Latest Posts by cheshirecat484 - Page 2

The angst in this chapter, was absolutely DELICIOUS! Im absolutely desperate for more, I love this fic so much!

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Thirteen

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : PG-13

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Just so much angst. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.7k

A/N : Sorry not sorry?

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE

MASTER LIST

Chapter Thirteen

You couldn’t sit still, couldn’t relax. 

You tried, for the sake of Karen and Frank who seemed to watch your every little twitch and movement as you got up to refill your coffee mug or to look out of the window. Karen had suggested going out for breakfast, reminding you that Billy wouldn’t be awake for hours, and Frank gave a grumbled agreement, obviously wanting the pair of you gone so he could sleep through the day. But you weren’t hungry and you didn’t want to go out.

She tried again at lunch time and received the same response, but, since you hadn’t eaten, she managed to guilt you into going to the little diner down the street for an hour. You could tell that she was nervous, almost as if she knew something that you didn’t - but, of course she did. She’d spent the evening with Frank and he’d probably told her exactly what was going on

It was a feeling that soon started to gnaw at you, wondering what the pair of them had spoken about after you’d gone to bed, hating that she knew more about the situation than you did.

When you got back to the penthouse, you went back to your rooms, showering and using washing your hair as an excuse to get some space, the whole process taking longer than usual because of your broken arm. 

Then you drew blood for Billy, wanting everything to be ready for him when he got up, some part of you hoping that things could go back to normal straight away.

It wasn’t until you reached the fridge that you noticed all of the blood you’d put in there over the last few days was gone. Had he had it all last night or had Frank gotten rid of it? 

You returned to your room until Karen called you out to the penthouse just as the sun was starting to set.

Nerve quickly took hold, no longer sure what you wanted to say to Billy. You just wanted to see him, know that he was alright, the rest could come after that. You took a deep breath before stepping out into the penthouse, expecting to find him there waiting. He wasn’t.

“He’s waitin’ for you in the library,” Frank told you before you could ask. “Wants a quick word before we head to the office.”

“He’s going back to work?” You asked, confused.

It shouldn’t have shocked you, it had been almost two weeks since he’d last gone in, but the state he was in last night made you wonder if it was really the right decision. Frank didn’t offer you any explanation or reassurance, he just shrugged.

You decided it was best to talk to Billy about it, and quickly started towards the library, wanting nothing more than to be able to talk to him and finally get some answers to all the questions you’d been struggling with over the last few days.

He was standing near the window, looking out at the view when you entered, all dressed up in a dark charcoal suit, ready for work. 

Your breath caught when he finally turned to look at you and you felt your heart start to beat a little faster, and you couldn’t tell if it was nerves or something else that was causing it.

You took a few steps towards him, the corner of your lips pulling upwards, happy to be with him again, despite the circumstances. But, when he noticed how close you were getting, he seemed to bristle.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” He said, his voice measured giving a false air of calm.

You frowned, hesitating for a second, wanting to move closer to him, not further away. But, after a moment, you did as you were asked and took a seat on the worn leather sofa. For a few seconds you watched him, expecting him to come and sit with you, or at least move a little closer, but he didn’t.

“I want to start by saying I’m sorry,” he continued speaking in that same tone, sounding almost distant, cold. “I never should have put you in that situation, and I’m sorry that you were hurt.”

“No, Billy, that’s not -” you weren’t sure what you wanted to say to him, but he didn’t give you the chance to finish.

“I realise now that I’ve been selfish. I’ve been putting you in danger, over and over again, and it needs to stop.”

Dread filled you, your heart feeling like he’d reached into your chest and taken hold of it, squeezing it uncomfortably, causing it to stutter. Your lungs burned, refusing to draw breath. You shook your head, trying to convince yourself that he didn’t mean what you thought that he meant, but he soon confirmed all your fears.

“I took advantage of you - I can see that now, and I really am sorry,” he carried on in that same empty tone, barely looking at you enough to see that there were tears welling in the corners of your eyes. “I understand that you rejected the offer Lissa extended on my behalf, but I’m willing to double it. I know it doesn’t make up for the pain I’ve caused you but -”

“You’re paying me to go away?” Your voice broke and the first tear fell.

“No, that’s not - I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

You held up your broken arm, making sure he looked, making sure he acknowledged what he’d done to you. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

Billy paled at the comment, taking a step back and letting out a ragged breath.

“Can’t you just -”

“What? Go quietly? Leave so you can pretend this never happened?” You answered back, anger quickly mixing with the hurt. You sniffled, trying so desperately to stay in control of yourself. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you got hurt - I hurt you. More than once. It’s better for both of us if you go.” Finally, there was a break in his tone, actual emotion starting to seep through. You could tell that he was upset, that he was angry and annoyed but, more than that, you could tell he was just as lost as you were.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I’m not going anywhere. You asked me to stay. You made me want to stay with you,” you told him defiantly, watching as your words hit home. “You don’t get to make me feel like... like this and then send me away.”

“You’re not -”

“How is it better for me, Billy? How is being on my own with nowhere to go better?” The panic was quick to mix with the hurt in your tone, your heart racing a mile a minute.

He gave a heavy sigh, fingers tearing through his hair. “What do you want from me? I’m trying to make this easier for both of us.”

“You’re trying to make it easier for you. I don’t need easy, I want honesty. I want to know what’s going on.”

“You want honesty?” He almost laughed. “You mean like you’ve been honest with me?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know about your fiance.”

You could have screamed. You very nearly did scream. “He is not my fiance. I told you - I told you what my parents are like. I will never marry that man after what he did to me.”

The change in Billy was almost instant, a familiar spark in him that seemed to ignite just at the suggestion that someone had hurt you in any way. If nothing else, it was reassuring to know that some part of him still cared, even if he was doing all he could to bury that part and forget all about it.  

“You told me I got to have a choice here. Well this is my choice, Billy; I’m staying,” you told him, getting to your feet. “If you want me gone, you’re going to have to fire me. It should be easy for you, you’ve made me break enough of your rules...”

“You’d make me do that? Fire you and kick you out with nothing?” He asked, trying to make you see how ridiculous you were being.

You shrugged. “If I leave here I’ll have nothing anyway.”

“You’d have money, enough to start a new life, enough to -”

“I don’t want your money and I don’t want a new life,” you almost shouted. “I want my life. I want the life I get to choose.”

“Then you need to start making better choices,” he finally snapped, the forced calm gone from his voice completely and leaving behind nothing but frustration. “Because, this thing that’s wrong with me... there’s no fixing it, it won’t get any better, and the next time you might not get away with just a broken arm and I can’t have that on my conscience.”

“And how am I supposed to know about any of that when you won’t talk to me? When you always try to run away every time things get hard?” You asked, your own tone turning just as fraught. “You let me think I was helping, that I could help you. You made me feel like I mattered and now you’re just throwing me away.”

“You do matter. All of this is because you matter.”

You watched as he fought against himself, taking a step towards you then turning away, looking as lost as you felt in all of this. More than anything, you wanted to go to him, to just wrap your arms around him and not let go, but you knew that wouldn’t solve anything.

“Then tell me,” you challenged, “tell me why you’d rather send me away than let me stay. Tell me what happened that night.”

When he looked back, there was anger and discomfort written across his face and something else too. Hatred. He hated that you were doing this to him and it was almost enough to make you feel sick. But, at that moment, you hated him a little too. You hated all of this and everything he was trying to do.

Billy took a slow breath, his jaw clenching before he finally started to speak.

“I went looking for Krista...”

“Did you -” you faltered, not sure how to ask the question, “- you were covered in blood, was that...?”

Billy shook his head. “It was mostly mine.”

Even though you’d asked the question, once you had the answer you wished that you hadn’t. You didn’t ask the obvious follow up, instead you nodded and waited for him to continue.

“The thing that I have - the sickness - she has it too. I didn’t realise until I saw her lose control.” He paused for a moment, taking a breath. “It’s a disease,” he continued, his voice low, “it takes every vampire impulse and makes it impossible to control. It silences every part of us that’s still human.” 

“How do you get it?” You asked quietly, needing to find out everything you could.

“You either get it from the person who turns you, or by being fed on by someone carrying it. It stays dormant in humans and only becomes active if they’re turned.”

You listened carefully, absorbing what he told you, still trying to make sense of it all.

“But Frank -”

“No, Frank doesn’t have it,” he answered before you could even finish.

“Then, how?”

The air between you became suddenly tense and you could tell from the look on Billy’s face that he really didn’t want to talk about it. At any other time you would have withdrawn the question, not wanting to see him looking so uncomfortable, but you knew that you might never get another chance like this to find out what was going on with him.

“When I was a kid,” he offered before pausing, as if he was considering leaving the story there, before continuing. “There was a guy who used to volunteer in the evening at the group home. At first he seemed cool, letting us stay out late playing hoops and stick ball, but then he -”

Billy stopped and you watched him almost twitch at the memory. You didn’t ask him to carry on, you could already guess. Only, you soon realised, that that was only scratching the surface. 

“Turned out he liked the kids more than he let on,” Billy finally carried on, and the sick feeling in your stomach only got worse, “he told me I was pretty and broke my arm when I told him that I wasn’t interested in those kinds of games, then he bit me.”

“Billy, I...” your voice was little more than a whisper, your head spinning. Was he comparing himself to the man who’d hurt him? Was that why he was so set on you leaving? You looked down at your own broken arm and shuddered.

“He only fed on me a couple of times, but it was enough to infect me,” Billy went on. “I didn’t find out until a month or so after I was turned... I completely lost control. Frank nearly had to kill me to stop me.”

“And Krista... did you -”

“No, I never bit her...” he was quick to answer, but there was a strange hint of guilt in his voice.

“Then how?” 

“Layla...” he said, awkwardly swallowing. You’d heard that name before. “She was the one before Krista and I -”

He didn’t need to say it, the look on his face told you everything that you needed to know.

“You turned her?” You asked and he nodded, looking physically sick. “By accident?” He nodded again.

“Krista must have found her after I fired her. I don’t know if they’re working together but Layla must have turned her...” Billy let out a sigh. “Krista wants to ruin my life and she knows that you’re the way to do it. She triggered the thing inside me when she told me about your fiance. And when I saw you that night...”

Mine. That’s what he’d said to you, just before hurting you. He’d been claiming you. (Maybe he hadn’t been trying to hurt you after all - though that seemed like a very dangerous thing to think given the circumstances.)

Silence filled the room for at least a minute as you tried to think of the right words to say. You didn’t want to think the worst of him, even now, but you were starting to see the havoc he’d caused in so many lives. Maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault, but you were so tired of trying to think of excuses for him.

Finally, you had your answers, but they brought you no comfort. In fact you felt worse for knowing; you felt empty, hollowed out. It felt like he was telling you because he was drawing a line beneath whatever you had been, like it didn’t matter if you found out because you’d be gone soon.

“Is there a cure? A way to treat it?” You asked.

“There isn’t,” he answered, “I’ve spent the last fifteen years looking for one.”

“But -” 

“There’s no fixing it. There’s no making any of it any better,” Billy sighed. “So it’s better for both of us if you just take the money and go because there’s no happy ending here, not if we’re together.”

“There’s no happy ending if I go either,” you told him with a sniffle. “If I leave I’ll end up right back where I started, with the man my parents practically sold me to. A man who doesn’t care about giving me a choice...” 

Billy awkwardly swallowed, trying to get rid of a lump in his throat, his hands clenching to fists at your words.

“You don’t have to go back to them. You could go anywhere.”

“They’d find me,” you muttered, starting to feel numb and cold, like he’d reached inside of you and scooped out all the hope and joy. “I was lying to myself thinking I could get away from them...”

“I could -”

“If you’re sending me away, I don’t want your help. I don’t want anything from you.”

“But -”

“No,” you sighed, finally resigned to what this was. You forced yourself to look at him, despite the tears in your eyes. “You’re not going to change my mind. I’m not leaving unless you make me leave. If you don’t want to see me or have anything to do with me, that’s fine; I’ll do my job and stay out of your way. But I’m not leaving until my contract ends.”

“What if I -” he tried, starting to get frustrated again.

“It’s not a negotiation, Billy,” you told him, managing to sound firm despite the way your heart was racing. “Besides, you said yourself that you keep doing this with the women who come to work for you. What sort of person would I be if I walked away now and let you move on to the next poor girl?”

It was a low blow, and you didn’t want to be cruel, but what Billy was doing hurt and you’d be damned if he got you to leave just so he could move on to the next one.

“I wouldn’t.”

“Why? Because this meant something to you?” You shook your head. “Don’t bother, Billy. I get it. I’m just one in a long line of women naive enough to think you could love them.”

“I’m not doing this because I don’t care.”

“How many times have you said those words? How many times have you brought someone into your home and made them care about you?” You asked but quickly shook your head, not wanting to know the answer. “You told me that you’d never been wanted, but I’m starting to think that was just a line. I think you make people want you and then you push them away because it scares you. I wanted you. I wanted to stay - here, after, with you, just like you asked.”

You started to move towards the door, your hand scrubbing at your cheeks, wanting to wipe away any sign of tears before you had to face Karen and Frank again. Stopping just shy of the door, you turned back to him.

“You could’ve talked to me about this, you could have given me a real choice before we started this instead of letting me think I was helping you,” you told him, desperately trying to hold yourself together. “Broken bones heal, but what you’ve broken today? That’s going to hurt for the rest of my life.”

“Wait -” you heard him as you reached for the door handle.

You didn’t stop, didn’t even turn to hear him out, you knew he was just going to hurt you more. There was movement behind you, but you didn’t wait, walking out into the penthouse to find Karen and Frank waiting for you. 

They were sitting together on the sofa but both stood the moment you emerged, Karen giving you a sympathetic look as you wiped your eyes. You almost expected Billy to follow after you, almost hoped that he would, but he didn’t and that was all the sign you needed that you’d just done the right thing.

“You can come stay with me, we’ll get your things and -” Karen started, already stepping towards you.

“What?” You asked before realising what was going on. They were in on it. Karen and Frank both knew that Billy had been trying to get rid of you, and they’d both gone along with it. “No, I’m not going anywhere.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the penthouse for a few seconds, all eyes on you.

“Damn it,” Frank grumbled, “did he not explain to you that -”

“He did,” you interrupted, “and I explained to him that if he wants me gone, then he’s going to have to fire me.”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

“Frank...” Karen tried to calm him down.

“Can’t you see what you’re doin’ to him?” He said, as if he thought he could make you feel guilty after everything Billy had said and done. He couldn’t.

“I’m not doing anything to Billy that he didn’t do to me first,” you answered back, feeling a little bolder than usual. Maybe it was because everything already hurt so much that you couldn’t even bring yourself to care what might happen if you upset a vampire like Frank. 

He looked ready to say something when Karen put her hand on his arm. For a moment more, he stared at you, before huffing. 

“Can you talk some fuckin’ sense into her?” He grumbled at Karen before heading to the library.

You almost let him walk by without further comment, but you found you just couldn’t help yourself. “We were fine until the party. If you want to blame someone for this, maybe you should look at yourself. You’re the one that made him doubt himself...”

Frank paused for a moment and your heart rate spiked as he glared at you. It was almost enough to have you shrinking back, feeling like you’d pushed a little too hard. He shook his head before storming into the library.

Karen let out a sigh before stepping towards you, trying to usher you into your rooms. You went, but not because that was where she wanted to go.

“I know what you’re going to say,” you sighed, walking into your room and heading towards the window, looking out at the city at night. “And you’re not going to change my mind.”

Out in the penthouse, you heard the sound of the elevator; Frank and Billy were leaving.

“Can you at least tell me why you’re doing this? I get that you have feelings for him, but -”

“It’s not that. I’m not staying because I think I can change his mind or make him care about me,” you told her, giving a defeated shrug. “It just... it took so much out of me to leave everything behind and come to New York. I finally got used to being here - I like being here - I can’t just walk out on the only place I’ve ever felt comfortable.”

“You don’t have to leave New York. You have friends here, people besides Billy,” Karen offered softly. 

“It’s not enough, you won’t be able to stop them from taking me back when they find me. I’m safer here than I would be anywhere else.”

“Who is this guy that you’re so scared of?” Karen finally asked the million dollar question.

The question was followed by a long silence, making it clear that you didn’t want to tell her, but Karen didn’t move, didn’t try to change the subject or carry on the conversation. She was waiting for an answer and, it seemed, she would wait as long as it took to get one.

“He’s a very old and very powerful vampire,” you finally answered. “He’s part of a criminal organisation called the Maggia.”

When you heard Karen take an awkward breath, you knew that you didn’t need to explain any more than that, in her work she’d no doubt heard of the organised crime network that spanned the whole globe. 

It felt strange to finally say it, to finally admit just how screwed you were. Honestly, you thought that it would feel different, to expose what you were running from, but you just felt tired and resigned. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

“And your parents owe him money,” she stated and you nodded. “So, what was your plan? Use the million dollars Billy is going to pay you to disappear or were you going to try and pay him back?”

You pressed the heel of your palm to your eye, feeling fraught and exhausted. “I don’t have a plan. I could never raise what my parents owe and, at this point, I don't think he'd let me just pay him off.”

It sucked to finally say those words out loud and admit to yourself that you really didn’t know what you were doing. You’d come to New York with the hopes that you could disappear, that a million dollars would be enough to vanish completely but if you’d learned one thing from Madani it was that you were easy to find. Too easy.

“I thought that I’d have it all figured out by the end of my year here but maybe I won’t. So,” you shrugged again, “if I’m going to end up back there with him, I’d rather spend the rest of the time I have here feeling comfortable and safe, hoping that he doesn’t find me until my year is up.”

“You don’t have to let that happen, we could -”

“Please, don’t tell Billy,” you begged. “I don’t want his pity.”

“It’s not pity. He could help. We all could. You’ve got friends here.”

“No, Frank was right - I just make things worse for everyone - and I don’t want to do that anymore,” you told her. “If you’re really my friend, please don’t tell him. Don’t tell Frank. Don’t tell anyone. If you do, I’ll have to leave.”

