting straight to work, starting with a stripe licked up the back and ending by sucking the tip into my mouth, twirling my tongue around it teasingly.

“Fuck, please,” he breathed out, hand pulling my hair tighter as I took more of him. I had to ease my way down to adjust my throat, but once I got as much as I could in, I started moving back and forth. He held me there until my eyes were teary and wet, my throat completely expanded, and I let him use me.

“Wanna see you,” he told me and I nodded as well as I could, humming around him and pulling my dress and bra down to expose myself, the air making my nipples hard as they’d ever been. I’m sure he had something to do with that, too. “So fucking - agh - perfect, so perfect for me, fuck please keep going,” he sounded broken, but not in the same way other men I’d been with did. He sounded needy, like he’d been waiting his whole life for that one moment and he never wanted it to end. I’d never felt that from anyone before, and I wanted more of it so I got greedier with him in my mouth, savoring the weight of him on my tongue.

“Fuck, y’gonna make me cum,” he gasped, squeezing my hair to pull me back a little as his hips stuttered. It was a sweet gesture, to keep from hurting me with his movements, and I moaned around him, which seemed to tumble him right over the edge. He groaned with one last thrust of his hips and pulled out just enough for me to open my mouth wide and stick out my tongue, letting him let go right there inside of it. He watched closely as he did so, enjoying every second, right to when I swallowed it all.

I grinned after he came down, pulling his boxers back up and doing his pants back up for him then standing and wiping my mouth gently.

“See you out there,” I winked as I began to walk past him, but he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me back to him, picking me up and bringing me to the small bench in the corner. He laid me on it, pulling me to the edge and kneeling in front of me, eyes dark on me.

“What’re you doin’?” I asked, breath coming out quicker, heart racing.

“Showing you what your place is, since you’re a little confused,” his voice was rough as he hooked a finger in my panties, pulling them off of me swiftly, “It’s laid out with your legs spread wipe open just for me.”

I gasped, squirming under his gaze as he brought a finger down to swipe through my folds.

“Please,” I whimpered, and he chuckled.

“That’s it, what a good little slut, begging me to touch you. What do you want from me baby? Want my fingers in this little cunt?”

I nodded frantically, eyes wide and pleading, and he obliged, ripping his gloves off and slipping one finger in. I let out a broken moan as he went in and out, thinking it couldn’t possible get better but then it did as he slipped in two, fucking me with his digits, curling them around that spongy spot inside of me.

“Simon, I - fuck - please -!” he went a little faster, and I tried my best not to scream but it was so hard.

Then, all at once, he went away.

“What are you-“

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, calm down,” he shushed me and I relaxed, lying back and watching as he grabbed his jacket. He walked over to me, placing one of the sleeves over my eyes and tying it behind me, making a blindfold of sorts.

“What’s this for?” I asked, and I heard a bit of movement and something being set down before he grabbed my hands and lifted them to his face, laying them down there on bare skin.

I gasped, feeling around, greedy for more then I found it in his hair. I tugged lightly, loving how it felt in my fingers, and he groaned. Before I could even process his bare face, he’d leaned down and kissed me again, his fingers going back to where I needed him most and pushing back in. I rutted against him desperately as his tongue explored my mouth, then moved downwards. To my neck, then my chest, spending a little extra time there teasing me, then down my belly and to where his fingers were.

He circled his tongue around my clit and electricity shot through me as I let out a shriek, my legs falling over his shoulders and pulling him closer as my hand fisted in his hair. He lapped at me like a man starved, working harder for me than anyone ever had, coaxing me farther and farther open until I didn’t feel like I could even inhale. He noticed, pulling away just enough to rasp, “Breathe, baby. I’ve got you, just relax and let me make you cum.”

I moaned again, back arching as I began feeling that peak inside of me getting closer and closer. He could feel it too, so he sped up his movements and added another finger, tipping me over the edge and fucking me through it as I wailed. What felt like forever later, I collapsed in a heap, gasping for breath.

A minute later, he took the jacket off of my face and I pouted when I saw his mask was back on, as well as his gloves. I started to get up but he stopped me with a hand on my chest, laying me back down.

“Hold on,” he ordered and I did, watching him look around for a second before coming back with a little towel he’d found. He carefully cleaned me up, and I watched him in a daze, those dangerous feelings bubbling up in my chest once more. I was a goner for him, and suddenly the thought that he had to leave soon hit me and my eyes were getting hot.

“I’m gonna keep these,” he smirked as he pocketed my underwear, and I nodded, staring at the ceiling. He got quiet, taking note of my attitude change and furrowing his brows. “What’s wrong?” I didn’t answer and panic set in. “Was that not okay? Did you not want that? Fuck - I’m sorry, I-“

“No,” I shook my head, “I wanted it. It was good. Perfect, even. I just… I feel like I can’t tell you what’s wrong.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll laugh at me.”

