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#not to mention after... waking up as a ghost seeing her body and how alone she still was
smooth-perceval · 7 months
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“Hey mon amour”
Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader.
Summary: Charles closed himself from the world after loosing his wife, he finally finds the strength in their daughter to publicly speak about her.
Warnings: Angst, grief, mentions of readers death, a lot of tears- Charles thinking his a bad father, Charles talking to himself a lot- swearing, Google translate.
Key: Y/N (Your Name) Juliette (Your daughters name) Jules (Her nickname)
Word count: 2,523
A/N: I watched this video on TikTok and it just made me think of doing something sad… I’m sorry 🫶🏼 it’s rushed and it’s all over the place but I needed to get some ‘emotions’ out I guess 🫶🏼
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Was we prepared for a baby? Hell no- Juliette truthfully was an accident- but the best kind. Without her I definitely wouldn’t have stuck around these past 7 months. I’d be up there… painting that sky beautiful with mon amour. (My love)
Laying there in bed I watched her sleep soundly, she had her maman’s nose, lips, hair and cute puffy cheeks. The only thing of mine was her eyes- she definitely got the better parents looks, absolutely perfect in every way. (Mum)
Since the passing of her, as bad as it is, I slept with Juliette by my side, wether it was in her crib and then waking up at stupid hours in the morning and putting her into my bed, or even just falling asleep in her room, with a pillow and blankets on the floor.
She held me together every day, kept me sane- otherwise I talk to myself, or talk to them up there, or better yet curl up in a ball and cry.
Nobody knew of Juliette, I hid her at all cost- in fact nobody knew we had a baby, we kept it very hidden and was going to slowly introduce her to the F1 world, it wasn’t a world for out little girl yet, she had to be protected.
And yet all this time we was protecting her, that I wasn’t there to protect my darling.
The night we lost her even till now feels surreal. Not only 10 minutes before the accident had she called me to tell me she was on her way back home… and the pain I felt when she didn’t show- I knew then, I knew our lives would change… I just didn’t know how drastic.
That night a guy ran a stop light, taking a wife, a mother, a friend, a fan- taking the one person who helped me breathe in a room of no air, helped me swim when I was drowning in a sea of judgement, the woman that gifted me the most precious thing anyone could ever give, our baby girl.
He just took it- in the blink of an eye.
I forgot how to breathe when she was gone, forgot how to tread water, forgot to be a dad. My body didn’t function, my brain shut down.
Maman said I was a ghost yet still alive, she cared for Juliette while I tried to find some sanity in the world, a world I held nothing but anger against. And when I was finally able to figure out how to breathe alone, I kept Juliette with me, day in day out. And with her around I felt lighter, like the world wasn’t pinning me down- like I had a purpose.
I had to show our baby, even though it left a bitter taste on my tongue- that the world was beautiful.
Because what do you do in life, when the one person who understood you more than anything is gone?
Juliette gave me life, and every time I look over at her, the more I remember what I’m doing this ‘life’ for. It’s to see that little tooth that’s slowly coming through, or the dimple on her cheek when her father does something silly, or when we’re lying in bed watching cartoons, and she reaches her hand up to hold my face.
That’s why I continue. All for our little girl.
Leaning over to her I placed a gentle kiss to her temple, before getting out of bed. Ensuring she was safe I bundled pillows and blankets around her in case she decided to roll over.
And while she slept peacefully I started getting a few things ready for tonight.
Tonight was the awards, and it took a lot of thought, but I finally came to the conclusion that I didn’t want to leave Jules at home- wether she was hidden at the side lines or tucked away in my pocket- I needed her there.
I made one special request to the team- which of course they wouldn’t refuse. The tux I was fixing to wear tonight had red somewhere wether it was a tie, or the inside lining. We needed red-
For fans, and Ferrari itself it was a sweet token of my appreciation to them. For me and Juliette is was for our angel.
Red is Y/N colour, always looked gorgeous in anything red- always smiling when she see a red rose, or a red sky- so every morning and evening she decorates the sky, like a reminder that she is there.
It’s my coffee in the morning seeing that sky, and my lullaby at night.
Sighing to myself, I closed off my thoughts heading into the bathroom. I got changed into a simple tracksuit. Seeing as it’s a distance to travel, and I would need comfort over fashion right now-
Humming softly to myself I shuffled back into the bedroom, laying down across the bed- my hand reached out brushing over her head.
“princesse, time to wake up.” (Princess)
And slowly but surely, her eyes slowly opened, as soon as she saw me a smile crept onto her face, that one tooth showing, and the dimple making an appearance.
“You a happy girl?” Smiling back at her, she slowly crept up onto all fours, rocking back and fourth.
She has learned quite quickly for her age, being able to crawl and nearly say dada- I was proud of her, she had a fire in her just like her dad. Wanted to be the best at everything-
“Come my darling, we need breakfast-” sliding back off the bed I reached over picking her up, kicking her legs excitedly she reached out to me and once in range gripped ahold of my nose- a loud happy squeal leaving her small self.
“A very happy girl huh-” laughing a little, bouncing her on my hip- I took us both downstairs and into the kitchen.
We’re still between having milk, jar foods, sometimes Papas food. A mixture of everything. Juliette will eat anything!
I can honestly say one thing with my hand on my heart. We have made the best baby. Always smiling, always happy- when she ‘cries’ it’s more of a murmur, a little quiver of her lip. But never a scream and shout, she is always loving- always kind. The most perfect little girl.
The evening soon fell upon us, it was a hustle and bustle getting here but we made it! Jules was content as ever, if anything the most calm out of us all.
Looking over at her in her car seat- she was sound asleep. I took a quick glance down at my watch humming an approval to myself.
Juliette sleeping now works out perfectly for her bed time later- Honestly when I say she is the perfect baby- I mean it, in all the craziness getting ready she was her happy little self, and clearly worn herself out playing in the hotel room- especially to be sleeping so peacefully now on the way to the event.
The event was the FIA awards. With all my anger towards this cruel world I focused it on track, you wouldn’t believe where I got…
World champion of the world.
But as proud as I wanted to be of myself… it just didn’t feel right without her here.
Even now- it just feels like a blur. World champion of the world? Doesn’t seem real to me.
I hated being late to anything. But in this case I wanted to arrive late, I wanted Juliette in the room with me. Like I keep saying she is my rock. Motivated me to keep going it only seemed right.
Rocking Juliette back and fourth I slid into the back of the room, cradling her and hiding her face- I wanted to do this but some sense of me wasn’t ready to let the world see my baby. And I wasn’t ready for my baby to see this kind of world…
Creeping over to the Ferrari table, I quickly sat down placing Juliette’s baby bag next to my chair- avoiding eyes, and making sure Jules was okay.
She found entertainment in hitting my un-used spoon onto the table, seeing as I skipped when the served dinner.
Finally finding the courage I looked up, Carlos eyes were on me. A small smile on his face, Carlos obviously knew about Jules, he had to know his my teammate, mostly all the inner track know- but they had never really met her.
The ones who have- Jules absolutely loves them. A good example is Carlos, once she realises his across the table- by any means necessary she will crawl her way across too him.
Can’t blame her- when she finally has him the grip on his hair, she pulls hard and doesn’t let go, understandable I can sometimes pull his hair out in annoyance.
“And now- the moment has finally come. Not just for us to witness. But for him to finally receive.” Most of the presenters words fell onto my deaf ears.
And I just waited for my name to be called.
When it was, I slowly got up from my seat, Jules hugged to my chest. Once again cradling her, hand on the back of her head, still trying to protect her from everyone…
Slowly making my way up the steps, making sure not to trip over. The sounds of aw’s and gasps are heard around the room-
Walking along the ‘path’ Jules looked around at everyone mesmerised by the lights.
“Thank you- er…” looking down at my arms with a smile at Jules I looked back at the trophy.
“We will just place it down here-” the man smiled at me, crouching and placing it on the floor next to the mic.
“Well- thank you.” Shifting Juliette over onto my other hip I bounced her gently- she was still in awe at the room.
“I’d like to start by saying a big thank you to the Ferrari team, this championship wouldn’t have been possible without you, I’d like to say a congratulations to my teammate Carlos for getting second in the championship, and another congratulations to Ferrari for winning the constructors award.” Jules hand came up and covered over my mouth, looking down at her I smiled happily- she really was in her own world and reaching out wherever.
“Now I know a lot don’t want to listen, and I’m sorry- but this is the first time I’ve really spoken in 6 months… to you guys- and also all you fans at home-” pausing I swallowed thickly, lifting Jules back up higher on my hip.
“I’d like to introduce you all to, Juliette Pascal Leclerc. She was born March the 4th, at 7 minutes past 3 in the morning.” A low applauded sounded through the room, Juliette looking around at them all, joining in their clapping. Now making everyone laugh.
“She is the most brightest baby I know- always smiling, always happy. Very much like her maman.” (Mum) Pausing I looked over at Carlos. Who quickly nodded his head over at me. A silent support in the crowd.
“As most know… we lost our Y/N back in May… it’s been tough- some days I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t function. Hell I wasn’t even a good dad for our Jules here.” As I said her nickname, more awes were heard throughout the room.
Opening my mouth- then closing it again quickly I looked down at Jules, who’s head was now resting on my shoulder, staring up at me with her beautiful eyes. My eyes started welling up with tears I look back over around the room, stepping away from the mic I took a second to compose myself before moving back in.
“She would be so proud today, every year she would say ‘This is your year Charlie, I can feel it.’ She was right this year…” breathing out heavily I used my hand to quickly wipe my eyes, then wrapping it back around Jules- if possible even tighter.
“She just isn’t here to witness it happening.”
Jules hand reaches up once again, hand on my cheek- like she was comforting me.
“When she was taken, so was me truthfully. That Charles had went with her… she was kind hearted, had a heart of gold. Days like today when I run out of socialisation, she would always come over, and just say something so simple like ‘Charles, you ready to go?’ Pull me straight out that dark hole.” Smiling a little to myself, I finally let the tears go. Jules started to fidget, getting antsy waiting around, and to my need Carlos stood infront of the stage holding his hands out, Jules as always was ecstatic to go to Carlos.
“Thank you-” smiling down at Jules I stepped back to the mic, finally picking my award up.
“Well you was right baby, this was our year.” Raising the award a little to the roof I pointed up at her also.
Sighing to myself, I wiped my face once again. “I tell you what-” it was a waste of energy wiping my face, cause the tears fell once again.
“I miss her- everyday… I’m sorry- I get emotional…” Chewing the inside of my cheek I looked down at my feet, the tears not stopping now.
“It’s just so hard without her…” sniffling I breathed in, trying to control myself.
“What am I supposed to do now… I done what I said I’ll do.” Looking up slightly at the trophy. I see myself in the reflection.
“This is for you my darling, it was my year after all.” Kissing the top of the trophy. I turned back to everyone.
“Thank you- I’m sorry for being a absolute mess…” smiling apologetically I waved at whoever, making my way back off the stage to a standing ovation. Cheers and applauds around the room.
Once I got near to Carlos, Juliette was practically bouncing off his hip, hands outstretched to me. And without question I put the trophy down on the floor, taking Jules back into my arms, holding her close, swaying back and fourth.
“My darling. You ready to go huh?” Leaning back I placed a kiss to her forehead. Bending down a little I grabbed her bag pulling it over my shoulder again.
“I’ll grab your trophy.” Smiling Carlos patted my shoulder, picking the trophy up and following behind me.
As soon as we was outside photos were being taken, quickly I hid Jules face.
“Guys you can take photos- just please turn the flash off-” smiling at them all, they was quick to play around on their phones and cameras. When confident in them all, I moved my hand away from Jules face.
“Thank you.”
Jules hand came into view pointing up at the sky.
“Mumumum” gasping I leaned back getting a view of her face- I was taking that as her first word, the best choice of first words-
Looking up at the red sky above us I kissed Jules cheek.
“That’s right baby, that’s Maman.” (Mum.)
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bet-on-me-13 · 11 months
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So, you know how there are a bunch of Fics where one of the Robins comes back as a ghost when they die? Most of the time it’s Jason, sometimes Tim, and Dick and Damian once in a blue moon
But has there ever been a Ghost Cass AU?
Cass dies while on Patrol, maybe is was a villainous plot, maybe it was a random goon getting a lucky shot, maybe she was killed by somebody she trusted...maybe...
Whatever way she died, Cass ends up as a Ghost.
I can see 2 different paths this could take, depending on where she reforms:
PATH 1: Cass Reforms where she died
Cass is reformed where she died, probably very soon afterwards or a few hours later. The Batfamily have not had time to get over their Grief, they only just retrieved her Body an hour ago and need to go back to the crime scene to investigate.
And once they get there, they see what looks like Cass’s Orphan costume but colored differently, just sitting there in a daze. She just became a ghost, only a few hours after her death due to her exposure to the Lazarus Pits, and it was Jarring. Not to mention the Pure Ectoplasm she is made of is reacting weirdly to the corrupted Ectoplasm that is in Jason, making her anxious.
Meanwhile [Insert Batfam member] and Jason are confused, scared, and paranoid. [Batfam member] remembers reading a few articles in passing while researching Lazarus Pits. They were about the Ectoplasmic Entities made from Lazarus Water called Ghosts, how they are imprints of a human consciousness after an emotional death. They are also completely malevolent and non-sentient.
[Batfam Member] doesn’t hope to believe that this is Cass, all the research says that this is a pile of goop pretending to be her. Of course this makes them mad, not only is this thing wearing their sisters face, it will also probably hurt people when it gets strong enough using said face. It feels like an insult. And Cass can’t even defend herself to them, since she lost whatever was left of her ability to speak when she became a Ghost, and she is too dazed and weak to do Sign Language.
[Batfam Member] explains what they know about Ghosts to Jason, how this isn’t Cass at all, just an imprint of her memories. They say this right in front of her, which scares her since they don’t seem to consider her a person anymore, just a thing using Cass’s face
Back when they first read up on Ectoplasmic Entities, he made sure to get a small Ecto-Infused Knife for everyone in the Family in case they ever encountered one.
They bring it out, but before they can do anything, the Ghost of Cass recognizes it and runs away. 
Jason is mad that [Batfam Member] instantly went for the knife, or didn’t think to look for any second opinions.
Cass runs to the Batcave, but she gets there as [Batfam Member] is explaining what Ghosts are on the big screen to everybody else. She also sees her own body, laying on a table in the center of the room. She starts to believe that [Batfam Member] is right, that she can’t be the real Cass, just a reflection. And she can’t stay here, the others are bound the believe [Batfam Member] over her now
She runs away, not even revealing herself to her family.
She runs and runs and runs for hours upon hours, non stop, across state lines, until she reaches a place where her instincts were telling her to go. It feels like the air is clear, like she has more energy. She has made it to Amity Park.
From there you can go in any direction you want.
PATH 2: Cass Reforms in the Zone
Cass reforms in a random place in the Zone, in a color swapped version of her Orphan costume. She wakes up to see a sky of green and ground of purple, completely alone, no one around her.
She wanders for a bit, but a run-in with a Monster forces her to run. As it chases her, she finds that she can fly, but so can it.
As she is running, a blast comes from above her and blasts the monster away. She looks up to see a guy with Green-Blue Skin, pointy ears, and white hair, in a Black Hazmat Suit, floating above her.
He introduces himself as Phantom, and explains that she must be a Ghost. She can’t respond because she lost the last of her ability to speak, but thankfully he knows Sign Language
She can’t remember how she died, but she remembers most of the rest of her life. She takes off her mask, and you can see that she looks like normal Cass with Green Skin, white Hair, and the pointy ears. Also small fangs cause I think those are cool.
Danny helps her around, teaches her about the Zone, introduces his living friends, all that. She even meets a cute clone named Ellie, but that’s besides the point. Eventually, after a few weeks of traveling the Zone and learning about her new abilities, she asks if she can go see her family. Danny agrees, but says that first he should teach her how to shapeshift so she can look human enough to go to the living world.
Which is how Danny and Cass learn that Cass is a Halfa (due to her exposure to the Lazarus Pits). While she is thinking of her human form, a ring of gold energy surrounds her and she suddenly has a heartbeat again. She’s also extremely hungry cause Ghosts don’t need to eat, but Halfa’s do (even if it is significantly less)
By the time she goes to see her Family, they are not as high strung or paranoid as they would have been directly after her death, so they are more willing to listen to reason. Also with Danny there (and maybe ellie), he can explain what she can’t.
But now they don’t know what to do, they still haven't figured out who killed Cass, all they know is that she was definitely killed, it wasn’t an accident.
What comes Next? I also don’t know, I need suggestions!
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pearlofthesirens · 1 month
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Everything's gonna be okay- Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader
first time writing for a fandom omg might as well start writing for cod more. thank you to @xxshadowbabexx for this writing competition, i'm so happy to participate <3 summary: After Simon found himself waking up after another nightmare, his significant other reminds him that he isn't alone in this world pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x Fem!Reader warnings: she/her pronouns used, nightmares, Simon's past, toxic relationship with father mentioned, slight cursing now playing: Until I Found You by Stephen Sanchez word count: 1193 words(one thousand one hundred and ninety three words)
"I wish you would've told me," "Told you what? That I get nightmares which eat me alive? That I've always been this fucked up?" "..that's not what I meant, Si." Hearing the familiar nickname slip off her tongue despite how he yelled at her snapped him out of the shaken state he was in. He turned to look at the doorknob, contemplating on whether to twist it open or not. It had been more than half an hour that he locked himself in the bathroom, splashing water on his face and making excuses to not come out. He didn't want to see her, not when she had witnessed him scream as he woke up from his nightly terrors and swat her hand away with such force. All she wanted was to comfort him, her gentle rubs on his face was all he needed at that moment. Then why did he refuse to open the door and face her?
"I want to help, Si. I want to be there for you like you have been for me all this time." He looked at himself in the mirror, the face he dreaded to see every day. He wore the mask for a reason and as much as Johnny pestered him for the real reasons, it had always been more than just hiding his face for safety. His dusty blonde strands and brown irises remind him of a bastard he shouldn't be thinking of. The bastard he took care of when he just had enough, the bastard who tyrannized not only him, but his dear mother and brother. His lover on the other side of the door seemed to be in love with all of him, the scars, wounds, bruises, even the face he thought he would despise all his life.
"You're more than your father's son. You're Simon, my Simon.." Simon thought of his mother often, Tommy and Beth too. Simon also thought of having a little critter like Joseph crawling around the house, someone whom he can call his. Someone he can raise with the love of his life. Someone to let him prove that he indeed did not turn out to be the person he had sworn to loathe for an eternity. Simon wished to have a family he would love and cherish. But he did not trust himself.
"Do not listen to the voices in your head, Simon. They're lying to you. You're worth it, you're worth the troubles. I'm here to help and I'm here to stay. Please..please let me in. Please let me help you, Si." Hearing her voice break was the last straw and he couldn't torture himself with solitude anymore. He opened the door very slowly, surprisingly avoiding the creaking of the hinges which much needed some greasing. He looked down to find her little face peering into him, her curious eyes always searching for something. Under her scrutinizing gaze, Simon felt the tiniest droplet of water roll down from his forehead to his lashes, down to his chin. Her hand took his, squeezing his fingers softly before she stood on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He let go of every insecurity and every doubt he had about himself, snaking his arms around her waist.