It was a childish threat but one you knew you’d follow through on; you didn’t want Billy to know. You didn’t want his pity, didn’t want him to know what awaited you.

“You can’t just give up.”

“Why not? Billy already gave up on me,” you muttered, not wanting to feel sorry for yourself but finding it almost impossible.

“That’s not what happened. He cares about you, he wants to keep you safe. That’s why we all thought it would be best if you left.”

You looked at her for a moment, sure that she believed every word she was saying. But you knew better than that, you’d looked him in the eyes as he said it, as he pushed you away to protect himself, because he didn’t want to deal with the consequences of his actions.

“It doesn’t matter. Billy made his choice, and it wasn’t me.” 

“I know that’s how it probably feels -”

“That’s how it is. He wants to send me away so he can forget all about me,” you interrupted, somehow managing to keep a neutral tone despite the fact that your heart was breaking.

“We’re going to figure this out,” Karen decided. “Whether you stay here with Billy or not, I’m not going to let them take you back home.”

A sigh slipped out and you nodded, managing something of a smile. You knew that she meant well, but you already knew that there was nothing she could do to help. Now there was no chance of you staying with Billy, enjoying the protection that he could offer, you knew that you’d eventually end up right back where you started.

“Now that everything's back to normal, you don’t have to stay,” you told her. “You can go back to your life...”

“I can stay a few more days,” she offered.

“No, I -” you let out a sigh, “- I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I think it’d be easier for everyone if we all just got back to normal.”

Only, you knew that it wasn’t going to be normal for you, not when Billy wanted nothing to do with you. You were going to have to get used to being alone again.

Without warning, Karen pulled you into a hug and held you tight. You drew a shuddered breath, lightly wrapping your good arm around her, knowing she was trying her best to comfort you, even though you felt inconsolable. She held on for a few seconds before finally pulling back.

“Are you sure?” She asked and you nodded. “I’ll still see you on Thursdays,” she promised. “I’ll make arrangements with Billy so you can have a night out with me, Matt and Foggy again some time soon.” 

You nodded along, only half listening as she made plans for things you could do as she slowly began to pack up her things. She lingered longer than you expected her to and, by the time she left, you felt so numb that you couldn’t even bring yourself to cry. You put on your pyjamas and climbed into bed, deciding to watch TV, starting up the next episode of Black Sails, knowing that there was no point in waiting for Billy to continue watching any more.

End Note : 😅😅 Okay so I know that probably didn't answer ALL the questions people have had, but I've tried to at lest answer a few. I'm sorry this one is so angsty and sad. Also... yes the Maggia is something from Marvel comics, is it going to be accurate and canon? No, probably not 😅

Thanks so much for reading/commenting/reblogging/liking. I'm so happy so many people are still following along! Have a great weekend!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

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@ashy-kit

STOP PLAYING WHB.

So, before you start asking why you should stop playing, I want to explain why you should stop and boycott the game.

1.) The Pancake Shop

Recently they upgraded the Pancake Shop, and, to say the least, it's bad.

While I love the concept of using pancakes to buy L-Grade Characters, I believe them taking away the option to purchase the Lesser Red Keys is a step in the wrong direction, because now you can only purchase them in the gem shop, which, is stupid.

Also, they made an option for you to exchange your Pancakes for the new Pancakes, and, I had 1k saved up, but for some reason, they made the exchange rate less?

This is idiotic because if I had 1k saved up, then I should get my 1k back if you're just going to take it away.

Anyway, they took away the Lesser Red Keys, which is the worst step they could've taken because now they're going to lose a bunch of players. I counted on getting those Lesser Red Keys every single day so I could get the possibility of getting an L-Grade Character because I cannot afford to pay $40.00 for a character behind a paywall!

2.) Paywall Characters

Why the actual fuck am I paying $41.00 for a character. Why? I understand that it comes with extra stuff, but in all honesty, there should be an option to pay for the extra stuff, and then an option to pay just for the character.

I understand that defeats the purpose of the "gacha" game, but $41.00 is actual insanity. I admit, I have paid $41.00 in the past to acquire a character, but, this time, I've realized that maybe that is way too much money they're charging just for a character (because in all actuality, do you really care about the stuff that comes with it? No. You care about the character.)

Plus, it's only 10 stages that you get upon purchase! Not the entire thing! If I'm gonna pay $41.00 it better be because I'm unlocking the entire shebang, but it's not!

But, the whole idea of keeping characters behind a paywall is stupid because you have players like myself who work hard during the events who log in every day to play the game and get almost nothing in reward for playing the game.

Like, you made the game. You want players to play, don't you? So why am I being scammed out of my rewards?

So, now that I've said all of that, let's talk about boycotting.

How do I boycott?

Excellent question! You do not buy ANYTHING the game offers you. Do not purchase ANYTHING with your own money for a certain amount of time, and, also, DO NOT LOG IN.

What's the purpose of this, you may ask? Well, it's so that way PrettyBusy sees that they're losing players and buyers, so it grabs their attention! Boycotting makes change! If you boycott, we could get the Lesser Red Keys back, and, also possibly have them consider to not put these characters only behind a paywall!

SO, FROM JULY 4TH, 2024, TO JULY 20TH, 2024, BOYCOTT THE GAME!

PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD AROUND! I would like for this to get off the ground so players can get what they want! We're the ones who keep this game going, not PrettyBusy! Without us, there would be no game, so please, players, spread the word around and get this going!

Here is a post on Twitter/X @ing PrettyBusy. Please retweet it so it can gain some traction! Also in the comments @ PrettyBusy! In the meantime, PLEASE REBLOG THIS POST TO BREACH CONTAINMENT. SPREAD THE WORD AROUND!

Feel free to also screenshot this post and post it onto the Reddit forums! r/WhatInHellIsBad?

This is absolutely riveting, I love the soulmate AU, Reader has a messed up backstory, and Daredevil is being as angsty as possible? PERFECT!!!

This is gonna be amazing, I can tell already 😍

Claimed by the Devil

Small Creatures, Chapter 1

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: When the well-known vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen saves you from disaster, you realize he might mean more to you than you thought.

warnings: swearing, Matt Murdock’s self-destructive tendencies, mentions of a cult and subsequent trauma, allusions to drowning

a/n: This is it, y’all! A Matt Murdock soulmate AU as requested by that poll a few weeks ago. A HUGE shoutout to @zomtart for helping me plan this AU!! I am so excited to share this new verse with you, I really hope you like it! As always, please let me know what you think by replying and reblogging! This chapter takes place about a month before the beginning of Daredevil S2.

w/c: 4.1k

“For small creatures such as we, the vastness is only bearable through love.” Carl Sagan

Since the creation of man, each soul was created with another. Two, sometimes more, mirrored fractions of a whole, destined to forge a bond. Particles of a spiritual atom, drawn to each other by invisible forces, finally satisfied through connection. Soulmates. Each body marked with a symbol, to help them find their other half. Sometimes a word or a shape, a small clue to start their journey.

For a while, that journey was short. It would still take time, of course, to meet your soulmate, to fall in love—but it took less than one lifetime, while the world was still small, the human race still growing.

After a few generations, and centuries of invention, the population began to travel. Groups of people living on all 6 continents, developing new cultures, traditions, languages. As they moved, the average distance between bound pairs grew. It became less common to ever meet your match. Humanity found love in other places, built families on opposite sides of the globe, living their entire existence without their intended.

With each non-bound couple, came children without bonds. Scientists have puzzled over the phenomenon for years, some drawing the conclusion that our biology began to reject the bond, to continue without it as if it was a recessive gene. Through countless wars and plagues, and the continued spread of humanity, finding your soulmate was almost an impossibility.

And then the pendulum swung back. Wars became fewer, food more prevalent, medicine more exact. Lifespans were stretched and, with the help of machines, it was easier than ever to find your soulmate. The damage of an era without them began to repair itself.

Within 5 generations, chances of forming a true bond soared from one in one-thousand to one in thirty.

A sharp vibration from your laptop interrupted the voice in your head. Glancing at the bubble that flashed across your screen, you rolled your eyes at the message. It was the seventh—yes, SEVENTH—in a string of emails from the same haughty woman demanding the pictures of her great aunt's 90th birthday party.

The party was beautiful, and the photos reflected that, but it had been less than 48 hours since the event. Every contract you signed gave you a window of 5-7 business days to edit the photos, more time depending on the length of the shot list you were given and the number of pictures they wanted. If this woman wanted professional, edited photos, she needed to give you a damn break.

Clicking on the small white cross in the corner of the pop-up, you huffed out a small laugh, imagining the fuming woman growing redder in the face when you didn't answer her at 4:02 on a Sunday afternoon. Setting your own hours, as well as being able to ignore frustrating clients during your down time, were just two of the perks of running your own photography business. The flexible schedule and lack of strict routine were a welcomed change after your upbringing in a highly controlled community.

While you did understand why experts used that terminology, you were much more content calling your “community” what it was: a cult. “High control group”—or whatever other politically-correct, secular terminology people wanted to use to describe a bunch of adults deciding to use their limited power to exploit others in the name of some bogus goal—was too polite for the assholes from your hometown. The bumfuck rural town where “religious” leaders congregated to torture dozens of children over a tiny, immovable mark on their skin.

A brand of the devil. That’s what they claimed soulmarks were. The sign of a being destined for evil. And, in order to save humanity from said evil, it was up to this specific community to cleanse you of your threatening aura, to rid the demonic energy from your body and spare your soul.

They’d used written and verbal propaganda, forbid outside contact, relied heavily on fear-mongering—the whole nine yards of brainwashing, all to supposedly grant the town salvation. Given that your particular mark was on the inside of your right wrist? Well, it definitely didn’t help the “damned” accusations coming your way.

Something flashed across your mind. A memory. Tepid water, turning frigid as you were forced deeper and deeper. All traces of oxygen slowly draining from your lungs, your body struggling desperately against the hands gripping you forcefully by the arms, holding you under.

Shuddering with discontent, your mark itched fiercely, as if it was trying to snap you out of the flashback. Absentmindedly dragging a nail over it to quell the unpleasant sensation, you inhaled deeply, studying the image as you did.

It was a simple thing, a series of a few lines just over the pulse point on your forearm. Two triangles, placed horizontally and pointing away from each other, with three small straight lines fanning out beneath. From your limited knowledge, it was a rune of some sort, though you hadn’t been able to narrow down the origin or meaning quite yet. Not scary enough to warrant the actions taken by your wonderful hometown though.

After surviving, and escaping, your upbringing, a lack of a rigid schedule was a necessity—which meant freelance event photography was a perfect career path. Unfortunately, an anxious mind and spontaneity didn't always mix.

It didn't matter that you didn't hear the messaging daily anymore. You were still struggling to unravel the mind games and indoctrination you'd been subjected to, hence the re-reading of this particular article. It wasn't the most informative, and the author clearly had a fully-realized bond herself, but it was the first piece of literature you'd ever read that wasn't propaganda.

There was a historical explanation for the disappearance of your condition, as well as a documented existence of others like you. Your mark didn't make you evil—it meant you were loved.

You re-read the blurb on days like today. Days where your conscience buzzed with apprehension, adrenaline flowing freely despite the lack of danger. There was something in the air around you. A warning, illustrated by the tiniest changes in your environment. On days like these, you felt like a bug beneath a descending shoe, scrambling to understand what was coming so you could make it out alive.

Expecting a disaster was illogical, you knew that. But reason wasn't the driving force in your brain on the anxious days. It was your desperate need to survive, to be prepared. On your bad days, your eyes flew open like you'd heard the door come crashing in or felt the cold steel barrel of a pistol against your temple—your body readying for a fight before you were even fully conscious.

Those days, your heart hammered in your chest, battering your ribs until they ached. Your lungs constricted when your blood pressure rose, each breath coming as a pant as you struggled to inhale enough oxygen. One wrong move and you'd send yourself spiraling into a full anxiety attack. Hopefully, you'd at least be able to stave that off over the last hour of daylight today.

Chewing at the edge of your thumbnail, you aimlessly scrolled through the page again, blowing out a terse sigh. The biggest annoyance when it came to your anxiety was that each experience was unique. There wasn't a universal solution. Sometimes, staying at home where it was familiar and safe was all you needed to settle your nerves. Other times, the constancy only made you more jittery.

As much as you'd wished that a sedentary day would slow your pulse and ease your breathing, that clearly was not in the cards.

Time for Plan B.

Growling almost inaudibly, you resisted the urge to start pulling your hair out strand by strand. Working up the energy to get through the door was always the hard part. As exhibited by your professional side, freedom to roam and choose your own path was vital. Despite your nervous brain trying to deny it, leaving your place to wander on a small adventure would be good for you in the long run.

When you'd escaped the clutches of the nutjobs running your old neighborhood, you'd made a promise to yourself–try at least one new thing every week. It seemed childish, but you'd missed out on so many things when under the control of the Order, you wanted to make up for that. Pretty quickly, it became clear that you thrived on flexibility and exploration.

So you kept up with it. Made a list of things in case you ever ran out of inspiration or couldn't decide what to choose next. That line of scribbles in a worn notebook came in handy on days where you disappeared into yourself, where you lacked the excitement that normally accompanied your little outings. Allowing the intense reluctance in your gut to churn, you reached for the leatherbound pages, sliding the book from where it lay on the coffee table and into your lap. Heaving out a breath, despite your protesting lungs, you thumbed through the paper, letting the smell of ink and coffee-stained parchment wash over you.

You weren't looking for something big. And the idea had to be plausible, there would be no mountain climbing or language learning in a single evening. Trailing a finger to the side of the dried ink, you skimmed each bullet point, eyes lingering on a particularly messy string of words.

“Golden Skyline Ink 48”

Thankfully, the gibberish you'd immortalized was recent enough that you could decipher it. Sunset photos of the skyline from the Ink 48 Hotel. You'd swung by the prestigious building for a meeting with a potential client, but you'd been too busy to snap a decent shot from the roof before your next errand of the day.

Pondering for a minute, you decided to go with your hesitant gut instinct. You craned your neck, hunting down your camera bag as you rolled your shoulder to unravel the tension balled up in them. Shoving up from your horizontal position on the couch, you closed your laptop and shuffled towards the door. Hefting the bag into your arms, you strode down the entryway.

Your hand reached for the doorknob at a snail's pace, halting mere inches from it as if the brass had a forcefield around it. ”You can do this.“ You muttered to yourself, forcing your fingers past the barrier and around the knob.

Stepping through the door, you flinched at the bright fluorescence of the hallway lights, hissing slightly like a vampire seeing the sun in a cheesy TV show. Swallowing the flash of pain in your head as the lights continued to beam down, you took another step. Here goes nothing.

Matt was grateful for the new body armor. He was, really.

He just wished Melvin’s talents included making the damn thing breathable. He’d never admit that, of course. On the spectrum of pain he lived with, being a bit overheated was closer to the bearable end. It wasn’t a stab wound or a broken bone, it wouldn’t impede his patrolling. If he could work through a punctured lung, he could handle a little sweating.

But when the nights got quiet and slow, it was more difficult to keep his mind from latching on to the discomfort–blown out of proportion by his fickle senses.

Sitting atop an apartment building on 55th Street, Matt could feel pure thermal energy bubbling up from the concrete beneath his feet. The waves of heat collided with his shoes, seeping into the rubber soles and blanketing his skin. Around him, the short ledge wrapping around the roof refracted more warmth, sending the sweltering air to smack directly into him.

He wasn't a fan of the heat, never had been, but the thick, skin-tight suit he was wearing only exacerbated the issue. Sweat beaded in the paper-thin gap between his skin and the fabric surrounding it, suctioning it impossibly closer to his body. Grinding his teeth in aggravation, Matt prowled to the edge of the roof, leaping off and rolling to deflect the impact from shattering any of his limbs. With a quick jump, he was back on his feet, taking off towards the next building in the line.

If he patrolled towards the Hudson and back around, he could escape the worst of the heat without neglecting his duty to the city.

Not that there was much action these days. The past handful of weeks, his outings in the suit had been unusually unproductive. It wasn’t that he was missing out on fights–it’s that they didn’t exist. Gangs were staying holed up, petty crime had taken a dive, even the steady drug or arms traders like Turk had gone radio silent. As much as Matt wanted to believe that his time as Daredevil had made a lasting impact on the city he loved so dearly, a current of doubt continued to whirl beneath his skin.

Crime was more likely in the summer, that was an inevitability. Increased temperatures shortened people’s fuses. Spats with loved ones were more likely to turn violent, miscellaneous expenses are more likely to add up and cause financial distress, it was statistically probable that he’d have busier nights leading up to the fall. And yet, here he was, twiddling his glove-clad thumbs while metaphorical tumbleweeds were swept down the streets.

He was confident something had changed, but he hadn’t quite determined what. So, despite the lack of problems he felt the need to solve, he continued to remain out until all hours, ears straining to pick up a scream or the explosive pop of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun.

Body on high alert, he ambled towards the piers, vaulting from roof to roof in a familiar trajectory while his brain fought off an incoming onslaught of guilt at the notion of staying out. Foggy would be furious tomorrow, when he saw Matt gulping down the cheap coffee from their machine–which was held together by masking tape and sheer luck these days. Matt had foolishly admitted his conundrum to his business partner, remarking that the city had been eerily still lately, that there was less of a need for him. That he’d been searching so urgently for justification that he’d been going out before dusk.

The idea that Matt’s nighttime activity was no longer an absolute necessity had upset the tenuous understanding the pair had reached over said activity. A simple slip of his tongue and Matt was on the receiving end of Foggy’s chastising, being told he should take advantage of the lull and “get some goddamned rest for once”. (Foggy’s words, not his own.) The renewed argument had become such a frequent topic of discussion that Karen had almost been clued in a few times when Matt’s frustration had narrowed his senses. Just that morning, he and Foggy had been going at it when she’d arrived at the office, surprising both of them with her bright greeting and intrigued glance.

Hurling himself to the next rooftop, Matt huffed out an aggravated breath, clenching his fists as his muscles tightened with irritation, his friend’s desperate pleas echoing in his head.

