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stories-and-chaos · 3 months

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Shrike pt 1

[Hazbin Hotel reader insert as Alastor’s “darling life and death partner” I did my best for an ace x ace relationship, based on personal experience. Both parties are moderately sex favorable since writing from my own experience is easiest, so I’m not sure if this counts as QPR. Written mostly in spite over all the Alastor smut. And overly innocent reader inserts. I don’t mind some smut but c’mon people.]

[Part 1/2 Word count 5506/12026]

[cw: blood, violence, mild gore, attempted sexual assault, fluff]

Behind every great man is a great woman? Well, behind every sophisticated murderer is an equally charming murderess. Maybe not as accurate a statement but that’s how you and your partner were. You met Alastor during prohibition. You weren’t the headline performer at the speakeasy he liked to frequent. You were attractive but other girls there were more stunning.

What caught his attention was the passion in your voice. You were deep and sultry as New Orlean’s summer nights. Your notes slipped into his core as inevitable as the Big Easy’s flow. Combined with your poise and aura of untouchability, he felt drawn to you. The lean radio host had never felt a pull like this to anyone.

But he noticed other men drawn to you. But they had no appreciation for you, just your flesh and the pleasure they might take from you. So he took to following you home. At a discreet distance; he hadn’t yet introduced himself. At least a dozen times he intercepted ruffians that moved to harm you. They weren’t nearly as cautious and thorough as him.

One night Alastor had just prevented another uncouth man from approaching you and was wiping off his hands when he heard your voice. Not how he normally did, trained and melodic. No this was harsh, panicked. Fuck! Another one?! There really was no end to the lowlifes.

You had screeched at your assailant, “Get your hands OFF ME!” You were shrill enough to make him wince, but only for a second. He was stronger and just gave you a dark grin with more teeth missing than not. “Let’s have some fun babycakes.” He started dragging you to an alley.

You managed to stomp on his foot with your heel. “Augh, you bitch!” He shoved you up against the brick wall. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he growled.

“I believe the lady has made her opinion clear,” came another voice in the foggy night. “Let her go.” The voice was vaguely familiar, something you heard regularly…

It distracted your assailant long enough that you could reach for your hat. It was a tad out of style but had it’s advantages. Namely, needing a nearly foot long hat pin to keep it in place. You pulled the pin out while he looked out at the other man.

“Fuck off before I kill yo-“ his words were cut off by the sharpened steel pin suddenly piercing his eye. You jammed it into his eye socket with all your strength. Maybe you could have hit what little brains he had but the other man ran up to slit the bastard’s throat.

The man gurgled desperately before falling to the ground. He twitched, blood flowing from his neck and eye. You leaned back against the wall, chest heaving.

The tall lean man seemed oddly calm. He cleaned his knife before pulling your hat pin out of the corpse’s head. Blood fountained out from the eye socket as he cleaned the gore off your pin. He turned, presenting you the slim steel by the decorative knob.

“Are you all right cher?” You took the pin back but didn’t replace it. You didn’t want any leftover gore in your hair.

“Alors pas! Give me a moment cher.” You took a few deep breaths and looked up to see a (thankfully dry) red tinged hand waiting for you. You placed your shaking one into it. The owner assisted you to your feet, guiding you away from the ever growing pool of blood.

“Quite a fright you’ve had my dear!” His crisp voice, with its transatlantic accent echoed as he escorted you away.

You shuddered slightly, realizing how bad things could have gotten. “At least it was just a fright. Thanks to you mister…?” You trailed off, still trying to place his voice.

“Alastor.”

Your eyes widened in sudden recognition. “Ah! You’re the radio host!”

“I’m flattered you remember me! I’m afraid I have you at a disadvantage. You are Y/N, correct?” Dazed, you nodded. “I’ve been enthralled by your performances for months now, I had to learn more about you cher.”

“Why thank you, I’m glad you’ve been enjoying them.” Suddenly you felt dizzy and stumbled along the path. Alastor swiftly caught you.

“I believe you’re a tad unsteady after being handled so roughly. May I?” Confused, you nodded and he immediately swept you into a bridal carry. “If you’ll permit me, I’d like to escort you home.” He paused and added, “I will need directions of course.”

The thought of a man you just met bringing you home made you flush all over. No matter how gallant he was, the radio host was a stranger. But you didn’t think your legs could support you long enough. “If…if you would please.” You glanced back at the alley. “What do we do about…”

“Hmmm,” Alastor hummed as he strolled away. He had no difficulty carrying you. “I suppose a dead man is an inconvenience but I believe getting you somewhere safe takes priority. Certainly over a lowlife’s corpse.”

It was hard to argue with that logic. You directed him to your apartment, amazed that he was able to carry you that long and with ease. Once there, you allowed him inside. Once inside with a lamp lit, you realized what a mess both were. Your coat was splattered with blood and grime. Your dress was stained wherever the coat hadn’t covered it and your hat was long gone. The hat pin in your hand was mostly clean, but you spotted some blood and gore by the finial. Your shoes weren’t worth mentioning.

Seeing the result of your ordeal made the bile rise in your throat. You barely made it to the sink before vomiting. Thankfully you hadn’t eaten before leaving work so it was just bile. You faintly heard clinking and water being poured. Alastor appeared with a glass of water for you. “Ma cher, you look like you need a wash up. If you like, I can stay in the main room or I can make my way home. I wouldn’t want you to feel unsafe.”

You found yourself asking him to stay as you cleaned up. Maybe you were being naive but he did just save you and you felt he didn’t have anything untoward in mind. When you asked about him, he merely chuckled and told you not to worry.

After you were cleaned and dressed in a nightgown and housecoat (and had added a torrent of tears to the bathwater) you emerged to find Alastor reading the newspaper in a chair. He’d made jambalaya for you both. “My mother’s recipe! So good it nearly killed her!” he quipped. Once you’d eaten you couldn’t keep your exhaustion at bay.

“You’re welcome to spend the night Alastor. I’d hate to send you home in the middle of the night.” The only problem was there was only one bed, yours.

“That is much appreciated Y/N. I can make myself comfortable in the front room for one night. I’ll leave you to rest while I clean up myself.” He pressed his lips to your knuckles and murmured “Bonne nuit, cher.”

Alastor left your sleeping form and made use of your washroom. He cleaned up methodically; it wasn’t the first time he’d had to wash up after a kill. His jacket was ruined, but at least the rest of his clothes were in decent enough shape. At least he wouldn’t scandalize anyone on the way home tomorrow.

Still, he was surprised that you had fought back as much as you had. Evidently that passion from your songs emerged elsewhere too. And the way you dispatched your attacker… he shivered at the beauty of it. The unexpected metal gleam in your hand, the furiously graceful arc as you swung and your perfect aim into the lowlife’s eye.

Alastor wasn’t much interested in pleasures of the flesh, he never had been and wasn’t still. He wanted to see more of you like that. Not scared and in need of rescue, but the hunter he recognized in your eyes.

“It seemed the songbird I’ve admired has talons.”

—————

The next morning you insisted on making breakfast; biscuits and gravy. Alastor seemed to enjoy it but he didn’t leave after eating. You thought he would need to get home before heading to the radio station. When you asked he said he was staying “just in case.”

Just before lunch there was a knock at your door. Alastor was closer so he answered it, almost like he was expecting it. Two policemen stood on the other side. “What can we help you with officers?” Alastor asked jovially.

“Is this the home of a Miss Y/N?” At your affirmative nod, the stockier of the two continued, “We’d like you to come down to the station Miss. We have some questions to ask you.”

“Ah, this must pertain to the dreadful ordeal my dear Y/N went through last night,” Alastor interjected. “Ma cher, why don’t you grab your things and I’ll accompany you.”

“And who might you be?” The lanky officer asked.

“Alastor, my good man. You may have tuned into my radio show!” He smiled thinly as the short one had a flicker of recognition. “I rendered some assistance to Y/N, so it’s probably best if I’m there as well. It would save you gentlemen a trip to my home to escort me in for questions, ha ha!”

By then you had your shoes and bag ready. “Dear you look lovely. Do you have your pin from last night, I’m sure these gentlemen will want to examine it.”

“Oh, that’s an excellent point Alastor.” You placed it in your bag, making sure the cover was on the tip.

Once at the station, you found out the trail from your attacker’s body to your apartment was fairly obvious. Some blood on the bottom of Alastor’s shoes led the way. As for what happened:

“The man accosted me on my way home. I tried to fight back, but he was ever so much stronger. It seems I was loud enough to grab Alastor’s attention. I’m so grateful he stepped in! The beast was distracted and I was able to get ahold of my hat pin. My mother always said not to leave without one and she was right! I meant to just scratch him but I’ve never had to do such a thing before; I hit his eye instead. Before I could do anything else Alastor was between us and then the ruffian was dead.”

“Indeed! I heard Y/N order the lout to release her and I ran up to assist. I had just been dealing with another lowlife who had also been following her. To think there are so many ne’er-do-wells on our streets! In any case, I dispatched the man and assisted Y/N home.” You hadn’t realized there had been another man following you. You shivered at the thought.

“And why were you in the area Mr. Alastor? Records show that neither your home or place of employment are in that area.”

Alastor’s eye twitched but his smile never faltered. “I’d had a lovely evening at the jazz club and felt a late night stroll was in order. I wasn’t even paying attention to where my feet were taking me! Perhaps it was providence guiding my way so I might save the lady’s virtue.”

“Why didn’t you report this to the police?”

“I could barely manage to walk, I was in such a state. Alastor had to carry me home; I was in no condition to report anything, officers.”

“The lady had been assaulted on her way home and forced to defend herself. I felt it would be unworthy of a gentleman to leave her alone in her time of need.”

After a barrage of questions and a thorough examination of your hatpin, Alastor’s knife and the minor injuries you had suffered while being manhandled, the officers let you both go. They would provide all the evidence to the district attorney. But it seemed unlikely that either of you would be charged. You had been defending yourself and Alastor had defended you.

The charming radio host escorted you back home. “Won’t you be late for work at this point?” His broadcast covered a good portion of the afternoon and early evening.

“Hmm, perhaps.” He patted your hand nestled into the crook of his arm. “I still feel your wellbeing is more important however, my dear.” You felt a blush warming your cheeks. “On that subject, I believe you’re due to perform again tonight?” You nodded, he really did enjoy your performances if he knew your schedule. “I believe I will go mad with worry cher, might I escort you there and back home?”

This man was insinuating himself into your life so easily. Perhaps killing a man together had that effect. “Please do Alastor. I don’t believe I will be able to go on my own after yesterday.” You had reached your apartment while talking. “Then I shall return after I complete my broadcast. Until tonight cher.” He kissed your knuckles and saw you through the door before leaving. You turned on your radio and tuned the dial to Alastor’s station. About ten minutes after his broadcast normally began you heard the crackle of his voice.

“Salutations listeners! Thank you for your patience ladies and gentlemen, I know everyone has been eagerly awaiting the show. I am Alastor, a pleasure to be sharing this time with you all.” You sighed in relief. You would have felt terrible if helping you jeopardized Alastor’s job.

You left the radio on, letting his voice fill the apartment while you took care of minor tasks. Eventually he signed off with his normal outro “Until next time dear listeners, thank you and goodnight!” You didn’t know how long it would take for him to get from his station to your apartment but you felt it best to finish getting ready.

So you were dressed for the evening when he arrived. That was the start of a new routine for you both. Alastor walked you to work and back, enjoying the illicit beverages and your voice. Sometimes he would stay the night in your front room but he mostly dropped you off before making his way home.

He was a lovely conversationalist and those walks were much more cheerful than they had been. You felt easy around him in a way that was foreign but fulfilling. Eventually your friends and coworkers at the speakeasy asked if you two were courting.

You honestly couldn’t answer. You’d never had a beau before. According to friends over the years, you had been asked out by a lot of fellows and turned them all down. Was that why none of those men talked to you again? Apparently you hadn’t realized their intentions.

One night, a couple months after the attack, you mentioned this to Alastor. “Isn’t that strange, cher? They think we’re a couple!”