“Promise I won’t.”

“You have to leave. I just feel…”

“Used?”

“No,” I placed my hand on his to quiet those thoughts in his head, sitting up carefully, pulling my dress back to somewhat modesty. “Sad.”

“Oh,” he said, seeming surprised. “You know, sweetheart, I’m not the kind of man you wanna care about.”

“It’s a little too late for that.”

“I’ll be back. I promise I will.”

“And if you can’t keep that promise?”

“I can.”

The tears fell then and he sat beside me, pulling me into his arms as I cried. “Shh,” he whispered, “It’s okay. I’ll be back. Just let it out.” His hand was rubbing circles on my back, easing some of the pain. I couldn’t believe how vulnerable I was being, but I felt completely wrecked and he hadn’t even fucked me, and now he had to leave. Of course I was vulnerable,

I stopped crying, pulling slightly away from him and wiping my face as best I could.

“We should go back out there. Try to have a good night.”

“Baby, I’ve already had a good night,” he chuckled and I let out a little giggle too.

“Okay, then let’s try to keep the good night going. Come on. There’s no telling what they’ve said about us by now.”

“Probably nothing that wasn’t true.”

“Yeah…” I mumbled, “We haven’t been too subtle, huh?”

“I think when you showed your ass to everybody in the bar, subtlety went out the window.”

“Probably,” I laughed, standing up and bringing him with me. He slipped the jacket back over my shoulders as we walked out.

“You don’t have underwear on, I’m doing damage control.”

Just as I expected, everyone picked on us, and the night was full of endless innuendos. I just stayed quiet and shy, gazing at Simon, and it almost seemed like he was gazing back. He kept either his arm around me or his hand on my leg for the whole rest of the night, seeming like he didn’t want to let me go.

Unfortunately, the time came that he had to, and we all parted ways and he walked me to my car, still holding me to his side.

“You gonna be ok?” he asked, hand cupping my cheek as I stared at him with those same heart eyes I had for him before.

“I think so,” I grinned and his eyes fell to my lips.

“I meant what I said,” he told me, “I’ll be back for you.”

“I’ll be waiting,” I hummed, pulling him a little closer until I was trapped between him and my car, but there was nowhere else I’d rather be.

He lifted his mask to his nose again and I smiled, knowing what was coming. His mouth fell down to mine, slower than before but just as intense. It was short and sweet, but memorable, and I chased him as he pulled away.

“Go home, sweetheart,” he mumbled, kissing me on the forehead before putting some distance between us. He started to pull his mask down but I stopped him, jumping on him one last time in a panic and kissing him with everything I had. It lasted longer and left us both breathless. When I finally stepped back, he just smiled at me, and I realized it was the first time I’d seen his real smile. It was the prettiest thing I’d ever had the luxury of seeing, and I pouted when he covered it up.

“Please stay safe,” I told him, finally letting his hand go and getting in my car.

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader smut #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader smut #ghost x reader #cod smut #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost smut

112 notes · View notes

red-riding-wood · 2 months

Text

Yellow Light

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x F!Reader

Summary: Jonathan is your guide as you escape Arkham Asylum.

Based off the song "Yellow Light" by Of Monsters and Men (original version here and acoustic version here). This song is really special to me and helped me brave my heart surgery in August. A lot of this fic is a projection of my own experiences, trauma, and health issues over the past several years -- but Arkham can represent absolutely anything you want it to that you or the character is trying to escape.

Song lyrics are in bold.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, depictions of PTSD (hospital trauma specifically), drug addiction/use, psychosis, hallucinations, fear of death, blood.

Will also use similar themes to my upcoming series "Darkness Until Dawn" and OC Cassie Hart but this is a standalone x reader fic.

I also feel like Crane might come across a bit OOC in this fic because he's in an established relationship with the reader and he's in a comforting role, but I promise I have some very fucked-up stuff for him coming up where he's an absolute menace.

WC: 3309

Sounds of Hell threaded themselves into the night air. Howling, bleating, baying down the streets. Whispering thoughts of death into your ears. Thoughts that formed into icy talons that raked down your spine, that stirred goosebumps along the bare flesh of your arms. That froze you in place, your heart slamming against your ribs as they tethered you to the cold concrete like vines.

Frantic looks cast to your left, to your right, you turned, stumbling over your own feet as you whirled, the darkness of each alleyway sinking into your soul. Staring back at you as if to say, you cannot escape me.

I’m looking for a place to start. Everything feels so different now.

Which way was out? Which way was back there? Back to the dingy halls of Arkham, the acrid stench of spoiled cafeteria food, the howling of patients that still seemed to echo back to you from the alleys.