“You can’t keep going like this.”

“You’re hurting yourself for nothing.”

“The city will be fine without you.”

That last one stung the most, ripping open an invisible wound he’d crudely stitched after taking down Fisk. His work had helped people. His infamous alter ego was the final straw in the case against the organized criminal, imperative to his arrest. To the people of this city, Daredevil mattered–which meant Matt Murdock mattered.

If he boxed up the suit…

No. That wasn’t an option. He couldn’t–

The shuffle of a shoe on concrete caught his attention, snapping him out of his downward spiral. His chest trembled as he panted in and out, his shallow breaths deepening as he focused in the direction of the noise. He wasn’t alone.

Mouth parting as his atypical radar closed in, his nose scrunched with slight confusion, brow furrowing with concern. There was a person perched on the brick ledge–a woman, balancing on her tiptoes and facing the city. She hadn’t noticed him, her pulse far too slow. Her hands held something blocky, the plastic object dragging along her skin as she positioned it, arms outstretched over the nearly 20 story drop to the pavement below.

He bit back an incredulous scoff as she bent further towards her death, practically rolling his eyes to the heavens as he approached. Not only was this position begging for disaster to strike, she had one headphone in, her lips moving as if mouthing along to the lyrics. She heaved in a dramatic exhale.

“Let’s try this again,” She murmured, finger slotting into a divot on an edge of the thing in her grasp, prompting a series of mechanical clicks to burst from it. Shutter sounds. A camera. A camera? You were risking your life for a photo?

Before he could judge you too harshly, your mouth twitched and your heart rate jumped. You’d realized he was there, then.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” He quipped, his lips twitching with a hint of a smirk as you squeaked indignantly.

It was only amusing for a moment.

As you whirled to face him, apparently surprised that he was there, you lost your footing, tumbling backward off the ledge.

For what it was worth, your little adventure had been going pretty well before the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen almost killed you.

There weren’t too many people out tonight, probably because it was disgustingly hot, so you’d made good time–jogging the few blocks to the hotel and sneaking into the elevator with a young couple who were too busy being at each other’s throats to care that you slipped in. The roof was vacant and more perfect than you could’ve dreamed. Swathed in the lights of nearby skyscrapers, you were presented with a gorgeous panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline at sunset, the stark red-orange hue of the sky peeking between towering steel.

Once you’d attached the proper lenses, you began snapping photos, but you couldn’t get the exposure to set correctly. To capture a good picture at this time of evening, you needed the settings to be just so. It was a tedious, attention-consuming process, that, when combined with the soft music blasting from your lone earbud, had prohibited you from hearing someone approach…until he spoke.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” His growl was low, but contained traces of a humor you weren’t expecting.

Damn your anxious self for startling so easily. With a tiny squeal, you slipped from the ledge, your careful posture crumbling as you fell. Your heart lodged in your throat, air rushing into your ears as you began to descend, but before you could even scream, a pair of warm hands grasped you firmly by the arm.

Face jerking up, your eyes locked onto the masked vigilante’s snarl of exertion as he hauled you over the cement shelf and onto stable ground.

Breathing shakily, still in his grip, your face went slack with a nauseating combination of shock and relief. “Th-thank you.”

He let out a puff of a laugh. “You’re welcome. That was a close call. Do I need to call a hotline?”

Shaking your head furiously, you scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself as you backed away from your savior. “No, I’m good, that wasn’t the plan. I just–”

As you began to retract himself from his hold, his thumb brushed over your forearm, tracing the faintest line over your exposed soulmark. When his fingertip made contact with the lines over your wrist, the world exploded.

When you were a small child, you’d electrocuted yourself when unplugging a lamp. It was an act of rebellion against your parents when they had demanded you clean up after compulsory bible study. The inflicted shock had careened through your entire body, feeling as though you’d been dipped in boiling water and then flash-frozen as your body tried to adapt to the new current. An abrupt change of temperature, the suddenness uncomfortable but the aftermath numbingly calm.

Touching the Devil felt like that.

Your mark glowed with warmth like embers in a dying fire. The hair along your arm stood on end, your heart nearly bursting with energy as you were clobbered with a realization.

“You..you’re my–” You whispered, taking a step closer to the vigilante.

His hand had clasped around your wrist, holding it delicately, chin dipping towards his chest. His breaths were labored, his complexion seeming to grow more pale as he ran a calloused finger over the mark again.

“I don’t–” Dropping your arm as if it had burned him, Daredevil’s face settled into an angry mask as he hurriedly stepped away from you. “I have to go.”

“W-what?” You stammered, running your hands over your arms as your body recovered from his touch, goosebumps undulating beneath your palms. “But we–”

“It’s late. You should get home before it’s too dark.” He responded tersely, turning away from you. Striding across the roof, his hand landed on top of the short stack of bricks, head turning over his shoulder with a sorrowful pout. “I’m sorry.”

Gracefully jumping over the side, he was gone.

Feeling dumbfounded and slightly defeated, you stared after him for a minute before shouldering your bag and beelining for the fire escape.

Karen stretched her arms over her head, groaning softly as the knot of tension between her shoulders unfurled. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she jiggled the mouse on the desk before her, turning her laptop back on to try and appear busy. After the law firm of Nelson and Murdock put Wilson Fisk behind bars, the clientele began to pour in–though whether that was for their proven representation skills or their shitty but functional AC, she wasn’t sure. Regardless, there had been a steady stream of walk-ins this week. And now that it had finally slowed down, she felt almost disappointed.

Being a secretary at the tiny little office was one of the most interesting things she’d ever done. Each case presented completely new realities, new opportunities and challenges. It was like she was given the chance to start fresh every day, and she was grateful for it. But in moments like these where the people filed out of the crooked doors, it made her a bit antsy.

Foggy and Matt were buried in new evidence for a guardianship revocation, holed up in Matt’s office, leaving her to schedule their appointments. She sighed, contemplating whether or not to interrupt them, to ask for something to do. Depending on when the guys would be heading out, they might want dinner or more coffee…

As she was running through a list of takeout that all of them could stomach, that hadn’t been ordered too recently, a shy knock startled her. Door creaking open, a woman peeked in. She looked to be about Karen’s age, a timid but determined look on her face as she slowly rounded the slab of rotting wood.

Peeking around the office, she looked amazed at the closet-sized space, eyes opening a little wider as her lips curved into a smile. Karen couldn’t help but mirror her soft grin, finding the awed stranger endearing.

“Can I help you?” Karen’s question was posed at a low volume, but the girl jumped anyway, giving her a ‘deer in the headlights’ impression, hands clenched around the handle of her purse.

“Oh, um..sorry, yes.” The newcomer shifted from foot to foot, creeping marginally closer as she responded. Her voice was soft, full of doubt. “I, er, I’m looking for Karen Page?”

“That would be me,” Karen smiled as encouragingly as she could. “Were you looking for legal advice? Because I’m not an attorney–”

Shaking her head, the stranger continued to step forward chewing on her lip. “That’s not why I’m here. I saw your posts about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen? If you have time, I had some questions?”

Karen felt herself flush, her eyes flitting down to her clasped hands as she suddenly felt very exposed. “Oh that’s not– I mean, I just wrote a few comments on some nasty blog posts, it’s nothing really. Why come see me?”

Inhaling shakily, the girl rubbed a hand over her arm, clearly trying to muster the confidence to reveal her reason for finding Karen. “I know this is strange but..I think Daredevil might be my soulmate? And I was hoping you might know where I could find him.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase

This is so cute, I love this Bridgerton cinderella story, and I can't wait to see more!

Could I be added to the tag list?

A Cinderella Story || Anthony Bridgerton

-PART FIVE-

Summary: Have courage, and be kind. Words that you tried to live by ever since the passing of your parents. Though your step-mother and step-sisters did everything in their power to hide you and your status away from the rest of the Ton, you never expected to catch the eye of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton himself.

Authors Note: This is my first Bridgerton series! I had an absolute ball writing this, and I hope you enjoy it! There is a tag list open if anyone wishes to be kept updated for future parts. Gif by @venusianbabie

|PART ONE| |PART TWO| |PART THREE| |PART FOUR|

With the house descending into silence, you allowed yourself a moment to collapse onto the lounge in the living room with a loud sigh. With tired eyes your gaze focused on the ceiling, staring at the crystal chandelier as it glittered brightly.

A small smile crossed your lips, grateful for the peace and quiet. Lady Worthington, Mary and Elizabeth had left for the ball mere minutes ago, all of them excited and nervous about their prospects for the night. You hoped that Elizabeth and Lord Burton would get a chance to speak tonight, she had been so beside herself before she entered the carriage to depart. They had travelled with the Cowper family, who had sneered at your person when you had helped the Worthington’s to the carriage.

The train attached to Lady Worthington’s dress was a nightmare to manage, all bundled up in your arms so as to not drop it in the mud at your feet. You were covered in it now, thanks to a harsh push from Cressida who sent you sprawling onto the ground. Luckily however, you managed to save the train though.

You felt the sting of tears prick your eyes, a sense of sadness overwhelming you. How had you become so unfortunate? To be stuck with a wicked witch for a stepmother, and two stepsisters that laughed at you upon your little trip in the dirt. Elizabeth hadn’t said anything, nor looked your way when Mary and Elizabeth started to cackle loudly. She merely turned away; her eyes downcast as she carried herself into the awaiting carriage.

You missed your father, you missed your mother. Their love and kindness was completely gone from this home, the home you had grown up in as a child. You cried into the cushions, sobbing loudly and desperately. You had never felt so alone, so vulnerable…so lost. You knew that they would want you to be brave, to stay strong, and to have hope that everything will work out in the end. Your mind flickered back to the book you were reading earlier that morning, of the fabled prince charming sweeping the princess off her feet, and living happily ever after.

Perhaps your prince charming was around the corner, perhaps he was waiting for you somewhere to take you away from this now horrid home, filled with heartache and distant memories-

There was a loud knock at the door, so loud that it echoed throughout the foyer and into the living room. You jumped with a small squeak, bolting upright in your position on the lounge. You wiped your eyes, drying your hands on your muddy dress and wiping your nose with your apron. It was unladylike surely, but you were not a Lady anymore. After trying and failing to make yourself look presentable, you hurried towards the door as the knocking sounded again. It sounded desperate, frantic even, your face contorting into a confused expression as you tried to think of who it could be.

It couldn’t be a visitor for Lady Worthington or her daughters, the rest of high society was at Lady Danbury’s ball, and it was way too late in the night for anyone to be here in the first place. So, who could it be? As you opened the door your breath caught in your throat, your heart skipping a beat as you recognised the man that stood before you.

Viscount Anthony Bridgerton smiled, staring down at you with kind and soft expression. His eyes never left yours as he spoke, seemingly examining every inch of your face as he bowed politely.

“Miss Y/n, I apologise for calling so late, would I perhaps be able to come in-“

“Why are you here!?” You found yourself exclaiming, your eyes wide in shock as you felt your heart began to beat wildly. Anthony Bridgerton, one of the most distinguished men on all of the ton was standing on your doorstep. Why?

Anthony chuckled, his charming smile widening as he shrugged his shoulders. “Why not?” he replied lightly, finding amusement in your expression as it changed from shock to pure bewilderment.

“If you are here to see Lady Worthington or her daughters, they are gone” You replied shortly, your gaze falling nervously to the floor as you suddenly became very aware of your current state. You were completely covered in slowly drying mud, bloodshot eyes from crying, you no doubt looked like a complete wreck…wonderful.

Anthony hummed “I’m not here to see then, thank god. They arrived at the ball shortly after I left-“

“Why did you leave? Surely someone will notice your absence, and what will the ton think if you are found here, alone…with me-“

“My brother is good at coming up with excuses, I’m sure he’ll spin some wide tale about my whereabouts”.

“And is that something you wish to deal with?”

“Benedict can be a bit excentric at times, but I trust him wholeheartedly…” Anthony finished, clasping his hands behind his back and standing tall, “..now Miss Y/n, may I come inside? Or are you to leave your visitor out in the cold?”.

It hadn’t occurred to you until now, but as Anthony stood before you, you couldn’t help but notice how tall he truly was. You hadn’t noticed it this morning, but he towered over you, the top of your head just barely reaching his chin. You stared up into his eyes, searching for any sign of jest, that this was all some sort of joke, and a complete figment of your imagination conjured up by your saddened state.

But he was real, and he was here.

You released a short breath, a soft smile crossing your lips as you stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.

Tag List:

@infectedbypedropascal @erysione @spookystitchery @scoopsahoyspidey

@misscaller06 @slayqueenizzy @everythingmarveltopgun @idek-what-to-put

@everythingbagel00 @thecraziestcrayon @bollzinurmouth @reejero

@pinkcat246 @ambitions-like-ribbons @jackierose902109 @ladybirdbeetle7

@sweetsourpus @in-deans-arms @blackthorngirl @kee-0-kee

@sometimesminsan @prawntoastsworld @scoopsahoyspidey @darkness-falls-xo

@reallysparklychaos @hottie-bishop-belova @riptidewaters @jay-being-weird

@khhhhjj @golden-girasol @linnygirl09 @xoxonoire @stanmixtapes

@freyagallileaevans @gracielou0518 @judig92 @rafaaoli @queenslandlover-93

@esquivelbianca @fanfictioncafe @hjgdhghoe @sillynilly27

@this-gave-pidgeon-further-shock @avatarl0v3r @alice07ea @adoringanakin

@adrienette715 @bootsandcats-world @rebeccawinters @mp-littlebit

@craziblondi @moonbird1507 @mintydump @inutheangel @formula1-motogpfan

@justaproudslytherpuff @forever-is-the-sweetestcon @butterfly-lover

@thetiredtoad0-0 @sk1mah1 @st-ev-ie @ghostwritermia @wishyoudaskme

@adrienette715 @weaselyss @maggiecc @longpondlibrary @bdudette

@ceciliahargrove @ifilwtmfc @dearmy-diary @hellothere7 @peachyyy-baby

@avngrssckr @lolly145 @ksgeeze @hawklovesskippy @staplerrrr @lyralikesshifting

@f0x33 @123iloveyou456 @kaygilles @spilled-coffee-cup @maddielovesurmom321

Lonely girl boredom cures ౨ৎ

headphone + playlist + long walks

attempt to write a poem

go buy yourself some flowers and make a pretty bouquet

make a summer vision board

cleanout and organise your closet

try a fun recipe (I've been making my own low-cal ice cream lately)

try a new makeup style/technique

do a YouTube workout (Daisy Keech workouts are my fav!!)

read my monthly mail :P

have a self-care evening

trim your hair (rethink this one well though hahaha)

plan/try on some outfits and maybe take some pictures

make a monthly in's and out's list

make a new playlist (and share it with me!!)

send a cute message question to your favourite blogger

redecorate or rearrange your room

write a letter to your future self

As always, please feel free to share your own suggestions and tips in the comments!! <3

‧₊*:・love ya ･:*₊‧౨ৎ

"Just Fuckin Peachy"

Pairing: Cooper Howard/Ghoul x F!Reader

Notes: I hope I did justice to your ask and you enjoy it! I had fun writing it and kinda thought the reader in this could be the reader from my series Runaway,but way after the series took time🫠 anywho enjoy da fluff!

Masterlist

Warnings: gore, language,hints of suggestive things,of course sexy cowboy

You have never hated bounty hunting more than you do now.

You and Cooper both have been fighting non stop the past week,against raiders and wasteland monsters, almost never ending. Since the bounty you both chose is somewhere in a dangerous area in the wasteland, hence why the caps for receiving said bounty was very high, you still dont feel its worth it. Having to go out in the more radiated areas, to kill some Raider leader to stop them from terrorizing a town not far from it. While also fighting gulpers, ferals and super mutants. You both are currently walking towards an abandoned factory,a place the raider group has been rumored to hold up in.

All while during all of this you and Cooper havent gotten any alone time,and its your 2 month anniversary together as a couple. You were hoping to treat him to the best dinner the wasteland can give,even doll up for the occasion. But then the bounty was put up and you both decided to go after it. I hope the pre war dress I found is still clean…. You think to yourself as you walk,hoping your stash and his is kept safe till you both get back.

“Penny for yur thoughts darlin?” You hear Cooper drawl beside you,not noticing hed been watching you this whole time.

“Just wondering when we'll find the leader.” You say with a forced smile,trying not to worry him.

Cooper stops and gently grabs your arm,making you both stop walking,looking down in your eyes. He can read you like a book,can tell something is on your mind, when youre worried,angry or upset. Eversince you both woke up this morning after a fitful sleep of being chased by some ferals,youve been distracted,not smiling as much. Its been gradually happening over the week,and its worrying him.

“You know i can read you like an open book honey,” he says softly,moving closer to you. “Whats goin on in that pretty lil head of yurs?”

You sigh in defeat,his eyes perceptive as always. You close the distance between you both and hug him,missing the way he feels against you. He wraps his arms around you,missing feeling you in his arms too after almost a week of no peace.

“Just miss you holding me is all Coop,stupid wasteland keeps throwing monsters and jerks at us,we cant even sleep without something happening.” You say muffled against his chest, frustrated at the world.

Cooper rubs your back soothingly,kissing the top of your head. “I know sugah, i know.” He says softly to you,soothing you and making you want to stay there forever in his arms.

“I swear Coop when we get back we are not leaving the house for weeks.” You say with a frown,looking up at him. “As payment for this stupid mission i demand it.

He looks down at you with a smirk,his eyes gleaming playfully. “When this is done sweetheart,were both not leaving the bed for weeks.” He says slyly,making your cheeks flush profusely at his sly remark,knowing full well what he means.

“Deal.” You squeak out,clearing your throat from the sudden dryness.

Cooper laughs at your reaction,pulling you closer,leaning down to catch your lips in a kiss. You start to lean in too, grinning up at him,eager to feel his lips on yours.

But as always something stops you both,and the reason now is a stray bullet that shot near you both.