Dipping his head down and into her neck, he took the longest breath in and inhaled her all so familiar scent. Simon thought she never needed perfume, her body odor was so enticing and comforting to him that he'd rather not fill his nostrils with anything artificial. His arms tightened and he let out the softest sniffle, burying his face even further into her neck. He felt two small hands rubbing his back, running over the muscles he spent hours in the gym to build.
Before meeting her, Simon thought that crying in front of his partner was the stupidest thing possible. How would it look if a 6'4 military man was breaking down in tears in the arms of his little love? He was supposed to be a man, he was supposed to be the one providing her comfort and not the other way. But at that moment of vulnerability, his ego had been overtaken by the need to feel her close. She was the only one who would see through Ghost and not once judge him. "This..I'm so sorry, lovie..I-I can't make it stop." "I know, darling. I know. But I'm here, I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here, Si." Simon never once understood how she broke through the tough walls he had built, how she took his ice cold heart and warmed it up at the cost of her patience. She had always been so gentle with him, even when he felt frustrated and yelled profanities at her, not realizing that she was not one of the people who would disregard how he felt. She taught him how to apologize with words, she always reassured him that he could be gentle despite not once finding peace in his tragic life. And yes, he was gentle with her. He did apologize with words every single time he ended up saying something he didn't mean.
He had a ritual to calm her down when she was upset, the reason being him or not. He would sit her down on his lap, wipe her tears and place tender kisses on her forehead. He did everything in his power to not see his angel cry, specially not because of him. So why was it weird to him when she did the same? Why did it not feel right when it was her turn to show how much he deserved to be held and comforted too? "I'll tell you this again and again and again. You're worth it, Si. You're worth the stupid arguments we get into sometimes, you're worth the silent treatment, you're worth all the wrong things you've once said to me. You wanna know why?" He only nodded his head, not bringing his face out of her neck. "Because I see the change in you. I see you trying, I see you improving. You've gotten so much better at expressing yourself, you apologize with words, you think twice before saying anything to me. I know there had been moments you've slipped up, but that does not mean that you don't deserve love." And suddenly, everything she said made sense to Simon. He had improved, he tried his best to be better, to be gentler, to be kinder. To her and to himself. So what if he had said something he shouldn't have? He knew how to recognize his mistakes and appropriately apologize for it, he knew how to make up for his behavior. He knew how to say sorry without bullshitting, he knew how to admit that he had done something wrong and he knew how to fix it. And she had been by his side all the time, refusing to be anything but kind, loving and understanding. How could he not love her? "I swear, lovie..I ain't leaving you till the day I die. I promise" "I love you too, Si. Wanna get back to bed?" "Yeah."
proofread ✓ pearly venus, 00:44 240227
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brokenpieces-72 · 3 months
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Home for Holidays
Monster! 141 (mostly Soap) x Hybrid female Reader (jackalope/wendigo)
This is a continuation of the previous fanfic on my page. The only context you need it that the reader is teenager. Mentions @diejager reader character Hunter and is based on designs by @bluegiragi
CW/TW: Mentions of trauma, abuse, family trauma, punishment, origins of wendigo, crying, angst, let me know if I’ve missed anything.
Soon enough Holidays come around and there are no signs of your handler returning to base. Which means you’ll likely be alone on base on the holidays. It’s not the first time so that’s okay but you do get jealous when plans are brought up in conversation.
“So what’ll you be doin lass?” Johnny asks. His friendly face becomes a small frown when you shrug.
“Maybe I’ll just stay on base with Ghost…not sure what else there is. Nowhere to go really…” You say shrugging. Johnny’s brother side comes out in full swing, not just for you but for Simon as well. He knows Simon uses the holidays for his own needs, and doesn’t really stay on base the whole time. Leaving you behind didn’t feel fair to him. Not only that but it’s not fair to you, to have to sit in your room by yourself bored out of your mind.
Johnny makes some calls after that and soon learns there’ll be some paperwork but he doesn’t care. It’ll be worth it.
Nikolai comes to pick people up to take home, and Johnny has you already packed and it basically bouncing on your bed to get you to wake up.
“Come on wheels up lass!”
He’s carrying the duffel you had when you came and hands it to you.
“But-“ you’re half awake as you try to protest.
“No questions. Come on.” He says and you both get on the helicopter. Rudy and Alejandro say good bye to you before you leave and give you a gift to open on Christmas as does Gaz and Price. Ghost sees you off and you tell him you hope he enjoys the privacy.
Johnny takes you to his hometown, and when you land he explains that he made some calls home. And then to Laswell, and the program and few others to make sure everything was sorted.
“Ma didn wantya to be alone. Just know you’ll be put to work still…got dat?” You nod and he takes you to his house after you land, where you meet Soap’s mother and Soap’s older brother. His mother comments a bit on your appearance saying you look a little pale and could afford to put on a couple pounds. Soap gives her a look but you shake it off saying you have been. She gives you a warm smile and helps you find your room.
You have a good time on your leave and it feels a little odd to you. Your family was way different, but Johnny’s is cozy and kind and teasing. You join in on jabs at him, and help around the house as best you can, learning more basic skills like cooking and chopping wood. Johnny takes you to a few different places around, along with his brother, and you even meet a couple of his football buddies. They’re friendly and tell you some stories about Johnny. They ask about the ears and antlers. Johnny lets you answer how you choose, whether it’s as a jackalope or a wendigo. At some point he leaves you with his friends to take care of something and when he comes back, he sees you talking and having a good conversation with them. It’s hard to imagine you were once this simple, shy, apologetic kid and now you had grown into a friendly, healthy teenager.
One night you and Johnny take a minute to relax on a bench before continuing your walk home. The two of you had just left his friend and their partner at a store, and the walk home would be long. Johnny could handle walking in the dark but wanted you to be safe too. You both look out at the street lit up by garlands of lights and shop windows. It was good to finally take a break after all the walking around. You watch people go by and notice body language you didn’t often see on base. Couples holding hands, kids running and skipping, snowballs being thrown, parents swinging their kids. You lean against your knees, following Johnny’s sitting position.
“Are all families like this?” You ask. Johnny notices where you had been looking and shrugs.
“Nah all of em. The good ones are.” Johnny ponders for a moment before inquiring. “Take it you didn ave that.”
You shake your head.
“Wha were they like?” He asks. You go very quiet, and he pays closer attention. It’s not an easy subject, your parents were mean and obsessive over your hybrid features. You were outcasted and isolated. Christmas was a rough time, as you would see people happy outside but never felt the same way.
“…they…they used to yell at me. Sometimes hit me.” You confessed. Johnny looks at you. “It kept escalating… sometimes it was burns or no food for a day. Then one day they grounded me and put me in the basement.” You pause for a shaky breath feeling your throat tighten up. Johnny lets you continue at your own pace. “They gave me raw meat and told me there was nothing else…”
You’re shaking recalling the horrid memory of how you became a wendigo. Your family wasn’t normal and your parents weren’t sane. You only found out how insane they were when it was too late. How cultish they could be.
Johnny doesn’t need you to finish, and instead moves closer to you on the bench and holds you tight. The tears just come down and you nestle into his winter jacket. You feel a gloved hand on your head keeping you close.
“You didn do anythin wrong.” He tells you over and over, tucking your head under his chin. “You’re a good kid. Don’ forgae ‘at.”
You finally pull away after a while and he asks if you’re ready to keep going. You nod, he gives you his arm to cling to while you head home. There are still tears but your face is stinging from the cold, and you’d rather be inside. Johnny tries to change the subject or make some jokes with you. He gets a couple giggles for his dad jokes. When you finally get back, Johnny’s mother notices your tears and gets you some water. She doesn’t ask about it and lets her son handle everything while you curl up on the couch with him watching Die Hard.
You feel more and more comfortable snuggling up to Soap, and he you. He’s taken to calling you ‘pup’ and ‘whelp’. When you walk in to relax with him he offers to shift for you so you can have a soft pillow to rest against. It doesn’t take long before his brother and mother are friendly with you too, spending some alone time with them as well. His mother has taken a shine to you, often asking for some help in the kitchen or showing you cute videos she found online. There’s a couple of Facebook posts usually involving the Grinch or Peanuts cartoons that you find cute, and smile at.
His mom expresses concern multiple times about your wardrobe, noticing you wear the same items in a row.
“If ya wouldna mind me askin dear, didn ya wear that shirt yesterday?”
“Y-yes. Is that bad?” You ask.
“No no of curse not, it’s a nice shirt, but doncha ave other clothes?” She asks. When you shake your head she sets down whatever she is working on. It doesn’t take long for her to check if any of her sons’ old clothes will fit you. The clothes are a little baggy on you, even with the couple extra pounds you’ve gained while staying there but they’ll work. Especially since they’ll likely get torn anyways when you back to base. Honestly his mother is glad they’ll be put to use, and they’re some of the few clothes she has that are intact since Johnny’s form often rips his clothing.
Christmas Eve comes around and Soap is up early for his workout and his mother is up for her meal prep.
“Aye ma? Canna ask you somethin?” Soap asks quietly, not wanting to wake you or give you the chance to hear him.
“Yes?”
“Whatcha think of the lass?”
She takes a moment to think about it.
“Lovely child. Takes after ya a bit moore than I’d like.” She teases. Johnny smiles before unloading a bit on to his mother. “They don’t ave anywhere else to go after this, unless Price keeps em. So it got me thinkin uhh…” his tail twitches awkwardly as she takes note of his tone. His mom has seen how her sons’ tails react when they get a certain way. Before he can ask she answers the question.
“I think ya need to think this over some more. I wouldna mind it… but she’s got as much of a say as you do. Honestly she’s a lovely lass, and I know you’ve taken a shine to her. More than a shine, yer practically her brother. You’ve told me what she is, and I have no qualms but ya better be here for her too. I’m not dealin’ with a hybrid under my roof, alone and at my age.”
“I will ma, thank you.” Johnny decides to bring it up later when you guys head back to base.
Christmas comes and it’s overwhelming for someone unused to large close gatherings. Johnny and his brother make it a habit for at least one of them to stay close to you. Their relatives ask tou questions and get to know you. You don’t unload like you did with Johnny, but when your past comes up you do respond.
“Well my adoptive parents were pretty bad, so after that my social worker put me in the program for rehabilitation and relocation I guess.”
When you get the chance you slip away to take a breath, and relax a bit. The whole situation is crazy after being on a such an isolated family. The holidays weren’t exactly great for you, and sometimes you were alone to open gifts by yourself. The gifts were strange too, often in the form of weird books and strange toys. Looking back, to any normal person the gifts should have been red flags. Johnny finds you soon enough, and asks if you just want some time to yourself.
“This is normal? Spending holidays like this?” You ask. He nods.
“Never got ‘at back ‘ome.”
You shake your head. Johnny isn’t one to show vulnerability but damn you make it hard.
“Fairly normal. You open your gifts yet?” He asks. “Come on we’re about to start opening them.”
You get up and follow him, carrying the gifts you got from the 141 into the living room, and sit down. Anyone seeing the scene would know you were out of place, as everyone was either human or a werewolf. Johnny’s mom sits by you, and has a gift for you too. You open it and you laugh, finding a hoodie for Johnny’s favourite football team. Johnny looks over and basically cheers seeing the hoodie. The gifts from the team are a journal and some stationary and a sketchbook. They’re simple gifts sure but they’re better than anything you had gotten before. They were yours.
Next couple days you spend collecting and drawing around the area. You take the journal everywhere, writing about the things you see and draw your own ideas.
During a visit to a restaurant you notice some humans and draw them as hybrids, giving them tails and wings. Any common or ugly looks from other humans go ignored as you focus on the pencils and paper before you.
Your journal gets filled with cards, photos, stickers, scribbles and a couple of miscellaneous items you find like leaves, flowers and feathers. It’s not long before items are poking out from between the pages marking your progress. You write plenty of thoughts, and even a couple stories about the items you find.
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zae5 · 4 months
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The eye of desire
Summary: A maid at the keep finds herself burdened by changes of green.
Warnings: mentions of period typical sexism, derogatory language and attempted assault (not Aemond)
Word count: 1.6k
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The bell in her quarters chimes incessantly waking her up from her slumber as she clamors to dress in haste. It is the hour of ghosts, she realizes as she treads towards the familiar chambers ahead fixing the kercheif over her hair as she’s let in through the doors. He sits by the fireplace in his tunic and trousers, wet and disheveled with a chalice in hand. His wet coat appears to be discarded in haste, lying unevenly on the chaise as he stares ahead acknowledging her presence with a nod. She's swift to get to work, arranging his clothes in piles to be taken away and making preparations for his bath while he sips his wine. There is an unnerving silence that clings to him, haunting her as she busies herself with her task. He sits calmly, staring ahead in satisfaction, a stark contrast to how he'd left for Storm’s end. She silences the pang of jealousy coursing through her as she leaves to organize the pails of water needed to soothe him, missing the way his fingers clench and unclench in tandem.
Ever since the death of King Viserys, the Stranger appears to have made his home in these very walls. She remembers the dreaded day very well, waking up cheerily to attend to him only to be ushered hastily to the dungeons instead, left alone and shivering for hours at the mercy of the Master of the crooked cane and his jaunts with all her questions returning unanswered. She was, however, much luckier than many of those whose company she'd shared. She'd been summoned later, around the hour of the bat, back to his chambers to assist him for the night, just as she had done many times before and dismissed soon after being told to report to him again at dawn.
She'd done so without question, dressing him for what would come to haunt her throughout the days that followed. Some of the maids she knew returned to their positions in time, after pledging their allegiance to the crown, but many did not. She wonders what became of them as well as of her own family. She remembers seeing them last on the morning of the coronation of their new king, in the dragon pit. She'd spotted them all, her brothers along with her parents huddled together before the ground shook with thunder casting them away from each other in a flurry of red. She wonders if they were hurt and nursed back to health as the water before her steams with oils of lavender, almond and wild hazel, warm enough to take away the burden of his day. He steps in promptly before leaning back to let her work her hands through his hair, untangling the knots and massaging his scalp. She feels his body relax as she works, her mind wandering to the condition she's found herself in while he hums in between making her smile ruefully in response. She wonders how his new bride would take up the mantle of care she's religiously put up for him, finally casting her aside. Perhaps then she'd be able to meet those dear to her.
She recovers from her reverie soon enough, in horror and mute delight. The mist that shrouds her prince the next morn is unpalatable and a mockery of her faith in him. The words whispered in the hallways arouse fear and disgust yet the booming voice of the King silences them all with mirth followed by reluctant applause. There's a feast to be held in his honor for blood well spilt. The thought sickens her as she works in preparation for the night to come. The keep has been decorated with banners of green and gold, with stars of the faith lining the halls highlighting the presence of the Gods among them, more ominous compared to the comfort they're there to provide. She blends in perfectly with them too, dressed in beige and green, a tribute to the change being brought about, a mute spectator to it all.
She returns to him at dusk, fiddling as she readies him again. The leather in her hands feels heavy as she fixes it in place lingering at the feel of the golden flame clasp on her fingertips. It feels cold as she lets it go before catching his eye in the mirror. He holds her gaze intuitively before dismissing her with a flick of his wrist. As the night carries on in unexpected cheers and jests she's summoned to the banquet to attend to the merriment. The maids serving them appear to be adequate in number yet she lingers on, helping them serve wine and cake. The King laughs and guzzles his drink, eyes alight as the crowd clamors for his attention flitting from one subject to the next before it lands on her. She's been warned of it and how to go about it once caught, to acknowledge and avoid lest she bear the brunt of his eagerness yet she feels her body stiffen in response. The Stranger lurks in his eyes ready to pounce as he beckons her towards him.
“Come ‘ere wench” he bellows calling her forwards “Let me look at you properly”
She sees her prince turn his head towards her as she walks with the pitcher in hand pouring fresh wine into his cup.
“What a pretty little thing you are” he murmurs running his hand along her back “A fine price to pay for the stag lost to me now, is she not brother?” he says, looking at him.
“The Baratheons will follow you, your grace” she hears the Hand respond with a shake of his head.
“Yes yes, what choice do they have? Lord Borros seems to have a clear head for matters as such. A man like him would hardly prefer to side with pups” he laughs “As strong as they might be” he says smirking as his hand travels lower. She winces in response as she stands still near him.
“Perhaps I might indulge in a little bite after all, I'm sure your bride wouldn't mind after the show you put up”
She feels him clench his jaw as he rises slowly, fingers clasped around his chalice as he stares him down.
“Careful brother we wouldn't want to spoil all the merriment”
“T’is your grace” he responds petulantly, smacking her as she flinches.
“Hmm. Perhaps your grace should let me claim my prize then, for ridding you of one pup, this feast is in my honor after all” he challenges holding his gaze.
She feels the King stare at him before letting her go as he raises his own cup to him. “Of course” he says “You're wound out tight enough, let loose tonight brother, there is more to be done on the morrow” he replies with a glint to his eyes.
She feels his fingers grab her arm hauling her towards the door as some of the drunken lords erupt in cheers, trying to hide the shame that burns through her.
She's taken to those familiar doors in haste, tugged along like a doll before he dismisses the guard at the door. The room feels warm yet she shivers running her hands over her arms.
“Sit” he commands, seating himself before the hearth. He pours her a cup of wine and she accepts it trembling as she takes a sip near him. “I will not force you” he says looking at her as she drinks.
“It is what he does with most” she whispers bravely “To the maids, I've heard them complain.”
“My brother has a taste for depravity” he says as she lets his words linger.
“What do you wish to do with me?” she asks, gazing at him in doubt.
“Whatever you'd like,” he says, eye glinting dangerously.
“And if I refuse, would things go back to the way they were”
“If that is what you want”
“It is my lot in this life”
“And here I considered your position to be a bit more accomodating” he huffs in jest.
“In what way? Many like me have had their lives upheaved by a mistake”
“You consider this to be one” he asks, raising his eyebrow.
“There is no justice in this world”
“Yet you cling in prayer to the Father”
She looks at him disbelief as he drums his fingers against the armrest. “I find he seldom listens to some of us”
“No, some of us seek it in our own way” he responds thoughtfully.
“I do not wish to be hurt”
He looks at her for a moment before tilting his head in response. “You've served me well over the years, do you think I'd demand more than what you could give”
“Would this be an extension of my duties then?”
“Yes”
“And we'd continue the way we were before, but with me being your lover” she asks blushing.
“A convenient arrangement”
She fidgets in response as he gets up, irritated by her disagreeableness. “You may leave if you wish to, I will not hold it against you”
“It doesn't bother me” she whispers coming up to stand behind him before continuing “It never has and none of it ever will”
He stares at her as he turns to face her, sensing her hesitancy. “You will have my protection. It shall be with you as long as you wish to continue”
She nods in response before reaching up to touch his face. He startles before letting her set her hand on his cheek stroking his wound. She sees him stare into her eyes, daring her as she removes his eyepatch.
“Does it still hurt?” she whispers.
He hums as he leans down to capture her lips. She tastes the sweetness of wine on his tongue as he caresses her and the bitterness of smoke that clings to him as he lights her aflame. It is the last thing she remembers before drifting off to bliss, considering her own blood well spilt.