He stopped dead, his lips barely keeping their ever present smile as the rest of his features went blank. “Is…is this what courtship is?” He blinked down at the hand in the crook of his arm, the high heeled feet he had shortened his stride to keep in step with, the new gleaming hat pin he’d gifted you.

“I…am not really sure. I’ve never had a beau before.” You looked up at him, seeing the lips that gently kissed your knuckles every time you parted, the dark auburn hair you would stroke when he was stressed, the patterned bow tie you had given him the same day he gave you the pin. “Although, if this is what courting is, I’m glad it’s with you Alastor.”

“Hmm…” he resumed walking, this time humming one of the songs you sang that night. Once at your place, he finally replied. “I believe I agree with you my dear. Since we are a couple it seems, I’m glad it’s with you, Y/N.” He not only gave your hand a kiss, but leaned down to kiss your cheek as well. “I suppose you can tell your friends tomorrow they were correct. Bonne nuit, ma cher.”

Roughly a month later, Alastor was spending the night in your apartment when you felt the need to ask a question that had been lingering in the back of your mind. “Alastor, cher,” you sat next to him, pulling his attention from the book he was reading. “Had…have you killed other people before that night?”

He froze, which really was all the answer you needed. “Are you still?”

For a man so glib, it took him a moment to find his silver tongue. “And if I am?” He choked out. “What will you do, Y/N?”

You studied him, making sure not to move and not to touch him. “I would ask what sort of people they are. And if they are of the same mold as the men who attacked me…then I’d also ask you to be careful, cher.”

He relaxed slightly. “Unfortunately there are a great many like-minded men in the world, although a few less in this city in the past few years.” He paused. “I can’t help myself dear. I see them acting as they do and feel the need to remove them from this life.”

Gently, you placed a hand over his. “I can hardly blame you for that. Especially after you saved me.” Your other hand turned his head to look into your eyes. “Your secret is safe with me, Alastor.”

The man was usually so composed; it was kind of cute to see him so surprised. He then cupped your cheek and lightly kissed your lips. Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned into the kiss.

It was one kiss and it didn’t last long. Pulling back from each other, he licked his lips while you pressed your fingertips to yours. “That was quite nice.” Despite singing so many songs about love, you had never been eager to try out all the steps of romance.

“Indeed it was. Shall we add that to our list of favorable courting actions?” You smiled and pulled out a paper, a fourth of the way filled with a list. You added “kisses on lips” to it.

Before too long, you were helping him with his activities. Initially you assisted in the clean up, but then you started taking part in the kills. Alastor admired your channeled fury and impeccable aim. You admired his precision and calculated execution. The two of you had to be sparing with your activities however. You didn’t want to draw suspicion. The kills were never closer than a week from each other.

Roughly a year after you met Alastor, the subject of marriage came up. It was while you two were disposing of another uncouth man; he made the mistake of trying to get you away from your beau and received knife stabs from both of you. You no longer had to rely solely on your hat pin; you had a stiletto blade of similar size now. Alastor finished covering the body in dirt; he refused to let you help with digging at all. Instead you kept an eye out as he did.

You provided him with a cloth to clean off the dirt. “Merci, ma cher.” Once he was ready you put it back into your bag and linked arms with him. As you walked together, satisfied, he asked, “Y/N, shall we get married?”

The question caught you off guard and you stumbled forward. Just like that first night, he caught you smoothly and lifted you into his arms. “ Alastor, darling, where is this coming from?”

“Some at the radio station inquired as to our relationship. I was informed that a successful courtship as ours generally results in a marriage.” He hummed as he carried you. “After some thought, I realized the prospect of wedding you is…very appealing.”

You nestled into his embrace. “I haven’t given it any thought. It would make life simpler, you wouldn’t have to dash around between our homes and work.” You mulled it over. You would like seeing him every morning instead of on occasion. The thought of your dresses next to his suits in the wardrobe, helping each other clean up after a kill, relaxing quietly on the couch while you both read… “Yes. Let’s get married Alastor. I’d like that.”

He smiled down at you, looking oddly tender considering what the two of you had been doing just half an hour ago. He leaned down to kiss you softly. “Let’s get you home and we’ll work out all the details tomorrow, my dear.”

Initially the two of you planned something simple. But once both your and his coworkers got wind of the nuptials, they insisted on a grand party. Apparently they all felt the two of you were adorably hopeless. Neither of you had realized how invested those around you were in your relationship. You and Alastor concluded that resisting your friends well-wishes was as pointless as resisting a hurricane.

So while the ceremony was a small affair, the party after was held at your club and lasted deep into the night. The proprietors had managed to get a bottle of champagne for you and Alastor. Despite it being your wedding reception, you couldn’t help performing one of Alastor’s favorite songs. He then kept you on the dance floor the majority of the evening. He danced as well as he talked. It was a good thing you’d had over a year as his primary dance partner.

You heard some ribald jokes about his stamina. At least that’s what they sounded like. You still couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered much to either of you. All you cared about was your husband was having a great time, out dancing everyone in the building. Once it was time to leave, he carried you into a cab, then carried you into his home.

Despite what the guests had suggested, he was tired after all that. Frankly you were too. So once divested of all the fancy clothing, he tucked you into the bed and climbed in next to you.

For the first time since you met him, he looked nervous in the faint starlight. Of course. This was so far beyond both of your experiences. You probably looked the same. “Alastor? May I?” You held out your arms to him. He gave you a nod and you embraced him, slowly nestling your body against his. “Let me know if it’s too much, cher,” you murmured as he wrapped his arms around you.

He started to relax with you. His breathing matched yours, your heartbeat synchronized with his. You felt his arms growing heavy, their grip softening. Alastor nuzzled your hair and kissed the crown of your head. “Thank you for marrying me, Y/N.”

You smiled. “Thank you as well Alastor,” you replied before drifting off to sleep.

The two of you did have sex eventually. The first time was a few weeks after the wedding. You were both back to work after a brief honeymoon; when you got back the other singers, the band, even the bartender were all curious about your bedroom activities. They surrounded you while Alastor was conversing with another patron. When all you talked about was how nice falling asleep with him was and the cute sight of him sleeping as the sun rose, they stared at you slack jawed.

Your coworkers consulted amongst themselves. You heard snippets of “do we need to explain this too, did no one tell them about that, they’re both such lookers too, I don’t wanna tell her, you do it, no you, I ain’t gonna tell her.”

After some discussion it seems Mimzy, another singer was appointed to talk to you. “Y/N, sweetie, doll, did your mama ever tell you about the birds and the bees?” She guided you to the bar and requested drinks for you both.

“Mimzy! I do know about sex. Gracious, I’m aware of adult urges and where babies come from.” You threw back your drink. The curvy blonde breathed a sigh of relief; at least she didn’t need to go over the basics.

“That is usually what a honeymoon is for dearie.” Mimzy tossed back her own drink. “Look cutie, what you and your mister do at home is your business, but your friends don’t want you missing out! You two are good together; I’ve never seen either of ya this happy before.” She downed another drink before hopping over to the stage.

Alastor came up to your side. “Looks like your friends are all in a tizzy dear.” You smiled up at him. “Did you have a strange conversation with your colleagues today too?”

“Ah yes,” he leaned on his new cane, a wedding gift. “Concerning my bedroom prowess and your presumed enjoyment thereof.” You couldn’t help but laugh huskily. “The station manager even told me to ‘remember my duties as a husband.’”

You gave him a peck on the cheek. “I believe you’re going above and beyond your duties cher.” He kissed your hand and held it while the two of you listened to Mimzy’s set. “I’d best get up there darling.” You gave his hand a squeeze before going to take the stage.

You sang a mix of familiar tunes and a couple new ones you’d picked up on the honeymoon. To finish the performance, you sang the same number from your wedding night, which you had come to think of as Alastor’s song. Many of the patrons were familiar with the two of you, so listening to you sing to your husband made a number of them go misty eyed.

Once back at home, Alastor cleared his throat while unbuttoning his shirt. “Do you want to, cher?”

You continued to remove your jewelry. “Perhaps one day.” You applied cold cream to remove your makeup. “And you cher? Do you want to?” You asked back as you wiped your face clean.

He was putting up his suit, more intent on making sure it lined up on the hanger than usual. “Perhaps one day,” he echoed. He stopped fiddling with the suit and stood there in his underclothes. Alastor’s ever present smile was still there but his eyes looked lost.

You finished your nightly routine and went to him, asking gently before taking both his hands in yours. “Ma cher, when have we ever been a normal couple? We already have almost a full page of physical affections we enjoy. If we want to see if sex will be on that list one day we can. But not unless we both want to try it.” His smile became more genuine and he pressed both of your hands to his lips. “Thank you my dear.”

You gave him a playful look and started humming the opening bars to his song. Alastor gave you a quizzical look back as you started singing it. Before the first verse was over you pulled him into an impromptu dance. In the privacy of your bedroom, you and your husband danced into the night to your voice. To your delight, he joined you in duets and sang a solo for you as you slow danced together.

“Ah, my sweet songbird. I am glad I married you.”

“I’ve never really seen myself as a songbird before. If anything…” your eye caught sight of your hat pins on your vanity, “more of a shrike.” He looked at you in surprise. “A butcher-bird,” you clarified.

“No no, I’m aware. I never thought of that comparison for you. It fits though, they’re pretty little killers that impale their victims.”

“I’m glad you agree darling. Now, we should get some rest.” You put out the light and pulled him into bed. There was a bit of hesitation on his part as he laid down. But he was soon settling into what was becoming your normal sleeping positions: you nestled against his side with his arms around you.

A few days after that, he asked if you’d like to give sex a try that night. You didn’t have any problems with the idea so almost a month after your wedding the two of you tried it.

Of course you were both terribly awkward; Alastor pulled your hair more than once and you elbowed him in the neck. But the two of you managed it. Multiple times that night in fact. Evidently that was what those stamina comments were about. Afterward, as he held you close Alastor mused. “Hmmm, that was rather enjoyable. I still don’t understand everyone’s fascination but I’m not opposed to the occasional romp as they say. What did you think darling?”

You thought back. “Once we figured things out it was fun. I agree though, I don’t understand why everyone is so obsessed about it. It’s rather messy in the end. And I think we can add it to our list, as an occasional activity.”

He chuckled. “You can add it tomorrow.”

The next day, you joined the other singers chatting before the sets started. One of them was gushing over her new beau and you realized this was a great opportunity to let them know. “Alastor and I had sex last night,” you stated, cheerful and straightforward. Again with the slack jawed looks. “Multiple times actually. I’m glad I’m in such good shape, it was more exertion than I expected.”

After a beat one of the girls asked “Well? How was it?”

“Hm? Oh! It was fun. My legs are pretty tired so I don’t think I’ll be dancing much tonight though. Alastor enjoyed it too, so we decided to do it again someday.” You heard the band warming up. “I’m up first tonight, best get up there.”

As you left the group they started talking rapidly to each other. “Do you think they actually did? Don’t see why not, they are the strangest couple I’ve ever met, at least they’re strange together, I thought for sure one of them would be more excited about doing it…”

Your lives settled into a comfortable routine together. You both continued with your jobs; his broadcast was quite popular and as you increased your skill and song repertoire, you became more successful in the nightlife scene. He accompanied you everywhere which was exactly how you liked it. Every so often the two of you would kill a ne’er-do-well or three. Occasionally you had intercourse. You often danced together, both at the club and at home.

This continued for a number of years. By now almost everyone around you was used to the idiosyncrasies in your marriage and just didn’t question it.

One night in late summer the pair of you were in the woods, hiding the latest kill. As you kept watch in the humid air, Alastor was dumping dirt over the corpse. “Are you sure you don’t need help cher?”

He grunted while lifting more dirt. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I made my darling wife fill a hole like this?” You could only shake your head in amusement. You shifted your feet but lost your footing in the process. Both legs swept out beneath you and you landed firmly on your rear. You did your best not to cry out in case your voice carried.