“Oh for fucks sake!” You growl,the last bit of patience you had was gone from being interrupted again. You grab your gun and aim it towards where the bullet came from.

Even Cooper was pissed at the stray bullet,but you shocked him at your reaction that his non-existent eyebrows shot up at you. Shocked that youre so angry to cuss for one since you dont normally,and also finding it oddly very alluring to see you like this.

“Damn darlin, i ever tell you look cute when yur all angry?” Cooper drawls at you,grinning, pulling out his gun too.

“No you havent,and thank you.” You seeth out,not angry at him but at the raiders shooting at you both in the distance. “All i want is a kiss you assholes!”

You shoot back at them,running to a nearby building for cover,Cooper right on your heels. Seems the rumors were right about raiders being around here,which means you both arrived at the right place. If you weren't so pissed off youd be cheering right now,close to the end of the mission,close to being alone with Cooper again.

“You think the leader is inside Coop?” You ask, firing off a shot at a raider,clipping their arm and making them cry out.

“He better fuckin be,” He says as he shoots down two raiders. “I count about 20 of 'em out there, think you can handle a couple darlin?” A cocky smirk spreads on his lips, challenging you,making you smirk back.

“I can handle more then a couple cowboy.”

You both charged out,guns a blazing,back to back and the perfect team. Raiders all around the factory,on the roof,and on ground level all got taken down by you two. Not one bullet grazed either of you,Cooper cant help how proud he is by how amazing youve gotten at fighting.

“You about to make me go feral with how beautiful you look right now,” Cooper says in a low gruff tone,looking you up and down hungrily.

“Im covered in blood and guts and you say I'm beautiful?” You laugh,wiping some blood and chunks of raiders off of you. If blood wasnt covering your face from a raiders head exploding near you,Cooper would see you blushing.

“Very much,” he replies,sauntering over to the main entrance doors, and kicking them open. “Ladys first.”

“And they say chivalry is dead.” You laugh,going in the building first,gun ready once more.

You and Cooper searched through the factory,taking some supplies along the way since no ones using them now. You notice this area of the factory looks unused in so long, making you wonder why none of the other raiders go in this side of the place.

“I dont like how this area feels Coop.” You say worried,gun ready for any sign if a threat.

“Me either.” He agrees,his gun aimed forward.

The place is dark and quiet as you both explore,using your pipboy for a light source. Once you come up upon a locker room you both see something glowing ahead,making your stomach flip when you recognize the glow.

In the middle of the room stands a couple of ferals,and a glowing one.

“Oh crap!” You exclaim as you try to shoot one,but you gun is empty.

Cooper starts to shoot them,taking them down fast,but the glowing one charges at you,knocking your gun out of your hand. You fall on the ground with it,it snarls in your face trying to bite you,claw at you.

“Get off of me!” You yell,kicking it back off of you,giving you a moment to grab your machete off your back.

It charges at you again,jumping you once more. But you land a hit to its head first,flipping you both over to where youre on top now. You keep hitting its head, angry at it almost biting you,almost killing you.

“y/n….you okay there sweetheart?” You hear Cooper say behind you,worried in his tone.

You didnt notice he had stopped shooting,having killed the rest of the ferals while you had bludgeoned the one below you.

“Just fuckin peachy,” you say sarcastically,yanking your machete out of the smashed face of the glowing one. Groaning in disgust as you notice a lot of its glowing blood got on you.

You stumbled up,breathing heavily,wiping the blood off your hands on your pants,turning to face Cooper who looks amused.

“And you say I have a temper.” He rasps out a laugh making you roll your eyes.

“You do,” you say frowning,picking up your gun with a huff. “Now lets finish this stupid mission.”

You both found a boarded up entrance in the next room,leading to the main area of the factory. People used this area for sleeping in,beds laid around,some behind makeshift dividers,and some in tents. You see on some fire pits human bones near it,making you feel sick at the sight of it,hoping never to have to go down that dark road.

After a bit of scavenging you both finally found where the leader was holding up thanks to Coopers great tracking skills.

Its a big room, a cafeteria from the looks of the tables and seats. In the middle of it sits a throne made of junk and scrap metal. You feel dread wash over you as you see the raider leader. Hes dawning a set of Power armor,and a giant hammer as their weapon by their side.

“So you must be the big shot leader around here,” Cooper says with a wicked grin,chuckling darkly. “Correction, was, since we just mowed down your whole team.”

The raider stands up from his throne,the armor clinking with his movements.

“Youre both gonna fuckin regret messing with me,” he says as he picks up his hammer,ready to charge at us. “Im gonna kill you both nice and slowly-”

While the man keeps talking Cooper looks over at you, looking bored from the man blabbing,you cant help but laugh at his expression.

“-whats so fuckin funny?” The man yells at you,caught off guard by you laughing at him trying to be menacing.

“You raiders say the same goddamn threats every time, hell we both thought with how tough it was to get to you,you wouldnt be so fuckin boring.” Cooper says, shaking his head,loading up his gun nonchalantly. He puts a strange shaped bullet into his gun, you cant help but wonder what the weird design of it does differently.

“Yeah, yall should think up some new lines “ i agree, honestly bored by how repetitive these raiders talk.

“Ya know what darlin, consider this the first gift to our anniversary.” Cooper says with a sly grin at you,cocking his gun.

He shoots the bullet right below the chest plate,making the raider cry out in pain and fall over, dead instantly.

You would be amazed right now if his words hadn't distracted you. You feel your heart flip happily, not knowing he knew it was your 2 month anniversary.

“Wait, you were planning something too?” You ask in shock,grinning.

“Course i was,” he chuckles,moving closer to you. “Two months ago you made me the happiest man in the world, why wouldnt i want to celebrate that?” He says softly,wrapping his arm around your waist.

“You made me the happiest woman in the world then too.” you say back,smiling warmly up at him, making him smile back just as much.

He closes the distance this time,knowing that there wouldnt be a chance this time of you both being interrupted,and kisses you. You both melt into the kiss,having not done so in awhile,wanting to savor how you feel to each other.

“Damn darlin,I missed those sweet lips of yours.” Cooper says in a gruff voice,his eyes looking into yours with lust. He loves how you look up at him,eyes blown like his,with just one kiss, setting you both on fire from it.

“I missed yours too Coop.” You whisper back,grinning up at him as you caress his face. He closes him eyes and leans into it,kissing your palm gently,making your heart flutter at his tenderness.

“Seeing as this big ol place is empty now,how about I give you another early gift sweetheart?” Cooper suggests in a deep drawl,pulling you closer against him,hands on your hips.

“God yes.”

💥⭐💥⭐💥⭐💥⭐💥⭐💥⭐💥⭐💥⭐💥⭐💥

You both lay in the large bed, that belonged to the Raider leader, content and happy. Embracing each other after a long passionate day together,making up for lost time. You trace patterns onto his bare,scarred chest,feeling at peace in his arms. You both enjoyed the stash the raiders had after your “gift” exchanging time. Drinking some nice whiskey,some chems and even some food too.

“I so glad they had this bed,i dont think i couldve waited longer.” You admit sheepishly,making Cooper chuckle as he drinks more whiskey.

“Me either darlin,this last week has been hell to us both.” He sighs,tracing circles on your bare hip.

“Yeah, but at least we got a lot of caps now to last a while.” You yawn,cuddling closer to him with a sigh. “Hey coop?”

“Yes sweetcheeks?”

“I love you.” you say with a warm smile, melting his heart at the sight,making him smile right back just as warm.

“I love you too darlin.”

Hope yall enjoyed!🫡 This is my first ask yayy!

Ooo this is so cute, and I love watching the brothers stumble over their lies lol.

Side note, I was so thrown off by Dean being called blonde LOL, I've always thought of him having light brown hair and I did have a moment of huh? Which isn't a writing issue at all, it just didn't connect in my brain 😭😭

This was great, and I can't wait to see more!!

Always Waiting for You [1: First Meetings]

Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader Word Count: 4.4k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; fluff, pining, friends to lovers, slow burn, angst, canon typical violence, eventual smut, use of pet names & nicknames (no y/n)

Series Summary: In the beginning you'd been content helping your grandmother run Springwood, the quaint bed and breakfast she had owned and ran for most of her life. You'd grown a fondness for Springwood over the years, already having long since known your grandmother wished to eventually pass the bed and breakfast onto you. But the more you got to know the curious Winchester brothers every time they sporadically turned up to rent rooms, the more you'd begun to long for a little something more in your life. You soon found yourself becoming close friends with the brothers–even after finding out what they really did–and you easily found yourself falling for Sam. But the pair of you only ever remained close friends as the years passed by despite you always secretly holding onto the hope that he'd someday finally stop trying to protect you from himself and his life.

Tag List: @cheshirecat484 @stoneyggirl2

a/n: While Reader will not have a physical description or a name (other than nicknames and pet names), she will have a bit of a family history for the sake of the plot (since this is a long fic). I still like to keep things fairly vague so that readers can either pretend it's their family or pretend Reader was adopted at birth and are still able to insert themselves into the story if they want. With that out of the way, enjoy part one! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Hunched over the sink as the bright, late morning sun filtered in through the kitchen windows, you scrubbed at the pan you’d used earlier to make breakfast for the guests currently staying at Springwood. Omelets had been on today's menu and they had taken you a good portion of the morning to prepare and cook despite only having three guests who had stayed at the bed and breakfast this weekend. Though you didn't necessarily mind the extra work because you usually rose early in the morning everyday, always unable to fall back asleep because you felt a little restless. Which was why you often welcomed any opportunity to keep yourself busy at Springwood.

Focused on your current task, the warm, soapy water splashing over your bare hands, you were too deep in your thoughts to catch the sound of soft footsteps shuffling towards you over the scrubbing of your sponge. It wasn't until you'd heard a voice behind you that you realized you were no longer alone in the bed and breakfast’s kitchen.

“Relax there, honey bee, or you’re going to wear that poor pan out.”

Startled at your grandmother’s unexpected presence, you jumped at your place in front of the sink. In your surprise you had dropped the pan into the soapy water with a loud, messy splash. Looking over your shoulder, fresh soap bubbles now splattered across your face, you found your Nan grinning at you and shaking her head.

“You’re too uptight, bee,” she teased. “Always so in your head. I swear an elephant could sneak up on you sometimes.”

“Well you're certainly quieter than an elephant, Nan,” you countered, rubbing a forearm at the soap that had splattered on your face. “And I'm not entirely convinced you don't know some secret way to get around this place unnoticed.”

Your grandmother only smiled as she continued her way across the kitchen to you. Turning your attention back towards the pan you'd dropped in the sink, you picked it up along with your sponge and resumed your cleaning. 

“I could have taken care of the morning dishes, you know,” she told you. “You've been doing all the cooking and cleaning the past few months, honey bee. You're not leaving much for an old woman to tend to.”

You shot your grandmother a grin over your shoulder. “That's the point, Nan,” you replied. “You've done plenty over the years here. I'm completely capable of handling the load. It isn't like we're constantly booked to capacity or anything.”

“Well, no,” she agreed slowly. “But little bee, when was the last time you had a day off?”

Switching on the faucet, you rinsed the large pan underneath the spray. Watching the soap bubbles disperse, you shrugged at your grandmother’s question.

“I don't know,” you answered her, reaching over and setting the pan into the drying rack on the counter. “It's been awhile, I suppose.”

“Don't you think you should get out of this place more often?” she asked. “Spend some time with your friends? Maybe go on a date every once and awhile?”

Pausing mid-scrub of a plate, you turned and shot your grandmother a pointed look. “Nan, you ask me this like clockwork almost every four months,” you pointed out. “I'm fine . I actually like working here, you know. The guests keep me busy over the weekends, and the gardening, cleaning, and paperwork keeps me busy during the week. And in my downtime,” you continued, focusing back on washing the plate in your hands, “I've got plenty of books to read.”

Your grandmother padded over to the counter beside you, one of her hands raising up to lightly rest along your shoulder. Pausing once more when you felt her give you a gentle squeeze, you glanced down at her hand before your eyes eventually met hers.

“Don't you ever get lonely, honey bee?” she asked. “It's just the two of us here.”

“Well there's also the Johnsons,” you joked. “At least until morning check-out, that is.”

Nan released your shoulder, her hand playfully slapping your arm as she shot you a look. Though you could see the smile she was fighting back, the corners of her lips twitching.

“They've already checked out,” she told you. “Just before I came in here to find you. But you know what I meant, bee. You're far too young and full of life to be holed up in this place with me all the time. You should find yourself a nice man.”

Rolling your eyes, you opened your mouth to protest, but your grandmother quickly cut you off.

“Or a nice woman,” she amended with a cheeky grin. “You know I don't judge.”

Shaking your head, you focused on rinsing off the plate in your hands before adding it to the drying rack beside the pan. “You worry too much about me,” you told her. 

“Someone ought to,” she replied. “I'm an old woman. Someday I won't be around and I don't want to think about you being here all by yourself.”

“Then I'll get a cat,” you teased. “And then I won't–”

The sound of a loud, growling engine roared over your words, drowning them out. At first the noise was just a distant rumble, your brows drawing together as you tried to place where the sound was coming from. But it didn’t take long for you to realize that the sound was quickly growing nearer, clearly coming from a car making its way up the winding drive to Springwood. 

Almost simultaneously, both you and your grandmother leaned over the counter towards the kitchen window above the sink, peering out at what you could see of the driveway. It was a moment before you spotted a black muscle car through the trees that lined the long drive. The pair of you silently watched as the car gradually made its way along the path, heading to the front of the bed and breakfast. 

“Well you don't see that every day,” Nan muttered, her voice just audible over the roar of the car’s engine. “Not ‘round here at least.”

“No,” you whispered, transfixed by the car glinting in the sunlight as it drove, the plate in your hands temporarily forgotten, “you certainly don't.”

“Wasn't expecting anyone to be checking in on a Sunday, either,” Nan said. “Suppose whoever that is will keep us busy for a bit.”

After a moment, the car disappeared from view and you remembered the plate in your hands. Focusing back on it, you turned the faucet on and ran it under the warm spray. As the soap washed away, you felt your grandmother lightly pat your shoulder. At the feel of her touch, you looked over at her in time to see her turning and making her way out of the kitchen.

“I'll go greet our new guests, bee,” Nan called back to you. “Maybe you can come help them find their rooms?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “I'll just wash up these last few dishes from this morning and I'll be right out.”

After your grandmother had disappeared, you’d spent the next couple of minutes cleaning the last few pieces of silverware, your hands moving quickly and efficiently. Once finished, you dried off your hands and hurried out of the kitchen, making your way down the long hall towards Springwood's foyer in order to help Nan with the new guests that had just arrived.

As you headed down the hallway, passing by the entrances to Springwood's dining room, library, and sitting room, you'd expected to overhear your Nan talking to an older couple. Considering the type of car you'd seen pull up, you found yourself surprised when it sounded like the voices of two younger men speaking with her. When you grew near enough to the bed and breakfast’s foyer, you couldn't help but overhear their conversation. 

“...such a nice little town,” Nan had been saying. “I hope you'll be enjoying your stay here.”

“Oh, I'm sure we will,” a man's voice politely replied. “Though we'll probably be spending most of our time in the town over. In Arlington.”

“Arlington?” Nan repeated in mild surprise. “What's in Arlington that would have brought the pair of you boys out this way?”

Stepping out of the hall and through the archway that led into Springwood's entrance, you caught sight of the two young men who were currently checking into the bed and breakfast. Abruptly stopping short the second you actually saw them, you were taken by surprise as a soft gasp slipped out of you. Standing frozen in the doorway, your feet rooted to the spot, you saw both men’s attention shift from your grandmother behind the front desk and over to you. The shorter of the pair’s gaze quickly began to size you up, his eyes scanning you over from top to bottom. Beside him, the taller one sent you a friendly smile in greeting. You couldn’t help but notice something warm and comforting in the way his eyes held your own, something about him easily drawing a smile from you back at him.

These men looked absolutely nothing like the usual guests who stayed at the bed and breakfast. For starters, they were incredibly attractive–which felt like a vast understatement. They looked as if they'd walked straight out of some magazine advertisement even if they weren't dressed in anything out of the ordinary. And besides how noticeably handsome they were, they also weren't here with a family, nor were they an older couple clearly in their retirement years enjoying their free time traveling. Those were generally the type of guests you had staying at the bed and breakfast regularly, not insanely attractive young men. You'd also thought it was strange that they'd shown up at the end of the weekend when Springwood's guests typically checked in at the beginning of one. You found yourself instantly intrigued by the pair of these strangers, wondering why they'd chosen to stop here and not at the Hilton that was twenty minutes away in Bridgeport–a significantly larger and more exciting city. 

“We're here for work, actually,” the one with cropped blonde hair answered, focusing back on your Nan. “It tends to take us to all sorts of places across the country.”

“Oh does it?” Nan said conversationally, sliding the keys to their rooms across the desk. “And what is it you gentlemen do for work?”

“We uh,” the blonde began, pausing to clear his throat. “We–we work for a magazine.”

“A small travel magazine,” the one with slightly longer dark hair quickly added. “It’s uh, it’s not a very big magazine. At the moment, at least.”

One of your brows quirked up onto your forehead at the way in which they'd responded. They hadn't sounded so sure of themselves in their answer. Almost as if it was a lie. But why would they have lied about their job? And why would a travel magazine be interested in anything out in a small town like Pine Ridge or Arlington?

As you found yourself growing even more curious about the men and their strange response, you couldn’t help but continue to stare at the taller of the pair. He towered over the other man beside him, a seemingly genuine smile on his face as he focused on Nan. Your fingers itched to brush away some of the dark wisps of hair falling into his eyes the longer you studied him. You also couldn’t help but notice the way his navy tee-shirt clung to the front of his chest beneath the baggy, brown jacket he was wearing. 

You couldn't quite place what it was about him, but you found yourself struggling to tear your eyes away from him the longer the pair stood there. Maybe it was the friendly smile he'd initially sent you accompanied by the set of adorable dimples on his cheeks, or maybe it was the unexpected gentleness that seemed to be radiating from him despite the other man's self-assured–and possibly arrogant–demeanor. Either way, your eyes were oddly drawn to him.