The maw of a great beast parted, razors of teeth glinting silver in the dark, stretching from one brick wall to another. Hurtling towards you, wisps of black smoke emerging from the darkness and curling round you like hissing tongues. The roar started as a peal of thunder, and ended as a shockwave, razor teeth shattering into glass as the beast collided against your skull. Dizzying waves sent the world spinning, brought you to your knees before the Devil himself.

She’s good as dead.

The beast’s maw burned hot as hellfire, breathing smoke into your aching lungs, ripples of molten lava racing beneath your skin. Teeth tore into your shoulder as your hand met the ground, shaking fingers settling into the grooves of the concrete like cold tiles. Death’s talons wrapped around your throat as a cry twisted from your larynx, pointed nails morphing to scalpels and tearing down your sternum, splitting open your ribs and baring your bleeding heart.

Crimson freckled the concrete, splatters of your blood landing hot and thick against the back of your hand as cold washed over each limb, the darkness creeping in from the corners of the alleys. You reached your free hand to your forehead, and nearly cried out again in pain, but you couldn’t speak; something sharp wedged itself between your fingers, something sticky attaching webs of hair against your clammy palm.

Your hand came away with a shard of glass protruding from the stretch of skin between your fingers, red dribbling down flesh too pale to be living.

Your stomach buckled, and you curled in on yourself, eyes rolling to the back of your throbbing skull and voices pouring in like a tide.

Get back here! She’s running. Running away. Where does she think she’s going? She’s not going anywhere. She can’t escape us. You can’t escape us.

Patients rattled the bars of their cages, threw themselves against their padded walls. Screeched warnings and mournful wails and haunted cries into the stale air of the hospital, into the icy chill of night.

Fingers seized into talons as they closed around your ears, attempting to block out the noise as it built into a terrifying crescendo, wails and whispers melding together as if the darkness were mocking you but the chill that swathed your impotent form reminded you of your isolation.

GET OUT! your lips parted to say but fell silent upon the words of the damned. Let me go. Let me go, let me go.

Warmth brushed your shoulder, and you blinked saline from your eyes, streaking salt down your lip, dampened hair falling over blurry vision as you looked up to the hand held to you in the darkness. The white cuff of a shirt disappearing beneath a black suit.

Just grab hold of my hand. I will lead you through this wonderland.

And his voice, soft and warm and human, cut through the noise. Hollowed a path through the tunnel of voices and breathed life into lungs that gasped for air. Sent a tremble of fear through death’s icy talons and made the demons crawl back into the earth.

I’m here, he said.

You couldn’t straighten your claw-like grip as it brushed the warmth of his hand, but his fingers entwined in yours and the glass split his palm and bled over your knuckles and he pulled, your shoulder screaming in pain and your legs wobbly beneath you, but you stood.

Your fingers balled into a fist, the touch of his hand dissolving like a pill in water, like sutures that held you to together for one moment only to leave you in pieces, scarred and bruised and broken. For a moment, you thought you’d fall again.

Faintly, a glow emerged from the blackness, silhouetting the lazy fall of a feather, so tranquil in contrast to the tendrils of ink black that writhed in your peripheral. You swiped a hand out to the feather, its softness akin to his hand, but the voices hissed at you to look up.

The jagged peaks of the skyscrapers groaned above, folding in across the dim sky and curling into black tides that came crashing around you as pressure mounted in your skull.

The darkness devoured you.

Water up to my knees. But sharks are swimming in the sea.

The ocean came flooding in around you, dampness seeping into the cuffs of your trousers, rising as the blackness pressed in around you. Ahead, the light glinted yellow, casting a thin line of white against the waves. The feather bobbed along the surface, chased by current that now buffeted the backs of your knees.

One foot placed before the other, you waded through the water, each step weighing heavier than the last. Each time, the light ahead grew just a little brighter, though the sides of your vision darker.

Wretched creatures began to emerge from the darkness, hissing and snarling and reaching for you in tendrils of smoke and ink. Gravity began to pull you downward, the current guiding you forwards as the alleyway morphed into a tunnel, and the voices of the underworld rang louder in your skull as you descended into the bowels of the city.

She’s heading into the darkness. The rot.

A giggle, echoing against the walls of the chamber that reeked of all things barren and desolate. Her mind’s a disease.

The reach of death grew thick here, in twisted ropes and vines that swallowed the arched ceiling, that bore down on you like snakes and streaked through the sea like eels of tar, the water itself no longer seeming so heavy in comparison as they engulfed each limb. Tightening. Shuddering.

She can’t get very far. She’s killing herself.

She has to. She has to live.

The voices were starting to argue.

Some were even voices you knew; they came to you past the iron bars nestled into pockets of your memories, depressions in the walls – people you’d known in that awful place cried out to you, cursed you, their faces fuzzy but still recognisable even in the darkness. Fellow souls trapped in the place that knew not of the sun’s warmth against your skin or the whistle of freedom through the wind.