“Cher!” Alastor dropped the shovel to help you up. “Are you alright Y/N?” You nodded as you grabbed his outstretched hand. “Just slipped, I’ll be fine Alastor.”

You looked up at your husband and noticed that the branches of the nearby trees gave him the illusion of antlers. You were about to mention it when the sharp crack of a rifle rang out and suddenly his forehead blossomed into a spray of blood and brain matter. “ALASTOR!” His name ripped from your throat. He couldn’t hear it though; his smile was wiped away as his body dropped to the ground.

“Aw shit! I thought he was a deer!” The man who killed your husband yelled out, realizing what he’d done. You screeched and ran in the direction of the voice, pulling your hat pin out as you did so. The hunter wasn’t far. You leapt at him, screaming and crying. He was bigger than you but he wasn’t expecting a furious murderess to launch herself at him at full speed. He fell to the ground with you straddling his chest and you plunged the hat pin, the one Alastor gave you for your last anniversary, into the man’s eyes and throat. Over and over you shoved the steel into his face. The blood spray and viscera didn’t scare you anymore.

You faintly heard, “Jesus Mary and Joseph crazy bitch!” through your own screaming. You whirled in that direction to see the second hunter aiming his own rifle at you. You started to move toward him when you felt an intense pain at your brow, followed by nothingness.

—————

Part 2

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin fanfic #alastor x reader #alastor #fluff #acespec #ace representation #asexual

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krirebr · 2 months

Text

Welcome to Your Life

Pairing: dark vampire!Steve Rogers x f!reader

Word Count: ~3.75k

Summary: During a drunken night out on vacation, you're brought to a strange club and presented to a mysterious man. Part of Everybody Wants to Rule the World

Warnings: Horror elements, dark elements, mind control, some blood and gore, feeding on humans, captivity, dub/con, SMUT - All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Divider by @saradika

We're All Monsters

Masterlist

A/N: And here it is, the first part of Vampire Steve's solo story! If you missed his introduction, it was in I Can't Sleep Cause My Bed's On Fire. You don't need to read that before you read this, but some of the world-building (specifically how his club works) might be helpful. Plus, it's a vampire threesome, so 🥵🥵🥵

This is also the first part of the new, super-expanded supernatural universe that I'm doing with @paperweight91, playing off of what I started with my Psycho Killer AU. Big thanks to Chelsea for all her help on this and for just how much fun it's been to come up with ideas with her for this whole universe.

Now, where it might get slightly confusing, but I really hope it doesn't. This story introduces a new character, Cutter, who will eventually be a reader in one of Chelsea's stories in her werewolf half of this au. She is not physically described at all here, other than being a woman. I hope it gets you excited about what @paperweight91 has in store for her.

As always, any comments, reblogs, or asks are very appreciated. You know how much I love this Steve. Please come screech with me about him!!!

You were shaking. That was the only thing you knew. You didn’t know where you were or what you were doing there. Not even how you’d gotten there, just that you were standing in the back room of some club, surrounded by people—were they people? Of course, they were. What else could they be?!—unable to move, and you couldn’t stop shaking.

You’d been on vacation with some friends in Berlin. You’d all decided to have a wild night out together but were quickly separated. While tipsily searching for them at a club, you’d bumped into a man, an American, who told you his name was Cole. And suddenly, looking for your friends didn’t seem as important. He’d told you he knew a great bar just a few blocks away. You didn’t really remember agreeing to go with him, but now you were here, in a room full of strangers who wouldn’t stop leering at you. No one had done anything or even said anything, but you knew in your bones that you were not safe. And yet, you couldn’t move.

Cole, especially, wouldn’t take his eyes off you, your neck in particular. You desperately wished for something to cover up your club attire. A woman was leaning against the wall in the corner, sharpening her ridiculously long nails with a knife. She looked up occasionally, and this time her gaze landed on Cole, a scowl on her face. “You know he gets first taste,” she said, before looking back down in disinterest.

“I know,” he said, his fingers drumming impatiently on his thigh.

“Everything has to get his approval before it goes on the menu,” she continued, still not looking up as she filed her nails to a terrifying point.

“Yes,” Cole gritted out, “I know that, Cutter. I’m not fucking new.”

“Then stop acting like you’re jonesing for your next fix. You’re that fucking hungry? Go get yourself something to eat that actually is on the menu.” Nothing they were saying made any sense.

He scowled at her, but started to leave the room, and then, suddenly, stopped. Everyone stopped. Cutter looked up, listening for something, then pushed herself off the wall and made her way over to you. She brushed one of her exceedingly sharp nails over your bottom lip. Looking you in the eye, she breathed, “Kneel, sweetheart.” And you were on your knees before you had any idea what had happened. She smiled at you and added, “Be quiet,” and you knew, in every cell, that you wouldn’t have been able to make any noise if you’d tried.

One of the doors opened and a tall, broad, beautiful man came into the room and you felt the energy of everything change. It was like it was all, yourself included, suddenly charged with electricity. You’d never felt anything like it. He zeroed in on you instantly and made his way over. You felt the instinct to cower, but it was far away, almost like it was behind a wall. And you still couldn’t move anyway. All you could do was shiver.

The man looked at you carefully. “Pretty,” he said, absently. He brushed his thumb over your lower lip just like Cutter had. Then he gripped your chin and angled it up so you were forced to make eye contact. “Give me your wrist,” he said and you couldn’t explain the feeling that moved through your body, only that you reached your wrist up to him, you had to, and waited for him to take it. He took it in his firm grip and placed his thumb right over your pulse point. He pressed down hard and smiled when you still didn’t move, didn’t react. It was like you didn’t know how. And then, something happened, so quickly you couldn’t process it. Fangs descended into his mouth and he lowered his head to your wrist and bit down hard. It was some of the worst pain you’d ever felt, but you didn’t pull away, didn’t make a sound. It wasn’t until you felt the wetness on your cheeks that you even realized you were crying. It was like all the different parts of you were separated.

He pulled his teeth from your wrist and then licked the wound clean. He grinned at you and said, “You have excellent taste in cocktails, honey.” Then he looked over at Cutter and his smile dropped. “She’s still drunk. You should have known better.”

Her mouth fell open, and then she flung her hand out at Cole who stood sheepishly on the other side of the room. “Cole’s the one who brought her in!”

He was in front of her in a blink, the arm that was still in the air now in his firm grasp. She grimaced. “And you know exactly how good his judgment is,” he growled.

“Steve,” she whispered, just barely loud enough for you to hear her.

The man (could you even call him that? Deep down you knew what he was), Steve, brought his face as close to hers as possible. “When I put you in charge,” he said, so lowly, “I expect you to be in charge.”

She just stared at him for a moment meeting his gaze, then dropped her own and nodded. He smiled fondly, you were surprised to see, and kissed her on the cheek. “You know he needs supervision.”

He made his way back to where you were still kneeling, now cradling your arm. He bent down to you slightly and stroked a hand down your neck. “There’s something there, though,” he said, although you weren’t sure who he was talking to. Certainly not to you. “Underneath everything else. I’ll try her again tomorrow and see how she is when the blood’s pure.”

You gazed up at him, confused, and he gripped your chin in his hand. “You may speak,” he said.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” was all you could manage.

“Oh honey, of course, you don’t,” he said with a grin that frightened you. “The good news is that you’ll never need to understand anything ever again.” He looked back up at the room at large. “Set her up in a room upstairs.” He released your chin and made his way to the exit, pausing as he was almost out the door to call “Cole!” over his shoulder. The other man quickly followed him out of the room.

Cutter came to stand in front of you. She looked you in the eye and said, “Up,” and without thinking, you were on your feet. “Such a good girl,” she cooed. “Follow me,” and suddenly that was all you wanted to do.

The room she took you to was better described as a cell. There was a cot, a toilet, and a sink. No windows. Painted grey. It was tiny. Cutter left as soon as you were inside and you heard the door lock behind her.

You sat down on the bed and closed your eyes. You felt the urge to panic but it was like your body wouldn’t cooperate. Your heart rate stayed steady, your breaths even. You were calm, even if that was the last thing you wanted to be.

These people must have done something to you. People, right. You knew what they were. Every single one of them had stared at your neck. Steve had fangs and he’d literally drank your blood. You knew, even if an hour ago you would’ve sworn that was just fantasy. Vampires. You were being held captive by vampires. What the hell?

There was nothing to occupy your time in here except for your thoughts, so you curled up on the cot and tried to convince yourself that it was all a bizarre dream. Eventually, your exhaustion overtook you and you fell asleep.

You weren’t sure when exactly you woke up. You hadn’t seen a single window since Cole had brought you into the building last night. Because sunlight kills vampires, you thought to yourself, somewhat hysterically. Your memories of the night before were… weird. And not just because you swear someone drank your blood. They were patchy. And yes, you’d been drunk, but not that drunk. Not so drunk that you blacked out small portions of the night. And certainly not so drunk that you hallucinated vampires. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. There was no way out of the cell. Nothing in it that would help you. All you could do was wait for whatever it was that was coming for you.

Sometime later, hours probably, a slit in the door you hadn’t noticed before was opened, and a tray was slid through. Food. You gathered it quickly and sat on the bed. There was a carton of water and a plate with a large salad that was mostly made up of spinach and lentils. Iron-rich food, your mind supplied. The previous night seemed more and more real.

.You thought about refusing the salad, but you were so hungry, so you ate it. It was surprisingly good, but not what you would have chosen for what would probably be your last meal. You lay back down when you were finished, curled up on your side, and daydreamed of something more satisfying than a spinach salad.

More time passed. You stared at the walls and tried not to freak out. You wondered if your friends had made it back to the hotel. How long it took for them to realize you were missing. Were the police searching for you? Did your family know? You couldn’t help it when the tears started. You were pretty sure you were going to die here.

You dozed in and out for who knows how long. And then the door opened. Steve walked in with Cole behind him, carrying a chair. You jolted up and pressed yourself into the wall. “Stop,” Steve said, and everything did. “Calm down,” and you felt everything in your body slow. Suddenly, you couldn’t access whatever it was that you’d been so scared of. So you sat still and watched him.

Cole handed Steve the chair and he placed it in front of your cot. He sat down and looked at you. His gaze made you feel so small. He reached out his hand and brushed the backs of his fingers against your knee. A chill ran up your spine, not just fear, but an excitement too, that you couldn’t explain. “Give me your other wrist,” he said, lowly, and you immediately did. He took it in his hand and brought it up to his nose, forcing you to lean forward. He inhaled deeply. “Much better,” he said. “You’re all sobered up now, aren’t you?”

You didn’t respond. You knew, deep inside yourself, that he didn’t want you to. His fangs dropped and you braced yourself, something in the far recesses of your mind knowing that you should be scared. With a slight grin, he sank his teeth into your wrist. The pain was just as bad as the night before but soon, so much quicker than the last time, it was over and Steve was pulling away, his eyes still locked on you.

“Shit,” he breathed.

“What?” Cole asked, from his place by the door. “She’s that bad?”

“No,” Steve growled. “She tastes like sunshine.” He stood up and leaned over you, running the back of one finger across your cheek. “Precious thing.”

You looked up at him and blinked. “Please,” you said, “please, I want to go home.”

“No, honey,” he cooed, so gently, “you’ll never go home again.” As you tried to process that through the fog, he turned to Cole. “Put her in my private reserves. I’ll have her for dinner.” And then he was out of the room.

Cole looked at you, a pout on his face. “Goddamnit,” he grumbled, “I’ve been waiting for a taste.”

“You’re gonna bite me, too?” you asked, alarmed.

He sighed. “Not anymore. I’d rather not face the true death, thanks.” He looked you in the eye. “Come with me.”

You felt something move through you at that. There was definitely a strong urge to obey that you wouldn’t resist, but it was nothing like what you felt with Steve, or even Cutter, where it was like your body was on strings. It wasn’t a huge weakness, but you were taking note of everything at this point.