Until he glanced back at you when you heard your Nan give them your name in way of introduction and he'd caught you staring. 

Smiling sheepishly back at the pair of them, you forced yourself to straighten your posture and clear your throat. You were supposed to be a professional when it came to working with the guests after all–even if they were two painfully attractive guests. You should have known better than to be staring.

But you could certainly act normal. Because you didn't have a choice not to, not with them staying here. Especially not if they actually did work with a travel magazine. You didn’t need a bad review of Springwood getting around because it would kill the business.

“My granddaughter here can show you gentlemen to your rooms,” Nan's voice said, breaking through your thoughts. 

She turned and sent you a smile from behind the front desk, but the mischievous glint in her eyes didn't escape your notice. No doubt you'd get an earful later about how attractive they were and whether she thought they were possible suitors instead of just traveling guests who'd be gone from your lives before you knew it. A conversation you were already not looking forward to later.

“Though maybe first you'd like to show them around Springwood a little, honey bee?” she suggested. “You know, let them get acquainted with the place.”

With a sigh, you plastered your most professional smile onto your face before waving a hand at the two men. “If you'd like to follow me this way, I can certainly give you both a brief tour of Springwood’s main floor before showing you to your rooms.”

The blonde suddenly grinned wide at you, the cocky confidence you’d picked up on from him rolling off of him in waves now. The intensity of it had you biting your tongue and refraining from making a comment as you continued to keep your practiced, professional smile on your face instead. Though you were still fighting to keep your eyes from returning to the taller and more attractive of the two. 

“We'd certainly love to follow you,” the blonde replied, shooting the man next to him a little smirk. “Wouldn't we?”

Your expression faltered at his tone, your head tilting a bit to the side. It had sounded as if there had been something else intended in his words, a double meaning that almost seemed inappropriate, though you weren't entirely sure. But your suspicions were confirmed when the brunette roughly elbowed the blonde in return, sending you an awkward smile as he did. 

“Sure, we'd love a tour,” the brunette said. “That sounds like it’d be helpful.”

Eyes narrowing, you curiously studied them for a second longer, taking in the wounded look on the blonde's face as he rubbed his side. Beside him, the taller one was shooting you a strained, polite smile. Choosing to ignore the question dying to spring out of you, you turned and headed back into the hallway. Behind you, you heard the heavy footsteps of both men following after you. 

“So down this hallway,” you began as you walked, “you'll find a lot of the main areas our guests enjoy here during their stay at Springwood. The first room to your right is our sitting room, which is also where you'll find the staircase that leads us up to Springwood's second floor, and that’s where our guest bedrooms are located.”

You came to a stop beside the entrance to the biggest room on the main floor of the bed and breakfast, gesturing a hand at the doorway that led into the sitting room. Both men glanced inside, examining the space that was filled with a few cozy sofas situated around a fireplace. 

“There's also a door that leads to the back garden just through this room,” you told them. “It tends to be a nice, peaceful spot where guests often enjoy doing some work or catching up on reading. Or even having a morning coffee. Though,” you continued, turning and heading further down the hall as the men followed behind you, “we also have a small library that some guests like to use as a quiet place to focus on work while they’re here, too.”

Stopping in front of the next room on your left, you once more gestured inside. This room was one you personally spent a lot of time in yourself when the bed and breakfast was empty. Usually you would curl up on the sofa with a book and a blanket, spending rainy days reading when you couldn't enjoy the garden outside.

“You both might find the space useful if you're here for work and want to get out of your room for a bit,” you told them. “There's a couple of desks inside and a printer you’re welcome to use. It's pretty quiet in there. And then further down this way,” you said, turning and leading the pair a few more steps down the hall as you continued on your tour, “is a place you may want to remember. In here is Springwood's dining room.”

You came to a stop in front of the dining room on your right, watching as both men once more craned their necks for a look inside. It was a fairly large room with a few different sized tables meant to accommodate couples and families alike, though when it wasn't tourist season–like right now–it was often depressingly empty and quiet. 

“We serve breakfast here between eight and ten every morning,” you informed them. “There's a daily breakfast menu in your rooms, but when it's off season for tourists during winter and spring months, I'm open to taking suggestions for other things. Given enough time to prepare, of course.”

The blonde turned his attention back on you, a devilish grin lighting up his face. “Open to suggestions, huh?” he asked, his tone once again hinting at something else. “I like the sound of that. I could definitely think of a few things I'd like to suggest, you know?”

Both of your brows slowly rose upwards as you stared back at him in disbelief, unsure how this man could be making such blatant innuendos if he was here on business and representing a travel magazine. Especially with his colleague standing right next to him. Something certainly didn't seem to add up with their story, not with their strange behavior since you'd met them. But before you could say anything, you saw the taller of the pair once more sharply elbow him in the side.

“Dean,” he hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

You noticed the way the blonde shot the other an insulted look, something far too familiar passing between them to just be colleagues. They definitely didn't seem to be acting like a pair of professionals on a business trip. 

With an awkward chuckle, the brunette sent a nervous smile back at you. “Sorry about my brother,” he apologized, “he has a habit of saying whatever pops into his head without thinking first. It’s something he should probably work on.”

“So you're…brothers?” you asked, eyes jumping between the both of them. “Brothers that happen to both work at the same travel magazine? That's interesting.”

At your comment, the pair abruptly exchanged a look with each other. Wordlessly you watched them, carefully scrutinizing the way it appeared as if they were silently communicating with each other. You caught how the blonde roughly shook his head at his brother, the movement small but just enough for you to have picked up on it. The brunette's eyes had gone a bit wide in response before they seemed to be pointedly glaring back at him.

“What travel magazine did you say you two worked for?” you questioned, interrupting whatever moment they were having. “And I also don't think I ever caught either of your names now that I think about it.”

The pair broke out of their silent conversation, both of them shifting awkwardly on their feet as their attention returned to you. You couldn’t help but notice that the smiles on their faces once more looked oddly strained. Despite knowing better than to pry too hard with guests, you found yourself desperately wanting to learn more about them and what it seemed like they were hiding. 

“We are brothers,” the brunette confirmed. He raised a hand, pointing to himself as he said, “I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean.” 

He gestured over his shoulder at the shorter blonde, your eyes following his hand’s movements. Dean was standing there shooting you what you presumed was meant to be a charming smile, but you weren’t remotely charmed by it. 

“We both work for, uh–” Sam continued, though he quickly broke off.

Gaze drawn back towards him when he’d spoken, you watched as his face scrunched up as if he was in thought. Beside him, Dean let out a faint chuckle, lightly slapping his brother on the arm.

“We work for a magazine called The Open Road , but my brother here is new. I just recently got him a position,” Dean’s smooth voice explained. “He often forgets the name of the magazine because he’s just…so new. You know?” He turned and shot his brother a look. “Isn’t that right, Sammy?”

Sam forced a smile onto his face as he nodded, the gesture looking a little stiff. “Right,” he agreed. “I’m uh, I’m quite new to the magazine. This is actually my first assignment. So it's…all new.”

“Oh,” you replied slowly, still scrutinizing them carefully as you made a mental note to look into the magazine later. “That must be nice. I imagine getting to travel for work is exciting.”

Dean laughed lightly, something glinting in his eyes as he did. “You have no idea how right you are.”

Ignoring the strangeness of his comment, you decided to focus on finishing the tour instead of being too noticeably nosey. They’d probably stop giving up too much truthful information so freely if you didn’t. 

You took a moment to point out the first floor restrooms across from the dining room before leading the men back down the hallway from which you’d initially come. As you led them towards the sitting room, you overheard them sharing some hushed words behind you, but they were speaking far too quietly for you to be able to really make out anything they were saying. And admittedly, you’d been trying.

“So your rooms are just upstairs,” you explained as you approached the staircase. “And once we reach those that’ll basically conclude our little tour.”

Making your way up the stairs, one hand trailing along the banister, you noticed both men were now quiet behind you. When you finally reached the landing on the second floor, you found yourself a little disappointed that the brief tour was already over because it meant you had no more reason to continue to try to unravel whatever mystery seemed to be hanging over these brothers. And it certainly seemed like there was something more to them than what they were letting on. 

“These will be your rooms for your stay with us at Springwood,” you said, pointing out the two doors to your right marked with a number one and two. “If there’s anything else I can help you both with during your stay, please don’t hesitate to ask. My grandmother and I are always somewhere on the property.”

“Thank you so much for the tour,” Sam told you, adjusting the duffle bag on his shoulder. “But I think you’ve been quite helpful enough already. We won't take up anymore of your time this morning.”

You sent him a polite smile and a single nod before turning, but you’d only managed to take a single step before you heard Dean call your name behind you. Immediately you stopped at the sound of his voice, glancing over your shoulder at him. 

“You said breakfast ended at ten,” he began, “and we’ve had a long drive. Is there anywhere you could recommend close by for us to grab some food? Either breakfast or lunch? We’re basically starving.” 

“Certainly,” you replied, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips as another opportunity to pry more answers out of them seemed to present itself. “There’s Rosie’s Diner a couple of miles down the road in Pine Ridge’s downtown,” you said, turning back towards them. “There's also a couple of fast food joints out that way, too. And Cast Iron Cafe. Or if you’re both not interested in driving anymore this morning,” you continued, trying not to sound overeager, “I’d be more than happy to scramble up some eggs and fry up some bacon?”

Sam held up a hand immediately, shaking his head. “Oh no,” he said, “we couldn’t possibly ask you to make us breakfast. Especially after hours.”

Dean’s head snapped to the side instantly. “Dude!” he exclaimed. “She offered.”

“Really, it’s no trouble,” you assured the pair. “Like I said, it’s off season for tourists right now. So both of you are our only guests at the moment. Honestly you’d be giving me something to do.”

“Eggs and bacon sounds perfect,” Dean replied, a big grin on his face. “And then I could use a nap. A long, long nap after all of that driving.”

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother before he shot you an apologetic look. You couldn’t help but admire the warmth in his eyes as he did, but then you quickly mentally scolded yourself for even thinking that. He was a guest, after all. Just a guest. One who’d be gone before you knew it, even if he and his brother were piquing your interest with their unusualness. Because that was all it was drawing you to him–their unusualness.

“I’ll let you both get settled in then,” you said, turning and beginning to make your way down the stairs. “If you head down to the dining room in about twenty minutes, I’ll have a couple of plates of food ready for you both.”

You were nearly halfway down the stairs when you overheard Dean behind you whispering to Sam, his voice just loud enough for you to catch what he’d said.

“Dude, this place is awesome,” he enthused. “We should definitely come back here.”

As you continued your way down the stairs, you couldn’t fight the growing, pleased smile on your lips, grateful they couldn’t see your face at the moment.

Don't feel bad about posting angst like this author. There's sickos like me who will snort it like their last line of crack.

Okay but seriously, loved it! I want more angst, NO COMFORT! Lol at least for a little bit. But I can't wait to see more, even if everything gets resolved in the next chapter.

Also quick thought, reader either has to get turned at some point, or Billy needs to be human, if this story has a happy ending. THATS HOW VAMPIRE BOOKS GO! Immortals can't live mortals, so I'm counting on a vampire reader eventually.

Whatever happened to Billy I blame Krista, even if she had nothing to do with it.

Great job author!!!

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Eleven

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Violence against reader. Also some very smutty smut using toys (not related to the violence). All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.4k

A/N : Please, please, please read the warning. I'm sorry it's probably a little spoiler-y but I'd rather be safe than sorry even though I don't tend to write these things in the most graphic way. If you don't want to read it, it's the last few hundred words of the chapter (I think it's pretty well telegraphed). Also, I'm sorry for this, please don't hate me 😅

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN

MASTER LIST

Chapter Eleven

Billy didn’t go back to work and, as the days passed it got harder and harder to tell if he was better for it. Every time you’d mention it, he’d mutter something about Frank, about not wanting to have to deal with it and, then, distract you by telling you about how he’d rather spend time with you. And, when that stopped working, when you’d try to talk to him about it, he’d move onto more physical means of distraction.

But every time his phone buzzed or lit up with a notification, you’d see his irritation flare.

You sat with your legs draped over his lap as you tried to concentrate on your book, The Count of Monte Cristo, while Billy read emails on his phone. You had wanted to suggest doing something, going out for a drive or to see a movie, but Billy seemed tired and you didn’t want to bother him.

His phone buzzed and he huffed.

“Was that work?” You dared to ask him and received a grumbled answer in response. “I don’t think you’re going to be able to avoid it forever, Billy...”

“I’m not avoiding it,” he sighed, rubbing his hand over your bare calf, “I just don’t want to deal with it right now.”

“He’s not going to change his mind about us unless you talk to him,” you tried again. “Unless you’re planning on skipping work for the next eight months...”

At this point, you were starting to wonder if that was the plan, if Billy was simply going to stay home every night until your contract was over. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to go back to work. But, as much as you were enjoying having him in the penthouse every night, you felt responsible, like you were fucking up his life.

“We could go away together? Somewhere with a beach?” He tried to change the subject.

“Billy...” 

“I don’t want him to ruin this for us,” he relented, his tone turning tense. “These last few days have been so good and I just want it to last a little longer.”

“He’s not going to ruin anything,” you told him. “We get to decide what this is. No one else. I just don’t want you to burn bridges and wreck your life for me.”

He fell silent and you hoped he was thinking about what you were trying to tell him. As much as the incident at the party had upset you, you couldn’t just think about yourself; in just over eight months time, you’d be gone and Billy would have to carry on without you. You didn’t want him to lose friends or damage his business on your account.

“Fine, I’ll go in tomorrow.”

You kept your relief to yourself, not wanting to say or do anything to anything that might make him change his mind. Your attention returned to your book while Billy got up and headed for the kitchen, answering his phone as he went. Obviously he wanted some privacy, but that didn’t stop you from trying to listen in to Billy’s quietly spoken half of the conversation.

“What do you mean you lost her?” He practically hissed. “How did she even... past security... whose plus one?” 

His voice got lower making it impossible for you to hear anything else, but the call lasted at least another minute and the look on Billy’s face when he returned told you far more than words ever could; he was frustrated. 

“Is everything okay?”

“It will be,” he answered cryptically. You gave him a questioning look urging him to explain. “I’m just making sure Krista can’t get near you again.”

“Oh.”

It was the first time he’d mentioned her since the party. You hadn’t asked. Honestly, you hadn’t wanted to. The less you thought about other women Billy had let into his life, the better.

“I’m not going to let her hurt you,” Billy promised, sitting back down and pulling your legs back onto his lap. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You both fell back into silence; your attention returned to your book and Billy continued to look at his phone, reading through messages and declining calls. Eventually, put his phone face down on the coffee table. Over the top of your book, you watched him rub his eyes and slouch back.

For a moment you thought he might close his eyes and try to rest but, instead, he caught you peeking at him.

“You know, I was thinking about the other night,” he said as his hand moved back to your leg and softly caressed your bare skin, from your ankle up to the hem of your cropped leggings and back again.

“Which part of the other night?” You asked, a hint of warmth already starting to bloom across your cheeks.

His fingers wrapped around your ankle, lightly holding you, as if he thought there was any chance that you might try to pull away from him.

“The part when you had my cock in your mouth, giving me the best blowjob of my life, and you came without my permission,” he stated with a smirk, making a point of ignoring the way your breath caught. You bit your lip as he looked at you. “You owe me an orgasm, hummingbird.”

“Is that my punishment? To come for you?” You asked, trying to fight back your embarrassment so you could play his game.

His smirk turned to something darker, something almost sinister, something barely restrained and full of wanting. “That depends on if you want consequences for breaking the rules.”

Your heart skipped a beat; at the unasked question and the hungry way he was looking at you. Already he seemed to be forgetting about work, Krista, and everything else that had upset him, and you wanted to keep him that way. 

“They wouldn’t really be rules if they didn’t have consequences,” you said, trying to hide your nerves though you were sure he could see right through you.

“Are you willing to accept any punishment that I choose?” He asked and you nodded. “So, if I told you to go to your room and bring back one of your toys, you’d do it?”

You stopped breathing. You felt completely frozen, like even your heart didn’t know whether to beat or not. Your cheeks felt like they were burning and your wide eyes were fixed on him.

A couple of seconds later, Billy opened his mouth, no doubt about to tell you that you didn’t have to, that he was only playing around. There was a flash of something like embarrassment on his face, regretting taking things too far.

“Yes,” the word leaving your lips in an awkward squeak before he could walk back the question.

Billy seemed just as surprised as you were, so much so that he hesitated before responding, leaving you with time to change your mind if you wanted to. But you didn’t want to change your mind. You had no idea what he was planning or what he wanted to do, but you wanted it, in part because you wanted to try and bring him out of his frustrated mood but, also, because you were feeling brave.

He licked his lips, waiting a second more, not taking his eyes off of you.

“Okay then, go and get the toy you used the morning I heard you moaning my name,” he said, a hint of daring in his tone, as if he was still expecting you to back out. 

Moving your legs from his lap, you stood up and slowly started to walk towards your rooms, trying your best to just breathe through the waves of panic and excitement that were crashing over you. Your steps got quicker once you’d slipped through the door to your room, not wanting to overthink what might happen in case it made you want to back out.

You quickly retrieved the blue vibrator and returned to Billy, watching as his grin grew wider. You didn’t realise that you were clutching it tightly in both hands until Billy extended his hand. 

Your heart raced as he took the toy from you and inspected it, turning it in his hand before looking back at you. Without saying a word, Billy reached for you, placing his hand on your chest above your racing heart and for a few seconds his eyes shut, just enjoying the moment. Then he kissed you, pulling you close. Your own eyes fluttered shut.

His fingers hooked on the waistband of your leggings and you helped him lower them, stepping out of them without breaking the kiss. 

A gasp slipped out against his lips as you felt him press the toy between your thighs, softly rubbing it against you over your panties. You tensed when he turned it on, a bolt of arousal running up your spine, causing you to arch your body against him.