Look. Look, girl.

Your brow furrowed, and your eyes scanned the darkness. With each face they landed on, the symphony of wails seemed to spike in volume along to the frantic thud of your heart, the little weaving line of a monitor etching itself across your mind’s eye.

Not there. No, not there.

Can’t she feel it?

It’s too late. The rot has her.

Soon it will reach her soul.

Your heart came lurching to a burning throat as the waters stirred and a creature emerged from their murky depths, slivers of metal protruding from its back before it disappeared, for half a moment resembling the wicked tips of syringes that still pricked your swiftly numbing skin.

Tearing your hands from the water, you froze, paralysis seeping in to every pore.

Ink tendrils snaked across the pallor of your flesh. From your fingertips to your elbows, the rot had taken you. It tightened round your forearm, your fingers turning completely numb.

You screamed.

Shhhhh, he soothed. Just come to me, darling. I’ll make it all better.

“JONATHAN!” Your mangled cry turned into something intelligible, the name sweet like honey on your tongue despite the bitterness of bile at the back of your throat.

Just follow my yellow light. And ignore all those big warning signs.

You began to slosh through the water, seeking him out in a frenzy, your teeth gritting as the walls of your skull began to cave in, as the rot spread to your shoulders and turned the water to pitch.

And at last, you saw him. Like the feather, silhouetted by the light, but unmistakably him. He paused, looking over his shoulder, strands of his black hair wisping this way and that. His face was shadowed, the sockets of his eyes black. The frames of his glasses glinted silver in the dark, like the teeth, the scalpels.

And he disappeared round the corner that twisted, walls shifting and shuddering as if forming a maze for a path.

Death’s icy fingers pried their way beneath your skin as the cold seeped past your blood and bones and settled somewhere deep inside the dwindling warmth of your soul. Freed from the water at last, you turned the corner and raised a rot-wreathed hand to the light fractured by a criss-cross pattern that reminded you of the bars of the asylum’s gate.

And the damp air became dry and musty, and the sewers morphed into dingy halls, alabaster wallpaper peeling back to reveal the black rot. Your pace quickened as these walls closed in, groaning with curses of the damned.

Just a little farther, the soothing, slightly-lilted baritones of his voice encouraged you on, but every turn you made down the narrowing halls, he managed to evade you, disappearing just out of reach. At the end of each hallway, what must’ve been a sewer drain and not a gate yawned from the blackness, little pockets of light stretching wider with each turn.

The feather crunched beneath your toes.

Fingers wrapped around the bars of the gate, and the hinges squealed as it swung open, your feet slotting into indentations along the walls as you desperately attempted to pull yourself up.

Warmth made you shiver in your cold sweat, and whispers funnelled into thin threads and lay buried beneath the ground as his hand met yours. In the faint glimmer of the light, you witnessed the rot dissipate, chased away by his touch. Purified.

“Jonathan,” you breathed, pulled flush to his chest, the mint of his breath raking across your lashes and the familiarity of his musk inhaled deeply through flared nostrils. You buried your face in his wrinkled tie and dress shirt and sobbed, your tears still tasting like saline. You savoured this moment, trembling beneath his touch, his hand petting the back of your dampened hair. You pulled away only as he hissed in pain.

“Jonathan, I’m scared,” you whimpered, guilty that you had seemed to wound him but caring only for sanctuary in this moment in which you knew nothing but fear. “Please don’t leave me. I’m so, so scared.”

“I know you are,” he said, squeezing your shoulder. “But you have to keep going.”

“Where? Where are you taking me?” You stared into the hollows of his eyes, still pitch black past the glint of those silver frames. Why couldn’t you properly see him? Could he see you? Was he just another shadow, a trick of light on the wall?

Somewhere deep in the dark, a howling beast hears us talk.

Sirens wailed from the alley behind, and your blood ran cold. Jonathan stepped away, his touch tearing from yours almost painfully. Like he’d left the shards of glass in your palms.

“Don’t let them take me!” You pleaded, stumbling forward through the darkness. “I can’t go back! I can’t! COME BACK!”

She’s so afraid. So pathetic. She can’t do this without him.

The light grew in intensity, tinted more gold now than yellow, bathing the walls in a soft glow as they drew impossibly close, tapering the air in your lungs, building the pressure against your temples until your shoulders sagged under the weight of fatigue and white-hot fire cleaved your skull in two.

Jonathan paused, and turned. “Close your eyes,” he told you. “It’s not so dark here when you embrace it.”

I dare you to close your eyes. And see all the colours in disguise.

“NO!” You screeched, afraid that if you so much as blinked, he’d disappear, and you’d be lost to the darkness forever. You lurched forward on your heel, wedging yourself between the shuddering walls that closed in around you, following the same – and only path – he had taken. Turning sideways, you gulped in a breath of air, fingers scraping madly against the brick walls as the tide beginning to pool again round your ankles. The sky collapsed, pinning you, forcing your only breath from your lungs and snapping your ribs around your stuttering heart.