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Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @arcielee @chompchompluke @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy @b00kw0rmsworld
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Memories II
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader
Warnings: angst, mention of injury, amnesia, alcohol mixed with meds
Summary: You had your memory wiped after a messed-up mission. All that you remember is your childhood and fragmented glimpses of your teenage and adult years. Poor Simon, your would-be hubby, is left to pick up the pieces when you can't even recall his existence.
Words: 1.8k
A/N: I had so much fun writing this! Hope you like it🤍
part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4
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It was close to 8 o’clock when Simon lit a cigarette, the red end glowing in the darkness. The smoke curled up above him into the starless night, forming swirling patterns as it dissipated. He sat on the cold roof of the barracks, his legs stretched out before him and his back resting against the wall. His mask was rolled up to just below his nose, exposing his full lips set in a stoic expression.
The back of his head hurt, his muscles ached, and his stomach rumbled. He had a crick in his neck, and his butt was numb. He had been up there for almost an hour now, and the pack of cigarettes laid empty next to him. It had become a habit for him to go up there after visiting you in the hospital, a temporary escape from reality and a way to manage his worries.
His hands were rough and callused, strong, sturdy, and dependable. His hands cradled the cigarette. The tip of the cigarette glowed red hot in the night air; the paper began to burn his fingers. The heat felt good, the only sensation on his body that told him he was alive. The smoke rose slowly and smelled good, almost relaxing.
His expression was grim as he gazed into the distance. There, in the darkening sky, he saw a streak of lightning in the distance, and he thought of you, lying alone in that sterile hospital room, unable to remember him. 
The only rule he had up there on that roof was not to think about anything about your condition — it was like a game of Taboo, and he had lost again.
He mumbled a curse under his breath.
When the doctors told him that you had suffered a traumatic injury to the hippocampus, he felt like the worst kind of monster was released from his cage. His heart sank and did not stop falling. He blamed himself for not being there when it happened.
Your childhood memories were still intact, but everything else seemed blurry and disjointed. Even some of your teenage years and early adulthood felt like a fog, leaving only fragmentary recollections in their wake.
The only tangible proof that the love you two shared for each other existed was the band of gold around your finger. He had stored it away carefully like a hidden treasure after you handed it back to him with tears in your eyes, telling him that you didn’t know who he was.
 “Mind if I join you?”
 He turned to see Price standing behind him, a cigar between his fingers, igniting the end with a few flicks of a match.
 “Be my guest.”
 Price sat beside him; their two forms a perfect contrast in the dark. While Simon appeared troubled, Price was relaxed, his expression peaceful despite the gloomy surroundings.
“The storm’s almost here,” Price blew a plume of smoke. “But it won’t last for long.”
 “But until it does, it’ll be a bloody mess.”
 “How’s she holdin’ up?”
 “It ain’t good.”They sat silently for a while, the only sounds being the gentle rustle of the leaves in the wind and the quiet but steady pattern of raindrops hitting the pavement.
Price took another drag from his cigar, sending a cloud of smoke into the air. “You want my opinion?”
 “Sure”
 “You’re pushing too hard.”
 Simon stared at him in silence. He couldn’t deny that Price was right — but he was struggling to accept it.
“She doesn’t remember a bloody thing,” he said. “At times, she acts as if she’s trying like there’s something in the back of her mind. But then nothing.” He tossed the cigarette over the edge of the roof and continued. “I try so bloody damned hard, but no matter what I do, it doesn’t work. And then she gets pissed off at me.”
 “I know... but giving up isn’t an option, is it? I know you’re not like that.”
Simon rested his hands in his pockets and stared at the distance, contemplating. The rain kept dropping lazily around them while the storm threw its wrath over the city.
Then, finally, he spoke. “No... no, I don’t want to give up. But it’s so hard, Price. Got nothin’ to cling on to,” He muttered under his breath. “I... I jus’ wish I could do much more.”
 Price’s voice was low and soothing, as if he were carefully measuring each word before speaking. “You can’t make her mind rush to remember. It’s gotta sort itself out in its own time.”
 Simon fell silent. He wanted to believe Price’s soothing words—he really did—but his own anxiety and frustration made it difficult, if not impossible.
 Price crushed his cigar under his foot.” C’mon. Let’s go back inside. Come on, mate.”
 As he stood, an unspoken understanding passed between them. He extended his arm in a silent offer of assistance; Simon hesitated, then leaned forward and clasped Price’s hand, letting the other man haul him to his feet. 
 They headed back inside; the barrack’s warm lights and dry air were a welcome contrast to the cold outside.
“You okay?” he asked again as Simon shook off the rain.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
“Go home, get an early night.”
Simon knew he should argue and tell Price he didn’t need special treatment. But he couldn’t. He was too tired.
“You’re right. I’ll head home.”
Coming home was particularly hard for him. The silence was deafening; it felt like it was drowning him, just as the memory loss was drowning you. 
As he opened the door to his house, a wave of cold emptiness washed over him. The home that was once filled with laughter and love seemed empty without you there. He missed the familiar sound of your voice as it echoed through the halls, mocking him in its absence while coming back from yet another hospital visit. All of your memories were tainted by your illness; your happiness had been swallowed up by the silence of your lack of speech and his inability to bring you back to yourself. His heart ached as he remembered the woman you'd been before the terrible accident and wished that he could bring back the person you used to be.
To make the atmosphere more bearable, he adopted some strategies that helped to create a better atmosphere in his house. One of them was to keep the TV always on with an old show like Buffy or some other show playing. You’d never go to bed until you had watched at least one episode.
He tossed his clothes onto a chair, the mask on the floor and climbed into bed wearing just his boxer shorts. His body ached from the long day, but it was the throbbing in his head that gave him the most problems. He sighed heavily as he lay down, trying to will away the pain.
The bed creaks and groans as he moves in it.
The sound of the TV fell on deaf ears. He couldn't hear anything but the echo of your voice in his head. It haunted him.
Lying there, he remembered the feeling of being close to you. He could feel your body against his, the curves of your shoulder and hip pressing into him, and the softness of your skin as he traced his fingers down your arm or ran them lightly through your hair. He longed to feel that closeness again, to be enveloped in the scent of you. He missed the sweet smell of your hair filled his nose as he buried his face in your neck.
Your perfume lingers in the sheets, like a ghost clinging to the pillows. 
He reached out and ran his hand along the empty space beside him, imagining that you were there. His heart ached for you, and he felt a lump form in his throat. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you forever. The realisation that he might never have you back brought tears to his eyes, and he struggled to hold them back.
He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. He couldn't force you to remember, no matter how hard he tried. As he drifted off to sleep, he knew that the only thing he could do was to love you, always and forever, no matter what.
It took some time for him to drift off, and even then, he would wake up. Because there was no escape, he was forced to relive the mission that left him broken every night.
The sound of your crying and screaming, begging for your life.
He heard them every night. He heard them over the gunshots and the sound of grenades. He heard the sounds of your yelling at him to let go of your hand and save himself. Then, the screams went silent. He woke up like every night, drenched in sweat, the sheets wrapped around his legs.
The TV was loud, and Sarah Gellar was battling some vampires. Simon shook his head, wiping the sweat away from his forehead before shutting off the TV.
“Bloody hell...” he muttered.
He ran his hand harshly across his face, desperately trying to erase the image of you being thrown backwards from a powerful explosion and your body lying motionless on the cold ground. He could smell the scent of burnt skin and matted hair. He shivered in horror, reached for the small bottle of whiskey kept on the bedside table, and took a swig directly from the bottle.
It doesn’t help, he told himself; it never does.
The bottle was nearly depleted, having been his faithful companion during the weeks of solitude.
His head was spinning painfully, and his body was cold.
You’re a mess.
He grunted as he stood and stumbled towards the bathroom; the hardwood flooring felt cool against his bare feet.
He opened the cabinet, deliberately not looking into the mirror. His fingers found a bottle of Nembutal, and he grabbed it, his palm slick from the whiskey bottle. He tossed two pills down his throat, hoping for a dreamless sleep.
 —
He jolted awake some hours later to the buzz of his phone and immediately regretted it. A throbbing ache exploded behind his eyes and spread throughout his head and neck. He groggily fumbled for the device, holding it up to his ear without shielding his eyes from the harsh light of morning streaming through the window. 
“Who’s this?” he croaked.
“Mr Riley, it’s Doctor Badel...” The tone in his voice was tired, exasperated. “She’s not cooperating with their prescribed treatment plan.”
The words felt heavy in the air, and the silence that followed was thick with tension. It was as if the entire room was holding its breath.
Simon cursed under his breath, muscles clenching and his jaw tightening. 
“ I’m on my way.”
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Tags: @8sy-errah8 @yyiikes @spencerreidisbae123 @oranoyaora @sae1kie
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ponyosmom35 · 8 months
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you're alive?
Simon ghost Riley x reader
Synopsis: reader and Simon were engaged, planning their wedding when he was KIA. four months later she is nearly taken hostage by Makrov and saved by his team. She sees him for the first time and passes out. The next day she wakes up in Simon’s room with bandages on her. 
Warnings: angstttttt, mentions of death, mentions of body image issues, panic attack
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She wakes up in a cold sweat, her mind racing as she looks around the room. After several seconds she recognizes Simon’s body armor hanging up on the door and gasps in shock. It was real, he wasn’t dead. She sits up, cringing at the pain in her shoulder and leg. Ignoring the pain she gets out of the bed, she needed to see him. She needed to see his eyes. Her mind refused to admit that this was real, her Simon wasn’t gone. She takes a deep breath and walks into the bathroom, she stares at herself. 
She had a bruise on her cheek and her eyes were puffy and red with fresh tears threatening to escape. Her hair had been brushed through and the blood on her face was cleaned up. She shivers knowing who would’ve done that. She notices the bandage on her shoulder and the other on her thigh. She’d been in her underwear and a tank top. She searches around, finding a pair of his boxers and her shirt she’d been wearing. She notices that it had been washed and shakes her head. Simon’s love language was acts of service. She sniffles as she picks up one of the shirts from the closet, she smells it, inhaling his scent. Tears stream down her face as she crumbles to the floor. Why would he do this? Why would he lie. 
She was furious. After going through four months of agony he shows up out of nowhere to ‘save her’. She stands to her feet and walks out of the door. She could hear voices coming from the kitchen and she walks in. Her breath leaves her body as she sees his frame, back facing her. She recognized it in an instant. Soaps eyes catch her own and he cuts himself off mid sentence. 
“Goodmorning sunshine, how ya feelin?” he tries
All of the men turn to look at her their eyes widening. Simon hesitates before turning to face her, his mask concealing his beautiful face. As he stares at her her mind spins. She’s hit with intense relif and fury. She was so fucking happy to see him. All of those nights she spent crying herself to sleep, all of the breakdowns all fade away. He was here, her Simon was alive! Tears fill her eyes as she stares at him, unable to move. 
“We’ll give you guys a second” Price says, as they all walk out of the room, leaving the couple alone. 
“love”
“You’re alive” she says 
“I have so much I need to say to you” he says stepping forward, she takes two steps back holding her arm up. He stops instantly, his heart screaming in pain at the rejection. Though he understood it. 
“I don’t want to hear another goddamn word out of your mouth you fucking asshole!” she yells. 
She walks over to him and shoves him as hard as she could, he steps back in surprise as she does it again and again. “I thought you were dead! I mourned you!” she yells 
“I’m sorry” he says softly 
“Your words mean nothing to me anymore Simon!” she says pushing him again. He catches her hands and holds them gently as she begins to hyperventilate. “Take a deep breath for me” 
“No fuck you! Keep your fucking hands off of me!” she says pushing him back once more. 
Unable to hold herself together any longer she lets out a sob as she hurries back to the room she’d woken up in. She collapses against the door and crumbles. Sobs wrack through her body uncontrollably. The one person she trusted enough to work her through this was the one who broke her heart. Was she not good enough? Did he fall out of love? Was she too boring? Not skinny enough, pretty enough? She’d never been enough for anyone, not her own parents. They’d always preferred Emma, the star athlete, the one who signed up to serve the country. She never excelled in school or sports. She was always overweight. 
Until Simon. He changed everything. She’d never felt so seen, so admired, so loved. Though he didn’t say it often, he showed it every single day. He breathed for her and she knew that. Yet her mind coudn’t comprehend any other reason he might have faked his death. It had to have been something she did. 
-
Her eyes were nearly swollen shut after several hours of crying. She’d sat in the bed staring at the ceiling all night long. Occasional tears dripping down her cheeks. Her body ached and she was exhausted. Her anxiety was at an all time high and she wanted to know what was going on, why was she here? Why was she taken? Why did Simon fake his death? Yet she coudn’t bring herself to face him once more. 
He’d dropped off breakfast outside of her door this morning, but she hadn’t been able to force herself out of bed to get it. She was not hungry, she felt sick to her stomach. Her heart torn in two as she wanted nothing more than to go to him. Knowing that he was the only person in the world that could sooth her mind. 
Simon walks to her door carefully holding a plate of food for her. He sighs noticing the other plate he left in the same spot, uneaten. His heart beats wildly as he knocks on the door, opening it slightly. 
“love?” he asks 
“Go away” she snaps 
“You need to eat”
“I’m not hungry” 
Simon enters the room anyways, setting the plate on the tabel. He finds her sitting on the bed with her back pressed into the wall. It was obvious that she had not slept, and spent most of the night crying. He felt sick knowing that he put her in this position. The last thing he’d ever want to do is hurt her. 
“Get out” she responds, staring at him in anger 
“I need to check on your wounds” he says walking over to her. “They’re fine” 
“please” he mutters, she stares at him and her heartbreaks. “Okay, but I wanna see Simon, not ghost” she says
He nods and takes the mask off, setting it off to the side. She inahels sharply seeing his full face again. He had a few cuts healing on his skin but he looked perfect. She lays her leg on the bed, outstretched. Simon gently picks up her leg and throws it over his lap. He peels off the wrap and looks at the angry wound. He sighs and pours some disinfectant on a towel. “This is gonna hurt” he warns 
She nods and Simon places it against her wound, she tenses up instantly and bites her lip to refrain from making any sound. The feeling of his hands on her skin made tears fill her eyes. He was so gentle, like this was hurting him more than her. He works quickly and wraps it up. He looks into her eyes, seeing the tears. “Im sorry, but I gotta do the next one too” 
She crosses her legs and allows him to move closer to her. He carefully moves her hair behind her back and pushes her shirt to the side. She shutters at how close he was, hating how her body yearned for him. 
“Why did you do this?” she asks 
He looks up at her in surprise, his continues to clean her wound “we started a new mission, got intel that he knew about my past, he knew about you. He had addresses and photos. I knew that someone would connect you to me at some point so I had to take myself out of the situation. He woudln’t come after you if he knew I was dead. You would be safe.”
“You didn’t once stop to think I should know that you weren’t dead?”
“It needed to be real, he needed to be convinced”
“I’m glad my grief was convinving” she snaps 
“I know it doens’t make sense, but I did this to keep you safe” 
“They found me anyways, how does that keep me safe?” she asks 
“They went after you because I killed one the leaders son, he saw me”
“Fuck Si” she responds 
“I never wanted this, I fucking hate how much I’ve hurt you. But I needed to make sure you were safe. That is my priority. I had no other option. I’m so fucking sorry that you’ve been hurt once again because of me. You deserve so much more”
“I understand why you did this, but I’m still furious” she admits 
“I don’t blame you. Once this is over and I know that you’re safe, you’ll never have to see me again. Just let me fix this”
“What?!” she snaps, she stands looking at him. His height nearly matching her’s as he sat on the bed staring at her. “How dare you Simon!” 
“Wha-”
“So you think that after this is over you just disappear again? Over my fucking dead body, you don’t get to leave again! We started a life together! I will never be ready to give that up! I thought you were dead for four months Simon, I wanted to die without you. Now that by some fucking mircle I have you back, you think that I’m gonna let you leave? You don’t get to make that choice for us, because I will always choose you!” 
“love”
“If you don’t love me anymore then by all means leave!” she yells, he stands to his feet staring down at her as he grips her arm “but don’t use my safety as an excuse” 
“I love you more than anything in this world, you are everything to me” he responds. His words were simple, yet there was so much meaning behind them. Simon had never been known to speak more than he had to. He had a hard time admitting his feelings, he preferred to show how much he cared through acts of service and gift giving. Words were never his strength. But she didn’t need a long monologue about how much he loved her, how much he needed her. She just had to what those simple three words. 
she surprises him by wrapping her arms around his torso. She buries her head in his chest as she tries to stifle her sobbing. Simon holds onto her tightly, hand burrowed in her hair. He backs up to the bed and sits, pulling her into him once more. She wraps her arms around his neck. 
“Fuck I missed you” he says into her shoulder
“If you ever do that to me again I will cut your dick off” she warns 
“Yes ma’am” he responds kissing her head.
ghost master list:
https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share
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little-snow · 9 months
Text
𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄
PARING - anthony lockwood x gn!reader
ONESHOT - in which you stay up waiting for lucy and lockwood to get back from a job only to find them soaked and mad at each other.
TRIGGERS - mentions of death
A/N - angst and fluff | please mind any typos or grammar errors, i am my own editor and I may not be able be able to get everything | I really don’t know how I feel about this one, i hate it but i also like it, Lockwood may be a bit OOC, so I do apologize
WORD COUNT - 3.0k
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I WAITED for them to stumble through the door, regretting my life choices.
George and I were forced to stay home since George got caught pulling two all-nighters in a row for research and I was still on lockdown from a recent injury. The worst thing about it was, they were going against a type two, alone, in the middle of nowhere. I should be there with them, at least I would be able to provide some help. It would be much better than sitting here at three am awaiting their return.
Finally, I heard the door open, followed by a slam and another reopen. Within a few seconds, I hear Lockwood yelling after Lucy. Quickly, I run from my seat in the kitchen to the main hall, trying to see what all of the ruckus was, just when I went to look at them I was met with two soaked teenagers screaming at each other. Well, Lucy screaming at Lockwood. I paused for a quick second before all my body filled with rage, the idiot fucked up again, I know it.
"Anthony, what the fuck did you do?" I yelled, drawing their attention toward me.
Lucy just looked at me, her mascara running and her eyes watering before she gave me a slight smile. Lockwood on the other hand gave me his best guilty smile knowing that I would not spare him.
"He decided to push us into a quite disgusting lake trying to get away from our dear friend Mr. Sanders, isn't that right Lockwood," Lucy's voice was laced with anger as she turned between the two of us. "Not only did I have it handled, he made me lose the source I was trying to cover, only delaying the whole thing more. Also, the lake contains really big fish that we don't even know what they were. We could have gotten eaten."
"It was smarter than you getting ghost touched, you wouldn't have been able to cover it in time, I was trying to save you, Luce.  Besides we weren't eaten."
They looked towards me as I stepped towards Lucy. I endearingly rubbed her shoulder to let her know that I was there for her and turned away from Anthony, our faces not far from one another.