Cole took you through a long series of hallways that you couldn’t hope to keep track of. Cole talked the whole way, mostly inane bits about his frustrations with the pecking order in whatever vampire organization this was. You marveled for a moment at the fact that you were describing something to do with mythical monsters as inane. Finally, just as you arrived at a door not dissimilar to the one you’d just come out of, he concluded with “You’re a really good listener.”

You gaped at him. What did he think was happening here? He’d targeted you, done something to you to bring you here where you were trapped and probably going to die and he thought you cared that he didn’t feel respected enough by his fellow monsters???

But staying alive right now was your primary concern, so you just quietly said, “Thank you,” and let him show you into the room.

It was much bigger than the cell, but still small, along the lines of a spacious walk-in closet. There was a plush rug under your feet, a deep rose color. A four-poster bed was to one side covered in a big, fluffy comforter that was in a lighter shade of dusty pink and piled with pillows to match. The far wall was entirely made of mahogany built-in bookcases that were completely full of books. There was a soft-looking armchair in the corner by the shelves. You turned back to Cole and asked, “What is this?”

“It’s your room,” he said with a smile. He looked you in the eye. “Now,” he said, and you felt his words travel through your body. He pointed at a door without breaking eye contact, “that’s your bathroom. You’re going to use it now to get very clean and smooth. There are lotions you’ll use after to make yourself soft. There are things in there,” he pointed to a beautiful armoire in the corner, “for you to change into when you’re done. Steve will be back in a few hours and you will be ready for him. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you said, your voice coming out of you without any conscious thought or effort, “I’ll be ready for Steve.”

“Good girl,” he said, and gently patted your cheek. He stood awkwardly, watching you, but now that the command was in you, you were focused on getting to the bathroom so you could get clean. He was in your way.

“I have to get ready for Steve,” you told him, your voice sounding oddly robotic to your own ears.

Cole blinked at you and then sighed. “Right,” he said, sounding almost forlorn. He stared at you again and then shook his head. “I’ll see you again soon,” he said, stroking one hand down your arm. And then he finally left.

It was the most luxurious shower of your life.

When you came out of the bathroom, clean, smooth, and more moisturized than you’d ever been, you opened the armoire to find a small collection of slips in different sizes hanging in it. You found the one that would fit you best and put it on. It was black, a combination of silk and lace. It felt expensive against your skin. You searched the drawers, and next to a collection of silk briefs, you found a pair of black lace panties that would work for you.

Once you were dressed (or as dressed as you were going to be with what was available), you moved to the bookshelves. They were chock full of every genre and category you could think of. Vaunted classics next to dime store romances. Shakespeare collections and airport schlock. You ran your fingers across the spines, when, suddenly, from behind you–

“If there’s something you particularly enjoy, let me know and I’ll have someone get it for you.”

You spun around to find Steve just inches from you. You hadn’t heard a noise when he’d come in. There was a coldness emanating from him that made goosebumps rise along your flesh. Your breath caught and he grinned. You inhaled and asked, “You aren’t going to kill me?”

He laughed. “Oh no, Sunshine. You’re too delicious. I’m going to be feeding from you for a long, long time.”

You tried to back up, but the wall of bookcases blocked you. You pressed yourself into it anyway. He opened his mouth and you hurried to say “Please don’t make me calm down!”

His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head to the side. “Explain,” he commanded and you were obeying before you even registered the word.

“I don’t know what you’re doing to me, but I feel it when you tell me to do things. And I– I don’t know. I don’t know.” You wanted to obey, every part of you was trying, but you had no vocabulary for any of what this was. So you were left chanting, “I don’t know,” over and over.

“Stop,” he said, and of course, everything did. “You can feel it?” he asked. “The compulsion? You actually feel it move through your body?”

The word was new to you, but you knew what he meant. You nodded and he hummed. “Oh, you are very interesting, aren’t you, pet?”

You didn’t say anything to that, just watched him warily. He gave you a sharklike grin that sent chills down your spine and said “Now, calm down.”

And just like before, you felt everything inside you slow. Your body sagged a bit against the shelves, no longer trying to push your way through them.

“There,” he said, cupping your face in his large hand. “Isn’t that better, little pet?”

He guided you to the armchair and sat down in it, pulling you onto his lap. You could feel the supernatural strength in his thighs as you settled on top of him, sidesaddle, as he took all of your weight without any reaction at all. He scratched his thumbnail down your jugular and you closed your eyes. “It hurts,” you said, your tone surprisingly flat for how afraid of all this you’d been just a moment before.

“Hmm?” he questioned, as he nuzzled his nose along your throat.

“When you bite me,” you said, still so calm, “it hurts so much.”

“Oh, is that all?” he asked and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t worry, Sunshine, I’ll make it feel just as good for you as it will for me.”

With that, he moved one of his hands in between your legs, slowly sliding it up your thigh. His face was fully in the crook of your neck when he mumbled “Feel this,” and you felt the command vibrate through your whole body. The calmness that had flattened you faded away and you let out a little whine when his hand reached your mound. He pushed your panties to the side and slid his fingers between your folds. You gasped as he quickly found your clit, tracing slow lazy circles around it. You tried to grind down onto his hand and you felt him huff a laugh into your neck. His tongue darted out, licking a wide stripe all along your vein. You let out another whine, so desperate this time.

He chuckled again. “I was going to make you get wet for me,” he said, as his fingers began to prod at your hole gently, his thumb still working at your clit, “but I don’t need to, do I? Or at least, not with my voice.” He was right, you were already soaking, and there was no resistance as he slipped one finger inside of you. You squirmed against his hand and he added another finger.

His mouth was still on your neck, lapping and nipping at your jugular, but he hadn’t sunk his teeth in yet. He scissored his fingers for a moment, stretching you so good that you cried out before he added a third. They stroked inside your walls, looking for your spot. He found it and you threw your head back.

“Come on,” he growled, “give me what I need.” He curled his fingers, scraping against that place inside you just right. You screamed as you were thrown over the edge of your orgasm and that’s the moment he finally sunk his fangs into your neck. You felt it, you did. The pain was just as intense as before but mingled with some of the strongest pleasure you’d ever felt, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your body spasmed around his fingers as he loudly sucked from your neck. You swore that you could feel the blood rushing to both places. You babbled as you coasted along the waves of your orgasm, feeling like it would never end. Even as the aftershocks quieted and slowed down, his mouth was still latched to your neck, taking what he needed from you. Your body was fully collapsed into his now. Everything offered up for the taking.

Finally, his teeth left you and he gently licked the blood from your skin. He slowly removed his fingers from you and you whined at the emptiness. He brought them up to your lips. “Clean up your mess,” he commanded and your mouth dropped open without thinking. He slid his fingers in and you swirled your tongue around them. You tasted yourself, sweet and musky, as you sucked him clean. He pulled them out with a soft pop and wiped them on the bodice of your slip.

You looked at his face. He still had your blood on his lips. You felt the odd urge to kiss him but didn’t have the chance as he pushed you off his lap. Your knees buckled, too weak to stand. He laughed gently, like you might at a cute animal that was struggling, as he lifted you into his arms and carried you to the bed. He laid you down and tucked you in. “Rest up, Sunshine,” he cooed, and your body did as it was told, quickly sinking into sleep. “I’ll be back for more soon.”

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itsthestutterforme · 3 months

Text

Say That Again? (Alpha!Ari x omega!reader)

Summary: You have a hormone imbalance that makes your heat different from other omegas. Very different.

Notes: GIF is not mine, this isn’t a beta’d read, A/B/O dynamics, reader is an absolute brat (as per usual 💅🏾), sexual themes (pussy slapping, oral sex, rough sex), MINORS DNI

“Fuck this shit!” You exclaim, gripping your sheets for dear life as you heeled over the side of the bed.

The cramp started on the right side of your abdomen slowly traveling downwards like a hot, freshly sharpened knife carving your insides

“Just stop already! Shit!” You yelled out, cursing your entire existence for needing such a deranged sign to tell you that you weren’t pregnant.

You barely had time to build your nest with Ari’s flannels and Henley shirts and your favorite plush pillows.

The nest was only a quarter done when the cramps started and you’ve been withering in pain ever since this morning.

Letting out a shaky sigh when the cramp finally subsided, Ari walks back into the room with a bag from Walgreens.

He bought all sorts of things for you. He had found a list on Pinterest listed ‘The Ultimate Period Care Package’.

He frantically tossed pills, tampons (although you didn’t need those), heating pads and countless other things on the list into the basket, hating the idea of leaving you alone in his house during your heat.

He even bought some things for his rut in case he were to sync with you. Although he desperately wishes that didn’t happen.

This was your first heat since the two of you bonded and it was nothing like he expected. With most omegas in heat, they were sensitive and clingy with their alphas.

But you? You wanted to clawed his face for even being in the same room as you.

You released a low whine when you noticed his presence. “How you feeling, rebel?”

“Like I want to jump off a bridge,” you grunted out, rolling on your side and curling into a tight ball.

“I uh, I got some Midol for you. But if you didn’t want that, I got Naproxen because I read that it works better than regular Tylenol.” He explains.

He takes a cautious step towards your nest and you snapped at him, a low growl erupting in your chest.

“I can’t help you if you don’t let me near you, baby.” Ari pleads. “Your presence makes it worse,” you groaned, your body trembling as another cramp rips its way through your body.

“I’m your Alpha. It shouldn’t make things worse. My scent should be helping you,”

Yelling into the pillow, you slapped the wooden pillar on the headboard harder every second it took for the cramp to subside.

The crease in Ari’s brow deepened, his hands rested on his hips as he watched you writhing around in his bed.

He sighs, turning away from you and reaching into the bag. He takes the blanket into his hand and opened it up before draping it over your trembling frame.

The wind from the blanket landing, brushed Ari’s scent in your general direction. A quiet purr left your lips and Ari freezes at the soft sound, cautiously taking off his shoes before sliding into the space next to you.

When you turned to face him, he opened his arm to you and you buried your face in between the pecks of his chest.

His chest vibrates as he purrs, his own body relaxing when you purred in response. The stomach relaxed when the cramps slackened.

“Has your heat always been like this?” He asked, you gripped the fabric of his shirt anxiously.

You hummed in response and he rubbed circles on your back. “Ever since I hit puberty,” you explained.

“Yeah. Apparently I have a hormone imbalance. My body produces more estrogen than the DES-hormone.” You started.

“Which is why you needed scent blockers,” he concludes.

“Yes but they were more than just blocking my scent. They were practically suppressing the DES-hormone until it was nonexistent. I could almost pass for a regular human. Hence why my heat is like a menstrual cycle without the blood, ”

“That’s.. I couldn’t imagine how it was for you in your teen years,” “It wasn’t for the weak,” you said with a soft chuckle.

“It had its perks. I was more aggressive than the typical omega so I was barely approached.” You added, smoothing your hand over his chest.

“And when you were?” “I had a cousin who was an Alpha-“ his body tensed at the thought of another Alpha interacting with you.

“And he defended me from persistent Alphas,” you continued, noticing his hand gripping your side.

“Any of them knot you?” “Ari, seriously?” You huffed, another cramp threatening your stomach.

Lifting your head to turn away from him, he pulls you back down on his chest.

“I’m serious, omega. Did any of them knot you?” “Why does that matter, Ari? It was nine years ago. I don’t ask about the omegas you hooked up with before we got together.”

Goosebumps erupted all over your skin when Ari growls at you. All in on motion, he sits up against the headboard and planted you in his lap.

He gripped your chin harshly and bared his teeth at you. “So I take that as a yes?” He questioned.

“I’ve hooked up with an Alpha before yes. Once. Then he tried to stake a claim on me. When I refused, he started stalking me-“ he waited until you finished, wanting to know as much about you as possible.

“I don’t want you to talk about other Alphas during your heat. I don’t want you to talking about other Alphas at all. I don’t even want you thinking about anything else besides my knot during your heat. Understand?”

“If you even think about knotting me during my heat, I will tear it off.”

He taps your cheek with his index finger, tongue in cheek as he processed what you just said

He nodded gently, as if he made something up in his mind. He brings his hand down your to neck and shoved you on your back before you could try to catch yourself.