He moved you back, leading you down onto the sofa and following after, keeping his lips against yours and the toy between your legs.

It wasn’t long before your hips started to move, desperately seeking more friction despite how self-conscious you felt. Your heart was still racing and embarrassment was clawing beneath your ribs, but you wanted more. And so did Billy.

The toy was dropped onto the sofa while his hands started to pull at your panties, revealing you to him.

“Fuck, hummingbird, you’re soaked already,” he muttered, roughly tugging your panties the rest of the way down, leaving you in nothing but your baggy shirt that had ridden up to just below your bust.

Your cheeks burned as he lifted the panties to his face and took a long inhale through his nose. His body shuddered and tensed.

“How is it that everything about you makes me want?” He asked, dropping your panties to the floor. He slipped the vibrator between your legs again, pressing the tip against your clit before turning it on again. “I can’t get enough of you. I’ll never have enough of you.”

Before you could even try to wrap your head around what he was saying, his lips were on yours, his tongue pushing its way into your mouth. 

It wasn’t long before you were moaning against his lips, almost forgetting that this was supposed to be punishment. Almost forgetting that you didn’t have his permission to come. 

He pulled the vibrator back just in time, turning it off. “Not until I say so.”

You nodded, taking deep breaths and trying to calm yourself. When you were ready, you felt the toy between your folds as he coated it in your arousal, before positioning it at your entrance. 

Your lips parted and a moan tore from you as he began to fill you. Wet enough to take the toy without any resistance, it wasn’t long before every inch was inside of you, and Billy started to fuck you with it. He started slow, but it didn’t last.

“Moan for me,” he groaned against your neck, still fucking you with the toy, “moan for me like you did that morning...”

“Billy...” you moaned, then; “Mr Russo...”

You heard his breath catch and a growl claw its way from him, and even though you were at his mercy, it made you feel powerful.

“Mr Russo...” you gasped, over and over.

His lips covered yours, swallowing down the moans that he’d asked for, as if he’d realised that it was too much, that he couldn’t take anymore. He pulled back the toy, almost slipping it from you entirely before filling you with it again and starting to set a much faster pace. Your eyes stayed closed tight, imagining that it was Billy inside you, that he was finally giving you what you both craved.

That thought alone had you clenching around the toy, your arousal climbing higher and higher, pushing you closer to breaking point. He took you right to the precipice before pulling the toy out, leaving you empty and unfulfilled. 

Your eyes opened, fixing on him, whining when you saw his smirk.

“You wanted a punishment,” he told you darkly, tormenting you by pressing the tip of the vibrator against you, pulling it back again when you shifted your hips, trying to push yourself onto it. “If you misbehave you’ll only make it worse for yourself.”

You stilled immediately, earning a smile from Billy. He kissed you softly, distracting you as he turned the vibrator back on and ghosted it over your swollen clit. Again, you squirmed, wanting more than just a grazing touch.

“Do I have to tie you down?” He asked against your lips, his tone causing your heart to race a little faster, leaving no doubt in your mind that he’d do it. 

It should have worried you, maybe even scared you, but all you could think about was the unfulfilled ache between your legs.

Billy continued to tease you, but even those gentle touches were enough to start you climbing towards orgasm, and he knew it. Every fibre of your being seemed to tense, like thousands of springs being coiled too tight, at any moment you knew that you’d snap.

But, again, Billy denied you.

“Billy,” you pleaded as a feeling of discomfort started to fill you.

“I think I preferred Mr Russo,” he teased, an edge to his voice that sent a shiver down your spine. 

“Mr Russo,” you tried again, wanting to give him whatever he wanted.

“That’s better.” A moment later, he had the toy against your lips and a dark grin on his lips. “Open up.”

You hesitated for a beat before doing what you were told, parting your lips and letting him slip the vibrator into your mouth. Without being asked, you started to suck the toy as he moved it in and out of your mouth.

“I dream about this mouth,” he groaned against your ear, “and these perfect lips, and how good they feel wrapped around my cock. It’s like you were made just for me.”

Another moan escaped you as his teeth nipped your ear. When he lifted himself over you again, he stared, watching the toy as he fucked your mouth with it, his jaw set. You kept your eyes on his, letting him see exactly what he was doing to you. 

You licked your lips when he finally pulled the toy away. You didn’t look down, didn’t beg for what you needed, you just kept looking at him, giving him complete control.

“Mr Russo...” you gasped as he plunged the toy between your walls again, this time moving at a merciless pace that you knew you’d never be able to withstand.

“Come for me,” he demanded, turning the vibrator back on as he fucked you with it.

You did as ordered, crying out as your body was finally granted relief.

You weren’t sure when he’d pulled his cock from his sweatpants, but there it was as he kneeled over you, your thighs shook wildly as he kept the vibrator buried inside you with one hand and started to desperately fist himself with the other.

He grunted and swore, coming quickly, finally pulling the toy away so he could coat your trembling pussy and thighs with his cum. You whined softly, overstimulated and far too sensitive, as his finger ran through your folds pushing some of his cum inside you, like he was claiming you and marking you as his.

Reaching for him, you pulled him down into a kiss, expecting things to de-escalate now that you were both satisfied. Instead he kissed you roughly, pressing his hips down against yours, letting you feel how achingly hard he still was.

Your fingers tangled in his hair until he took hold of your wrists and pinned them beside your head. Your breath caught and you struggled against his lips.

“Billy,” you gasped, tearing your lips from his.

If he heard, he gave no response, moving his lips to your neck, sucking and nipping, until you felt something sharp scrape your skin.

Fangs.

“Billy...”

A deep, guttural growl vibrated through his chest - a sound you’d heard before.

There was another scrape against your neck, this time causing pain. But before you could say anything, he was already pulling away from you. He moved awkwardly and suddenly, ending up on the floor next to the sofa, his head in his hands.

“Fuck - fuck - I’m sorry.”

It took a few seconds before you could think straight, reaching up to touch your neck and the small cut he’d left on your skin. Not a bite, just a scratch really, but enough to draw blood.

Torn between comforting him and running, you found yourself frozen, trying to understand what had just happened. And, as you thought back, you hated yourself for not noticing the warning signs sooner; the look on his face, the things that he’d said and the way he’d said them. 

“Hey,” you finally managed, awkwardly sitting up, trying to ignore the mess he’d left between your thighs. Gingerly, you reached for him, running your fingers through his hair. Billy bristled at your touch. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” he snapped, head still in his hands, “how can you say it’s okay? How can you keep saying that?”

“Because you stopped yourself. Again,” you answered back. “It’s a scratch, Billy. We both know that you could’ve done so much worse.”

“How can you be so relaxed about this?” Billy demanded, finally lifting his head and letting you see the anguish on his face. “I feel like a fucking timebomb and you’re there acting like you weren’t just five seconds away from death.”

“Would you have killed me?” You dared to ask, cutting through all of the usual bullshit, not sure how else to try and settle the issue once and for all.

“I -” for a moment he just stared at you, torn between what he wanted to tell you and the thing that terrified him more than anything, “- I don’t know. I - I don’t even know if I wanted to kill you or...”

A chill ran through you at what was left unsaid, filling that blank with a dozen terrible thoughts, and when you didn’t immediately respond, Billy took that as a sign, pulling away and getting to his feet.

“Stop,” you quickly got up, legs feeling weak beneath you while your hands pulled your baggy shirt down to try and cover yourself. “Please don’t go.”

“Why are you fighting so hard for me?”

“Because someone has to, Billy,” you told him without hesitation, “because you deserve to have someone on your side, even if you don’t think that you do. You haven’t hurt me and I don’t think that you will, so stop trying to scare me.”

He seemed stunned by the sudden firmness in your tone, so much so that he didn’t try to argue.

“Now, sit down. I need to go clean up,” you told him, taking a step back. “If you try to leave while I’m gone, I will never forgive you.”

Billy hesitated but soon sat, fixing his gaze on the window while you grabbed your leggings and panties from the floor and headed towards your rooms.

You cleaned up as quickly as you could, putting a bandaid over the cut on your neck and changing into your pyjamas when you were done. As quick as you were, it still felt too slow and your heart was pounding uncomfortably with the thought that he’d be gone by the time you made it back out to the penthouse.

But he wasn’t. He was exactly where you’d left him.

You cleared the distance and sat beside him, throwing your arms around him before he could even think about protesting, holding him tight.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be around you right now,” he told you, his voice betraying his exhaustion.

“I think it is. I think this is the best place for you right now.” You said, watching as the confusion on his face deepened. “Just let me look after you. I don’t want to be alone right now, and I don’t think you do either...”

Moving slowly, you reached for a cushion and placed it on your lap, patting it softly.

“Lay down,” you said softly, leaning a little so you could take hold of his hand and gently urge him towards you. 

After a moment of hesitation, Billy moved, laying down and resting his head on the cushion. You started to gently run your fingers through his hair, and heard an awkward breath escape him.

“I used to get sick a lot when I was a kid and my nanna used to sit with me like this for hours,” you told him softly, watching as, little by little, he let himself relax.

You let a few minutes pass in silence, watching as the tension started to leave him, fingers still running through his hair. Eventually, you reached for the TV remote and put on Netflix, starting the next episode of Black Sails.

“Pirates again?” He grumbled, the weight of his exhaustion seeming to catch up with him. You weren’t sure what caused him to lose control, but you were starting to realise just how much effort it took for him to rein it back in.

“Pirates again,” you confirmed. “Just close your eyes and relax.”

The whole while you kept stroking his hair, letting your eyes drop to him every few minutes, watching as he slowly gave up on trying to keep his eyes open. It was hard to tell if he was sleeping, but he was certainly more relaxed than he had been.

Hours passed. After three episodes of Black Sails, you decided to turn off the TV and close your eyes. At some point you drifted off, only to be woken when Billy started to move. His body was tense, eyes still shut tight, letting out the most heart rending little mutters, sounding like a terrified, wounded animal. 

For a short while, you waited, hoping it would pass and he’d settle again, but it just seemed to get worse.

“Billy?” You tried, gently at first, running your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him. “Billy, it’s just a dream. You’re okay.”

He awoke with a gasp.

“Hey, you’re okay, everything’s okay,” you continued, still stroking his hair.

“Huh, what  -” it took him a second to realise where he was. You watched him sit up, noticing the way that exhaustion seemed to cling to him. When he reached for his phone to check the time, his hand was shaking so much he almost dropped it. “I’m sorry, I -”

“What are you apologising for?”

“It’s two in the morning, I kept you up all night worrying,” he told you, looking about ready to get up and leave. “I should -”

“You should lay back down and rest. You look exhausted,” you told him softly.

“But you need to sleep too.”

“I was sleeping,” you said, putting a hand on his shoulder and gently tugging him back.

As much as Billy wanted to argue, he was too tired. He laid back down while you grabbed your yellow blanket from the back of the sofa and settled behind him, pressing yourself against his back and covering you both.

He gave an uncertain sort of huff. “I’m not used to being the little spoon.”

And, despite the situation, you found yourself bursting into laughter, pressing your face against the back of his neck and holding him all the tighter. A moment later you felt his body shudder with a tired laugh of his own.

“Go to sleep, little spoon,” you muttered sleepily, snuggling closer. 

He was still for a few minutes, leading you to hope he’d fallen asleep until you heard him sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You whispered.

“I just want to keep you safe.”

“I’m safer here with you than I would be if I left,” you confessed softly, pressing your lips to the back of his neck

“So I’m the lesser of two evils?”

“No, Billy, you’re who I want to be with, even though I know it’ll never be easy...”

You heard him take an awkward breath before starting to move, turning himself so he could face you. In the dark you could barely make out his face, but you knew he was looking at you. 

“Stay with me,” he said suddenly, desperately, like the thought had been weighing on him for hours.

“I am,” you told him, “I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, I mean after. I mean for more than a year,” then, much quieter, “forever.” 

“I...”

You fell silent, barely daring to breathe. More than anything, you wanted to say yes; you wanted to belong there with Billy, you wanted to spend the rest of your life in his arms.

“Whatever you’re running from, I can protect you. I can keep you safe,” he continued. “I want to be yours...”

“Billy...”

“I know it’s fucked up to ask you, but I can work on it, I can learn to stay in control, I can -”

“That’s not the problem, Billy. I know you can stay in control, it’s just...” you sighed. “My life is more complicated than you think and I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“Is that a no then?” He asked, sounding broken just at the thought.

“No. I don’t know. I need some time to think,” you tried to explain, earning another sigh from him. “I want you to be mine, Billy. More than anything. But I can’t just say yes now and hurt you in the long run. Just - just give me some time, okay?”

“Okay,” he said before falling silent.

Reaching for his cheek, you pressed your lips to his, and closed your eyes tight. “I want you to be mine. I want to stay. Things are just complicated,” you whispered before letting out a tired sigh, “I’ve been dreaming about falling asleep in your arms...”

“Oh, hummingbird,” he muttered softly, pressing his lips to your forehead and holding you tight.

You didn’t feel him start to move until the break of dawn. In your sleep, you’d shifted, ending up with your head on his chest and your hand beneath his sweater resting on his waist, holding him tight.

He gave you a tired smile as you lifted your head.

“How did you sleep?” He asked.

“Five more minutes,” you muttered sleepily, burying your face against his neck.

Billy laughed, holding you tight and kissing the top of your head. “I’d stay like this with you forever if I could.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For staying last night. For trusting me,” you told him, keeping your face hidden. “I know it’s not easy for you and you scare yourself sometimes, but it means a lot that you didn’t walk out.”

He didn’t say anything and, even if he had, you weren’t sure what you would have wanted to hear. Instead, you just closed your eyes again and tried to enjoy your five more minutes.

Eventually, you had to let Billy go so he could go to bed. You weren’t sure how much sleep he’d managed to get but you wanted to make sure he was rested before his return to work that night.

That evening, you met him with his blood, nice and warm in his travel mug and ready for him to take to work. He seemed a little unsettled at the prospect, but you didn’t give him time to linger before ushering him out of the penthouse.

You missed having him around, but you hoped he’d be able to fix things with Frank, and that you’d all be able to move on with your lives. It was a quiet night and you spent it relaxing before heading to bed early, falling asleep the moment your head hit the pillow.

A loud crash in the penthouse startled you awake some time before four am. Without even stopping to think you shot out of bed and headed for the door.

You stepped out into the gloom, finding the dining table had been flipped and one of the chairs laid broken and splintered against the wall. And, standing amidst the destruction was Billy.

“Billy, what’s -” 

The question was left unfinished. The moment he turned you had your answer. It was like this first night in the kitchen all over again, only somehow worse. His dark eyes fixed on you, his whole body seeming to tremble and twitch like he was trying to crawl out of his own skin.

A low snarl escaped him and, for a split-second, he flashed his fangs.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t offer any of the usual warnings or tell you to stay back, he just watched you edging closer and closer.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” You asked softly, knowing you needed to pull him out of it.

As you got closer, you noticed the state of him; his shirt was torn and drenched in blood, and there were deep scratches on his neck like someone had been clawing at his throat. With the holes in his shirt and the cuts on his neck, you couldn’t tell if all the blood belonged to Billy.

You needed to get a closer look.

He gave another snarl. “Don’t.”

But you didn’t let that stop you. You edged closer, trying to get a look at him in the dim light. The corner of his lip curled again, giving you another glimpse at his fangs. His hand tightened to a fist at his side and he almost seemed to move forward before pulling himself back.

“Billy, what happened?” You tried again.

He took a shuddered breath, almost wincing as you reached for him, tenderly placing a hand on his cheek, hoping you could soothe him.

“Who did this to you?”

He leaned into your touch and his eyes closed, and for the briefest of seconds you allowed yourself to believe you’d fixed whatever this was.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist before you could even think to pull away, yanking your arm awkwardly as he forced you backwards, slamming you back against the wall. You yelped in pain, the impact forcing the air from your lungs. And, when you looked in his eyes, Billy wasn’t there anymore.

“Billy,” you gasped, pushing against him, trying to escape his grasp.

A sob slipped out as he forced you back against the wall again, reminding you that you were nothing more than a weak, pathetic human.

Another snarl tore from his lips and he bared his fangs.

You turned and twisted and pulled, doing everything you could to keep him from biting you, raising your knee and hitting him in the groin as hard as you could. Billy staggered, winded, letting out an angry howl, his grip loosening enough for you to pull away.

Starting to run, you almost made it to your door when he grabbed your wrist again, this time pulling so hard that you screamed.

“Mine,” he growled, pulling you back towards him. 

The pain in your arm was overwhelming and only got worse when you tried to move.

“Billy, please,” you sobbed, “this isn’t you. You don’t want to hurt me. Please, don’t ruin this.”

For a moment he almost looked like your words had gotten through to him, but then he continued to pull you towards him, pressing your body to his. 

You lashed out again, kicking and swinging your fist, managing to catch his face in a way that had his nose exploding and blood spraying everywhere.

This time you ran faster, making it into your rooms and into your bedroom.

Billy followed after, only a couple of steps behind, blood pouring from his broken nose.

You tried to shut the door, only to find his hand blocking it - a hand that he quickly pulled back when it started to sizzle. He couldn’t come inside. He couldn’t get to you in your room.

All he could do was stand and stare at you, his chest heaving, his face bloody, looking more monster than man. You clutched your injured arm to your chest, tears streaming down your face.

“I trusted you,” you sobbed, watching for a reaction and getting nothing but anger from the vampire.

A couple of seconds passed before you slammed the door shut and dropped to your knees. A loud thud in the corridor had you crawling towards the door, pressing your back against it even though you knew he couldn’t get in. There were more sounds out in the penthouse, more thuds and bangs before, eventually, everything went silent.