"Go shower, Lucy," I spoke softly, "I will handle Lockwood and once you get I'll make sure he apologizes and I will make sure he makes your favorite teas, how does that sound?" I waited for her to nod, which took her a second, she was probably sending death glares to Lockwood. Once she did I moved my hand and turned back to Anthony. "How about we go talk in the library, yeah? Wouldn't want to wake up George."
He responded with a quick nod before moving towards the library, Lucy stood still for a second. I slowly start to follow before I felt Lucy grab my arm, forcing me to turn toward her.
"I know you like to go easy on him, but give him hell for me, please? He deserves it this time."
I smiled and nodded before turning around to go do what I do best, solve the fights and make sure everyone is happy.
I turned towards her and gave her a big smile before continuing to meet Lockwood in the library. I closed the door to see him sitting in his chair, face in his hands, shaking his head. I could see the guilt through him.
"Do you wanna tell me what happened and then I lecture you or do you wanna split up the lecture tonight?" I asked quietly, walking towards him; Pausing in front of him, I ruffled his already messy hair and took one of his hands. 
"Can we split up the lecture, please?" His voice was shaky, he felt guilty. He looked me in the eyes briefly, just slow enough I can see that they were tear lined, before turning away. 
"You know what you did was stupid. You aren't fighting me on anything. I want you to know why it is stupid though," I started, sitting down across from him, keeping his hand in mine, I slowly played with his fingers, spinning the ring over and over. "You could have gotten yourself or Lucy more hurt. You don't know what was in that lake Anthony, and I know sometimes it's hard to believe but the living can be scarier than the dead, whether it was a fish or not. It could have injured you- don't even try to argue yet, let me finish. I know that there is probably a reason for your thinking but whatever it is doesn't mean you should disregard the fact that you could have gotten more hurt. Especially if what Lucy said was true about her nearly having the source.
"I know that you care about us, but I want you to think for a second, how would you feel if Lucy never was able to walk through that door again because you made the mistake of making her swim with the fishes, metaphorically and literary. You wouldn't have lost just her, but you would have hurt George and me in unbearable ways. Why? Because you didn't think? You rushed into it like you always do. I know that sounds selfish, but you know that everything you do is to save us three. To keep us safe. Now think about it again, you were able to save Lucy but not you? What if you died? I know that you think that isn't the worst option in the world, but it is truly terrible. Those thoughts aren't true and never will be true. We would have to live, hoping that maybe you just would walk through that door one more time with that stupid little grin you do after you get us a job that is way too difficult. We love you, Lockwood, and I love you Anthony, they don't want to lose you, or Lucy. Just how you wouldn't want to lose them. I can't lose you, you are my everything, Anthony, my everything."
His eyes met mine, finally, but a few of those tears escaped. I quickly slid from my seat and kneeled on the ground, I used my free hand to whip away the tears and caress his cheek and muttered a few soft, "I'm sorry." I know it hurts him for me to see him like this, so open and vulnerable, but at the same time, he knows I would never judge him for it and that I would always be there.
"You need to start thinking more. Not just move first, questions later. You need to think, even if it was for just a second. Sometimes that may not be the best option, but in some situations it is. But before I decide if this was one of these situations, can you tell me everything that happened?" I finally asked, giving him the ability to talk openly.
He waited for a moment, causing me to fear that maybe I was a little too hard on him. Nonetheless, he started talking, slowly making sure he didn't miss a single detail.
"The job wasn't difficult at first, just the average haunting. The mansion was large but we had been able to figure out that he died on the steps into the backyard, thanks to my amazing sight. We had heard that he was haunting some of the inside but also the backyard. Just as we were trying to figure out where his source may be, it was this fishing rod thing. He was huge into catching fish. The thing was there were about twenty of them. Fifteen inside, right beside the door, and the rest outside. After we had the ones inside covered, we stayed for a bit to make sure we had the right ones. We kind of assumed we did given that they were his expensive ones. But eventually, he turned up and boy was he mad. Lucy took the silver net and ran with it outside to make sure that she covered them and after I hit him with enough salt bombs I followed her. All of a sudden, while we were on his deck he came up behind us and I was out of salt bombs, Lucy was nearly done covering the source but I thought we wouldn't have enough time so I ran into her, pushing us both off the dock and into the lake."
After he finished he looked at me with a blank stare, his eyes widening, immediately realizing what he forgot to do, try using his rapier. This was surprising given that he nearly always remembers to use it and uses it when even not needed. 
"There it is, the reason why Lucy is mad. You didn't fucking use your rapier."
"Maybe you are right, maybe I didn't have to push us in. Oh god, I am such an idiot. I have to go apologize," He scrambled to apologize, running past me as I rose to stop him. 
"Lockwood," I called after him, trying to make him realize that she was still showering. "She is still in the shower!"
Before I could reach him, I realized the water wasn't running. I looked to see that Lucy was just staring confused at Lockwood who was frantically telling her that it was his fault and he sees that now, promising to be less reckless in the future. He was also giving her his best, "Please don't leave me because I just cried about this" smile. 
"It's okay Lockwood, I realized I was overreacting a bit. You were just trying to protect us. Which wasn't the smartest of ways, but you still saved my life at the end of the day. Now can we please just admit that we aren't mad at each other so we can go to bed?" She cut him off mid-apology, her voice getting more and more quiet till she yawned at the end. "
Yeah, yeah, I am not mad at you. Goodnight, Luce," He then turned towards me, "Thank you as always, I am going to shower and then head to bed, meet me in there."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm gonna talk to Lucy for a bit in the kitchen so if I am not in bed you know where to find me," I said as he gave me a quick peck on the cheek before walking away. Turning to Lucy I smiled, "How about we go talk for a few minutes and then you can head off to bed?"
"Okay," she muttered with a smile before heading to the Kitchen.
As we reached the kitchen, Lucy went to go sit in her chair as I reached up in the cabinets to grab four hidden donuts from Arifs. The others don't know but I also keep hidden ones for my private conversations with them after long cases or me scolding them to no ends. Georges and my first were missing as we had a long conversation as soon as the other two left about his sleeping habits, I kept it short but I still managed to get in everything I wanted to say over donuts and some tea.
I put her favorite donut lightly on the plate and mine on another before smiling and turning toward her. I closed the box and left it on the counter to make sure it seemed like it was empty and I would just throw it away after, that way she didn't go to check that spot and figure out my secret, given that as of now, she thinks that I run out and get them when I think they will be needed and not that I always have them, just in case.
"Want me to put on some tea?" I placed the plate down in front of her as I questioned, she shook her head no, allowing me to sit down across from her. "Are you not mad at him or did you just say that?"
"I am not mad at him, I know he was just trying to protect us, but there were just so many ways he could have, I don't know, just he didn't have to leave us soaking in the middle of the night."
"I get it and don't worry I lectured him on that," I paused as she took a bite of her donut, taking a bite out of mine as well, "He is sorry, truly, so I am glad that you can forgive him."
We sat there for a little, finishing our donuts in silence, once she was done she had gotten up to go put her dish away but before she got the chance I told her I had it. I quickly stood up and took our plates and went to go wash them off. I smiled at her and bid her goodnight as she said it back.
I was now alone, I had time to breathe, Anthony shouldn't be out of the shower for a few more minutes so I can just breathe. 
I began to wash the plates off lightly with water and a tad bit of soap before drying them off only to fill them with more donuts, this time it was Anthony's favorite and my favorite. I put them down in front of our normal seats, his at the head of the table and mine the next closest chair, brought as close to the age as it could.
I smiled and sat down, staring at the wall. Tonight was something and it may take me a few hours to recover from all the worry, but they are safe now at home. Everyone is safe inside of 35 Portland Row and my worries can subside for a bit.
"I should've checked here first," a voice whispered, his voice.
I turned to see him in a plain white T-shirt, quite similar to the stolen one I am wearing now, and some sweats. His wet hair is laying across his forehead and little drops of water were all across his body. 
He gave me his world-famous grin before I motioned for him to sit, which he did very quickly. Once he was sitting he started eating the donut, no shock, as he refused to eat before the job, against my wishes, stating he wasn't hungry. With his other hand, he rubbed my knee up to my thigh trying to find my loose hand. When he eventually laced our fingers together and started rubbing mine in a comforting way. He could tell I was stressed and worried, always seeing right through me.
"You know, you should become a therapist or something," he started a light friendly conversation, "since you always act like ours, why not do it for others and get paid."
"I can't know, I can't continue my education, I choose to be an agent, so that is what I am now," my smile faltered for a second as I wondered if I made the right choice all those years ago when I decided to become an agent.
"Well, then maybe you will just be the agency's therapist then, I mean, you already are, but that could be like your official role other than agent," He offered, in an attempt to raise my bad mood. 
"Yeah, that sounds good, I guess," I truly did make the right choice. Because if I didn't I wouldn't be sitting here with Anthony Lockwood, eating donuts at now four in the morning about to head to bed.
We finished our donuts with a few words exchanged. I stood up and collected our plates, I wasn't going to fully wash them, I would do that in the morning, well afternoon, when I woke up. So for now the plates will sit in our kitchen sink waiting to be washed.
Before I turned around I heard light scribbles coming from Anthony. I looked and rested my elbows on his chair standing above him as he wrote a short note to George explaining that they got home late so everyone won't wake up till afternoon. 
I smiled at him once again before taking his arm and dragging him from his chair. He followed me up to his room, slowly behind me as we were both exhausted and were probably going to fall asleep as soon as we reach the bed.
I opened the door to the dark room, not even wanting to turn on a light. I let go of Anthony's arm and navigated the familiar room, and crawled into bed. He slowly got in right after me.
He laid flat on his back and put up his arms, wanting me to lay on top of him. I happily obliged. My head rested on his shoulder titled to the side as he rested his head on mine lightly. One arm fell off him and the other wrapped around and began playing with his hair. One leg was in between his and the other was laying flat on the bed. His arms were tightly wrapped around me.
He slowly kissed my head before beginning to talk, slurring his words. His voice got quieter and quieter within minutes as his breath got slower. Eventually, he just stopped talking. The word felt as if it had stopped in this peaceful moment. I know I made the right choice when I choose to become an agent, he was the best thing to come out of this. As we lay here together, finding peace in one another.
His breath lingered on my ear as I lay across his body, the smell of his body wash and shampoo filled my nose. A smile played on my lips as I played with his wet hair, twirling a few strands over and over. His arms were wrapped around me, lighter than before as by now he has completely fallen asleep. His worries drifted away as his breaths became slower and slower. My worries were now gone as he was FINALLY HOME.
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Lighter Pt.3
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TW: Mentions of injuries, swearing
Summary: So you made it through the night. Now are you gonna wake up?
Part 1
Part 2
Over the course of the next four days Ghost, and sometimes Soap, do what they can to bring you back. Soap drops off your favorite blanket, the dryer sheets you use, and your MP3 player. Sometimes, while he forces Ghost to sleep, he’ll sit with you and tell you about his day, how annoying the new recruits are, and how Brenda in HR changed her hair again. 
Ghost doesn't leave your side, even to sleep. He simply curls up in the chair until Soap leaves. He does everything he can to stimulate a normal day for you, even washing your greasy hair one night. He doesn’t say much, not like Soap does, but his presence is constant, and he hopes you can feel him. 
He’s holding your hand, nearly a week after the ‘ventilator scare’, as Soap dubbed it, when something changes. At first, he can’t figure it out, but as he scans your body he notices your eyelids are fluttering. 
He watches with bated breath as your eyes flutter open. 
“Y/N?” He whispers hoarsely, watching you squint. 
“Y/N.” He says sharply as he watches your hand come up to your face, tangling the wires. For a brief second he panics, thinking you are going to rip them out. 
“Y/N.” He says again. This time, your head turns towards him. His stomach drops as your face somehow pales even more and you start gagging. He presses the call button before carefully helping you sit up, rubbing your back as you dry-heave. 
“Sorry, I'm sorry, I’m sorry.” He whispers. His eyes flick to a glass of water that Soap had left for him and he grabs it, still supporting you with his other hand. He guides it to your lips, tipping it slowly into your mouth so you don’t choke. 
Satisfied, he slowly eases you back down, brushing your hair out of your sweaty face. 
“Simon?" Your voice is hoarse and weak and barely audible but it’s your voice. Ghost could almost cry. 
“Bloody hell Y/N. You scared me.” He murmurs hoarsely. His hands shake as he caresses your cheek with his thumb. 
“Wha’ hap…” Your voice trails off, and it scares him just a little.
“You got shot, and then, like a bloddy fuckin’ idiot, you had me cauterize it and went into shock.“You lost almost a liter of blood, and flatlined twice while they repaired your hip.” He carefully grabs your hand, minding the wires. 
“Oh.” Your response is so low he almost doesn’t catch it. But he does, and it makes him smile slightly. God how he missed you.
“Yeah, oh.” He says softly, the elation at seeing you awake quickly being replaced by guilt. He squeezes your hand, subconsciously seeking comfort. 
"How do you feel?" He brings his hand to your face, brushing your hair out of your eyes again, running his thumb under your eye. 
“T’red.” You mumble. He smiles sadly, watching as you struggle to focus on the hand on your cheek. “I bet. Go to sleep so that you can heal and I can yell at you for being stupid without feeling guilty.” He murmurs softly, hand trembling on your cheek.
The nurse finally comes in, but it is too late, you have already fallen back asleep. She checks your vitals and makes a note in your chart before exiting the room, leaving Ghost alone with your limp form. There is fear in his heart that you won’t wake up again, the only reassurance he gets is from watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, a silent but clear sign that you are still alive. 
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codfanficedits · 6 months
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One fucking mistake - Part Eight.
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader - She/her pronouns being used
Summary: Simon lost you after making a mistake on a mission.
Wordcount: 2125 | Rating: E (18+ only!)
Warnings: cussing, swearing, grieving, angst with no comfort, conversation, mentioning of memoryloss
A/N: Part eight! I had a lot of trouble starting this part. I'm a fulltime student and my classes have been kicking my ass, and I really don't want to be THAT person, but the next part might take a lil while, I'm sorry :(
Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ AO3 Link
244 days.
You finally can remember it all. How Simon begged you to come with him on this mission, something he could’ve done by himself easily, but he tried to sweettalk you, bribe you, just anything so he wouldn’t have to go alone.
And you fell for it. How could you not? After all, he promised you he’d do the dishes, and you hated doing the dishes.
You remember Simon double checking your gear, softly tugging on the bulletproof vest to make sure that it was safe and secure. He always made sure you were safe and secure, no matter what happened, Simon had made it clear that you were his number one priority. You, and you alone.
The moment of eye contact that follows after always makes your heart flutter, the little lines next to his eyes when his lips tug to a smile, it is enough to make your stomach do a million summersaults. The moment you smile, and the little apples of your cheeks start to rise, he brushes his knuckles against the sensitive skin on your face. The callouses on his knuckles was something that you always enjoyed feeling, a little routine before a mission. Something you always held dear.
It didn’t matter that he was wearing his mask on the chopper flight to the area you had to scout. You could see in his eyes how much he was smiling every time you added something on the list of dishes, the fine lines around his eyes, the sparkle in his eyes.
A gasp. “I’ll let you even wash the food dish of the cat.”
“Lovie, we don’t have a cat.” His voice sounds amused.
“Nuh uh, I’ve been feeding the strays that live just outside the base.” You protest.
“Fine, fine, fine.” It isn’t even a real protest, Simon would do anything to make you happy.
“AND.” Your voice sounds happy, as if you just got the best idea ever known to man. “You have to wear an apron.”
“An apron?”
“Yeah, I still have a pink one.”
“Fine.”
“Really?!”
“Yeah, but I’m wearing nothing underneath it.” Simon snickers.
“Deal!”
“And, you can only look but you can’t touch.” He adds.
“But that’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, lovie.”
Life indeed wasn’t fair.
Because the next thing you remember is a white flash, ringing in your ears and a lot of stumbling. A lot of pain when you tumbled down the stairs. You can remember Simon calling for you, screaming your name and you want to react, but your body doesn't allow you to.
Another loud noise, and you realise that a grenade must’ve gone off when you’re getting covered by debris.
It is dark when you wake up again, the sensation of someone tugging on your ankles is waking you up, your body hurts and you’re disorientated, your eyes flutter as you try to stay awake, as you try to grasp what has happened. The men towering over you speak a language you don’t understand, and frankly, there is nothing you understand at the moment.
Who are you? And why are you here?
One of the men pulls you up, his hands under your armpits as he drags you away, your skin is grey from the dust and debris and as your eyes finally focus you can see the fear in the eyes of the people around you.
You desperately try to remember, your brain knows there is something hidden inside, something that would explain all of it, but you can’t. You can’t seem to find the key to the door inside of you that hold all the information you need.
Your dog tags get caught on a pole of metal sticking out of the rubble, and you groan a little when it cuts off your airflow, even if it is for a brief moment. Neither you or the man carrying you realise how important those dog tags are. But of you are just focussed on getting you out of there.
Another groan when the ground gets more uneven, sharp pain being unbearable with every bump. You try so, so, so hard to stay away, but your body tries to protect you against the pain, and before you know it your eyes start to roll back, and it gets dark again.
When you wake up again, you’re in a bed, stripped of your belongings, but a variety of bandages around your limbs, a woman speaks to you in a hushed tone, but you can’t understand the language they’re speaking. A soft groan leaves your lips as you try to speak, but your throat is dry and everything hurts.
Later, you learn that you’re taken in by the local villagers, who have been tormented by the war for the longest time. The same war you and Simon participated in, the same war where you were convinced you were on the right side, only to learn that there are only losers when it comes to war.
As the universe continues your injuries start to heal, and while you still don’t speak a word of their language, the villagers are nice to you, almost as if caring for you is just what they need to take their mind of the running war in their area. You know something is missing, you can’t remember your name, age, your life, Simon. Nothing. Not an ounce of recognition when they show you your torn up uniform. Not an ounce of recognition when you hold up a mirror in front of your face.
Not an ounce of recognition when the local men are shouting against each other, and while you can’t make out what they’re saying, you know it is about you, the way they point and glare, the way they call you a fucking filthy Brit. The other half of the group of men is a lot more quiet, they plead, and you can only imagine it is for your life, yet you do not fear for it.
What is a life worth if you can’t remember it?
But they let you live, and while you’re not sure why, you end up being thankful for it. At night you always end up dreaming about the same things, it is almost like clockwork, either you dream about yourself, walking around a maze, which seems to be without end, a skull mask in the middle of the maze. You always, always wake up whenever you find the mask.
The other dreams is about a faceless man, tugging on the bulletproof vest you wore when you were found, his knuckles brushing against the apples of your cheeks. He tries to shield you before the white flash goes off, but your dreams never reveal his face to you.
One time they dragged you back to the area where they had found you, a black chopper had landed nearby and you could make out that they wanted to know if the men rummaging the area seemed familiar to you.
But they didn’t. Four tall men, and while they wore the same uniform as you, none of them rang a bell inside your mind. You shook your head, implying you didn’t know them, no matter the matching uniforms. Not even the heartbroken screams from the masked man could crack open your memories.
Looking back, when the dreams started to come, you knew you recognized the mask one of them was wearing, it was the exact same as you would always find in the maze, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the face beneath it.