She’s gone. She won’t make it. She can’t reach him.

The air grew stuffy, stale. Your own breath bounced off the walls and flushed your cold, tear-streaked cheeks.

“Just trust me,” Jonathan said. “Just let go.”

Running into the night. The earth is shaking and I see a light.

With the darkness claiming you and the ground beneath you quaking with wrath, the howls of the damned echoing through a familiar hall, the world swaying on its axis, you had no choice but to suffocate your fear, to shutter your eyes closed on the light that seeped through the crack in the walls, warm against your skin in the cold dread of night.

She’s giving up.

She’s fighting.

She wants to die.

She wants to live.

The yellow-gold exploded across the backs of your eyelids, streaking like fireworks along the pitch black. Your skull still throbbed in pain, and your lips parted, the sound of a window banging against old hinges as death whispered to you through the alleys, the sewers, the hallways.

Next time.

Jonathan’s touch met your clammy palm, and the world fell silent, the walls disappearing around you and the emptiness of air spilling around your limbs.

I’m here, he reminded you.

The light is blinding my eyes, as the soft walls eat us alive.

Your eyelids peeled back to reveal the checkered, rose pattern of your wallpaper, the bright fluorescents of the bathroom, the blue eyes that bore into your own past silver frames. Slivers of ice encroaching on ink black pupils, cold and calculating yet echoing a familiar warmth.

He loosened the makeshift tourniquet from your arm, pins and needles racing from your fingertips to your elbow. A syringe of your favourite poison lay on the bathroom tile, beige powder swirling in a sea of saline.

“Come back to me. Come back to me, please,” he begged, as if for this moment alone, he allowed himself to believe in the higher power you knew he cursed.

Water seeped into your clothing like the sea of pitch, spilling from the bathtub that you had left on. It carried little rivulets of crimson around a minefield of glass. He didn’t seem very concerned with turning it off right now, despite always bitching at you about saving electricity or water. His eyes were on you, and only you.

“Jonathan,” you mumbled weakly, though you thought you screamed; your eyelids fluttered and your heart pounded faster in your chest as the darkness threatened to spill across your vision again. Your nails dug past the fabric of his suit, gripping his arm tight so that he could never let you go.

“I’m here,” he breathed, and reached his other hand around your neck to cup your head, to bring you forward. You glimpsed the white ceramic of the bathroom sink, bloodied where you’d tried to steady yourself with your hand after you’d bashed your skull against the mirror – your ineffectual attempt to cast the demons out. Glass shards lay scattered against the tile. Fragments of your broken reflection.

You still remembered the haunted look you’d hoped to banish from your eyes.

“You have to get your head out of that place,” he murmured against your scalp, his fingers bloody and sticky as he brushed shards of glass from your hair, seemingly immune to the pain. “You’re not in hospital anymore. You’re here. With me. You have to come back to me.”

Your lower lip trembled. “I can’t escape them,” you admitted, voice a mere whimper. “I can’t escape it. You’re here to take me back, aren’t you? You’re gonna lock me up.”

For a moment, you really thought that he might; his palm still rested, warm and bleeding, against your cheek, but his cold blue eyes studied you not as his lover but as his patient, assessing your condition. He sighed, as if disappointed. Shame crawled its way beneath your skin like the cockroaches that had infested the asylum’s lower wards. You had always been so desperate for his approval, he rarely saw this side of you since your rehabilitation. It wasn’t until slivers of ice shattered into twin pools of blue fire that relief began to seep into you, slow and warm but whelming.

“No. No, I’m not,” he said, voice gentle, soothing. Blue eyes glanced to your head again. “Though, you are showing symptoms of a concussion…”

Your heart sped in your chest, and the icy talons of death speared your soul, the darkness hedging the borders of your vision. Innerved by your fear, you reached for the bottle of tiny white pills that lay open, haphazard next to you. But the warmth of his hand left your face, and your fingers clenched around nothing. In a blur of movement, Jonathan threw the bottle at the toilet and it clattered against the back of the seat. You jolted, gasping, wincing as the jagged teeth of the beast sliced through your clothing.

“You prescribed me those,” you told him. “They’re supposed to make me better. You said so yourself.”

“I’ll fill you a new prescription tomorrow. Taper you off. They were no good for you,” he said, and laced his fingers through the bloodied locks of your hair. Pulled your forehead to his so that your breaths became one, and the demons in your skull grew muffled, and his warmth chased away the icy touch of death.

“What am I gonna do?” you whimpered, sobbing, hands grasping feebly at whatever you could grab hold of – his sleeve, his tie, his collar. You felt as if your soul, your mind, were laying in fragments around you like the glass, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t piece them back together. “I just want to be free. I just want to be okay.”