He sits up on his knees, tearing your fleece shorts down your legs. “Hey!” You start.

He pushed you back down, tearing your tank top down the middle so you were completely exposed.

You bet he enjoyed the power trip of you naked under him while he was fully clothed

“I’m still trying to figure out who you were talking to earlier,” his hand rests on your collar bone as a silent threat to watch your tone.

“You would rip my knot off? The same knot you use to fuck yourself stupid every chance you get? That knot?”

“A-Ari, I’m,” he pried your legs open. You lifted your head to see what was going on when he pushed you back down again and sent a harsh slap to your bare pussy.

Your tried to close your legs around his hand but he sent a warning slap to your thighs, forcing you to hold them open.

He continued to slap your pussy each one harder than the last. “Ari, please.” “Stay,” he commanded, your body took his word as gospel and didn’t move an inch.

Smack!

“Ari,” you croak and he stops his assault on your pussy. He leans over you until your noses were touching.

“You aren’t just an ordinary woman. You’re an omega. You’re my omega. Act like it.” “I’m sorry, Ari.”

Smack!

“Say that again?” “I’m sorry Alpha!” You croaked, tears staining your cheeks. Your body relaxed once he lifted the Alpha command.

“I thought we were past this, omega. I was going to let the growls slide because of your heat but you just had to push it didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” he tsked at you, his eyes scanning your figure now covered in a thin sheet of sweat.

His gaze stopped at your pulsing core, your slick sliding down your thighs. “You going to be good for me?”

“ Y-yes, Alpha.” You let out a soft moan when he gathered your slick on his fingers and bringing them up to his mouth.

Humming at your taste, he slid down your frame until he was level with your core. “I shouldn’t even be doing this because of your behavior,” he starts, ghosting his lips over your core.

“But you taste so sweet. Such a pretty, brown pussy.”

He spreads your folds with his fingers, sucking harshly on your sensitive clit. “A-Ari,” you groaned, your body twitching as you were already neared your orgasm.

His slaps brought you just close enough to the edge but not to the point of an orgasm.

Alternating between sucking your clit and kitten licking your folds, the sense of euphoria washed over you.

Your body tenses and twists around in his grip as he continues to lick you through your orgasm. When you sat up on your elbows, you met his dominating gaze from in between your thighs.

He propped your legs over your shoulders, rubbing your clit with the tip of his nose as he licked up the broad stripe skillfully.

Creating a suction with his lips, your head dropped back down on the bed. Your shaky hand touched his soft locs, your hips slowly moving against his face until your body seized with another orgasm.

He let you catch your breath, pulling off his tshirt stained with your slick. He set the shirt gingerly in the nest you partially made.

Leaning on one hand, he kissed you warmly. You hummed at your own taste on his lips. He unzips his jeans and kicked them off his legs.

You mewled when you felt his tip smooth over your slick folds.

You rolled onto your stomach, lifting your hips so you were presenting for him but he turned you around so were on your back once again.

Sliding between your legs, he grinds his hard cock against you, occasionally nipping at your neck.

Your hands found his hair and gave it a tug, spurring him on as he left hickeys across your chest.

Lifting one of your legs over his waist, he slowly sunk into you. He cursed when your walls flexed around him, he pushed into you until he bottomed out.

“Still wanna rip my knot off, omega?” He rolls his hips in slow, deep thrusts, moving the leg from his waist to his shoulder for a deeper stretch.

“Hm?” He continues. “No, Alpha.” You whimpered, moaning when his thrusts quickened. His massive hand presses onto your stomach to hold you still so he could drill into you hard and deep.

“Fuuck,” he groans when your walls fluttered against him. You scratched down his back like a crazed woman, gasping when he arches his back as he spears into you.

Your body jolted upwards with every thrust. A strand of his hair brushed against his cheek as he gazed to where your bodies met.

Pins and needles erupted across your chest when his lips brushed against your painfully throbbing mating gland.

“Do it. Please.” You whimpered, wailing his name when his teeth pierced the previously claimed skin.

Lust burned under your skin as you scratched down his arms frantically, your third orgasm of the night washing over you.

Ari hissed when your nails break skin, eyes fluttering closed as your walls clenched around his cock.

“Shit,” he cursed when he knot swells, bringing your bodies closer in primal union.

You felt him soften inside of you, sighing in relief when your body relaxed from the constantly flexing.

The cramps were long forgotten. It was as if they never happened. “Everything okay? I wasn’t too harsh was I?” Ari asks breathlessly from above you.

“I’m okay,” “Okay,” he kisses you warmly, tongue swiping across your bottom lip. “M’sorry about what I said,” he sighs, pulling you flushes against his chest.

He slipped out of you when you hiked a leg across his abdomen, some of his spend leaking down your legs and onto the bed sheets.

“I understand. I wouldn’t be myself if I went through that kind of pain either.” “But watch it next time,” he pats your ass as a warning. “Yes, Alpha.” You purred.

A comfortable silence fell over you, his fingers drawing patterns on your skin and occasionally pressing a kiss to your hair.

“I think my heat broke,” you admitted softly. “Well that didn’t take long,” he says with a chuckle. You met his gaze, heart fluttering when you noticed his irises dilating at the sight of you.

“I love you, rebel.” He starts, smiling as you pondered at the nickname. “I love you too, baby.”

#black!reader #alpha! ari levinson #ari levinson x black!reader #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson #omega!reader #a/b/o dynamics

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

Hi!

I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!

I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!

I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.

I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...

A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag.

It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had.

God, you’d never have friends like that again.

Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen.

They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up.

Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.

Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.

At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment.

A city now filled with killers.

“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”

The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil.

Not good.

Shit. Karver, where did you go!?

Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US.

If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.

You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air.

But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed.

Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy.

This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.

“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.”

Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been.

So that was where you came in.

God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.

Mostly because of situations like this.

“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.”

Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty.

None of this was going to plan.

You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.

Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back.

The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips.

3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…

Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple.

A man, then.

“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”

You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses.

With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing.

Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured.

“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper.

A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same.

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”

“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”

There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come.

You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?

Have they seen murder?

But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.

You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.

“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.

Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death.

Your mark has been met.

The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow.

“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze.

You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman.

The Reaper.

Oh, what would they think of you now?

You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times.

In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all.

Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries.

—

The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete.

“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling.

Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.

“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set.

Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”

Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group.

“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”

“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”

“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”

“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”

“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play.

Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.

Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.

“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching.

“Hm,” their command affirms.

Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.

Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–

“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–”

The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different.

Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances.

“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.

Brows furrow.

Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit.

“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.

“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys.

Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant.

An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.

Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”

“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat.

“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate.

Price grunts under his breath.

“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask.

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?”

Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over.

Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.

Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves.

“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion.

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’.

Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand.

“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.

“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”

“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”

“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”

“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”

The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all.

But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.

“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.”

A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell.

“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.

The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate.

“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”

“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.”

Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer.

“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?”

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book.

You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit.

Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over.

Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted.

The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm.

Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before.

“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”

“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows.

Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture.

“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.”

It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head.

Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant.

The room is more silent than Ghost is.

“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.”

The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow.

“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.

“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”

The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.”

Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time.

He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered.

But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague.

Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.

Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim.

You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes.

He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal.

His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.

“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.”

Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.

‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.

Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.

—

You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders.

Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now!

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.”

In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do.

Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping.

Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself.

The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission.

And Ghost.

Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks.

But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt.

Mutt was the worst of them.

Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work?

The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky.

You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.

What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?

Your ears twitch.

“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”

“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens. He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.

“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.”

“Sir!”

After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been.

Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back.

Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself.

You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest.

Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly.

Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.

—

It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.

Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily.

There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time.

Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen.

But there were ups to this constant downward slope.

It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.

“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.

Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market.

You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.”

Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks.

The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters.

You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky.

Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull.

“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”

Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean.

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me.

There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…

You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.

Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.

No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt.

You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant.

A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.

Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!

“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”

By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.

“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”

But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.

You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.

“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice.

You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked.

A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point.

If I had known…you frown.

Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.

“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.”

The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it.

Like blood lining the street.

You force yourself to run faster.

—

You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you.

Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you.

The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.

But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.

Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?

Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver.

But you didn’t look away.

“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins.

Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch.

“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days.

Your Captain scurries after.

“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.

At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type.

But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude.

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle.

The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case.

‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth.

And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement.

You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?

“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?”

Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.

“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.”

You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.

“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms.

Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.

“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.

“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?”

“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.

‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’

Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.

“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat.

‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’

You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves.

The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.

And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.

—

When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report.

Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued.

I need new intel. Badly.

About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom.

On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.

Your cheeks heat.

He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?

As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.

Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race?

Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute.

What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted?

The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.

Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound.

A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?

When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.

“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”

“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.”

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit?

“Now that’s dark.”

“Never said it wasn’t.”

Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights.

There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore.

They had died a long time ago.

“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you.

Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.

Stop that.

“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?”

“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”

“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.

“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”

“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.

What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?

The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.

He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how.

She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left.

But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely.

Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath.

Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.

When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets.

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles.

He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare.

You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.

What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious.

But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.

“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.

“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.”

Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”

He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.

“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”

“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh.

“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”

“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow.

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way.

Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around.

Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.

At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.

Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you.

You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.

Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around.

You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led.

Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.

“Well, where are we–”

“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it.

Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after.

Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you.

Boxed in.

Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it.

One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you.

You don’t bother watching him drop.

Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it.

But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you.

Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps.

You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.

“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.

Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious.

Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah!

“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”

“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!”

“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”

“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs.

Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement.

A wide grin is stuck on you.

Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.”

He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant.

Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that.

A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?

“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow.

Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee.

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.

Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time.

Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter.

How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant.

All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now.

“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.

“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip?

His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side.

There were few people worthy of that.

You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate.

You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years.

Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated.

You’d never had sex before.

And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks.

They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet.

You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.

You could forget about it. You should.

But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.

If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors.

Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!

You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth.

Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.

But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong.

It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.

But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…

“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”

Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.

Why did they do this to you?

TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here

Tags:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @shoe1412, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @nanialis, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @serpahic, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9,

@anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @john-pricee, @michirulol, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora217, @bespectacledhuman, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaunt2009, @shmaptin, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce, @ruby-saves, @vynz0ne, @blackstar9005, @faerienotfound, @legallymentallyillfuckers, @audrefleur, @urfavsunkissedleo

(sorry that some of these don't work! I have no idea why!)

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i-cant-sing · 10 months

Note

Hi. So I found this

And you can’t tell me that it doesn’t scream Fushiguro Reader’s drip. She could be wearing the most expensive kimono for her birthday (courtesy of uncle Naoya) but what stood out the most was her footwear. People are supposed to be GUSHING over the kimono but they cant help stare at her sandals

Fushiguro reader is just slurping up her noodles, not caring for manners while everyone stares at her feet

And uncle Naoya is sharpening his blade cuz they being creeps for staring at his niece’s feet

And that was the only time Fushiguro reader didn’t cause her usual chaos because I feel like she loves her uncle enough that she’s willing to offer him some peace and mind on her special day because he became her mom AND her dad ☺️

Platonic Yandere Uncle Naoya x Fushiguro reader

Oh yesss 100%. I mean just imagine that its reader's birthday (who is either a teen/adult now) and Naoya already gifted her the kimono the day before her actual birthday, and by now reader knows that she has to wear it because its a tradition- every year, Naoya gives you a kimono for your birthday (which is the first of many gifts he has for you) and you have to wear it for the birthday portraits he has commisioned for and its followed by a big party at night at home, so yeah... its the same every year because according to him "this is how rich people celebrate their birthdays."

You only comply because he lets you do anything you want for the rest of the day before the big party, plus you do love your uncle. I mean, even if he's an ass sometimes, a misogynist to everyone else, a walking red flag... he still raised you like his own, provided you with all the luxuries and a comfortable life, even after you were "abandoned" by your father. In his own way, you know he loves you and only wants the best for you.