End Note : As much as I love writing chapters like this one, I kinda hate posting them because I know that it's not exactly what some people want to read. So, I guess, no hard feeling if you don't want to continue reading after this one? IDK posting anything darker always makes me a little nervous but I don't want cute fluff all the time, especially not when I'm writing a vampire fic. But I do promise reasons and resolutions to this. It's not just there for shock value, is what I'm trying to say. Anyway, I'll stop rambling now 😅 Thanks for reading! I hope you have a great weekend and, as ever, thanks for all the love and support you showed on the last chapter!!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

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Read this on AO3 and left a comment there, great job again, I wanted to reblog it here as well 🫡👍

Can't Run from the Truth

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings/tags: 18+; light angst, embarrassment, confession of feelings, happy ending, a smidgen of fluff and implied smut

Summary: After finishing a hunt, you and the Winchester brothers end up at a local dive bar in an attempt to wind down from the evening, though it doesn't take long for you to quickly find yourself drinking down your feelings while Sam flirts at the bar. But when the truth about your feelings for Sam accidentally comes to light, you panic and find yourself immediately ready to split ways with the brothers.

a/n: I'm back on my Sammy bullshit and couldn't resist a little one shot while I'm working on my series for him (Always Waiting for You). Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you absently spun your partially drunk bottle of beer between your thumb and index finger, your chin resting in your other hand. The growing chatter of the dive bar filled the room around you as your beer sloshed back and forth inside the bottle, your attention only somewhat focused on the way Dean was discussing the hunt you'd all just finished–a poltergeist that had been haunting a young couples’ new home.

Truthfully your attention was elsewhere tonight, keeping you from focusing on anything that Dean was saying as he sat across the sticky, wooden table from you. Vaguely your mind registered the sound of him laughing at one of his own jokes, but you were too busy watching Sam where he sat across the bar drinking down his second beer. You could see the dimples visible in his cheeks as he nodded his head, smiling wide at something the attractive brunette who'd struck up a conversation with him shortly after your arrival had said. You couldn't help but notice how close she was sitting beside him at the bar, either. 

Jealousy flared within you as you watched the pair of them continue to chat. Honestly you couldn't fault the young woman for her obvious attraction to Sam or for the way she was openly flirting with him. You weren't stupid, you knew exactly how handsome he was. It wasn’t as if both brothers didn’t always catch the attention of women whenever you all stopped in a new town. That wasn't exactly new to you.

But you also knew Sam was far more than just his outward appearance. He was an incredibly smart and compassionate man, having a bigger heart than most anyone else you'd ever met. He was selfless and courageous; the amount of times you’d firsthand witnessed him putting someone else’s life before his own had been too many to count at this point. But he was also sensitive, funny, and thoughtful. Whenever life on the road had begun to take its toll on you, Sam was always the first one finding ways to cheer you up over the past few months since you'd joined the brothers hunting. 

As much as you’d hate to admit it, even just to yourself, you'd grown to love all of those traits of his over the time you had gotten to know him. Because inevitably you had gone and developed strong feelings for Sam. Ones you couldn't deny existed any longer even if you constantly did your best to keep them to yourself. Which was why you were currently sitting at the table and sulking on your barstool as you drank down your third beer of the night, your eyes glued to his plaid back. 

It hurt to watch him flirt back with the woman. Every boyish grin he sent her way tore at your heart, and the way her hand often lingered on his shoulder or his thigh when she spoke to him had you gnawing your cheek even more aggressively in an attempt to keep from crying. You wished you had the courage to ever just tell Sam how you felt. Wished he would want to pull you aside after a hunt and smile at you the same way he was smiling at this complete stranger.

Releasing a dejected sigh, your hand abruptly gripped the neck of your beer bottle. Life on the road hunting never really presented the opportunity to have relationships, which was something you knew from your own experience over the past few years. And while you were quite aware of the fact that neither brother seemed too interested in forming serious attachments to anyone because of that, you also knew Sam. You knew it wasn't a secret that he longed for a normal life, one free of hunting. You always quietly wondered if he would ever eventually fall for one of these women he randomly met and occasionally flirted back with in one of these towns. It wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility after all. Would he ever consider getting serious with one of them?

Something lightly smacked into the beer bottle in your hand, the resounding clink the glass emitted jolting you out of your thoughts. Your eyes flew from the view of Sam's plaid shirt stretched across his broad back and came to land on Dean sitting across from you. There was a knowing albeit annoyed look you didn't quite appreciate drawn across his face.

“Seriously?” he asked, raising a brow at you. 

“What?” you asked him.

Dean shot you a flat look. “Did you hear anything I just said?” he questioned. “Or were you too busy staring at Sammy over there?”

Heat burned your cheeks at Dean's blunt accusation. You were immediately embarrassed that he had somehow noticed what you'd actually been doing while he’d been talking, but you clearly weren't about to admit you had in fact been staring at Sam. Shaking your head gently from where it still rested in the palm of your left hand, your gaze dropped down to where you once more began awkwardly fidgeting with your beer bottle.

“I wasn't staring at him,” you lied. “I'm just spacing out. We were up most of last night researching the case, remember? I'm just tired.”

“Uh huh,” Dean replied. He gestured a hand at your beer bottle as he asked, “Is that why you're drinking so much tonight then? Because I've noticed that you always drink more when someone gets a little flirty with my brother.”

“I do not,” you grumbled, eyes still downcast.

You heard the way Dean shifted in his stool across from you, emitting a noise of disbelief at your response. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him raise his beer to his lips before taking a drink. You kept your eyes averted from his, focusing on the table in the hopes that he couldn’t see the truth written on your face if you didn’t make eye contact with him.

“That's your third beer,” Dean pointed out a moment later, lowering his bottle back to the table. “I know you only have one drink at most after a hunt. But usually you’re the sober one. Now tonight some chick is over there being handsy with my brother, and here you are downing your third beer already.” 

Twirling your beer bottle even more nervously at how observant he was, you heard Dean sigh before he shifted again in the barstool. Leaning forward towards you, he rested his elbows along the table looking anything but ready to drop the topic. Clenching your jaw, you continued to avoid his gaze–though you could certainly feel the way he was staring at you now.

“I see how you are around Sam. It's painfully obvious you like the guy,” Dean continued, his tone far softer. “So why the hell don't you just tell him already?”

“Because I don't like him,” you retorted. 

“Oh come on,” Dean shot back. “You definitely drink more whenever we stop somewhere and some chick flirts with him. It’s happened more than enough times for me to know it isn’t just a coincidence.”

You shrugged weakly, still refusing to meet Dean’s eyes. “Like I said, I’m just tired. And it’s been a long day. That poltergeist did throw a mirror at me. I think that warrants me trying to have a few drinks to unwind for the night.”

Sam had also very meticulously and tenderly cleaned and bandaged the cuts you’d received on your bicep from the glass shattering immediately after the fact. The memory of his gentle, warm hands on your skin as he’d taken care of your wounds after the fact had been worth the injury in the end, but you'd rather face a vampire nest alone than voice that thought aloud. 

“Bullshit,” Dean challenged. “I see the way you smile at him. I see how you sneak looks at him, especially on long drives. The way you laugh at his jokes–which are terrible, by the way. We all know I’m the funny one.”

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head. As Dean continued on, you raised your beer from the table, taking a deep pull off of it as you turned your head over your shoulder and focused on the window to your left. It was getting fairly late now, the nearly full moon hanging low in the night sky. Just across the street you could see the Impala parked out front of the motel the three of you were staying at tonight, the red neon of the bright sign catching your attention.

“He likes you, too, you know,” Dean told you. 

You huffed out an unamused, bitter laugh at the thought. “Now that is some bullshit, Dean,” you muttered, still focused on the motel across the street. “He sees me like you do. As a little sister.”

“Are you kidding me?” he snapped. “Do you not see the way his face lights up whenever you stay up late with him to research a case? Or how excited he gets when you help him search online newspapers for a new job?”

“Because you never want to,” you replied, finally turning your attention to Dean. “I can’t let him be the only one doing all the work when we're on a job. And I’m sure he just appreciates getting the help.”

Dean pulled a face at you, shaking his head. “That’s definitely not it, I think I know my own brother. I mean, the man gets heart eyes when you find us a diner that has avocado toast on the menu.”

“Well we don’t all enjoy eating greasy burgers constantly,” you argued back. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Across the table from you, Dean’s eyes narrowed. Something smug crossed his features next and you found yourself growing a little more nervous at the sight. You didn’t believe him in the slightest about Sam, but you knew he was far too right about how you felt. And you didn't like that one bit.

“Then what about those times I’ve seen you both share a bed?” he questioned, that smug expression still on his face. “Countless times I’ve woken up to take a piss and I’ve found the pair of you cuddled up together looking rather cozy beneath the sheets.”

Your cheeks burned again as you ducked your head awkwardly, once more avoiding his probing gaze. Truthfully you’d never known what to make of those mornings yourself when you and Sam had woken up in bed wrapped around each other. Usually you both profusely apologized before one of you–usually you–bolted to the bathroom. And then nothing further was ever said after the fact.

“It’s not intentional,” you weakly replied. 

“You know,” Dean began in a cocky tone, “out of all the times I’ve shared a bed with you, we’ve never woken up like that. Pretty sure that says something.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you firmly countered.

“Just admit it already,” he pushed. “Stop trying to deny it. You have feelings for him.”

Eyes snapping shut at his determined persistence, your hand tightened hard around the neck of your beer bottle. You could feel the alcohol in your system beginning to cloud your mind, making you more easily irritated with Dean than you normally would’ve been if he had brought up this subject when you hadn’t already drank so much. 

“At the very least, you can admit it to me,” he continued. “Both of you are so damn stubborn, but I already know–”

“Yes, fine!” you snapped, eyes flying open as you glared across the table at Dean. “If it gets you to finally shut up about it, yes! I like Sam, alright? And I can’t stand watching him flirt with other women whenever we’re out because yeah, I wish it was me instead. So I drink a little extra to try to ignore how much it hurts me. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

You were fuming as you glared at Dean, your jaw clenched tight as he sat there with a self-satisfied grin on his face. The sight of that grin confused you, somehow further growing your irritation at him and this topic. If he'd wanted to get a rise out of you tonight, he’d certainly succeeded.

“What?”

At the sound of the voice coming from just beside you, you abruptly stiffened in your seat. Mouth falling open as your eyes widened in shock, you instantly recognized that voice. Sam was apparently standing beside you and no longer sitting over at the bar, meaning he most likely had overheard what you'd just angrily admitted. Your heart immediately began to race in your chest, your palms beginning to dampen with sweat as embarrassment flooded you.

“Yeah,” Dean said, that amused little grin still on his mouth as his eyes glittered with mischief. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear, actually.” His attention shifted to just over your shoulder, his expression never wavering. “Perfect timing there, too, Sammy. I’m guessing you caught all of that?”

Panic soon mixed with the embarrassment you felt, your body still rigid where you sat in the bar stool. You didn’t dare to look at Sam behind you as the urge to bolt out of the bar hit you strong and hard. 

This whole situation was mortifying. How were you supposed to go back to the motel and sleep in the same room with either of them after that? How were you supposed to share a bed with either of them? Or continue to even work together? It was one thing when you could pretend you were just friends with Sam and he had no clue about your actual feelings, but now that he knew? You felt like you were going to be sick with the way your stomach was twisting and churning.

You needed to get out of the bar. You needed to get away from the Winchesters. Far, far away.

Releasing your death grip on your beer bottle, both of your hands landed down hard on the table. Abruptly you pushed your bar stool back, the legs screeching along the bar floor. That roiling, sick feeling inside your gut only intensified as the seconds passed. As you rose to your unsteady feet, those beers in your system causing the room to spin just a little around you, you caught the way Dean’s expression finally changed. The smug, self-satisfied look shifted to something like concern as his brows drew together.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

“I need to go,” you blurted.

Grabbing your bag from off of the bar stool beside you, you flung the strap of it over your shoulder. Still avoiding looking at Sam who’d remained entirely silent, you spun on your heel towards the bar’s exit and made your way straight to it. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dean exclaimed behind you. “Where do you think you're going?”

You didn't respond. Instead, your sluggish and somewhat inebriated mind was quickly trying to piece some sort of escape plan together. Maybe you could call a cab and get a ride to another motel for the night. You could probably book a flight and head out to Bobby’s place tomorrow and get yourself sorted with a vehicle with his help. It wasn’t like you’d needed to hunt with the Winchesters, after all. For now you’d go back to the motel across the street and grab your duffle bag and wait for a car to come pick you up. When you were safely away from the brothers you’d shoot Dean a text to let him know you were planning to do your own thing so he wouldn’t worry–but you weren’t going to mention going to Bobby’s. You didn’t need them showing up there on you.

Pushing the door of the bar open, you exited the building in a hurry, still ignoring the sound of Dean calling after you. The cool air of the late summer night brushed over your cheeks as you briskly made your way towards the street. The bright red neon of the motel sign was like a beacon of safety right now, drawing you towards it and away from Sam and Dean and the disaster that your night had unexpectedly taken. 

It was quieter outside of the bar as you walked, the lack of extra noise allowing the panicked, anxious thoughts in your head to grow even louder. You couldn’t believe Dean had been such an asshole tonight, intentionally goading you into not only admitting you had feelings for his brother, but pushing you into confessing it within earshot of him without you even knowing. He’d ruined everything by doing that. 

And now you were left with no choice but to go back to hunting alone again. Just you by yourself. The thought had tears pricking at your eyes. Ever since you’d decided to work together with the brothers, hunting and living life on the road had been far less lonely, even if you’d had to deal with your one-sided feelings for Sam. But now it would once more just be you again. With no one to watch your back or shoulder the burden of driving. No one to play amusing games of twenty questions on long car rides, to keep you on your toes with ridiculous pranks, or to keep you company as you ate all your meals on the go. No more Sam to shoot you warm smiles that never failed to brighten your day, or to help patch you up whenever you got hurt.

Roughly wiping the back of your hand across your cheeks, you attempted to remove the few tears that had fallen. With a soft sniffle you fought the urge to continue crying down as you approached room number eight, the room the three of you had rented just before heading over to the bar for a few drinks. Unzipping your purse, you stuck your hand inside and dug around, feeling for the room key. It was a moment before your fingers found it and you pulled it out of your bag. 

Quickly unlocking the door, you pushed it open and stepped inside, shutting it behind you a little harder than necessary. Wasting no time, you tossed your room key onto the small, round table positioned next to the outdated and worn armchair in the room before making your way over to your bag where you’d earlier tossed it onto one of the queen beds. Taking a moment to unzip it, you made sure everything you needed was still packed inside. Satisfied that everything was still there, you sat down onto the end of the bed before reaching back into your purse. You pulled out your cell phone and unlocked the screen, but you hadn't even had a chance to search for a local car service before the motel door swung open. 

Head darting over your shoulder at the abrupt noise, you were surprised to find Sam's tall frame filling the doorway. He stood there staring at you for a moment, a hard to read expression on his face as his lips thinned into a straight line. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding under his gaze. You saw Sam's focus shift to your duffle bag where it sat at your side on the bed before his eyes dropped down to the phone in your hands. It looked as if he'd winced before he focused back on you. 

“What’re you doing?” he asked softly.

Swallowing hard, you watched as he entered the room, carefully closing the motel door behind himself and leaving the pair of you very much alone. You could feel your heart beating harder in your chest as he slowly made his way across the room towards you, another pained look on his face when he saw the room key you'd tossed onto the table.

“Are you…leaving?” he asked slowly, his sad eyes meeting yours once more.

Awkwardly biting your bottom lip, not sure you could trust your voice, you nodded. When his expression further fell, you felt like someone had punched you right in the stomach. He looked so unexpectedly hurt at the news.

“Why?” he asked next, voice barely above a whisper. “Why would you leave?”

Silently you watched as Sam lowered himself onto the foot of the bed next to yours. He was looking at you with such raw emotion on his face that it had you feeling tears beginning to well in your own eyes again. You couldn't understand why he looked so upset, which only had you feeling guilty for almost disappearing on them without a word tonight.

Shrugging lightly at his question, your eyes dropped back down to your phone that you were clutching tight in both of your hands. You didn't want to have this conversation, especially not with Sam.

“Because you weren't supposed to hear any of what I’d said to Dean,” you quietly confessed. “And now things are going to be awkward and weird between us.”

“What do you mean?” he pressed. “How would things be awkward and weird?”

“Because I like you!” you blurted, your watery gaze flying towards where he sat on the other bed. The beers you'd drank earlier had fully loosened your tongue, the words easily flowing from your mouth now that Sam had already learned the truth. “And now you know that I don't just see you as a friend or a hunting partner. And I definitely don’t see you like a big brother despite you and Dean seeing me like a little sister. And that’s embarrassing , Sam! You weren't supposed to hear any of that! Now there’s no way that I can just keep traveling with you both. I can't sit in the car with you for hours on end pretending I don’t have feelings anymore. I can’t share a motel room with you, let alone share a bed with you ever again!”

Sam's eyes narrowed, his dark brows furrowing at what you'd said as if he was confused. But just as he'd opened his mouth to say something in response, you barreled on, not giving him the opportunity as the words continued to spill out of you.

“So I'm just going back to hunting alone,” you told him. “I think that's better for everyone. Certainly better than making everyone uncomfortable by continuing to work together. I’d rather go back to being on the road by myself than–”

“Whoa, hang on,” Sam said, raising a hand and finally cutting you off.

You paused, eyeing him nervously as he waved his hand in the space between the pair of you. He was shaking his head, his features tightened together as if he was in thought. 

“So you're what? Just going to run away now?” he asked. “Without even saying anything first? Not even a goodbye or an explanation?”

Your gaze guiltily dropped down to the phone in your hands. “I was going to send a text,” you murmured.

“Did it ever occur to you at any point to hear what I might have to say?” he questioned. “That maybe you might be wrong?”

Pulling a face, you glanced back up at him. He'd leaned closer towards you from his place on the end of the other bed, a softness reflecting in his hazel eyes that you hadn't ever seen before in them. It had your heart nearly skipping in your chest. 

“Wrong about what?” you asked.

A small, unexpected smile pulled at the corner of his lips, something about it seeming almost timid. Your stomach nervously flipped inside of you at the sight of it. Vaguely you wondered what he could have possibly meant, but you remained silent, lost in the tender way he was staring back at you. A way he’d never quite looked at you before.