“I know.” He inhaled, closing his eyes, and his grip tightened on your hair, scalp stinging slightly at the almost needy action. Like in this moment he was more afraid of losing you than you were him.

Even he thinks she’s a lost cause.

And Jonathan was never one to utter false truths; because you knew this about him, his silence unnerved you. But finally, after what could’ve been hours or minutes of your pitiful sobbing and the endless drone of the tub, the trickling of water against the tile, he said,

“I’ll be right here, darling. All you need to do is take my hand.” The warmth of his palm slotted into your own, and you wove your fingers so tight that your knuckles turned white around the blood that trickled down both your wrists from the jagged glass that barbed your flesh. A seal. A pact.

“I will see you through this,” he said. “All of it. I promise.”

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed to any of my taglists and notified of new works!

Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @zablife @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul @brummiereader @mrkdvidal1989 @fiercelittlemouse @ohwellthatslifesstuff @purplesnorlaxplush @drcranessweetestdoe @goblinjnr @mizzbel @s0urmarvel @onasmoko @elenavampire21 @rysko @chris-seb-marvel @muhahaha303 @novemberschy @thatonesinglefriend @forgottenpeakywriter @your-nanas-house @onehornedbeast @kiss-me-cill-me @ilovefictionalpsychopaths @birminghamshelbyboys @sometimes-i-sing @olivialveshbc @urlivingdeadgirl @kadethomes @iwannadie07 @persephonaoflove @ssweetleaf @a-nemoiia @cillianhead

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane angst #jonathan crane imagines #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane fic #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy #nolanverse #arkham #the dark knight #dc #batman #s: yellow light

102 notes · View notes

serene-sun · 1 month

Text

𝕾𝖍𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖜 𝖌𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖑

Read chapter one

Chapter two of my series, “𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓 𝕱𝖚𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖑 𝕺𝖋 𝕾𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘”

Summary: After a multitude of wrong doings at your catholic church, you and four other nuns are sent on a mysterious transfer to a ministry nobody dares speak of. On behalf of the Count Copia, you are welcomed after a suspenseful journey.

Chapter summary: your first night there, you have a strange nightmare. You decide to take a walk to get rid of the paranoia when the beast from the nightmare shortly introduces himself…not like a gentlemen tho…

warnings: LOTS of sexual stuff but no smut, details of a wolf eating a sheep, sexual harassment (its Swiss flirting), ghoul beef, creepy spiritual activity, nightmares, virginity kink, prey/pred, reader doesn't wear underwear to bed

a/n: shadow ghoul is Swiss, quintess ghoul is omega. This is chapter two of my new series! be on the lookout because chapter three is going to be heartfelt lore.....oh, I wonder if it has anything to do with the cliffhanger...

A loud bang erupted from your sleep, you quickly turned on the lamp beside your bed. A sigh is heard from the other women in the room as they watch you.

“What are you doing? It's the middle of the night?” They say, also turning on their lamps.

You step out of the bed, long nightgown falling to the floor, and the white lace pools around your feet. “I-I heard a loud crash, did you not hear it too?” You say, a shaky voice cracking as a shiver washes down your spine.

“No? Are you sure you're not just paranoid?” One says as she stands up from the bed, she walks over to you and places a hand on your shoulder.

You jump at the touch, “Maybe…I just…I swear I heard something…”

The girl sighed, she let her breath draw out until it abruptly stopped. You could feel her own eyes go wide behind you.

“D-do you see that?” She says chillingly as she points at one of the dressers close to the door.

“See what?” You ask as you focus on the dark room, but all you see are shadows until your eyes adjust, making a clear outline of a black shadow of a man.

“What the f-uck.” You say as you stumble back, ‘What the hell is that???”

The shadow doesn't move, it stays still until loud and quick footsteps run across the room, the furniture shaking with them.

Your breath runs out as you run cold, you're speechless as you feel a draft of air come across your face and neck. You feel something sharp like a scratch against your back and neck before a scream rings directly into your ear.

That's when you jump up from your bed and quickly turn on the lamp again, awakening from what seemed to be a nightmare. You catch your breath, surprisingly not waking the others as you pull your hair back, staring into the blanket pattern as to regain thought.

You drag yourself from the bed and take one of the candles, lighting the way out of the room and into the hallway. Your footsteps are silent against the obsidian floor, bare feet patting against the cold crystal lightly as you walk your mind off.

As you venture farther down the hall you take in the paintings, how they all show stories that would usually be in the bibble but from the other perspective. You took the moment to take in the fact that this was now your home, people, and soon to be your religion. Holding your finger, you don't notice the eyes that begin to appear from the eerie sides of the hallway.

Your candle suddenly blows out and you gasp, “Hello? Is someone there?” You say, holding yourself closer to the wall in a panic.