Slowly, but surely small glimpses of your life started to seep into your mind again, droplets of memories coming back. The smell of oatmeal brought a snippet of your childhood back, the memories of it being breakfast, and secretly feeding a spoonful to the dog.
With every little dot you could connect to your former, came an explanation to the people around you, with a lot of gestures, and some drawing, you could get your point across.
The smell of lavender brought you back to the house of your grandma, the strong scent always lingered in her house, and if you pressed your eyes shut and let the sun settle down on your skin, you could go back to that time.
While you peel off the skin of an orange you’re hit with a new memory, your breath hitching in your throat as your mind slowly makes the memory clear. You’re peeling an orange, a large hand holding on to your thigh as you peel the fruit. “Thanks lovie.” The gruff voice sounds so clear when you remember it, as if he is in the room with you and you know that it is someone important to you, as your body warmed up when you remember his voice.
But you just remember his voice, and not his name.
It would frustrate the living shit out of you, knowing that there is so much more memories hidden away in you, and you just can’t seem to remember them. You know that there is so much more to you, yet you’re unable to discover your own secrets.
When you’re stargazing, late at night, a new memory pops up, the masked man laying next to you in the grass, while the both of you look up at the stars, in the corner of your eye you can see him takes his mask off, the balaclava being pulled up to his nose, before he leans over and presses a kiss on your lips.
The realisation dawns on you, and while you can’t remember his name, it is clear that he is important for you, that you are important to him, and a cold feeling comes over you when you realise you let him slip between your fingers just because you didn’t recognize him. A knot in your chest as you try to remember who he is, who you are, why you were wearing the uniform. Panic taking over when your mind can’t answer your questions. The knot in your chest spreads through your body and soon you find yourself unable to breathe. Short, desperate burst in which you try to suck in as many air as you can.
Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.
Fuck.
You remember, you remember walking in on him having a panic attack, you remember kneeling down to him, telling him to take a deep breathe in through his mouth, exhaling out his nose. You remember. You remember walking in on Simon.
Simon.
A loud sob leaves your mouth and your hand claws at your chest as you remember. You remember all the kisses, the three squeezes on your shoulder, or your bicep when he couldn’t tell you he loved you but still wanted you to know, you remember all the late evenings and lazy mornings.
Oh you finally remember.
Your loud sobs wake up the people who had cared for you, they’re worried and you can’t yet explain if the tears are from happiness or agony. But it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter because you finally remember. You could be described as hysterical when you point to your old uniform, back to yourself, trying to tell them that you DO remember, that you DO know who you are.
And never had you imagined how easy it would be to go back to your old life. You’d learn that you would be considered missing and killed in action for more than eight months now.
Eight months. You had missed 244 days of Simon’s life, and he had missed those days in yours.
The ambassy was kind enough to listen to your story, your fingerprints confirming your identity. K.I.A flashing the screen when they pull up your information. And you want nothing more than to go home, to feel safe in his embrace again. You’re not allowed to call him, since the two of you aren’t married he isn’t your legal contact person, and you have to wait, but you’ve waited 244 days, how much more will a few more hours hurt?
God, how you have missed him, with the returning memories, the feeling of longing for him also came back, and right now the only thing you wanted in life was to hold him again, to feel him again, to be his again.
The rest of the trip goes by fast, your mind can barely cope with the returned memories, let alone process what is happening when they put you back on a plane to your base, but you can feel the excitement, the love, oh you can feel it all.
Just like you can feel the dread seep into your bones when you see him, holding another woman’s hand.
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mar3ggiata · 16 days
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professional help, c2. preview
simon riley x original character.
abstract: this is Jude, this is a little bit of information about me since you care so much, I don't even know you… anyway yes, I really like being mysterious, what you gonna do about it, punch me in the face? I'm not even real, grow the fuck up. see ya.
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trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs, eating disorders, depression.
song to listen to when reading this: *The Chain*, Fleetwood Mac.
Sometimes, she just fucking hated her life. She supposed it was normal like that, it happened to everyone to absolutely fucking despise their lives, no? She wakes at the same hour everyday, does her makeup. Not too much, just enough so she looked like she had slept the night before. She conceals her identity under eyeliner and blush. She looks like a doll. She likes her makeup, she's quite good at it. She plays with her hairstyles, sometimes a bun, sometimes braids, sometimes loose with a headband, depending on the mood. She walks her dog and cleans his poop.
She always comes in dressed in dark colours, dark red, dark blue or black. She has 10 male patients and 8 female soldiers. Some of them are combat medics, some snipers. Demolition experts. She works till lunch time, eats alone, sometimes skips lunch just to make her body feel something and indulge in disordered eating, then goes outside to smoke and comes back in. After the afternoon sessions, she sometimes has groups together for some group therapy.
She didn't work for the entirety of 2022. She had an accident with one of the patients, classified information. She survived, but man was it hard to live after that day... Spent time with her dog, visited a friend in San Francisco, taught ballet at the local dance school. Price and Laswell felt so guilty they continued to pay her even if she wasn't working. Why she decided to come back she really didn't know. She thinks the truth is she likes helping people, makes her feel good. She liked crazy stories and she had a reputation at the base, she was starting to be respected. She craved that. And it really started to bore her, the routine. Until Arash.
She was used to raising her voice and presenting herself as stoic and cold. She knew perfectly how to be violence. She noticed a familiar face once she opened the door of the briefing room. A familiar face mask. The skull guy, she had seen him before. Was he the guy… She could't get distracted. Her little mission went smoothly. She always knew Price liked her and feared her at the same time, and when it came to his little soldier boys, she really didn't care what they thought about her. The guy from the day of her accident even spoke to her. Poor thing. She was really amused no one told him about the reason why she didn't want to go home alone. He did really good that night, she remembers him well. He didn't try to speak too much, he sounded gentle. A gentle giant. Unfortunately for him, no one was gonna tell him about that day. When she left the room, she went straight home. She doubted someone would ever contact her again about the situation, they would handle it themselves, and probably very badly.
notes: full thing on sunday!! let me know what you think <3
love, mare.
taglist:
@ummmmmwat @ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess
@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut
@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight
@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi
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artficlly · 8 months
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lady of the ghosts [chapter 7]
After a great plague ravages your city, you are looking to marry to secure safety for your people. With a war finally ending, the nearby kingdoms are looking to celebrate. King James "Bucky" Barnes decides to continue his family's tradition of hosting a courting season. A medieval courting marvel AU.
Pairing: king!bucky x lady!reader
Warnings: ANIMAL SACRIFICE, BLOOD RITUAL/MAGIC, description dead body, anxiety, doubt, funeral, cremation, mentions of sexism, angst, tension, miscommunication, mention of war, mention of plague, general assholery, bitta fluff at the end, lmk if i've missed anything
Word Count: 7.8k (eek)
A/N: me saying i want to write shorter chapters and then this happens? whoops. anyway i had a lot of ground to cover, sorry that this is rather plot/world building heavy. we are getting into the heavy romance stuff in the next couple chapters. the funeral scene has been living rent free in my mind for MONTHS so i was excited to finally write it (very midsommar core) please let me know what you think and rebblog/like! sorry for any typos - enjoy!!
chapter masterlist | main masterlist
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You could smell the sea before you saw it.
Years ago, you believed that the smell of the ocean and the briskness of the icy air would be consoling. The sight of home after all this time – the whirling mass of the city – was supposed to make you happy. But all you felt was dread. Anxiety has been building for days as you grew closer. For so many years, you had been focused on returning to this place, yet now that you were here, you didn’t know how to progress. You would still need to marry to save the city and come up with some kind of solution. Thoughts of James’ proposal still hung heavy on your mind, burden after burden becoming a crushing weight on your shoulders. 
Once your mother was put to rest, you would truly be alone. The last of a once great line, a final soldier facing down an army. A ship lost at sea during a storm. When you closed your eyes at night, you could see those enormous waves before you, impossibly large, crashing down and pushing you to the sandy ocean floor below. 
If Peggy had noticed your nightmares, she hadn’t said anything. She wouldn’t mention how you would wake in a cold sweat, arms sore and tense as you had desperately tried to claw your way to the surface. With each passing day, you grew quieter until you found no need to talk at all. Some days Steve would extract a grunt or a half-smile from you, but mostly he watched on with concerned frowns, locked in conversation with James. 
James. That was another man you had not spoken to in some time. Even the cold of the Stormfall Mountains could not compare to the chill that had grown between the two of you. That was another image that haunted you – the reluctance on James’ face when, moments earlier, you had poured your heart out to him that night in his room. Was he repulsed by you? Did he regret all the moments you shared? Had you pushed too far with your questions about Rebecca? You would never know because no words were shared between you. He pulled back, and you pulled back further, hoping to disappear into the snow and rock like a snow leopard, like a Ghost of the Mountain. 
The icy, cobbled streets of Faliene were as you remembered. They were twisted and narrow, and layers of stacked housing were featured on every street. Banners and flags were still strung between upper floors, tattered and faded as they danced in the wind. Salt crunched beneath your horse's hooves, and a biting wind blowing from the docks sank painfully into your bones. 
She was just as you remembered, but she was void. A husk of her former self, left gutted and abandoned.  
There were no markets and no travelers on the streets. Houses lay abandoned, windows and doors boarded up with the remnants of chipped red x’s painted upon them. Shipping barrels lay untouched in alleys, shops empty and rotting. City of Ghosts. How many were taken during the plague? How much death had your child's brain washed away to protect you? 
It was eerie, near silent. The only sound came from the docks, the soft lapping of the waves, the creak of the boats, and the distant chatter of sailors. So empty, so still. It was as if time had frozen and your procession was the only thing left thawed. 
Even as dread gripped your core, you couldn’t help but feel the scene was serene. In your mind’s eye you could remember people scurrying to and fro, across the streets and in and out of shops, their goods tucked under cloaks. Children running between their mother’s skirts, and horses whinnying and snorting as they navigated their way through the packed streets. You can even hear a bell chime and you turn your head to the shop next to you. The visions dissipate, and all that is left is a gray, stone storefront with a painted trident fading above the doorframe. The arctic breeze blew through your hair like icy fingers caressing your scalp. Deep in your bones, you felt it – a calling, a whisper, welcome home. 
You pulled your horse to a stop at a crossroads, a large open space near the center of the city. The view from the hill provided a clear landscape of the surrounding alleys, lanes, and the docks below, each scattering away from you like shattered glass. Up a wide, well-paved road to the right, Fort Faliene stood proudly, casting shadows on the mountain behind her.
You knew your ladies’ maids and footmen would be waiting up there, having been informed of your collective arrival. You could not bear to look at the fort for long; the ache in your heart was too strong. You were aware that without your family, the hallways would be chilly and empty, and part of you yearned to preserve those early memories, tuck them closely to your chest, and never let them go. 
Your moment of thought was broken as Steve pulled his horse to a stop beside yours, shivering as he rubbed a gloved hand over his arms. James remained nearby, close enough to listen but not close enough to be part of your conversation. 
“When you said it would be cold, I did not think it could get any worse than those mountains.” Steve mutters through clattering teeth. You bite back a smile, glancing back to watch as the carriages carefully roll closer over the grit and ice. 
You were minutes away from Fort Faliene, the place you were raised and called home. Yet a part of you felt content to stay frozen atop your horse. A large serpent had crept its way under your skin, twisting, biting and squeezing your insides until you were left breathless. You were not ready to face those halls yet. Would you ever be? 
“I need you to lead the carriages up to Fort Faliene. It’s up the road to your right, follow it to its end. The staff will show you to your rooms.” You finally speak for the first time in days, watching in your peripheral vision as both Steve and James’ faces morph into looks of confusion. 
“Why, where are you going?” Steve asks, but you don’t respond.
Your tongue is heavy in your mouth and you fear tripping over your words. Instead, you nudge your horse into a trot, following the winding path down to the docks. If the two men were confused or called after you, you don’t hear it. Your focus is entirely on the docks below. Before you entered that Fort, the place where your father had died, you needed a moment alone with the waves and the wind. 
The sailors had eyed you suspiciously as you walked to the water's edge, sand crunching beneath your boots. The men were bulky and decorated with tattoos and scruffy beards. The stench of fresh fish was overpowering but familiar; the sailors were using rigging and rope to haul the barrels from the docks. You had tried to pay them no mind as they paused their hauling, their kohl-lined eyes narrowing as they inspected your every move. 
They didn’t recognize you, which you quickly realized. They had every reason to be cautious of an unknown noblewoman invading their space. But you did not wish to disturb them however; you just wanted a moment to breathe.
You peeled off your gloves, tucking them into your pocket as you crouched down next to the surf. The icy water stung as it rushed over your fingers, your bones aching with the chill. You did not submit to the cold, instead exhaling sharply as you tried to imprint that sensation in your mind forever. As a child, you played in these waters, barefoot and fearless. The possibility that those were your last happy memories and that everything could disappear in a matter of seconds was something you had not thought about at the time. 
“Excuse me, Miss, are you lost?” A thick, northern accent calls out to you from the docks. A younger man stood, peering over at you. You didn’t recognize him, but you could tell he was around your age. He wasn’t as muscled and rugged as the other sailors – fresh meat, you assumed. 
You didn’t reply instantly, instead withdrawing your numb fingers from the lapping waves with a short sigh. You rubbed your fingers together, feeling the salty moisture between your skin, before turning to walk back onto the docks. 
“If you’re here for the funeral, Fort Faliene is back up–” The man began once more, but you waved your hand with a half-smile and cut over him. 
“I’m not lost, just taking the air.” You clarified, pausing before him. Despite the chill, he only wore a thick woolen shirt and pants, which seemed to feature some holes that had been stitched with patches of mismatched fabric. Your eyes swept down to his shoes, noting the scuffs. Time had been hard on Faliene, maybe more so than you realized. The man sheepishly ducked his head, avoiding your gaze. His short hair was tousled by the wind, and a faint odor of fish was surrounded him. 
“Oh, I–” the young man stumbled over his words, as if unsure of how to react. 
Before he could gather himself, a gruff voice sounded from behind him. “It’s not safe on the docks, Miss.” 
That was a lie; you knew it. The docks were always safe, and children would often play in the water while their parents worked. You knew it was rather that they didn’t want you here, a stranger in their home. Falieneans had never been the most hospitable and were incredibly superstitious. The eyes that met you as you glanced up were cold and uninviting. If you had not known the man behind those eyes, you might have felt uncomfortable under his gaze. But you did know him; you had known him since you were a child. 
There was little difference from how you remembered him; maybe his beard had grown more gray and his face more wrinkled. Brannigan, Master of the Docks. His assistance in overseeing the sailors and the boats made him a close friend of your father. But from the icy tone and the distant look in his eyes… he did not recognize you. 
“No need to fret, Brannigan, I will be out of your way soon.” You hummed to the muscled, older man. You watched as a flicker of surprise crossed his face, his eyebrows twitching upward. He looked at you, truly looked. His gaze turned from frigid to something more analytical. You didn’t speak as he stared, his eyes darting from the silver rings on your fingers, the trident necklace at your neck, and the way your hair was braided. 
You watched as he slowly understood who you were, a glimmer of familiarity crossing his features. You could not blame him; the last time he saw you, you were a child. And now you were here, returning as a woman. 
But as quickly as that familiarity crossed his face, it was gone, once again replaced with an indifferent gaze. 
“I was sorry to hear about your mother, My Lady.” Brannigan finally spoke. His words did nothing to quell the gnawing anxiety in your stomach as you picked up on the bitterness of his tone. The sweet man you had once known was gone in that moment, replaced with something hardened and apathetic. 
You kept your face straight as your eyes found the sailors, all of whom had paused their duties to watch the interaction with their own hardened stares. There was no joy or spark of excitement to see you. Their lady finally returned, and they were filled with resentment. 
They were angry with you. 
You nodded stiffly at Brannigan, meeting his eye once more. “Thank you. I am just glad to see her returned to Faliene.” 
Brannigan gave you his own rigid nod in return, a hum grumbling in his chest. The ache in your own chest continued to grow, the imagined serpent squeezing tighter until you nearly forgot how to breathe. You could understand why they were angry; they had been abandoned in their time of need. For the years that your mother was ill, money and trade grinded nearly to a halt with no one to oversee the paperwork. Those duties were supposed to fall to King Harrison, who failed to do so once the war began. 
And now those duties would fall to your future husband, if he decided to make it worth his time. 
The Falieneans must have been aware of your situation and that of your mother. They must have been familiar with the intricacies of politics and war, but they had come to despise you. They assumed you were spoiled at Haiford Castle, and they were starving. You could see the hunger that clung to them, the holes in their clothes, and the weariness in their bones. You were stuck between two worlds, one of which considered you too northern, while the other considered you too southern. 
“We had hoped for news of a marriage.” Brannigan spoke once more, his words being the final nail in the coffin. There it was – the hatred, the bitterness, and the loathing. You let out a sharp breath through your nose, trying to ignore the bile rising in your throat. 
You felt the urge to explain, to pull apart all that had happened in your absence and lay it bare. You wanted them to understand that you did care and that you weren’t some foolish little girl. You wanted to explain the Rumlow problem, the relationship forming between you and James, and the older lords who simply wanted more children and not a ghost city–
But you didn’t. It wasn’t right. 
Instead, you held it close to your chest and plastered on a small, brittle smile. “I had hoped so too.”
You quickly bid them farewell and walked stiffly back to your horse, hoping they had not noticed how badly your hands shook. 
By the time you were walking through the front doors of Fort Faliene, you were sick with anxiety. A cold sweat had begun to form under your layers of clothing, and a sore ache was developing in your stomach. It took all your strength not to let tears slip on the ride back up the hill; that would have to wait until you were alone. Thankfully, it did seem like you were. Since there was no carriage, luggage, or guests in sight, the ladies’ maids and footmen must have shown the traveling party to their rooms. 
The dark wood floors and stone walls were just as you remembered, with deep azure rugs, paintings, and banners lining the walls. A grand staircase stood before you, with blue-stained rope twisted around the bannister as decoration. Old netting hung from the upper levels, with seashells and driftwood intertwined to look like fish. 
The scent was what hit you the most – something indescribable but specific to your childhood. Your heart squeezed as you noticed the rocks and seashells lining the windowsills, the bookshelves stuffed full of books, and the unique knick-knacks your father had once collected. 
“You look like shit!” A voice called down from the staircase. You glanced upward, unable to hold back the smile that grew on your face. A young redheaded woman stood half-way up, grinning back at you. You knew she had never been one to consider her words before speaking. It was probably one of the reasons you two had grown so close during your childhood. She probably wasn’t wrong either; you imagined the stress and travel and had made you a bit haggard. The ache in your chest eased at finally seeing a familiar face who didn’t hate you immediately.
“Nice to see you too, Wanda.” You called back up to her, and she bounded down the stairs. Her skirts bounced and swirled around her legs, and you were only able to let out a soft ‘oof’ noise as she bowled into you. Her arms wrapped around you as she pulled you in for a hug, the strands of her hair tickling your cheek as she rested her chin on your shoulder. 
You resisted the urge to inhale her scent, instead winding your own arms around her form as you hugged her back tightly. Another piece of home. 