Anyways, its the morning of your birthday, the maids have just finished dressing you up and doing your hair and you go to the living room for your pictures, and as expected the rest of the clan is already there, smiling widely as they all gushed about how pretty you looked in traditional clothing and its a nice sight to see you out of your Hello Kitty shorts and a hoodie with Naoya's face edited on a cockroach. They all start coming towards you, wishing you a happy birthday and envelopes with wads of cash, the females kissing your cheeks and cooing how cute you looked, while the men stiffly patted your head.

After the portrait and family pictures are done, its time for you and Naoya to do stuff you want while the family prepares for your big party.

You're both sitting in the car as the driver takes you to your favourite place- 7/11. "Do you like your kimono?" Naoya asks, looking out his window.

You nod. "I do. Thanks. Its really comfortable."

Naoya turns to look at you. "It better be. Its Chanel."

"Its definitely better than the snakeskin Gucci kimono you got me last year."

"I thought you'd like to know how it feels." Before you could argue, your favourite convenience store came into place and you were already out the door before the car had even came to a full stop, making Naoya yell at the driver for not getting the child locks installed.

Naoya could only watch in disgust as you ate downed another bowl of instant ramen before moving onto another one, the noodles smacking against your cheek as you slurped hard.

"Ugh." Naoya cringed as he picked up a napkin to wipe the residues off your face. "Why must you eat so messily? Do I need to send you to table etiquette classes?"

You just shrugged. "Its fun this way." You picked up another onigiri before inhaling it.

"Oh my- can you stop eating like you dont know where your next meal is coming from?!"

"Can you stop screaming? This is a public place, and you're disturbing everyone with your screeching." "You brat-" "Buy me some instant rice. I need to add it to my soup."

As Naoya is walking towards the aisle, grumbling about how this chemical pumped liquid full of MSG that you kill "soup" is gonna kill you one day, he notices some people standing in the corner and just staring at you- or more specifically, your feet.

And thats when Naoya notices those pink monstrosity of sandals.

What's worse is that these people are just gawking so openly, hell they even have their phones out and taking pictures of your feet and its driving Naoya absolutely bonkers because what kind of feet fetish creeps are these guys (some of them are just old grandmas, but Naoya does not discriminate. Everyone's a creep.)

Besides, he doesnt know how long they've been standing there. For all he knows, they could've taken pictures of more than just your feet and Naoya doesn't remember giving them the permission to fucking look, let alone record you!

So, naturally, Naoya stomps over to you and tells you that you need to leave now. Upon inquiring, Naoya tells you about the "creeps" who have been recording you all this time and what not and you just shrug.

"I'm not leaving. Besides, it doesnt bother me."

"Y/n dont start-"

"Cant you take care of it? I thought you said youd let me do anything on my birthday." You take the rice from his hands and dump into in your soup. "This is all sounds like an excuse for either your jealousy because I'm the one who's taking the spotlight or your inability to protect me, hm?"

And Naoya knows- he KNOWS this is your unbothered ass doing reverse psychology on him, but it works.

Because now Naoya has taken their phones, smashed them to the ground until they were pieces and then immediately bought the whole store so that these creeps can be thrown out.

"See? I can take care of you. And you wish I was jealous of you."

"Mmhmm." You hummed as you ate your ice cream. The whole store was now empty, so you could eat as much as you wanted in peace.

Naoya narrowed his eyes. "Besides, those sandals were not a good decision. Who let you walk around like that?"

"Your hair is not a good decision. Who let you dye it that color? Does everyone in the hate you so much that they let you walk around like that?" You countered.

"You brat, you're lucky its your birthday."

"I'm also lucky I dont look like a bleached rat, unlike some people who thought that was the shade of blonde they wanted their hair to be."

#yandere naoya zenin #yandere naoya #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #yandere zenin clan

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wannabespacesmuggler · 5 months

Text

D.D. | Shane's Girl

Part Three | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh sucks

Word Count: 1.5K

Author’s Note: It has once again been a hot second. I love this idea so much and want to continue it. I'm really glad that all of you seem to enjoy this little fic as well. Did anyone else watch the new Daryl Dixon show? I liked it a lot more than Dead City; however, the final episode felt super lackluster, especially with all of the build-up. Maybe that's just me. Anyway, let me know what you guys think of this one, if you want to be added to the taglist, or just want to ask me a question.

Extras: Playlist

“Like this?”

Your voice pulls Daryl out of his quiet concentration. He’d been so busy at work, sharpening the tip of the crossbow bolt in his hands, that he’d almost forgotten that you were sitting with him. Daryl’s gotten used to being alone. Hell, most of the time, being alone is better than the alternative -- being in the company of Merle Dixon. However, you are certainly nothing like Merle Dixon.

Daryl coughs awkwardly -- trying to ground himself back in reality. It was early evening when you wandered into the Dixons’ makeshift camp. You’d finished all of your chores relatively early for the day and desperately wanted to do something instead of sitting down by the lake and gossiping with Andrea and Amy. You had attempted to find Shane, in the hope that maybe the two of you could take watch together. Since the world fell apart, you haven’t really had any time to actually talk with Shane. You can’t blame him though, his concern for Carl and Lori is admirable. And you know that if the situation were reversed, Rick would do the same and would make it his life’s mission to look out for you. You just wish your boyfriend could extend some of that comfort to you.

That’s how you find yourself across the fire from Daryl, sharpening the crossbow bolt you made together. Daryl’s eyes shift from your face to your hands, to assess your progress. His eyes widen slightly once he notices how you’re holding the knife in your hands. You stop moving once notice the change in Daryl’s features.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Daryl watches as you physically shut down-- as if you’re preparing for him to be angry over a simple crossbow bolt. His jaw clenches at your reaction. He is angry, but not at you. No, he’s angry because he understands. He resists the urge to ask you who it was that has managed to make you feel so small and, instead, moves to the other side of the fire so that he can sit beside you.

“Nah, you didn’t do anything wrong. Just hold the knife like this, ‘lright?”

Daryl physically shows you how to hold the knife away from your body while you’re sharpening the bolt. Your eyes follow his movements for several moments before replicating them. Daryl watches you intently, nodding whenever you look over for his approval.

“Yeah, jus’ like that.”

A small smile plays at the corners of your lips at the sudden softness in Daryl’s voice. You distract yourself by watching Daryl’s careful work with the crossbow bolt in front of him. It’s obvious how much the craft means to him -- it’s quite mesmerizing to watch.

“You’re really good at this. Did your dad teach you?”

Daryl stops for just a split second and draws in a breath. He rolls his shoulders back, trying to rid himself of the thoughts that come to mind at the mention of his father. His first instinct is to lash out and shut down -- and he probably would if it were anyone else; however, you have been nothing but kind to Daryl since he and Merle arrived at the makeshift camp. The idea of chastising you for your harmless curiosity makes his stomach turn.

Daryl clears his throat and finally releases the breath he was holding. He resumes carefully sharpening the bolt in his hands.

“I taught myself.”

You nod at his explanation, trying to ignore his change in demeanor. Just as sudden as the softness in Daryl’s features came, it is replaced by his usual indifference. It’s as if for just a split second you were able to see through the brick wall that Daryl has erected around himself. He lets his defenses down just long enough for you to see that there is warmth behind the cold front.

“Well, it’s really impressive. I don’t know anyone else who can use a crossbow or make their own arrows.”

Daryl nods and attempts to keep a straight face, fighting off a small smile.

“It’s really not that hard. My daddy had a load of hunting gear in our garage and with Merle always getting locked up, I had a lot of time to practice.”

You resist the urge to ask him more about his past. Based on his previous reaction, you can tell that it’s not a topic he’s comfortable with. Before you can change the subject, a rustling in the surrounding woods grabs both of your attention. You freeze in place, expecting the worst; however, Daryl springs into action. He grabs his crossbow and places his body in front of yours -- in this position, he’s managed to shield you from the source of the noise.

Daryl readies his aim and you brace yourself for a potential fight; however, before he can release the trigger, you grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks. Instead of a walker, Shane and Lori emerge from the woods. The smile on Shane’s face fades into a deep scowl as he takes in the scene before him.

“What the hell is going on here?”

His words are laced with venom as his eyes narrow at Daryl, who still hasn’t lowered the crossbow. You give Daryl’s arm a gentle squeeze, silently pleading with him to not escalate the situation. He shakes off your touch but lowers the crossbow. You move in front of Daryl, hoping to diffuse the situation.

“Relax Shane, Daryl was just showing me how to make some arrows.”

Shane ignores you completely. His eyes don’t even leave Daryl as you speak.

“I told you to stay the fuck away from her.”

His voice raises and Daryl notices how you shrink away from Shane as he takes an aggressive step forward. His eyes narrow at Shane, who continues to dismiss you. Now he knows who made you feel so small. A surge of anger rises within Daryl, along with the need to protect you -- which is quickly becoming a common feeling for him nowadays. Daryl mimics Shane’s actions, taking a step forward and sizing up the man in front of him.

You watch the scene play out before you and before either of them can throw the first blow, you place yourself in between the two seething men.

“I approached him. I couldn’t find you so I asked him for help, okay? Where did you go?”

Shane finally turns his attention away from Daryl and focuses on you. He places his hands on his hips as he looks down at you. Daryl’s brow furrows at the sight -- this isn’t the posture of a loving boyfriend. No, right now Shane looks like a parent scolding a child. He lets you take control of the situation; however, he anxiously observes your interaction with Shane, ready to jump in if Shane’s anger gets the better of him.

“I was helping Lori look for Carl.”

Anger is still evident in his voice, but he seems to have settled down to a simmering rage. Daryl raises a brow at his explanation. He doesn’t say anything, but he finds it very unlikely that there would be anything less than a full search party if any of the children in camp actually went missing. Daryl shifts his gaze to Lori who is still standing on the edge of the woods. Her face is flushed, her hair is disheveled, and her clothing seems to be thrown on haphazardly. It seemed like she and Shane had gotten into some trouble out there, but neither of them have any blood on them. They both, however, are covered in dirt -- hell, Shane looks like he just rolled around the forest floor.

Oh. Oh.

Daryl looks at you, hoping you just came to the same conclusion. You know Shane is lying. In your search to find him earlier today, you noticed that Carol was watching Carl and Sophia play down by the lake. And as much as you want to call out his deception, you also don’t want to start yet another fight.

You let out a sigh and give Shane a solemn nod. Lori uses this moment to excuse herself from the conversation -- muttering something about finishing the laundry. Shane shoots Daryl a final glare before grabbing your shoulder and pulling you away from the archer. Daryl watches you both walk away. Eventually, Shane releases his hold, leans his head down, and whispers something in your ear. You nod at whatever he says before casting your eyes toward the ground. Shane, on the other hand, stands up a bit taller at your reaction and walks off confidently.

Daryl clenches his fists as you look in his direction. Embarrassment washes over your features once you notice that he is still watching you. Daryl frowns as you drop your head and walk off in the direction of your tent. You shouldn’t be embarrassed -- Shane should. He may have promised Shane that he’d stay away from you, but Daryl decides, at this moment, that he doesn’t give a damn. Nobody gets to treat you like that.

Taglist: @darylsl0ver@minervadashwood@hotgirlsshareaccounts@taterbbbug@dreamtofus@youcantstandit @ajlovesdilfs @prettywhenibleed @luvsvnlqt-things @evie-beanie @strnqer@marina-isabella@lissanovak@elissanatok@1tsk1tty@moejoeflow@ceoofdisappointment@jewellthebooknerd @callsignwidow @genderless-ghosty-boi

#twd #The Walking Dead #walking dead #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #Rick Grimes #shane walsh #merle dixon #glenn rhee #lori grimes #the walking dead imagine #walking dead imagine #Norman Reedus #norman reedus imagine #norman reedus x reader

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 months

Note

Hi darling!~ (I'll immediately stop calling you that if you don't like it/don't feel comfortable lol) Lately your girlies been obsessing over the song 'Older' by Isabel LaRosa that's been going BADSHIT popular on tiktok so I thought I'd spill some thoughts~

Teacher!Vil X Yandere(ish)!Student!Yuu

Summary : Yuu who grew up with a bad father and gained heavy daddy issues gets attached to her teacher after he starts giving her the fatherly love and care she never got, always being nice and checking up on her. at first it's a simple silly crush on her teacher but after time it blooms into an obsession where she starts lusting after him and craves constant validation from him. In her eyes he's the perfect guy, he's older and has more experience, he could never treat her wrong. even though he may be colder from time to time she believes he has a soft spot for her. Poor Yuu when the teacher who she fell so madly inlove with doesn't return her feelings and begins distancing himself from her.... Or will he?..