But as your back hits the safety of the wall you realize it's no wall at all but rather the torso of a being. You screech, dropping the candle holder as it falls to the floor. A slender and clawed hand covers your mouth as you’re held against the body. Your screams are muffled as you struggle against the figure. Your hands reach about, as the devil's hands slide up your nightgown. Quickly, you use the rosary that was wrapped around your wrist and stab the demon's arm.

They let out a loud groan as you're released.

You stumble onto the floor and crawl away, “Leave me alone! You ratchet devil!” You yell, pulling your knees to your chest.

The beast slowly walks closer with his hands out putting distance between the two, “I'm not going to hurt you, who are you? It's far past curfew.” The voice says, rusty like a blood moon.

Out of the moonlit streek of the hall, his pure black hands show as he gets closer, and two pure white sparkling eyes peer through the night.

“I- I….why did you attack me?” You say franticly as you stand up, grabbing the candlestick and pointing it at him threateningly.

“Woah now…be careful with that thing..” he says, taking a step back as you urge it closer, “you do not know how sharp tha-” He says before you press it to his stubbled chin, even tho you can't see anything or any part of him you can smell cigarettes and sandalwood from him.

“Hey….you best be careful with that thing lady…or we can have some real problems.” He says, placing a hand on your’s griping the gold metal. He suddenly pulls back his hand in agony as he sharply gasps, “Fuck!” The demon holds his hand, angry eyes looking down to the silver cross ring on your finger.

“Who are you? Why are you here? Why do you have that?” The nameless ghoul grabs your wrist, making you drop the stick.

“Y-you scare me….you attacked me!” You defend as tears bubble up.

“You're obviously not from here….you must be one of the new play things….” The beast shadow says as it softens his grip, “My apologies for being so rude, we just have strict rules here regarding curfews…”

“I…apoligize too….” You couldn't believe you were saying sorry to a hellish creature but perhaps he was like the first ghoul you met, “Please explain the curfew…”

“Well for one…they put you in the wrong part of the ministry…this is too close to the northwest wing for comfort.” he says, “You must be in your rooms for the rest of the night before midnight….usually any guests breaking this rule gets a harsh verbal beating from the sister imperator…” He says, hand sliding down your arm and pushing the lacey sleeve up, “But If you have special permission from one of the upper clergy men….your safe.” his touch is soft and almost addicting, his eyes shiny like the moon behind him. It makes you want to faint like you must consume him whole before he's gone like the wind.

“Why…..why is there such a curfew?” You ask, thoughts being drained as you wander off into the endless range of his eyes.

“Because….here…after the sun leaves us we demons roam.” He says, hand softly tracing up your shoulder and collar bone to your chin to hold, “Everything not behind a closed door after midnight belongs to us….” He caresses your cheek.

You feel a wave of heat wash over you like a fever, except this was no simply cured one. What was this plaguing love that filled you? Was this admiration? Fondness? Jealousy? What sin had tainted your heart so black that it coils up like this? To make your veins run empty and your lungs frail. What could possibly have your head pounding so hard you can feel your eyes unfocus and blur out as your mouth runs dry?

Could this possibly be lust? Such an evil intrusive need, invading like wolves on a sheep farm. You can feel the wolf's eyes stare you down, and that shiver runs up your spine as his position gets lower. Like a star, he pounces and lets his fangs dive deep into your flesh. Blood spills everywhere as small pieces of wool spill from the unsilent night like snow. How innocence was instantly turned into nothingness, to the abyss, how life so quickly faded into the blackness of violence. To death.

Except you were no sheep, no little lamb a child could lie on. And this beast, claws, tail, eyes, and motion like a wolf was not one. Perhaps he would have the same intentions, to devour what has been lazily left into the night. Forgotten, lost, innocent, and vulnerable you were in this dark mysterious presence. It would be child's play for him to ruin you, to take every ounce of life and dignity away.

You let out a soft moan, your eyes opening softly as you realize you have lost yourself. You stand faint in his arms, his tail wrapped around your parted legs. The soft nightgown bunched up to your hips, exposed legs and genitals, how you could feel your nipples harden at the cold gust of breath fan across the fabric so daring to fall down your shoulders. The top four buttons were undone and tampered with like they were viciously pulled apart. His claws dig into your thighs, one slender black finger caressing high enough to just barely touch the hair hiding away your wet folds.

Your so out of it, this plague was more a drug than any impulse. You feel limp, like your half out of blood and oxygen. His other hand wraps around your throat, and that feeling becomes a reality as he softly squeezes.

Your eyes slowly fall shut from the lack of oxygen till the lust-filled demon jolts, a voice across the hall coming from two fierce black eyes. Their aura is even stronger than this one, overwhelmingly strong and relevant to the first nameless ghoul. You could tell they weren't the same, just by the voice this one was far more dominant and older.