Wanda’s mother had been your mother's maid. You had run rampant through the halls of Fort Faliene, causing chaos and stealing food from the kitchens. The two of you would gossip and play along the docks, balancing on the wooden railings and softly singing Falienean folk songs. Wanda, like you, had grown into a woman since you had last seen her; in fact, she was a few inches taller than you now. Unlike you she had received her coming-of-age tattoos: a line on her chin and swirling patterns and runes across her fingers, hands, and forearms. 
“You smell like horse.” Wanda comments in her dry, northern accent, wrinkling up her nose as she pulls away. You roll your eyes at her in return, allowing her to take your cloak into her hands. It seemed she had followed her mother's profession, becoming a maid for your family, though you could not say what duties she would have had in your absence. 
“Travelling does that, I’m afraid.” You state as you walk up the stairs. They were the same dark color as the floors, with a cerulean blue runner down the center. The stairs reached a landing and split into two sets, which led to different sides of the balcony that overlooked the entrance. 
“I trust the pass wasn’t too terrible to travel?” Wanda hummed as she followed you.
“It was fine. I couldn’t say that same for the guests though; but we all know traveling that pass is the initiation process to see who will survive the chill.” You reply, and Wanda snickers softly in response. 
You paused briefly on the landing, straining your neck to look at the large portrait that hung overlooking the space. An oil painting of your mother and father after their wedding, smiling happily in their dress and suit. Your mother wore the heirloom necklace you had worn to the ball – layers of pearls and seashells – and seeing it now left you feeling uneasy. 
“It’s creepy having them watching.” Wanda admits from beside you, and you bite the inside of your cheek, tearing your eyes away. Living within these walls must have been unsettling after the plague, having to grow accustomed to the eerie silence that smothered the city. 
“I imagined these halls would feel… wrong without them, but it’s just as I remember.” You utter back, turning to face the next set of stairs. You see Wanda smile sadly from behind her hair, her own eyes briefly looking back at the portrait before following you. 
“You sound like one of them now, your accent is all strange.” Wanda observes as the two of you ascend. 
“I do not.” You grumble, and Wanda gives you another beaming smile, a teasing one. 
“Who would’ve thought? I remember when we would curse the bastards while throwing stones off the dock! My Lady, a proper southerner, how wrong is that?” She mocks, and you visibly cringe, scoffing. 
“Don’t say that, I’m already having a terrible day–” You begin with a groan, your head leaning back as you look at the high ceiling. 
“I take it the docks didn’t go well?” Wanda interjects; she is still smiling, but you can sense the uncertainty in her tone. 
You bite back a sigh. You don’t question how she already knew you had gone down there. She probably guessed you had the moment you didn’t turn up with the main party. Even as a child, you had the tendency to slip away to the shoreline, and your mother was often exasperated by your avoidance of important dinners. The two of you had treated the waters like a safe haven, a place you could disappear and cause havoc.
You chewed on what had happened down at the docks, debating if it was worth bringing up your worries to Wanda. You had been close friends once, and you hoped time had done nothing to ruin that bond between you. “Brannigan seems to have become bitter in his old age–” 
“Don’t listen to that idiot.” Wanda interjects once more, her tone irritated, and you bite your tongue.
From her reaction, your assumptions are correct. The cold stares were purposeful; there was distrust and unease spreading through your beloved home. Your people were angry with you because of things you could not control and because of things they could not know. They felt abandoned by your mother and, in turn, by you. Your one duty was to marry and provide security, but it seemed you had failed even that. A part of you felt like a fool for assuming they would welcome you with open arms. 
If only your mother had not grown sick, if only the lords of the continent were not pigs in fancy dress, if only James was not in debt to Haiford... You could list so many reasons to feel sorry for yourself, yet you were still stumped for solutions. You were still in the midgame, hesitantly moving pieces as you tried to fix everything. 
Maybe you were just a foolish girl after all.
“What if he is right?” You mumbled, assuming that Wanda had heard whatever grievance the sailors had with you. 
“About what?” 
“About me? I get the feeling that he does not approve of me as a lady, like I am somehow sabotaging Faliene. All the sailors hate me, he must be muttering things in their ear. He had the gall to bring up my lack of marriage prospects in front of all of the men.” You groan as you look down at your feet in defeat.
Wanda lets out an annoyed hiss, rolling her eyes while her shoulders tense. “Brannigan has been muttering about change for years now, he’s just too much of a pussy to do anything about it beyond bitching and moaning to anyone who will–”
Wanda's words stopped abruptly as you rounded the corner onto the balcony. You look up from your feet to see why. Steve and James linger by the banisters, trying to seem like they hadn’t watched and listened to the whole interaction unfold below them. Steve turns his back, as if trying to hide his face from you. Your lips press into a fine line, James’ gaze burning on you as always. 
“I keep forgetting we have company for once.” Wanda mumbles under her breath to you, and you shake your head, pulling your gaze away from the two Galantians as they intensely try to make themselves look busy or distracted. 
“Don’t worry, they won’t say anything.” You murmur back. “In fact, they will probably find it funny.”
“You know them well, then? It seems I have missed a lot.” You don’t miss the teasing tone and can only muster a low groan in reply. 
Wanda giggled softly in your ear, linking your arms together as you walked past James and Steve. She offers the two men a curt bow of her head, while your gaze remains fixed strictly ahead. The last thing your anxiety needed was the two men meddling with your emotions. 
“I had you moved into your parents' old room, I hope you don’t mind.” Wanda mentions as you reach the end of the balcony, turning down one of the long corridors that lead to the main wing. “The rest are in the guest wing.” 
“Were my parents' belongings removed?” You ask cautiously, following the familiar path down the halls and up a spiraling staircase. 
“Some of your fathers were after... but most of it remains the same. I can have them removed, if you like?” 
“No, leave them. I just... hoped that they hadn’t been discarded.” You admit sheepishly, and Wanda gives you another one of her sad smiles. 
You were eager to dismiss Wanda once you arrived in your parents old room, wanting a moment alone. Although some spaces remained empty where you knew your father's belongings would have been, it was mostly the same as you remembered. 
It seemed to have been regularly cleaned and dusted, with a new set of sheets and furs atop the bed. One of your father's many bookshelves stood against the wall, half empty. Your mother’s vanity lay mostly bare, with the exception of some shells you had gifted to her as a child. 
Tears pricked your eyes at the sight of the half-empty closet. You ran your fingers through the fabric of your mother’s old gowns, left behind as you two fled to the capital. Beyond the lingering scent of dust, you could still make out the faint smell of her floral soap and perfume clinging to the fabric. 
You could not stand to look at your mother’s crafts which still decorated the room. Cushions embroidered, the fabric and thread faded by the sun. Even the large lace doilies remained draped over the bedside tables. You wondered how many pieces of her craft still lay unfinished in your dowry chest. You recalled your mother handcrafting your wedding veil not long after your eighth birthday. 
With a hard swallow, you kick off your boots and curl up sideways on the bed, staring up into the canopy. Only then do you allow the tears to flow. 
The drums began at dawn. They started out low and distant, and it was not until the sun started to rise higher over the waters that they picked up speed, rumbling and thundering down the streets. Faliene came to life for the first time in years, her heart beating so quickly that it drowned out the sound of the waves crashing on the shore. 
The final traveling party had arrived the night before, after a week or so of traversing the mountain pass. Families had descended from the Stormfall Mountains, and sailors had returned from the open ocean, their beards frozen and their skin chapped. Today was your mother's funeral. You needed to be strong.  
The crowd congregated on Caloe Peak, a small outcropping of land close to the fort. An open, level landing was surrounded by mounds of snow. At its center lay the funeral pyre, wood logs stacked to hip height with your mother's body atop. The stiff, pale limbs of your mother were clasped at her chest. An assortment of flowers, shells, and rocks formed an outline around her body. Her long, dark hair spread out beneath her, giving her a small, sickly appearance. In spite of that, she finally appeared at peace.
You stood near the back, your cloak obscuring your form and your hood pulled back to hide your face. The crowd had not yet become aware of your presence. Instead, a knot in your stomach tightened as you considered the situation in front of you. 
The Falieneans and the visitors made up two groups within the crowd. In contrast to the Haifordians and Galantians, who appeared more uncertain, the Asgardians appeared at ease and unfazed by the situation in front of them. James was standing at the front of the group, his eyes sweeping the Falienean women as if he were looking for you. 
Beside a flaming torch, Priest Helman stood. He was an older man, balding with a salt and pepper beard. He had numerous tattoos on his body, and below each of his eyes, kohl was drawn in a line. Rither and Arthard, his acolytes, stood beside him, attempting to control a rambunctious, wild mountain goat that had been captured and brought down from the mountains.
Only as you expertly weaved your way through the crowd did the Falienean’s pause their murmuring. Your heavy cloak dragged across the icy ground, and the material was soiled and damp. The fabric itself was embroidered with swirling runes and designs, which served as spells of protection, and the edges were trimmed with a thick, heavy coat of fur. It was critical that you remained strong and protected in preparation for the ritual. Falieneans believed that spirits hung close when a funeral was near, and it was hard to predict if a spirit was friend or foe. 
As you paused in front of Priest Helman, a heavy silence fell over the clearing, the drums falling silent for the first time in hours. Brannigan could be seen in your peripheral vision, his face as cold as ever, arms crossed over his chest. This funeral was a test in many ways, not only in terms of your strength as a daughter but also as a leader. Brannigan hung near the crowd of guests, assuming the role of explaining the significance of each part of the ritual. 
Helman reached out with wrinkled fingers, carefully removing the hood from your head before wordlessly unclasping your cloak. You wore a simple black dress with short sleeves that exposed your arms and shoulders to the chill. Helman murmured a brief prayer under his breath, and you felt goosebumps spread across your skin. 
“It is believed by our people that when there is a funeral, spirits linger. Until it can be freed by fire, the soul of the deceased is imprisoned inside the body. The women can see and feel the spirits, so it is their purpose to protect the soul so it does not become another spirit, trapped between worlds.” Brannigan’s rough voice explained, and the crowd hesitantly hummed in response. 
You continued to move through the motions of the ritual as he spoke. Having observed and participated in numerous funerals in your youth, you knew every step by heart. Getting down on your knees, you encircled the mountain goat's face with your hands, gently hushing it as it wriggled in your hold. You could see the whites of its eyes and the split pupil darting around in fear. As you caressed the goat's face with your fingers and muttered a silent plea, Rither and Arthard kept the animal still. 
“Give us strength, little one.” 
The animal jerks under you, its scream of pain cut short as Helman swiftly runs a knife along its throat. Blood spills down the goat's neck, dripping into a large wooden bowl below. With the goat's knees buckling, you move with it, stooping lower to the ground. You mutter soothing words as its eyes roll back in terror and its chest heaves. Only as its body grows still, slumping to the ground fully, do you withdraw your fingers from its coarse coat. 
“The women must dance around the body, creating a wall to keep the spirits away. The closest living relative must lead the dance, it is their duty to stay dancing until all the other women have fallen and the body is burnt to ash.” Brannigan continues to explain as you carefully close the eyes of the goat.
Some of the men advance, picking up the body and dragging it out of the clearing. The carcass would be delivered to the kitchens, where it would be prepared for the subsequent feast. Slowly, you rise once more, an arctic breeze caressing your skin as you lock eyes with Priest Helman. 
Rither and Arthard take the bowl of thick, crimson blood, pouring a small pitcher of salt water in. Their hands reach into the mixture, swirling and mixing it until the liquid is smooth. Their hands extend and lather the mixture along your arms, upper chest, and neck, sending a chill down your spine. The layer is warm at first, then quickly grows cold under the frigid breeze blowing from the ocean. 
“What is the blood for, then?” You hear one of the guests ask as you flex your fists, exhaling sharply as Rither and Arthard move on to the crowd of women. The mixture is slick against your skin, droplets pooling in your palm and cleavage as you find your position next to the funeral pyre. 
“For strength. The essence of the animal will give the women the strength to continue on, the ritual can last for hours or days. The leader needs the most strength, so she is given the most essence.” Brannigan continues to explain. You watch as the women of Faliene line up, allowing Rither and Arthard to flick blood onto their faces. 
“And what happens if she falls before the others?” The familiar voice of Prince Michael asks, and you don’t have to look up at him to hear the sneer in his voice. 
“Then her mother’s soul is lost forever.” Brannigan says, and you swallow hard. You doubted Brannigan would hold you in much respect if you failed or gave in to weakness. 
Around the pyre, the women slowly start to join you, forming several layers of close circles. The young and elderly occupied the outer ring farthest from the pyre, while you stood in the one closest to it. Those who were most likely to fall first would be on the outer rings, while the strongest were in the middle as a final defense against the spirits. 
As Helman moves through the rings holding a blazing torch, silence descends once more. The dry brush comes to life in vibrant orange and yellow hues as the pyre ignites. Helman pulls away from the circle, the wood crackling and smoke filling your nostrils. Only when you give a small nod do the drums start once more. 
Your ring started dancing to the right as soon as your hands were linked to the women next to you, while the next ring started dancing to the left. You envisioned it from above to resemble a swirling mass of skirts, with each ring moving in a different direction in time with the beat. 
Your circle drew inward, tighter, and nearer to the flames as you whirled around the pyre. You could feel the heat licking at your skin. Relief was quick as you pulled outwards again, arms stretching out as far as they could go until interlocked hands were ripped apart. You all spun in place three times, then moved toward the fire again, hands interlocking as you continued to spiral in the opposite direction, pulling in and out like a beating heart. 
It was easy to fall into a trance, only focusing on your breath, where your feet fell, the heat of the fire, and the smoke in your lungs. The crowd of people became a blur; there were only you and the fire now. You could not see the Haifordian’s sneers, James’ heated gazes, or Brannigan's cold stares anymore; you were alone with the spirits now. 
It didn’t take long for the first to stumble and drop out, mostly younger children and the elderly, as the pace became too much to follow. You could taste copper in your mouth; your breathing was ragged; and a layer of sweat was growing across your skin. Even if the air burned with each gulp you inhaled, you felt alive. The women who stood on the edges began to sing Falienean folk songs along with the drums, swaying in place as they silently encouraged those still dancing. You could’ve sworn in your daze that you saw the spirits hovering – translucent and frightening with crooked smiles and long talons. 
You did not notice as the sun arced further into the sky, then back down to earth. You did not even notice as the crowd began to thin, guests abandoning their posts in favor of sleep as the sun was replaced by the moon. As time continued to pass, you became one with the drums and fire, your limbs aching with each step. 
Briefly, you jolted and stumbled as the woman beside you fell to her knees, a nearby man dragging her out before she was trampled by the dancers. The fire had begun to grow cold; the roaring flames had turned to crackling embers. Even as the smoke cleared and you were only left with the icy winds that burned your lungs, you did not fall. 
One by one, the dancers grew tired, falling to their knees, limp and exhausted. The once-slick blood that had layered your bare skin had begun to crack and peel, with some sections smudged by the sweat that had gathered. The sun began to rise once again, its warm rays of light a welcome gift for your stiff, exhausted body. 
The crowd grew in size once more, with guests gathering as they sensed the dance was nearing its end. Across the ashes was Wanda, and the two of you locked into a silent stare as you continued to dance. You could see her movements were growing sluggish; she was beginning to trip over her own feet as she fought to stay upright. 
Through your haze, your reactions slowed as Wanda finally fell, her knees biting painfully into the frozen earth below. You staggered as you came to a stop, your chest heaving and your legs trembling. Wanda’s hands dug into the frozen mud, a small sob escaping her as the exhaustion and pain took over her frame. 
Your body did not feel like your own as you walked slowly towards her, your lungs burning as you cocked your head to one side. You could not crouch down beside her out of fear of not being able to get up yourself. Instead, you extended your hand, using the last of your might to pull her to her feet and into a brief embrace. 
“Savor your strength.” Wanda choked into your ear, tears still trailing down her pale face. “Your journey is not over yet.” 
You crouched by the waters edge, scooping handfuls of the arctic waters onto the exposed sections of skin to scrub away the blood and ash. it stung your flesh and left an ache in your bones. Your legs were still shaking from exhaustion as you knelt by the water's edge. The crowd had dispersed, and they were now returning to Fort Faliene for the eagerly anticipated feast. 
Even though the last few steps of the funeral ritual were simpler to complete, they still required all of your remaining energy. You were expected to gather handfuls of your mother's ashes, and place them inside a small ceramic urn. The ashes had still been warm as you collected them with your bare hands, with bone and rock hidden within. The last of the ashes that could not be stored within the urn would be spread at sea by the next boat to depart. 
After gathering the ashes, you walked down to the docks and got onto a rowboat, which ferried you to the Island of Tilla. Tilla was for the dead. The living were only allowed to step foot on the Island to bring the dead to their resting places. The only exception was the winter equinox, when Falieneans celebrated their ancestors. 
You had only visited the crypts a few times in your life; the dark, icy, winding stone corridors had terrified you as a child. Now, as an adult, it intrigued you. You found yourself examining the urns of your ancestors, your fingers tracing over the damp stone shelves and engravings. 
Your exploration was only interrupted when you came across the well-known urn of your father, where you ran your fingers along the dust-covered blue ceramic. You placed your mother’s urn next to him, uttered your prayers, and returned to the surface. 
Even though the cold made your hands and body tremble, you persisted in washing the final remnants of the ritual off your skin. You knew that if you took a bath, you would fall unconscious in the warm waters before you were able to attend the feast. So, instead, you opted for the more painful solution – shocking your system awake with the icy sea water. As usual, the ocean wind was biting, cutting deep into your bones until even your core felt frozen. 
“You look like you need this.” A familiar, deep voice spoke from behind you. You whirled your head around, your eyes snapping to where James stood, extending a heavy cloak for you to take. Your legs wailed in protest as you stumbled to your feet and gratefully buried your hands in the plush furs that trimmed the edges.  
“I take it that you’re talking to me again, then?” You grumble at the King, maybe a little too aggressively, “You haven’t spoken to me since the pass,” you clarify at his bemused head tilt.
As you sweep the cloak over your shoulders shuddering while clasping it in place, James rubs his stubbled jaw in contemplation. Only as you pull the fabric closer to your body with a content sigh do you notice the scent. James’ scent. Your eyes flicker over him briefly, now noticing the glaringly obvious lack of a cloak around his own shoulders. 
“I wasn’t ignoring you.” He finally speaks up. “I was waiting until you came to me.”
You give a long and hard stare, trying to hold still as the shivers continue to grip your body beneath his cloak. You clutch the cloak closer to yourself as a gust of glacial air blows straight through you. James seems mostly unbothered by the cold, with only a tinge of pink to his ears and nose. His clothing was thick and expensive, mostly sparing him from the chill.
“I don’t understand.” You finally say, your voice strained as you try not to let your teeth chatter. James lets out a long sigh, motioning you away from the water that laps around your boots as the tide pushes up the shore. 
“You seemed… troubled. I understand what it is like to have anxieties about your people and their expectations of you. I thought it better if I allowed you some space to mull it over and be with them.” He explains, gently taking hold of your forearm through the cloak as he leads the both of you off the sandy shore and back onto the docks. Your calves are relieved to be on solid ground once more, no longer fighting against the shifting sands.
“Oh.” Is all you can mutter, your fatigued brain working twice as hard to digest the information it was given. “I thought… I thought you were upset with me for prying about Rebecca that night.”