(Your ending <3)

Surprise me sweetheart ♡

-Prev. 🥀🦋 / Now 🎋🪭

I really like that song, might become my newest obsession... 🖤🖤🖤🖤

Yandere Teacher Vil Schoenheit x Obsessed Student Reader

Vil definitely has that aura of an unbiased but caring mentor much like Crewel. He’s confident and quaint, praising you in any capacity thrills most who receive it. Granted it’s sprinkled with underlying insults and a general lack of faith. But for someone like you, who can barely get your own father to even look at you it means so much more:

So of course you’ll obsess over him

Putting him on a pedestal you’re willing to do anything for

Study and pass his class

Tell on all the naughty potatoes in class

Even framing the professor he’s wanted gone since the beginning

“Well done.”

“R-really?”

“Yes, I’m quite pleased you’ve proven to be more helpful than the other useless potatoes.”

“T-thank you M-Mister Vil!”

He doesn’t stop you or even act like he doesn’t reciprocate

A few light touches

A kiss or two

A nibble of the ear

Your friends warn you when they realize the love of your life is the degrading teacher of etiquette

“This isn’t a good idea…(Y/n) he’s like much older than you.”

“So? That just means he has experience!”

“He’s thinking about retirement!”

“Early retirement!”

“Nooo!”

Nothing really stops you from your newfound love

That is until he crashes the illusion himself

“Oh~Roi du Poison, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the misguided doe?”

“Please, they’re just a tool I’m sharpening. A potato I’ve decided is worth polishing…for the time being.”

It destroys you

What meaning of life is there if he doesn’t even care about yours

You stop showing up to school

You won’t leave your room

“Where is (L/n)?”

“Pft wouldn’t you like to know!”

“We’re not telling you. You don’t deserve to even speak to them.”

“Fine if that’s how it’s going to be, I’ll give your regards to them.”

“What?!” “Wait!”

Unbeknownst to you Vil is very much in love with you

But what did you expect?!

That he’d admit to actually being just as obsessed if not more so than you

He figured the best way to keep you close enough was by taking advantage of your emotional flaw

And while he wasn’t wrong,

he realized the way it’s been going is all too risky

Nosy obstacles friends of yours, suspicious coworkers, gossiping potatoes

It’s just too risky so he’ll promptly resign putting time and energy into his former hobby

Taking the world by storm he’ll disappear

Giving you the so-called space you want so badly

But he’ll be watching

Watching as you mend yourself together only to fall apart again with every new tragedy

Your grades suspiciously slip

Your house is going to be foreclosed

Your father disappears one evening becoming a missing person’s case

And finally, your dear poor friends suddenly die

Catching some sickness after investigating something they refused to tell you about in the forest

It’s there, where you’ve graduated and are at your lowest once again that he makes his move

“It’s been a while, (L/n).”

He’ll skew the events that day claiming the doe was someone else or that it was all a cover

And like that, he’ll slither back into your heart with his leash fully keeping you within his grasp

“For all that trouble, (Y/n) you’re irrevocably mine.”

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere vil schoenheit #yandere vil #yandere vil x reader #yandere vil schoenheit x reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x gender neutral reader

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helloheyhihowdyheya · 11 months

Text

Did You Miss Me?

Druig x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: When the Emergence began, Druig had to erase your memories of him. Now, he's come back to remind you.

Word count: ~4.5k

Warnings: Angst, Druig pining. Some swearing. Lots of fluff. Powers? Druig erasing memories.

A/n: I'm not done with Druig yet haha. I might write more for this story if anyone's interested. I'd love to know your thoughts, I'm pretty happy with this one. Thank you as always for reading <3

He watched you from afar. Trying to blend in with others around the park, he watched as you and a friend sat out on a blanket in the soft grass. Small plates of food and glasses surrounded the picnic basket, and you looked as beautiful as you’d always been.

From someone else’s view, he’d probably look relaxed lounging in the shade of the large tree, his back pressed against the bark. But his throat felt tight, his chest aching at what he saw. It’d been years, and you still took his breath away like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Then you laughed at something your friend said, the sound of it swimming to his ears and stayed there as he replayed it over and over again. Beneath the afternoon sun, he wanted nothing more than to lay beside you on that blanket — talk about anything or nothing, as long as he was near you. But you hadn’t laughed like that with him in a long time, hadn’t looked so at ease and happy when he’d said goodbye last time. How could he be the one to ruin that?

–

On that rainy Saturday, running around the little bookshop you’d been working at for a few years now, you barely caught a breath in between helping readers around the store. Weekends tended to be busy, but on a stormy day like this one, you couldn’t blame all the people coming in to hide from the rain or to spend a quiet day finding their next book.

During a spare moment, your eyes traced down the shop’s windows. You watched raindrops race each other down the glass and make the cement below grow darker. Absently, your hand reached up to your neck, trying to massage a knot out of the muscle running down to your shoulder.

You thought back to when you’d first come here, and you let your vision unfocus for a moment, the images of the occupied customers turning fuzzy. Trying to remember how exactly you’d gotten here always felt just out of reach, falling through your fingertips — like you’d been at home living your life one day, and the next, you’d decided to move here and begin your new life.

It’d been just as rainy the first day you came to the city, but the chilly storm had felt like a restart against your skin. In the back of your mind, you’d always wanted to have a bookshop of your own and live a quiet life among other readers, and perhaps a sweet cat.

And you’d done it, taking a job from an older woman, Carrie, near the edges of the city. Most days, you arrived early to help set things up and went home after your shift, or when Carrie shooed you away during a particularly slow day.

Your first-floor apartment was nothing to complain about, except for the draft your landlord kept “forgetting” to fix. You’d even gotten that cat after he’d refused to leave your door until you fed him — black as night, affectionate, and always hungry. You’d named him Orion.

Still, when you sat at a restaurant alone and listened to couples laugh together or when you couldn’t quite become lost in a book as easily, some part of you felt… off. Like you were one of the window raindrops that never moved, just watching all the rest pass by without you. And you were missing out on something.

Now, standing there behind the checkout counter and watching the water spill down outside, you saw a man looking in. People passed by with curious gazes all the time, but he stood on the sidewalk with an umbrella and hooded denim jacket. You couldn’t quite make out his face, but in the back of your mind, it felt as if your window raindrop had moved an inch or so. And that jolting feeling only sharpened into surprise when someone walked up to you.

“Excuse me?”

You blinked, your awareness coming back to you as a woman said those words with a soft grin. When you looked back at the spot, the man had left already — like he’d never been there to begin with.

Shaking your head, you returned the smile. “Sorry about that. How can I help you?”

She told you the novel she was looking for, and you happily brought her to the aisle as you both made small talk. You tended to avoid it, especially with all the current events that seemed to continually fill the news, most of them involving everyday threats and the superheroes to stop them.

But that’s what books were for you, you thought while giving her the novel — a brief escape from life to live another one. And even the customer’s excited thanks brought you back to your mind, away from those thoughts of the past, the ones you couldn’t quite reach.

They stayed away as you finished your shift and returned home, taking a warm shower and making yourself a cup of tea. But that night, through the rain that’d turned into a vicious thunderstorm, you dreamt of friends.

At least, they seemed to be friends as all of you — nearly a dozen people — sat around a dining table. The smell of the warm food nearly had your mouth watering, countless plates of it passing from person to person. Drinks and laughter flowed between these friends that you didn’t know the names of and faces you couldn’t recognize.

You also couldn’t catch any of the words they said, but you smiled with them as a feeling of familiar comfort settled into your body. Somehow, you trusted them. And as someone at the other end of the table raised a toast, to all of you — their family — you lifted your glass alongside everyone else.

While they spoke, the man sitting to your right wrapped his hand around yours and gave it a soft squeeze. Your eyes glanced down to where your fingers intertwined, each one fitting together just right.

But before you could look up at his face, a loud crack of thunder erupted, startling you awake in your dark bedroom. In the middle of the night, only the noise of your deep breaths filled the air, replacing the sounds of laughter and glasses clinking together.

In the silence that suddenly felt like too much, you shifted, staring up at the ceiling. Sweat created a slick layer across your skin, coating you in a haze. Sleep fought you for the rest of the night. When the morning sun washed onto your face, it felt all too soon.

But despite your tired eyes and having work off today, you eventually pulled yourself out of bed. The day was bright, and you were going to make the most of it… or at least change out of your pajamas. Your hand swept over Orion’s black fur as you went through your morning routine. You tried focusing more on the bristles of your toothbrush or the taste of your breakfast rather than on how familiar last night’s dream felt.

But you weren’t in a dining room, you were here in your apartment — the one you’d been alone in for a few years. Well, except for Orion, as you were promptly reminded while sitting on the couch. He nuzzled up against your arm, clearly thinking your time was better spent petting him than reading the new book you’d gotten.

You opened up the window next to the street before scratching under his chin. His purring joined the noises of birds and traffic in the background while you opened the book. You’d only made it two chapters before Orion jumped up, meowing toward the window screen.

“What is it, buddy?” you asked, sitting up so you could see out the window, expecting to see a critter outside. But you saw nothing, not even as he wriggled his head into the corner of the screen — the broken side that definitely needed to be sealed again. Your hands reached out to grab him back, but he’d squirmed through before you could stop him.

“Shit,” you whispered under your breath as you scrambled toward your door, your book clattering to the floor. Running outside and around the side of your building, your heart pounded, knowing Orion could go right into the street or get lost out here. You caught the end of his tail going around toward the parking lot — and the busy road beyond it.

–

He shouldn’t have been at the bookstore, not after creating this new life for you — away from him — when the Emergence began. After erasing your memories of him for your own safety. He’d said he’d come back, but he also promised to do what was best for you.

He should’ve left days ago. He’d be halfway home by now. But that’d mean leaving you, for good.

–

As you turned the corner, you didn’t find your cat sprinting away. Instead, he stood at the edge of the parking lot, his head happily rubbing against someone’s jean-clad legs. For a moment, you stopped short, watching Orion act so affectionately toward this stranger. All you could say was, “I’m so sorry, I’ve never seen him do this before.”

You scooped him up in your arms, despite the ongoing meowing protests he let out. When you lifted your head, ready to thank the man, your eyes caught on his. Any words fell flat in the back of your throat as you looked into the eyes rippling with the color of the ocean. Your eyebrows furrowed together, your head tilting to the side as you took in this man, a baseball cap covering part of his face.

“...Do I know you from somewhere?” Your question hung in the air between you two, your arms wrapped tight around your cat. Feeling a bit silly for even asking, you shook your head. “I, uh, work at a bookstore, so I probably see countless people every day,” you said, followed by an unsure laugh.

“Maybe,” he responded, offering a small smile — one that made your stomach flutter. He nodded, about to turn away when you opened your mouth once again.

“I didn’t thank you… for stopping Orion from getting away.” You held up Orion, giving him a smile of gratitude.

This stopped the man, his head tilting this time. “Orion?” he asked, an accent hanging onto his words. His eyes watching you began to soften. “I like the name.”

You weren’t sure why, but the way the man’s gaze settled on you and your cat made you feel calm — like your body resisted going back to your apartment just yet. Orion certainly didn’t take to just anyone.

But this was a stranger, and you had your cat back. So you gave another thank you and left the man. Before any other escapes could occur, you closed your apartment window with hunched shoulders and a sigh.

–

Standing outside the apartment, he rubbed a hand down his face, releasing a silent groan. That part of him telling him to leave, that you’re happier and safer here in this new life, sat heavy on his chest. Maybe in another life, you’ll have her, it said, trying desperately to convince him. But he wouldn’t have her in another life. Because he had thousands to live, and you only had one.