“Shadow.” He says, deep voice trembling your heart rate it almost snaps you back into reality.

“Quintess…lovely to see you…” The captive-holding ghoul says behind you, his grip getting tighter as the hand around your thrat goes to pin your waist against his.

Were these their personal names? Perhaps it would be easier to give them all names instead of calling them all nameless ghouls.

“Let her go..” Quintess says arms crossed as he steps into the moonlight.

Your eyes are wide open now, standing up straight as you see the first look of what a ghoul is. He has white hair, pure as snow that's brushed back and slightly wavey. His eyes are normal besides the white slit of his pupil. He has two chipped twisted horns that look to be made of lapis llazul, they glow and sparkle even with their harsh rugged used look. His face is soft, and round, and has a nice defined chin and jaw. His skin is also white but has a hint of purple and grey. Two scars ride from his pointed ear to his lips, which look like claw marks from some kind of fight. His tail is particularly long and has a furry end. He's in a black uniform, it has a hood but is pulled off, it has a large belt with symbols on it and a crucifix necklace. You feel safe by his look, he has the same energy and intentions as the nameless ghoul.

“Why…you know as well as everyone else that what's left to the dark belongs to us,” Shadow says, seductive voice gesturing to the lamb trapped in his arms.

“You and I both know that if she denies you sex you will go back along your night with no second thoughts, You're only trying to look strong and powerful because she's new. You were delighted to see that she wasn't one of the usual sisters of sin roaming around because they wish to either die or be filled with your cum. So of course why not ruin this catholic virgin before one of the fires does.” He says simply, your a little embarrassed but you try to escape his grip.

Shadow growls, “I do not have to worry about if she wants it tonight or not, she will come to my chambers one of these nights, swarmed with thoughts and dreams of me pounding her delicious tight cunt because that's what lord Asmodeus wants out of her and that's what she wants.” he bites back, “There is no escaping the lust she will feel for me, just wait your time and ill send you a letter soaked in her orgasm and signed with her blood sweat and tears explaining how she loves being whipped and bitten to oblivion.”

You tremble at his words, unsure of what any of it mean.

His arms let you free and you stumble to the other side of the hallway, thankful for this white ghoul.

“T-thank you..” You breathe out so heavily it hurts, you want to hug him for his kindness.

“Go on, shadow. To find a seeking victim.” Quintess says as the shadow ghoul disappears, even before you get to see any part of him besides his eyes and arms.

“Are you ok? Did he hurt you in any way?” The ghoul asks as he looks you over, strong demeanor coming down as he softens. His face fills with worry, and concern as he fixes your nightgown and buttons the top back together.

“No, i….I'm dearly sorry…I seem to be causing trouble here.” You apologize to another demon, “Forgive me…”

“Oh, child, no concern needed your very very new and you have much to learn.” He says, fixing your hair as well, his hand acting as a brush with his claws as he wipes the strands of hair from your forehead. “Come let me get you back to bed..”

“No wait…I” You say nervously, “There…was something in there…it doesn't feel safe..”

“Hmm? Is there a ghoul in there?” He asks,

“No…I just...I mean not to be childish but I feel a dark entity in there and I felt it watch me as I sleep..” You answer you had always felt spirits, another reason for your removal from the church.

“That's alright, I understand, we do have wondering spirits here.” He says, hand placed on your back to guide you down the hall, “If you don't mind, you can sleep in my room tonight, I won't be using it.” he offers

“Oh, that’s very kind of you, I don't want to barge you out though.” You say as he leads down the hall.

“Don't worry, I'll be sleeping with a friend tonight anyways.” quintess says as he soon opens the door to his chambers.

It's nice, a cozy and warm look with a made bed in the corner between bookshelves and a few storage boxes on the other side of the room. There was a cold and cobwebbed-covered fireplace. The room had obviously not been used for quite some time, but you stayed quiet.

You sit on the bed, feeling over and noticing there is something under the pillow. You grab it, only to realize that it is a lock of black hair tied together with a silky purple ribbon.

The quintess ghoul quickly takes it, “I apologize, that wasn't supposed to be there.” he says

You nod, “Sorry…i'll go to sleep now..” You say before he leaves. You can't helo but stay up even later wondering what the lock of hair was, and why he was so tense about it. It was so black, like night, and it was so little of it….

like it had been scavenged pieces found across the floor.

JOIN OUR GHOST DISCORD

#serene sun nocontext #the band ghost #serene sun spice time #ghost band #nameless ghouls x reader #the band ghost x reader #nameless ghouls #serene sun writes #ghost band fic #swiss ghoul #swiss ghoul x reader #swiss ghoul x reader smut #omega x reader #omega ghoul #omega ghoul x reader #papa emeritus lll #horror fanfcitin

54 notes · View notes