“What?” James half-barks, bewildered by your assumption.
You furrow your eyebrows. Did he not… remember that night? Your tone is confused as you speak up. “That night when I came to your room because Steve and Peggy were... We spoke of the past, I thought I had upset you or somehow overshared–”
“Why would you think that?” He questions, his tone equally as confused.
You halt your walking, chewing the inside of your cheek with a sigh as you try to decide if your worries are worth divulging. It seemed that James was trying to be more thoughtful than you initially assumed; had you let your anxieties build until you constructed a fantasy in your mind?
“Because... because I reached out for you and then Steve walked in and you wouldn’t even look at me, it was like you were disgusted by me or–” Your words fade off as James looks at you hard, and then, to your surprise, he laughs. He actually laughs.
You feel like recoiling, maybe even crying, but then he closes the distance between you, pulling you into his arms. In your weariness you don’t protest, instead you lay your head against his strong sternum. Below your ear, his chest rumbles with a chuckle before giving way to a short sigh as he brushes his fingers through your wind-blown hair. Some of the braids had come loose during the dance, and you could only assume it smelled of smoke. 
“I couldn’t look at you because I knew I wouldn’t have been able to control my actions.” He admits it hesitantly, and your attention perks up at that. “If Steve hadn’t walked in... I would have kissed you right there on the spot.”
“James–” You mutter in astonishment, pulling back your head as you look up at him. His own head dips, his nose ghosting along your jaw and neck as he begins to mumble his next words to you. It was as if a tightly coiled rope had finally snapped within James, his touch and words were suddenly insatiable, as if any sense or sensibility had been unbridled. Your body shivers, this time not from the cold.
“You drive me mad. I am sick with madness for you. I can’t look at you because I can’t control my thoughts. I lay awake at night thinking of you, your scent, and the way you feel. Every day on that damn mountain, I would look at you and imagine how you would taste, how you would react to my touch, the sounds you would make. Do you understand? You’ve intoxicated me, you’ve possessed my mind, body, and soul with desire.” His voice is husky as he speaks, desperate and ravenous as his fingers grasp at your waist tightly and his lips graze across your neck. 
Arousal pools in your gut, and your legs feel even weaker than before. You whimper softly at his words. Your hands make a fist around the fabric of his shirt, holding on desperately in the hopes that your knees won’t fully buckle. 
“That is why I distanced myself, I knew it was unfair to burden you with such thoughts while you were in mourning and planning the–”
“James.” You cut him off. Your voice is strained, your mind is dizzy and delirious from his scent and touch. Somehow finding the strength, you lift one of your hands and gently caress his face with your thumb. “I feel the same way.”
The grin that he gives you is nearly enough to knock you off your feet once more. If it weren’t for the lingering fear that someone was watching this very public display, you would have stood on your toes to kiss him. You would’ve let him consume you whole. 
Unfortunately, the sensible part of your brain knew better, or rather, thankfully, because right on cue, Steve and Wanda rounded the corner of the docks. The two seemed to hesitate for a moment, noticing the proximity at which you both stood. A short, sharp sigh escapes your nose as you glance between Steve, Wanda, and James. 
Reluctantly, you pull back, instantly missing the warmth of his touch. Even from a distance, you can see the wide grin that both Steve and Wanda sport. You expected a lengthy integration when you were next alone with Wanda. 
“I think you need to fasten a bell on Steve.” You mumble lowly, and James chuckles, briefly rubbing your back before once again gently leading you up the docks. 
“He does have a way of interrupting us, doesn’t he?”
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joonslfttiddie · 3 months
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Chapter 40: Little Bit...
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💜Fic Pairing: OT7 x OFC
💜AU/Genre: Reverse Harem/Polyfidelity/Ghosts/AMBW
💜Warnings: Smut/Stalking/Minor injury (Blood)
💜Rating: MA
💜Word Count: 4,404
Chapter 40
Jimin’s POV
“There she is. Baby, are you okay?” Jungkook asks, jumping up from where he was seated at the island, looking relieved.
“Yes, I’m fine. I’m so sorry if I worried you.”
“Yeah, we were a little shaken at the intensity of your emotions, but we knew you were meditating and tapping in, so we didn’t want to disturb you,” I explain.
“Intense isn’t the word. The heatedness made me jump out of bed. I woke up in a puddle of sweat,” Jungkook added.
“I’m so sorry,�� Tia apologizes for waking him, and Jungkook wraps her in his arms.
“Don’t apologize for that. You’re still getting the hang of all of this. I was about to get up anyway. I missed you too much.”
Namjoon and Taehyung join us from the media room to check on Tia.
“I’m not gonna lie, I did peek down at you after the heat subsided but you were sleeping,” Namjoon admits.
“Wow, this is wild. My session did get very stifling, and it felt like fire was running through my veins,” she says as Jungkook is releasing her from his embrace, only for me to take her into my own arms. “I couldn’t take it anymore and had to tap out,” she admitted, looking deflated.
My heart aches for her, but I don’t know how to help her or even if I can. She’s mentioned that this is a journey she must walk alone. When she looks up at me, I rub her cheeks, and smile lazily and she returns it.
“It’s okay, beautiful. It’s okay,” is all I can think to say in hopes to keep her encouraged.
When we all move to sit at the island, but I grab a cold water from the fridge before taking a seat, sliding the bottle to Tia. She thanks me and gulps it down quickly. So much so that Taehyung gets up to grab her another. We sit here for a little over an hour and ask her tons of questions, being extremely curious about her experience. She tells us all about it and answers our many inquiries.
Since this is the first opportunity that we are all here with no obligations, we decide to make and enjoy dinner together before having a night of drinks, karaoke, and video games. Any problems or stress is the last thing on our minds as we sing and dance the night away.
I may have had one drink too many, just a bit past my limit, because I’m damn near falling asleep when it’s just a little past midnight. Laying across the couch, I watch as Tae and Jungkook finish their last game, and Tia is straddling Namjoon on the chair in the corner. I may be lit, but I see the guys catching glances, taking their eyes from the TV screen every now and then. Even over the sound of the game, I can hear the smacking of Tia’s lips against Namjoon’s, which forces a smile on my face. I think it’s safe to assume that Tia hasn’t found out how to shut off transmitting or how to control broadcasting her feelings to us. She is obviously turned on and wants Namjoon badly because my dick is hard as fuck. Taehyung and Jungkook look at each other, trying not to laugh, as they move to adjust themselves in sync.
“I need you right now,” I can vaguely make out her voice from across the room. She stands and takes Namjoon’s hand, leading him up the stairs.
“Fuck! That was strong!”
“Man, what?! I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard in my life,” Taehyung answers Jungkook.
“I hope Namjoon is ready. It seems like it’s going to be a long night,” I mention to the guys. 
Tia’s POV
My heart pounds in my chest, the excitement and need to be conquered by him taking over my system. We can’t get each other’s clothes off fast enough, ripping, pulling, and tossing clothes around the room carelessly. We make it to the bed, which is illuminated by the moonlight through the window, where he helps me to lie down gently before kneeling between my open legs. My body is quivering with the anticipation of our first time together. Also, the length of him that I felt while straddling him may be adding to it. 
He dips his head to get a taste of my essence but I grab his ears, stopping him, unable to wait. I need him inside of me.
“I want you,” I say to him.
“You have me…all of me,” he says, his warm breath against my thigh.
“I need you inside of me.”
“Is this you asking nicely? I think you can do better than that, don’t you?” Namjoon starts to play, collecting the wetness between my lips and rubbing his digits along my slit.
My mouth falls open as his hands are finally touching me where I need him most. He slides two fingers into me and finds that spot instantly, caressing it slowly. I’m still holding on to his ears but the pull is no longer there. A moan forms in my throat and escapes my lips without permission.
“I will give you whatever you want, Little Bit, all you have to do is ask nicely,” he taunts and sits up, releasing his ears from my grip. He digs deeper into my pussy and watches. The way that he’s observing me is like an artist viewing their art, looking for ways to tweak something here and there to make it perfect. He takes notice of my expressions, how my body moves, and how my nails are digging into his wrist. 
“Ummm, please,” is all I can give him right now. I’m so horny, and his fingers inside of me feel too good. I can feel myself leaking into his palm. I’m close.
Namjoon continues his movements and asks, “What do you want, little?”
I’m right on the brink of ecstasy. So close that my mouth is wide open and my eyes are beginning to roll.
He notices and stops.
“Speak up, baby.”
“Namjoon, I want you. I need you inside of me,” I say on a whimper.
“What else?”
“Please. Please, Namjoon. Give me that dick.”
He stands to lean over my body, pressing his soft, thick lips against mine. High key, I could cum right now but I’m trying my best to hold out. I don’t want to come like this. Not for our first time. I want to feel him. Just then, the heat from his tip taps at my entrance and he starts to slide into me. The stretch takes me by surprise and I gasp. My reflexes kick in, and I grab onto his biceps, digging my nails into his skin. 
He halts himself, rests the majority of his body weight on his forearm next to my head, and uses the other to rub my face.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.
“No.”
“Are you sure, Tia? We don’t have to do this.”
“I want to. I want you, Namjoon.”
His pelvis remains still as he kisses me so deeply and passionately that I could melt. I suck his full bottom lip between my teeth, licking softly across it before letting go with a suck. The grip I have on his arms begins to relax, and he moves to kiss my cheek, licks across my jawline down to my neck, where he sucks. My body responds to his touch, it relaxes, and I move my hands to hug his neck, one hand traveling into his hair. I feel him pull out just a bit, lubricating his tip in my juices, before he inches in a bit more. 
“Ummm!”
“You can do it, baby. Relax, and take me. I got you,” he says against the shell of my ear. The depth of his voice and the warmth of his breath sends shivers down my spine.
His arms are now under my body, one hand hooked over my shoulder and the other around my waist. The way he’s holding me, so tight, makes me feel safe and secure, like nothing will ever harm me as long as he’s near. He repeats his previous actions, pulling back a bit then pushing in.
I hiss as the stretch is insane, but I don’t push him away. While it is slightly uncomfortable at the moment, just being here with him, wrapped in his embrace, and knowing that he will fill me up so well in just a bit, makes it all worth it.
“We’re almost there, baby. You’re doing so well, taking my dick like a good girl.”
Again. He slides in a little more.
“Ah, Namjoon.”
“Open up for me, mama. Just a little more.”
Back, then in. This time, he pushes in all the way.
“Oh, my God! Namjoon!”
“Shhh, it’s okay. You did so good, baby. You did so good,” he soothes and begins to move the tiniest bit with his face buried in my neck. “Fuck,” he whispers then begins to lap at my throat and nibble at my jaw.
I’m completely stuffed, full of him. My body, now becoming familiar and stretched to accommodate his girth, begins to move with him. Slowly, we begin to dance to the same rhythm, his thickness grazing every inch of my walls. The feeling is commanding and I feel as if I’ll overflow. The knot in the pit of my stomach pulls tighter.
“Fuck, Tia. You feel so good. You’re so wet for me.”
“It’s all for you, baby,” I tell him and kiss any inch of skin I can reach while holding him close to me.
“Damn, I could stay in this pussy all day.”
He pushes in with a little more force, dragging his fat tip across the roof of my canal with more pressure.
“Joonie, fuck! Stay right there. Right there. Don’t stop,” I hope he can hear me, my voice is barely audible.
He does and answers, “I’m gonna take care of you. I promise.”
Keeping the same, leisurely pace, he pushes in a little deeper, sending heat throughout my entire body. When he pulls one of his hands from under my back and places it on the bottom of my abdomen, pushing down slightly, it focuses all of the heat on that area. I can feel his dick stroking across his palm through my flesh, sending different sensations to my leaking pussy.
“Oh, Joon, I’m cumming…I’m cumming,” I warn.
As if sensing my hesitation, he says, “Relax your body, and breathe, Little. It’s okay. Trust me and let go.”
Trying to follow his instruction, my body goes limp while he doesn’t miss a beat, still pumping into me at the same tempo. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, still paying attention to the sensations he’s providing.
“Good job, Little. You’re almost there.”
The knot in my stomach, with his hand still over it, unravels, and I cum hard, the feeling amplified due to my intentional focus and mindfulness. My orgasm crashes against me like a wave that pulls me under. Screaming his name, I claw at the duvet, trying to escape the insufferable pleasure. I am not running away from the feeling he’s providing…well, not entirely. It’s the feeling I try to avoid, ESPECIALLY in bed. That indicator, like I have to pee, is so powerful I can’t hold it back.
“Don’t run. Isn’t this what you wanted?” He talks while looking down at me, “Take me, Tia. Just like that.” He releases a sound from his throat, like a moan and a growl combined, “Good girl. Such a fucking good girl, shit.”
The climax seems to go on forever and the feeling is so overwhelming that I begin to sob with fat, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. My pussy weeps as well, my thighs and his stomach are soaked, the warm gush dripping down my ass onto the bed. 
“Fuck, baby, you’re such a mess. Such a beautiful fucking mess. I love it,” he says, wiping my tears. He doesn’t stop fucking me until I’ve come down and my breathing regulates. 
“Come here.”
He pulls out of me and guides me to lie with him, cuddling me from behind. He lifts my leg for easier access and lines himself to slide back into me. This time is much easier with my body now used to him, but still, his strokes are nice and easy. My entire body is ablaze with his large hand holding me closely, his fingers splayed across my abdomen. This, in combination with his gentle grunts and his hot kisses on my neck, has me about to plunge over the edge again.
If I wasn’t packed to the brim with his fat dick, the gentle rocking his body is creating could possibly lull me to sleep. Instead, he finds that special spot and abuses it, not letting up, and driving me crazy. With his free hand, he grabs me by the jaw and moves my face closer to his to give me sloppy kisses as I moan and whimper into his mouth. He eases up, giving me a chance to catch my breath.
“Let’s switch,” he suggests and lies back on the pillows.
I straddle his hips with my back to him.
“Oh, reverse cowgirl, huh?”
“Not quite,” I say, reaching between my thighs to guide him inside of me.
When my pelvis is flush with his, I straighten my legs and carefully lay my back to his chest. With the height difference, I can feel his chin on the crown of my head. His arms automatically wind around my waist to hold me against him as he begins to move his hips. 
He’s only a few strokes in when he says, “Oh, shit. This ain’t gonna work, babe. This feels too fucking good.”
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” I can’t help but tease him. “Fuck me, Namjoon.”
“Shit,” he whispers.
He grinds into me slowly yet deeply. His heavy pants into my hair tickle my scalp as he’s grunting and moaning. The position allows even more pressure to my vaginal ceiling than before and his penis is throbbing inside of me, making me climb closer to climax even quicker. His left hand finds its way up and around my neck and his right hand travels down to my clit, the groans that escape me should elicit a new level of embarrassment. But, no fucks are given as I transcend into orbit. 
Namjoon is not far behind when he says, “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum.”
“Cum inside of me. Give me every drop, Joonie.”
“UH, FUCK!”
He splatters his cream deep within my walls, and his hips shudder as he rides out his high.
Another POV
Tony is going crazy, not knowing how Tia is doing or what she’s up to. He continuously paces back and forth in the same place, biting at the skin on his thumb, trying his best to resist the urge to text or call her. He hates the fact that all of the listening devices he’d planted no longer connect. He did hear that one was found by the officer that’s always around her and he’s assuming the one he hid in the bouquet of flowers Brandon had him deliver was thrown out with the wilted flowers.
Leave that woman alone. Don’t make us regret getting you out.
Jason’s words echo in his head, playing over and over and over again. “Fuck!” He’s so deep in his thoughts, only pulled to his senses when he bites his finger a little too hard, drawing blood next to his nail bed. When he looks to examine the damage, he’s bitten a chunk of skin away and it’s bleeding pretty bad. It would make sense for him to try to clean it and put on a bandage, but instead, he grabs his coat from the back of the couch and leaves the house. He’s sure he’ll feel better if he could just see her, even if it’s just a glimpse.
Jimin’s POV
The sounds coming from the bedroom sound mouth-wateringly delicious. My dick is painfully rock hard just from listening to them. Tia and Namjoon have been going at it for over an hour now, and knowing Tia, she will fall asleep as soon as they finish. Knowing this, I know I’ll have a solo session tonight to relieve myself. I leave Jungkook and Taehyung downstairs to suffer together and come upstairs to shower. When I make it up to my and Taehyung’s room, I flick the light on as I cross the threshold. Stepping into the area, I feel like I’m not alone or that I’m being watched. I just chalk it up to one of Tia’s emotions transferring to me, which wouldn’t make sense with her current situation, yet I shrug it off. I begin to undress and prepare for my shower, grabbing the bottle of lube on my way out.
Jungkook’s POV
Once Jimin abandons us downstairs, Taehyung and I wander into the kitchen, deciding to take a few more shots. Tia and Namjoon have been playing for a while, and I’m sure she will be knocked out as soon as they’re done, so we decide to entertain ourselves. We chat about this and that and are really enjoying each other’s company.  After hanging for a bit, we’re on our way down to the theater room, and I swear as soon as my foot touches the bottom step, a feeling of uneasiness comes over me, causing me to freeze in place.
“You feel that too?”
Only after hearing his voice do I turn around to Taehyung.
“Yeah, something’s not right.”
“Do you think Tia’s emotions are fucking with us again?”
“Probably so. Let’s just go watch the movie.”
We both dismiss the feeling and get comfy on the bean bag chairs.
Namjoon’s POV
Finally having Tia all to myself is beyond amazing. I wonder if she notices when I wipe my own tears from my face. This experience is perfect, and I would love nothing more than to make her happy for the rest of my life and many lifetimes after this. 
When we are done with our love session, I know she’s sleeping when I say something to her and she doesn't respond. That, and the fact that she is breathing heavily and her body is limp. 
“Let me up so I can get you cleaned up, babe,” I say again, with no response. Finally, I gently roll her onto her side so that I can get up and get her as clean as I can without her having to shower. 
In the bathroom, I grab a bath cloth and soak it in warm water and suddenly get a feeling in the pit of my stomach that something isn’t right. Ignoring it, I return to the bedroom to find Tia sitting straight up in bed.
“Babe, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know just yet, but I think Tony is here, or he’s on his way here.”
“Wait, what? How do you know? Are you sure?”
I don’t do well under pressure and begin to panic, only wanting to be able to protect Tia. It’s like I’m glitching, turning this way and that way, unsure of which direction I want to go or what I should do first. I’m pulled out of my whirlwind of emotions when I glance at Tia again. Head raised to the heavens, her eyes are doing that thing again, fluttering rapidly. 
Suddenly, a strong feeling of bravery, strength, and defense hits me like a ton of bricks. There’s no denying or ignoring this feeling, as I can feel that Tia is intentionally sending this signal. I find my pants that were strewn on the floor and collect Tia’s clothes, placing them next to her. I think to go and get the guys, but I open the door to Jimin rushing out of the hall bath, soaking wet, trying to clothe himself. We’re speaking about our suspicions, and I tell him what Tia said. He moves past me to peek in on her just as we hear Jungkook and Taehyung rounding the staircase.
“What the fuck is going on?”