The other part of him thought about the life they could lead together — one where he didn’t have to force himself to forget your smile that made his steps falter. He’d nearly come clean just from how you had looked at him, your eyes sticking to him like honey.

He’d balled his fingers into a fist to stop from running a thumb across your cheek, from smoothing out the worries that filled your body. He wanted you to engulf his mind the way his powers could do to others, living out the rest of time entwined together in every form.

And dreaming of a life he’d selfishly choose — taking you away from everything you’d created here — hurt worse than walking away right now.

But… you’d recognized him. He saw it pass across your face. And you remembered that Orion was his favorite constellation. You remembered him.

–

For a bit, you tried to get back into your book despite Orion’s incessant meowing at the window. When you hadn’t made it past the one paragraph you’d been rereading for a half hour now, your mind reeling with the eyes made from the sky itself, you turned on the TV instead.

That night, after falling asleep with takeout in your stomach and an old rom-com playing in the background, you dreamt of a bedroom. Your bedroom, and of a man you couldn’t quite see the face of.

Morning light washed the room in a golden color, where you saw the back of him staring out the window. All of it shimmered under a fuzzy haze as his contagious laughter made you blink the sleep out of your heavy eyes.

You drew in the image of his soft hair, the color of warm syrup, and his pants that you could’ve sworn you’d seen before. Or least smelled, the soft scent of him bathing you in coffee and leather, along with something you couldn’t pick out, but it felt… familiar. He wore no shirt, the planes of his back open and calling for you to brush your hands along, mapping the freckles.

But you blinked again, and the bedroom shifted. Moonlight flooded the room this time, leaving the corners pitch black. The man with the brown hair paced back and forth, but his face again always sat in the shadows.

Somehow, you knew you’d had an argument this time — not a resentful fight, but a tense conversation that pulled your relationship, whatever it was, at the seams. Anger didn’t fuel it. You knew because in the cavity of your chest sat a deep sadness and worry. Your hand itched to reach out to him, but no matter what you tried, you couldn’t move.

All you could do was sit there and watch as whatever worry ate away at him. You woke up that morning with tear-stained cheeks. No one stood looking out your window like they belonged there. The early sunlight didn’t feel as warm as the one in your dream.

Your mind struggled to keep away from wondering what all this meant, even during your busy shift at the bookstore. It all felt half-hearted as you turned from customer to customer and shelved books in between.

You only snapped back into the moment when a child ran by and knocked the display you’d just built to the ground. You supposed that was one way to take your mind off of things. But silently, you cursed whichever god of fate was against you as the display also hit your water bottle, spilling it onto your shoes. A pained sigh eased its way silently from your mouth, the noise joined by the soft squelching under your feet.

The kid’s dad offered a “Sorry” and a look that said, “What can you do?” You thought there were several things he could do, but you just swallowed them down with a smile as you went to grab paper towels.

Between bending over to soak up the water and spending too long rebuilding the book display, your back ached by the end. Your fingers clenched and unclenched in painful movements, too tired to massage the knots from your stiff neck.

Carrie sent you home a little early, rubbing a wrinkled hand down your arm. “You did better than me. I would’ve poured the water in my shoes on him,” she laughed, and it brought a real smile to your face.

It kept you going as you made the walk to the nearby cafe despite your uncomfortable feet. You were at least going to end this day with a well-deserved drink in your hands. The scent of the shop’s bakery section hit you, and no sprinting children were in sight — already an improvement. You kept your eyes on the menu while you waited in the short line, already knowing your order but hoping reading the words would keep your mind off the day so far.

After the man in front of you finished paying, you ordered your go-to drink full of enough caffeine and sweetness to keep you from taking a nap the second you made it home. Off to the side, you mindlessly scrolled on your phone while your drink was being made. But quicker than you expected, another barista called your order.

You’d only taken a small step forward when a man grabbed the drink first. Pausing, a moment passed before the same order was called again for the next drink they set on the counter. Your steps began again, your hand wrapping around the cup and savoring its warmth against the skin of your palm.

The man grabbing the identical drink with all your usual add-ons — same size and everything — smiled at you. “You’ve got great taste,” he said, offering a small grin. “Got hooked on this drink a while back.”

Your smile in return dropped for a second as you finally looked at him. Your gaze found the sweep of his syrupy brown hair, traveling down to the intensity of his eyes on you.

“Hey, you saved my cat,” you said, looking between the drinks and him in slight disbelief. You weren’t sure why you were talking to him, but you found it came naturally to say something. Inclining your head toward him, you said, “I never got your name.”

He nodded. “Dru works.”

–

“Dru…”

He watched you curl your mouth around the name and knew you were going to be the death of him. He’d already known this when you first met years ago, but watching your lips say even half his name was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. And when you told him your name, he nearly laughed — as if your name hadn’t been his favorite word.

Makkari would’ve called him a coward.

–

“Well, Dru, thank you again for keeping Orion from becoming a street cat,” you said with a grin. You took a sip from your drink, the two of you moving off to the side.

“Oh, ‘s no problem. My pleasure.” You loved the lilt of his words, the way they wrapped around you in a hug. “But how’s he doing? Hope there’ve been no more escape attempts.”

Shaking your head, you let out a sigh. “No, thankfully. He just incessantly meows while I’m trying to read.”

You watched his teeth dig into the corner of his lip as he smiled. “Ah, not very relaxing then. D’you read a lot?” he asked, taking a drink — his gaze never leaving you.

“Only as a career. And most of the other time,” you laughed, your fingers picking at the lip of your cup. “I work at the bookstore next door. Do you read much?”

You quickly added, “I won’t judge if you don’t. You just came across as a reader.”

His eyebrows rose high, his mouth dropping open a little. “A reader? I don’t come across as one of those models on those steamy romance novel covers?” he said with a teasing look in his expression, his shoulders swaying. “I’ve got some things to change.”

You couldn’t stop the giggles from bubbling up at his comment. “No, no! I see it now,” you told him through a wide smile.

You pretended to look him up and down (really, it was only for the joke. Your eyes didn’t linger at all). The leather jacket and dark jeans hugging his body certainly fell into line with those cheesy romances you’d seen (and read). Holding back a grin, you pursed your lips. “After rescuing Orion, I think you’d be perfect for something like… My Purrfect Savior.”

His smile turned sly, disbelieving as he shook his head. “No… they can’t really be that bad.”

You nodded, letting out a breathless chuckle. “I swear on my life.”

His shock turned into a wide grin as laughter took over him, his shoulders shaking as he leaned toward you.

But the sound of his laughter, full of something warm and bright, had your smile dropping. Staring straight at him, maybe through him, you knew it felt identical to the one you’d heard in your dream last night. It felt like a blow to your stomach, sending you hunching over slightly.

His own face sunk, and suddenly, you hated that you recognized that look. It came with hundreds of moments that crushed against your ribs.

In an instant, memories rushed back into your mind — images of him, of his family, of your life together. A gasp escaped your mouth as you staggered back away from him. A whisper passed your lips.

“Druig.”

–

Fuck.

He knew you were going to hate him. But you sure said his name like a prayer.

–

Your breaths felt too shallow as Druig took your arm and your drink, guiding you out of the cafe with quick steps. The sun felt too bright against your eyes, suffocating. Or was that your lungs not working?

He took you to a bench to sit down on, his hand hovering over you — hesitant. You weren’t sure whether you wanted to be wrapped in his arms or to punch him off the bench. Your shaky hands pressed against your face, trying to keep you grounded.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. The man who was just a stranger now called you sweetheart, and he was no longer a stranger. He was your Druig, the one that’d erased your memories of the Eternals to keep you safe — against the wishes of your heart and the hot tears stinging your eyes when he’d told you. Despite you agreeing in the end, it’s for the best. It’d made the risk of him dying easier… if you didn’t know he existed in the first place.

“Please say something,” he whispered, his fingers finally making contact against your back, softly rubbing up and down.

The touch felt electric, buzzing full of a million things unsaid. After a minute, you rubbed your eyes with the backs of your hands, risking a glance up at him. “Is it really you?”

It’s really me. He spoke it into your mind, the first time he’d done so in years. The words came with a comforting weight that loosened a sigh from you.

As you stared at him, seeing tears of his own well up, something clicked into place. You lunged forward, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” you whispered over and over again against his skin.

“I’m okay,” he murmured, resting his cheek on your head. “I’m sorry, this is not how I meant things to go. I… I almost didn’t say anything.”

“I should’ve known that when we agreed to do this,” you said, a bittersweet laugh coating your voice.

Silence passed, and you could feel the unspoken words in his throat. Still, you waited until he said, “Are you sure? I can make you forget again, if you wan-”

“Druig,” you said, the sweetness of your voice almost offset by your exhaustion. “Please, shut up. You’re not leaving me again.”

He let out a long, shaky breath that shook to your core. His tense shoulders finally slumped, his body leaning into you even more.

“I couldn’t stay away from you.”

“I know,” you whispered, just holding onto him. The rise and fall of your chest fell in line with his. Silently, you thanked whatever fate brought him back to you.

It wasn’t fate. It was you. Not much could’ve made me stay away from you.

Pulling back, you glared at him, though you were too happy to see him for it to look very real. “I don’t think I missed that part of you.”

He offered a sorta apologetic smile. “Couldn’t help myself. Missed all of you, your mind too.” He rubbed his hand down the back of your head, stroking along your neck as if to make the point.

You understood what he meant, especially all those moments when you’d felt like something was missing. It was always him.

“So it’s all over then? The Emergence — I saw it on the news a while ago, but what happened?” you asked him, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He brought his forehead to yours, letting out a soft breath. “We stopped it. Then I had to get things settled in the aftermath, traveled with Makkari and Thena for a few years. I’m sorry I was away for so long, but…”

You knew. He did it for you, to make sure your life would stay safe.

“I’ve missed them,” you sighed out, smiling at the memories of the other Eternals. “Oh and thank you, for saving the world,” you said with a weak laugh.

He just smiled with you as he swiped his thumb along your cheeks, dragging the last tears away. “My beauty. I don’t know how you remembered. With my powers, that’s never happened to anyone.”

A soft smile grew along your face. “I’m not just anyone, Druig.”

His hands pulled your face closer. “No, no you’re not,” he whispered against your lips. His mouth brushed along yours before fully kissing you. It tasted of the years apart, as if making up for lost time. He kissed you until your lungs begged for air, making you reluctantly move back, settling in next to him.

He grabbed your drinks — the one you’d gotten him hooked on — and pulled you into his arms once again. You weren’t sure how long the two of you had been sitting there, the warmth still present on your lips. It wasn’t until the sun began to dip below the city’s skyline that you said anything.

“Love?” you asked, your eyes resting shut. His arm fell around your shoulder, the two of you watching the world together.

“Hmm?”

Laying your head back against him, you whispered, “Play me a memory of us. A happy one.”

So he did, flashing a memory into your mind — one where you met the other Eternals for the first time, their family immediately embracing you. And surrounded by joy and laughter, you still held onto Druig’s hand. A tether keeping you close, a lifeline.

The warmth of it seeped throughout your body, holding you tight. It played out all through the way home. You reminisced on the memories you’d missed and imagined the new ones you’d be making.

And back at the home you’d share together for a while, after finding your old life again, you laid with Druig in bed. Between retellings of all the events he’d survived, the two of you found moments of happiness — bright stars amongst the dark background. Or a strike of lightning illuminating the window, showing two raindrops entwining themselves.

The entire time, his hand traced shapes along your skin, his touch never leaving you for long. You savored the weight of him pressed to you, an ever-present reminder of what you’d missed, of what you’d both sacrificed. You fell asleep to his soft voice brushing against the curve of your ear, whispering “I love you” again and again.

That night, you dreamt of no one.

—

@reidslovely

#druig #druig x reader #druig x female reader #druig x fem!reader #druig eternals #druig x you #barry keoghan #the eternals #marvel

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