I reply to Jungkook by informing him and Taehyung of what Tia had warned. As we continue to converse at the top of the stairs, Tia comes out of the room now fully dressed. Jungkook runs to his room and comes back with his 9mm in hand. Leading the way downstairs, we follow him into the living room, all of us peeking through the blinds.
“Call the police,” I try to say as calmly as possible when I see the silhouette of a man standing still at the end of the driveway.
“What?”
“Tae, call the police. There’s someone standing right next to the mailbox.”
“Oh, shit,” he says after finally seeing him, takes his phone from his pocket, and steps into the foyer to make the call.
“I’m going out there,” Jungkook announces and begins to move from the window.
“No, the fuck you’re not,” Jimin replies as Tia and I relay the same sentiments.
“JK, just stay in here until the cops arrive. I know you are the police, but you’re not on duty, AND he’s not, technically, trespassing as he’s standing in the road,” I try to convince him.
“A few units are nearby and will be here in about 3 minutes. Just stay cool, Koo. The cops will come and arrest him, maybe not for trespassing, but he is violating the restrictions of his bond and the restraining order,” Taehyung reports.
That seems to appease him, and he calms down a bit. I go back to the window next to Jimin.
“He’s still there. Hasn’t moved,” he says.
“Good,” I say, hoping that he gets caught in his own trap.
“He’s going to try to run away, but there will be a man walking his dog who will collide with him, making him fall. He is still going to get away, though, but there’s no need for us to worry. He’s not going to be able to harm us and will be going to prison soon. Also, the neighbor is going to live with us,” Tia says so calmly and matter-of-factly.
“Huh?” I would be on the floor laughing at Jimin’s expression if we weren't in such a serious situation. I’ve never seen his eyes so wide.
A moment later, we can hear the sirens coming closer, and he does, too. He bolts for it in the opposite direction of the sirens. I can barely see him until he’s in front of the neighbor’s house, right under a street light. A man with a little brown and white dog is coming this way, and Tony runs right into him, causing them both to fall to the asphalt. He springs back up and limps away.
Finally, a police car yields next to the man with the dog, and he points the officer in the direction Tony went. A couple more units pull into the drive, and Jungkook goes out to meet them while one of the officers speaks with the neighbor. They ask us all several questions, and the last officer returns with the neighbor. When he approaches, I get the same rollercoaster of emotions I’ve gotten with the guys. I look around the group, and judging by how they’re all exchanging looks and trying to communicate silently, I assume they feel it, too. That and the fact that he seems to be entranced by Tia, which is not surprising, but still an indicator.
“Hey, I live a few doors down. I’ve meant to come by and introduce myself but could never find the right time. I hate that we are meeting under these circumstances, but it’s nice to meet you, finally.”
“You should have come on by. It’s nice to meet you, too. I’m Tia Monroe.”
“Tia…I love that,” he says, reaching out to take her hand.
“Hey, baby. Hey,” Taehyung says to the dog, squatting down to pet him. “What’s his name?”
“Mickey,” the man informs him.
“Don’t be rude, Tae. He hasn’t even introduced himself yet,” Jimin reprimands.
“Ah, I’m so sorry,” Taehyung apologizes. “Please don’t mind me. I love animals, so I got a little too excited, and he’s so cute.”
The man just laughs at Taehyung’s cuteness.
“No worries. I’m Hoseok. Jung Hoseok,” he says, extending his hand to greet us all.
All of our eyes seem to go to the same place as he extends his arm.
“Oh, shit,” I say.
“Bro, you good?” Jimin asks.
“Oh my God! Are you hurt?” We all crowd around him and Tia jumps into action, pulling at the man’s clothes, searching for a wound. Her hands are all over his torso and under his shirt, worriedly inspecting him.
He gasps when Tia’s hands graze across his skin and grabs her wrist, halting her movements. I can’t see Tia’s reaction from where I’m standing and I wonder if it mirrors Hoseok’s. The look in his eyes is as if he wants to eat her up, his desire is palatable. They stand staring at each other like that for what seems like hours, then he rights himself, snapping back into the moment, and slowly releases Tia’s hand.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” he questions, obviously confused.
He looks down to see what we are all going on about, only to find that his jacket is bloodstained.
“Oh, damn…this must be from that guy. I’m okay. I’m not hurt,” he reassures us.
Before they leave, one of the officers lets him know that they will have to take it in as evidence. While it isn’t winter yet, it’s still a bit nippy out, especially in the middle of the night.
“Would you like to come in? You must be cold,” Jungkook offers.
I wonder if he can feel it…the pull. He’s got to be one of us, judging by his effect on me. On us.
Nervously, I’m observing his eyes, looking for any indication of what he will say next.
“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he says politely.
“No intrusion at all. You’re more than welcome,” Tia says.
“Okay then…I would love to,” he accepts.
And then there were five…another piece has been added to our puzzle.
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thegamingcatmom · 9 months
Note
Good evening, lovely Cat Mom! 👋🏻😸💖
I hope that this message finds you well.. aka feeling wonderfully insane, feeding the delightful dark things in your mind, and continuing to fuel your obsession with our favourite undead Mommy! 😌💞
I felt it necessary that this particular part of your reply to one of my asks deserves its own little response from me because [ *sounds of lesbian feral screaming into her pillow* ] 😩😻
(Tbh I´ve been itching to use the term "mate" for our poor little Drama Queen for a while now because it´s got such a feral feeling to it and it tells us quite a bit about Momma´s inner workings because mate is basically the equivalent to mine mine mine now and forever and there´s probs lots of biting going on and mating dance and courting and chasing is foreplay and also brrrrrrrrrr and 🥵)
As a lover of A/B/O fiction and primal kink stuff.. this sort of thing drives me crazy! It makes me vibrate with need! 🥴😵‍💫 Therefore, I am obviously eternally grateful for you seeing reader as Momma’s mate, and viewing Ellie as an alpha, and including those descriptors in your writing.
As soon as there is any sort of mention of things such as: being someone’s mate, being owned, the alpha / omega dynamic, predator / prey roles, foreplay in the form of being chased / hunted, being marked or bitten as a form of visible ownership, claiming / being claimed, mating, and breeding.. I am done for! 🥵😮‍💨
RIP me.. in the best possible way! 😻💘
Also, this little snippet from your reply to someone else’s ask:
“..clearly you approve of her display of strength, of showing who’s at the top of the food chain - an apex predator, an alpha-“
Upon reading that line alone:
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I am feeling rather insane over Momma’s mating dance, as her showing off her alpha prowess and proving herself to be more than a worthy mate for reader involving her slaughtering those who she sees as possible competition ( aka absolutely anyone! ) in front of you to impress you, and leaving absolute carnage and utter chaos in her wake in her attempts to court you, is just so.. afshdkfkehshdkhddhaaaaaagh! 🤤
Where do I sign up for an unhinged woman to treat me this way? SIGN ME UP! 🖊️🙏🏻
AIGHT YALL please do line up right here-
*gestures losely to the hole that´s opened up*
- for a one-way ticket to hell.
But be warned because it´s swarmed with unhinged, murderous, demonic women lusting after your flesh and blood and other bodily fluids and limbs might get sent flying absolutely everywhere SO strong is their desire, their instinct to climb inside your body so that you can be one now and forever because they need to be with you every second every step like a leech and eternity can be rather long lemme tell ya so it is strongly advised to proceed with caution and take a moment to think very carefully about-
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...alright then.
(Yall thirsty af, shame on you.)
But where are my manners?!
HELLAW lovely ghost aka was Mommy! 🥰💕
Your messages are always so fucking sweet and thoughtful I- 🥺💗🥺💗🥺💗🥺
ALSO, reading through your ask made me realize how utterly delicious deranged!Maggot Momma sounds even thought that´s literally my view of her so I SHOULD know how it sounds but seeing someone else wrapping it all up so nicely and with these words (alpha prowess made me melt) is just another thing entirely and makes me feel things. 🥵🥵🥵🥵
(Also, I feel it necessary to point out that my brain is a fountain of insanity and it doesn´t look like it´s gonna be exhausted anytime soon.)
And AOSFNASLNÖSAGANK primal!Momma is delicious ain´t she?? And just thinking about anything involving A/B/O universe with Maggot Momma is- I-
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IDEAS THOUGHTS FEELS-
OKAY LISTEN,
I think it´s become quite clear by now that I, indeed, view Momma as the alpha, the leader of the pack (of Undeads). There´s this certain dynamic going on between her and the other Deadites/demons and it´s very likely I´m going to delve deeper into that in the future because pack dynamics (especially of the demonic kind) are just a special kind of 🥵
My recent work is a pretty good example of what we can expect of Momma & The Pack in the future and how she deals with things like insubordination.
...Insubordination concerning that bunch of misfits of course. Not her perfect Drama Queen because her mate can do no wrong because they´re perfect and if yall ever dare even implying such a thing then Momma´s personally gonna drag your ass to hell where you can rot for all eternity.
But yeah, it´s basically Maggot Momma constantly feeling this need to prove herself and gallavant about - showing everyone that alpha prowess - because not only does it secure her place as the top dog but (she thinks) it also lets her have allll the puss-
I mean-
As with all (or most) animals, the only things that matter when it comes to laying claim to a female are strength and size. And Momma´s got both.
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bimbomcgee · 3 months
Note
If you’re still doing these then I wanna pay you back for letting me ramble and ask for future, ghost, and hunt for Liz, Emori, and Holly ^^ (only if you want ofc! You dont have to do all three for all three)
YIPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! TY CIRCE!!!!!!!!!
Elizabeth:
future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?
Harm coming to Millicent. The thought alone terrifies her. Elizabeth has always been an overprotective individual to everyone she meets but to her Millicent has always been different. She was her first friend, the first person beyond her family who chose to show her kindness; and now she's even the person who her heart belongs to.
In battle, she doesn't hesitate to throw herself infront of Millicent; enduring any sort of injury for the sake of saving her friend. Elizabeth has now lost half of her body from the Black Blade because of this mentality, but through Miquella and Lansseax's magic (alongside sheer will); Elizabeth still lives.
ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?
Elizabeth is terrified of Malenia. Whenever she hears her metallic legs approaching amidst the halls of the Haligtree's palace, she'll either turn direction or sneak into a neighbouring room and wait for the demigod to pass.
This all started after her meeting with Malenia following Millicent's disappearance. And to say the least; you don't forget almost getting beaten to death by a demigod.
This is a reminder of her failure she'll never let pass.
Emori:
future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?
Being left alone. Although she doesn't show it too well, Emori is deeply terrified of losing people and/or being left behind. To avoid this, she followed her friends into joining the Cleanrot knights; thinking this was the best way to stay with them when they would inevitably go on long campaigns. However, she's quickly realised this life isn't for her. She's a coward, an overthinker, and thinks she was only accepted into the ranks of knighthood because the Haligtree was desperate for recruits after the slaughter in Caelid.
ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?
The torture she suffered within the dungeons of Stormveil are a memory Emori has struggled to let go of. She's terrified of the place, shuddering at its every mention, and now it isn't uncommon for her to wake in a sweaty panic as she wakes from a nightmare.
Hollise tries to comfort her when she can but Emori's fits of panic are things she struggles to get out of. She freezes, locks up entirely, and begins to cry to no end. Her prosthetic leg, as shiny as it is, is also a constant reminder of what happened to her and a frequent cause of violent flashbacks. She keeps this all completely quiet to her friends, and it is only Hollise who knows about them.
Hollise:
future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?
Growing up, Hollise saw what happens when war comes to your door. She knows how war takes everything from you; family, friends, homes, livelihoods and more. And now, Hollise terrified of seeing it happen again.
She moved to Elphael when she was twelve beneath the care of Emori's father and has since then grown up in a society that cares for her. That city and its inhabitants are everything to her and losing them would be final nail in her coffin.
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clutterfield · 2 years
Text
GHOST BUSTERS
FratBoys! BTS x Comatose! Reader
Main mlist. Previous chapter.
Synopsis
You get into a freak accident and wake up to your body surrounded by seven crying men. Or your unrequited love doesn’t seem so unrequited after all.
Chapter warnings
Minor cussing, Implied self deprecration but very slight
Chapter Rating: T (For Teen Audiences and Up)
Chapter 4: The Fairy Godmother
FLASHBACK
Twiddling your thumbs inconspicuously wasn't such a good idea after all as your employer's sharp gaze pierces you right in your jaded soul.
You didn't mean to sound so cynical and judging from his tells, Eugene wasn't too happy with you, or at least with how you viewed yourself.
His manicured nails beckon you forward and you gulp, eyes darting to the pile in front of you-- Eugene Lee Yang, tarot master and occultist, absolutely hated it when his readings were disrupted but once you came in through his door looking for all the whole disgusting world like a damned drenched train wreck, eyes bugging out with tears leaking to your puffy cheeks, he pauses, red lips pinched looking for an explanation which you give.
You fidget in your seat by his raglan couch, the sign by the door right below the Yin Yang Quatro's flashy neon label saying 'Closed for business', as you silently try to assess a quick look at the spread laid out on the table.
One death card and two other major arcana.
Whoever the client was, the universe was basically telling him or her to fuck off from the situation and just let things be.
Yikes.
"Baby girl, look at me. " He gripes and you flinch, staring at his kohl rimmed eyes.
Your boss was a very hot man, and if he wasn't gay you would have considered your options but he was happily married to a wonderful husband and you were stupidly in love with the seven banes of your existence.
Hence the tears.
"So you're telling me, that those stupid boys left you to fend for yourself while you were sick in bed?" He hums when you nod your assent meekly, sharp jaw twitching with annoyance as his fingers tap lightly over his silk jacket. "Were they aware?"
You shake your head, "I mean I did send them a text but I was left on read. Maybe they were just busy or something. "
Eugene snaps his narrowed gaze to you and you gulp. "Huh. Busy. So you were seriously completely alone?"
Another shake of the head. "Some friends took care of me back at my own apartment so..." You trail off unsure if throwing Taemin into the mix with his consent was okay.
Eugene may be fairly strict with the shop rules but when it came to his employees, you in particular, he was an overprotective mama bear and anyone--rather, any man's name mentioned by you was automatically on his watch list.
Your boss pretends to ignore the friend part for a moment, "I see. And you don't think you deserve any of their attention when you've been nothing but a good friend and room mate to them?"
"That's not--"
Eugene holds a hand up to shush you. "Not yet done speaking, doll." He sighs. "YN, you know I despise little girls without any backbone. What, you don't think you're beautiful enough to be appreciated by a bunch of fuckboys? Bitch, you don't need them. You don't need their attitude. You're a queen. Act like it. " He sniffs daintily.
You give him a watery giggle and he smirks.
"Besides, if they so much as leave you high and dry one of these days, I will go to your house and castrate them inch by fucking inch."
Nothing could compare to an angry Yang boss.
END OF FLASHBACK
"Who the fuck are you?" The Beta Tau Sigma member frowns, arms tightening around you as his brothers close in forming a protective ring around the both of you and your physical body peacefully settled on the hospital bed.
The visitor merely raises a perfect, delicate brow, canine teeth bared for a moment only to recede when his irises pierce yours, and as if a magnetic pull traps you, you subconsciously fly--float to the stranger. " Eugene!" You bleat happily, arms looping around the man's lean shoulders.
Today he was wearing a baby blue silk coat and long skirt, looking for all the world like a top runway model. His red lips land on your hairline. "Hello, doll." He coos and everyone, the Min included, stands stock still as the dress you had been wearing shimmers in the light like an ethereal pixie.
"Holy shit. Was that YN?!" Jeongguk, the wide eyed buck that he was furiously looks to the space where you presumably stood and back to your body with mild hysterics until one of his hyung's, Seokjin was it, lightly knocks him upside the head.
"But hyung she just--"
Seokjin frowns. "Yes we all saw. It's just...difficult to wrap our heads around the thought that two YNs are here. "
Jimin, having had dried his tears long ago speaks up with a much clearer voice directed at Eugene. "I'm sorry, but we've known YN since we were kids and I'm afraid we haven't seen you around before...sir?" He hesitates contemplating whether he was using the correct gender noun.
A sharp laugh echoes within the cramped space of the hospital room, and the boys shift awkwardly, some seeming anxious at the tone the other man had taken.
You let go of your boss and reluctantly float back to the others, Yoongi snatching you up to his side, pushing you behind him with a grim stare at the newcomer.
You remember that Eugene isn't dangerous to you.
But Eugene Lee Yang was dangerous to those he disliked.
And it appears your boys weren't faring well in that department.
So with a grimace, you stick closer to Yoongi, ready to tug him just in case your boss decides to chuck his expensive shoes against someone's head in his wrathful wake.
Of course he would be mad.
You couldn't count the number of times he'd witnessed you cry over these men you were now trying to cover for.
With all the lip chewing you were immersed in, someone addresses the huge elephant rearing its trunk over all of you.
"That question aside, what is happening here--uh, sir?" Hoseok is quick to beat his brothers to the punch, although quite warily.
He wasn't going to be disrespectful to possibly the only person who could give a fucking explanation to everything. He had a gut feeling that whoever this man was, was someone who could help YN and he wasn't taking any chances just so YN can recover fast.
He didn't think he could live another week without being blessed with your lovely smile.
He actually fucking missed you already even if you were right here in spirit.
Eugene quirks a brow but his lips curl up in a genuine smile directed at the resident sunshine, and although he knew that all of them contributed to a majority of YN's sadness, this Hoseok was the least guilty from what he's heard so far.
"Jung Hoseok I presume?" Eugene asks and the boy stammers out an affirmative response. "Charmed. Yes, well. Before I answer any of your questions, YN if you would?" He gestures to you and you reach for him despite Yoongi's quiet protest.
He didn't like you leaving him for some other man no matter who they are.
Two things happen simultaneously as soon as you touch the Yang boss's hands.
You feel a heavy weight settle over you, as if you were being pulled down by gravity.
And then your bare foot touches the hard, cold, bleached tiles one after the other and you shiver with a soft squeak.
"HOLY SHIT YN?!"
A chorus of quaky gasps fill the air and then you are swept up into the nearest person's arms, this time Taehyung's.
You turn your smooshed cheeks from your holder and shoot a glance at the Yang boss with pure joy. "H-how?"
Eugene smiles at you gently. But then he sighs, the shadows appearing on his face aging him for a bit, a tick in his jaw forms and he rolls his eyes. "Doll, you know I'm magical. But that's beside the point. " He sharply claps his hands garnering command at everyone's undivided scrutiny.
Eugene was like that. Commanding with his presence at every turn.
"Gentlemen, if you could, I would love to be invited to your home as we have much to talk about as regards YN's current...state. "
Namjoon, ever the leader steps forward almost in an unconscious manner as if to assert his dominance, "As long as it will help YN, we are willing to do anything. "
Unexpectedly, the Yang boss doesn't laugh, doesn't mock them, only considers them for a moment and then looks at you. "I can see what you meant, darling." You flush for some reason and they all turn to look at you but your boss clears his throat, and straightens. "We don't have the luxury to waste any more time. For YN's sake, I suggest we go now. Because as of this moment, I am your fairy godmother and she's Cinderella. Once the clock strikes midnight, it's poof. If you catch my drift."
Faces pale at the insinuation.
Well shit.
Next chapter
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