“That I view you like a little sister,” he answered softly. “Or that things would be weird between us now that I know how you actually feel about me. Wrong about needing to run off and be on your own again because things would be uncomfortable.”

“But Sam–”

“And wrong to think that I don't have feelings for you,” he finished. 

You sucked in a sharp breath at his words, your lips parting in surprise. For a moment you were too shocked to speak, stunned into a brief silence as you studied that unfamiliar look of fondness on his face. It wasn't one you'd seen before. 

“You–you what?” you stammered out.

Sam’s smile widened a little more, the shyness disappearing from his face as he nodded. “I’ve had feelings for you for a while now. Ever since we finished that exorcism out in Georgia.”

Face scrunching up in thought, your attention dropped back down to the phone in your hands as you tried to think back to when you’d all last been in Georgia dealing with a demon. It took you a moment to finally recall the job.

“But that was…months ago,” you said slowly, your eyes once more meeting Sam’s. “About a month after I officially joined you guys on the road back at Bobby’s.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, rising up from his place at the edge of the bed. “Truthfully I’d had a crush on you when we first met in Indiana. During that haunting we all wound up accidentally working together.” 

Sam crossed the small space between the beds before carefully sitting down on the bed beside you. The weight of him dipped the mattress once he sat, causing your body to inevitably slide a little towards him. Heat crept up your neck at his close proximity, aware that his thigh was mere inches from yours now. Trying to keep your breathing even as it started to come in a little shallow, you averted your gaze from his, setting your phone off to the side of yourself.

“I…didn’t know that,” you said.

“I didn’t want you to,” Sam admitted. “Figured I probably wouldn’t be seeing you again after that, even though we’d all exchanged numbers once the job was finished. But then you’d unexpectedly shown up at Bobby’s months later looking for help with a vamp nest. And when we’d officially decided to work together after that job–” Sam shrugged, his shoulder lightly bumping against yours as he did. “Well, I figured it would be easier to work together if I kept my distance.”

“So you mean,” you began slowly, turning your attention back on Sam at your side, “that all this time you’d actually felt the same?”

“Yeah,” he answered.

“But–but what about the women I’ve seen you flirt with?” you asked before you could stop yourself. “The woman at the bar tonight? That waitress the other week in Kentucky? I thought you liked them?”

Sam quirked a brow at you, his head tilting a little to the side as he shot you a questioning look. “What about that guy who bought you a drink last month in Texas? Or the police officer in Montanna who gave you his number? Were you interested in them?”

You frowned at his question, shaking your head. “No,” you told him. “It was just nice to be noticed for once, I guess.”

Sam grinned at you, laughing lightly as he did. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

A silence fell between the pair of you, your mind racing at everything you’d just learned tonight. You hadn’t expected the night to go the way it had, especially with Sam showing up and admitting that he’d also had feelings for you. But as you sat there trying to process everything, you realized he was steadily leaning in closer to you on the bed, his eyes occasionally flickering towards your mouth. Once more you felt your pulse quicken.

“So now what?” you asked him.

“Well,” Sam began in a hushed tone, his eyes once more dropping down towards your lips before meeting your gaze again, “I’m guessing you’re not still planning to run off on your own, are you?”

He leaned in another inch closer and you found yourself struggling to form a coherent thought. Was he doing what you thought he was? Was he going to kiss you?

“No,” you breathed out.

“Then how about tomorrow morning I take you out for coffee?” he suggested. “Before Dean wakes up. Just you and I?”

He’d leaned in even further now, his face so close you were actively refraining from closing the small distance between yourselves and just kissing him. You could feel the soft exhalations of his warm breath brushing over your cheek every time he breathed and it was making you dizzy.

“I’d like that,” you whispered. 

The corners of his mouth curled even higher before his hand rose up, gently grasping your chin with his fingers and carefully tilting your mouth towards his. His nose lightly bumped against the tip of yours and your eyes instinctively closed at the touch. Tongue darting out to nervously lick your lips, you could feel how hard your heart was pounding, feeling as if the organ itself had somehow jumped up into your throat in anticipation of a kiss.

After a moment you were unable to hold back any longer, his warm breath still rhythmically cascading over your skin had already driven you mad with want. Losing the battle against your self-control, you leaned in and finally connected your lips to his. The kiss was somewhat hesitant at first, your mouth moving carefully against his soft lips as if you were unsure of how he’d react at first. But Sam’s mouth responded to yours with such a firm certainty that you soon melted right into him, your body sinking closer to his on the mattress. His fingers quickly released your chin, his hand soon coming to cradle the back of your head as he kissed you more passionately. There was no denying the way he felt about you with the way his lips were moving against yours right now.

Losing yourself in the moment, your hands flew up and latched onto his broad shoulders. Nails digging into his plaid shirt, you drew him closer to the front of yourself as the heat of his body warmed you in more ways than one. He smelled so good–like a mix of leather from the Impala’s seats, a hint of something like cedarwood from his soap, and a bit of gunpowder from earlier’s hunt. You couldn’t seem to get enough of him, your own mouth heatedly matching the pace of his.

Sam’s other hand was soon gripping your hip tight, tugging you towards himself and almost straight into his lap as his tongue slid along your bottom lip. You’d only barely loosed a faint moan against his mouth at the feel of it before he gradually pulled away, breaking the kiss. Chest heaving as you’d tried to catch your breath, your eyelids slowly fluttered open. Sam’s face hovered just before yours, an obvious flush to his cheeks as he grinned back at you. You couldn’t fight back the smile that broke out across your own face at the sight.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he confessed.

“Yeah,” you said, still attempting to catch your breath from your place now halfway in his lap. “Me too.”

“So uh,” Sam began, clearing his throat a little as his hand left its place cradling the back of your head, both of them now gripping your hips firmly in his large palms, “does this mean we always get to share a bed now?”

Nails still digging into his solid shoulders, you shot him a grin. “If you want,” you replied. “But does that also mean it's not weird if we actually cuddle in bed now?”

A wide smile broke out across his face, somehow making him look even more handsome than usual. The sight nearly knocked the breath out of you. 

“Definitely not weird, no,” he answered. 

Easing your grip on his shoulders, you tentatively wrapped your arms around his neck. When he only continued to smile back at you, you relaxed even further against him.

“So…should we head back to the bar?” you reluctantly suggested. “Let Dean know everything is good?”

“Nah,” Sam said, shaking his head. “He'll figure it out. I think I'd rather enjoy the rare alone time we have suddenly found ourselves with.”

Arching a curious brow at him, you watched as a mischievous smile slipped onto his mouth and lit up his face. Without warning, his hands on your hips tugged you forward and entirely onto his lap. A soft, surprised gasp fell out of you as your arms wrapped even tighter around his shoulders, keeping you steady after the abrupt movement.

“What're you up to, Sam Winchester?” you asked, gazing down at him from your place on his lap.

“I guess you'll just have to wait and see,” he said, shooting you a wink. 

A light laugh escaped you before it was quieted by Sam’s mouth once more crashing onto yours. All thoughts of anything but the way Sam’s large hands had begun roaming their way beneath the back of your shirt quickly left your mind.

This is such an underrated fic, omg. I cannot wait to continue reading it!!! Also it's nice to see the fmc fighting back against the ghoul's pushing away. It's different from a lot of fics I've read where it's only half way, it felt like a real argument. One where not everything you meant to say came out right, or wanted to say said at all.

Great job Author!!

From a Previous Life (Pt 4)

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Preg!Reader

Summary: You and the Ghoul quickly learn that your actions—and your words—carry significant consequences.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, pregnancy, doctor examination, sickness/radiation poisoning, arguing, angst, grief, yearning, rejection, slow burn, stubbornness, canon-typical violence, miscommunication, mention of blood/wound, reader throws things.

Word Count: 7.1K

A/N: It's been a while since I posted for this story, part 4 has been kicking my butt! Lots of angst and drama as usual, but the happy ending is on the horizon! I'd love to know what you think 💌

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

After thoroughly scouring the house and filling his saddlebag with every vial he could find in the basement, the Ghoul was adamant that you both leave immediately and put as much distance as possible between yourselves and the grim scene. You offered no resistance; despite the crushing fatigue that weighed heavily on your body and muddled your thoughts, you were eager to escape the horrors of that place. The pervasive stench of blood and decay had seeped into your clothing, becoming nearly suffocating, making it difficult to breathe and causing a deep ache in your chest.

As you left, you couldn't resist the urge to glance back at the lifeless forms of Mags and her family. The scene struck you deeply, like a blow to the gut that stole your breath away. In her final moments, Mags had dragged herself to her son, her fingers interlocking with his as she drew her last breath. That image seared itself into your mind, intensifying your desperation to leave until you were nearly sprinting out of the door.

The house now loomed as a grim testament to the violence that had transpired within its walls. Shadows gathered thickly in the corners, murmuring unsettling recollections you wished to erase from your mind. Each groan of the floorboards and whisper of the wind through shattered windows seemed to echo with ghostly reminders of the atrocities you had witnessed—and narrowly escaped. This sinister ambiance was compounded by a deeper regret: your inability to rescue the Ghoul, resulting in your needing to be rescued by him once again.

The Ghoul moved with a newfound intensity and focus that left your nerves frayed. Normally cautious, almost paranoid about traveling after dark with you in tow, his demeanour had shifted dramatically. Driven by a sense of urgency, he hurriedly led the way outside. "We can't stay here," he growled under his breath, more to himself than to you, his voice a tense murmur. "It's not safe. The next town isn't far; we can make it if we hurry." His words were laced with determination, pushing both of you forward into the encroaching darkness.

His usual paranoia had transformed into a fierce resolve. The normally measured pace was replaced by swift, almost frantic strides, and you struggled to keep up. Each step was a battle against the pain and exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm you, but the Ghoul's insistence was infectious, propelling you forward despite the fatigue weighing down your limbs.

"We're close," he assured, though it was unclear whether he was speaking to you or trying to convince himself. The path ahead was cloaked in shadows, the only light coming from the dim glow of the moon partially hidden by clouds. The noises of the night—distant howls, rustling amongst the dunes, the occasional whistle of the wind—kept your nerves on edge, but the Ghoul's presence offered a small measure of comfort despite your earlier confrontation.

You remained silent, too afraid to question why he was so determined to leave the house in such a hurry. You had your own reasons to comply—each step a painful reminder as your shirt rubbed against the scratch on your pregnant belly—but his urgency unnerved you. He was usually the epitome of calm under pressure, but now he appeared almost desperate, causing your own anxiety to simmer just below the surface.

You cast a wary glance at the Ghoul, observing the tension etched into his features. His jaw was clenched tight, and his eyes flicked restlessly from side to side, meticulously scanning the surroundings for any potential threats. The silence stretched taut between you, a palpable tension hanging in the air. As you approached the edge of the property line, the urge to speak became overwhelming. Unable to suppress your curiosity and growing unease, you finally broke the silence.

"What's chasing us?" you whispered, the question escaping your lips before you could rein it in. His head snapped towards you, eyes narrowing for a moment before he responded, his voice low and gravelly.

"You don't need to worry about that," he murmured. The edge in his tone cut through the night air, sending a chill down your spine. "Just hurry up," he said louder this time, his voice firm. As the faint outline of the town emerged, he quickened his pace, and you struggled to keep up, your backpack bouncing painfully against your spine with each hurried step.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, the icy air searing your lungs as a sudden, sharp pang shot through your abdomen. Clutching your stomach, you recoiled in horror when your hand came away slick with thick, crimson blood. Lifting your shirt, the dim light revealed the alarming state of your wound. What had started as a mere surface scratch had transformed into a grotesque display of infected tissue, marked by unsettling shades of green and purple. Yellowish pus oozed from the lesion, trickling down your trembling thigh, each drop intensifying your dread.

The sight alone was enough to send waves of panic through you, but it was the accompanying symptoms—the feverish chills, the throbbing pain, and the overwhelming weakness—that truly underscored the gravity of your situation. Your heart pounded in your chest, a frantic rhythm that mirrored the escalating fear gripping your mind as you realized just how dire your circumstances had become.

Dizziness overwhelmed you, a disorienting fog clouding your thoughts as a wave of nausea surged, making your mouth water uncontrollably. The chilling night air felt like icy tendrils wrapping around you, adding to the disorientation. You fought to steady your breathing and quell the nausea, each breath a struggle against the rising panic that threatened to consume you. Your vision blurred, and the ground beneath your feet seemed to sway.

You knew you should tell him about your worsening condition, but you were reluctant to add to his worry. The Ghoul had enough on his mind without your complications, you rationalized, though a niggling part of you wanted to keep it secret just to spite him. Despite his presence and support, the unresolved tension between you lingered, feeding your stubbornness.

"We're almost there," you muttered to yourself, a mantra to keep your legs moving. The Ghoul glanced back at you, his eyes narrowing as he noticed your distress.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

You forced a weak smile, nodding slightly. "I'm fine," you lied, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. The effort to appear composed was draining, and the dizziness intensified, making it harder to focus on the path ahead.

The town's lights shimmered in the distance, their soft glow promising relief and safety. Each step felt heavier, your legs trembling with the effort to keep moving. The Ghoul eyed you warily, noting the beads of sweat that dripped from your brow despite the harsh coolness of the evening. His hand reached out suddenly, gripping your arm and stopping you in your tracks. You swayed on unsteady feet, his firm hold the only thing keeping you upright. His eyes, filled with concern, searched your face for an explanation you weren't ready to give.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low and demanding.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. "It's nothing," you mumbled, but your body betrayed you, another wave of dizziness making you clutch at his side for support.

"Don't lie to me," he said, his grip tightening. "You're not fine. Tell me what's going on."

Your vision blurred again, dark spots dancing at the edges, and you stumbled, the infection's toll on your body becoming undeniable. Each pulse of pain radiating from the wound sapped your strength, making it increasingly difficult to stay upright. Despite this, a stubborn part of you resisted admitting the severity of your condition, not wanting to appear weak or vulnerable.

The Ghoul tightened his grip on your arm as he shook you gently but firmly, trying to snap you out of your daze. "Tell me. Now." He urged, his voice low but intense. He dipped his head to meet your eyes, which wandered aimlessly, struggling to focus.

"I... I'm not feeling well," you stammered to the Ghoul, your voice quivering as you struggled to focus on him through the growing haze of discomfort. His eyes widened as he pulled your hand away from your stomach, revealing the crimson stain seeping through your wet shirt. He lifted the hem, his teeth clenching at the sight of the grievous wound.

His gloved hands moved with a mixture of desperation and gentleness as he examined the area around the infected wound. He was careful not to press too hard, yet his touch was thorough, probing the extent of the damage. The seriousness of the situation was unmistakable in his expression—the furrowed brow, the tight set of his jaw, and the flicker of panic in his eyes. You could see him mentally calculating the next steps, his mind racing to figure out how best to manage the injury in the desolate surroundings.

The cold air bit at your exposed skin, adding to your discomfort, while the distant lights of the town seemed both tantalizingly close and frustratingly far. The Ghoul's demeanour was a blend of determination and fear as he quickly formulated a plan in his mind.

"Is it bad?" you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper, thin with fear. You weren't sure if you truly wanted to know the answer, and even less sure that he would tell you. His eyes flickered with something unreadable and he hesitated for a moment, as if weighing how much to reveal.

He grasped your wrist and began rapidly tapping on the screen of your Pip-Boy, his eyes scanning the information with growing alarm. The glow from the screen illuminated the deep lines around his sunken eyes, and in your hazy state, you thought about how handsome he looked. When he finally looked up, you felt unsteady under his worried gaze.

"We need to go—now," he declared, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. His grip tightened around your forearm, the pressure both reassuring and insistent, as he tried to pull you up. The intensity in his eyes and the firmness of his hold made it clear that there was no time to waste, and your mind struggling to keep pace with the rapid escalation of the situation.

Despite his urgency, your legs betrayed you. They faltered, stumbling and ultimately failing as you collapsed onto the sandy ground with a soft thud. The Ghoul's voice echoed as if from a distance, his words urging you to get up, but your body felt disconnected, heavy, and unresponsive. A visceral wave of panic surged through you, tightening its grip around your chest, making it hard to breathe. The edges of your vision began to blur, darkness creeping in, threatening to engulf your senses like a spreading shadow.

As you lay sprawled on the cold, sandy ground, the Ghoul quickly bent down to your level, his face etched with unease. He searched your eyes, looking for any flicker of awareness, but your responses were slow, your eyelids heavy and fluttering, making his movements appear surreal and drawn out, as if you were both submerged underwater.

Despite the chill that pervaded the air, beads of sweat continued to form on your forehead, streaming down your face as a fever raged within you. In a feeble attempt to find solace, you reached out blindly, seeking the familiar touch of your companion, only to grasp at the empty, chilling air.

Then, a profound dizziness overwhelmed you, like being pulled into a deep, dark chasm. You lost all sense of direction, no longer aware of what was up or down, past or present. The world around you faded to nothingness as you slipped further away, drifting into an inescapable void that swallowed all consciousness.

A faint voice, soft yet persistent, gently coaxed you back from the void's embrace. Wrapped in a dense fog, your mind meandered through scattered memories, teetering on the edge of consciousness. Slowly, sensations began to return as if awakening from a deep slumber; nerves tingled and flickered back to life under your tentative command. The first movement was a mere twitch of a finger, but it felt monumental, the brush of thin cotton against your skin amplifying the moment.

What happened? Where were you? These questions nudged at the corners of your slowly clearing mind. With effort, you drew a deep breath, marshalling the strength to pry your eyes open. They fluttered initially, rebelling against the harshness of light and the strain of waking. Gradually, your vision steadied, focusing upward at a ceiling marred by stains and the passage of time. You lay still for a moment, taking in your surroundings, trying to piece together how you had arrived at this unfamiliar place.

"Thought I'd lost you again," the voice spoke, its timbre resonating with relief and lingering anxiety. You turned your head slowly, your neck stiff and uncooperative, to see the Ghoul sitting in a dusty armchair nestled in the corner of the room. He had one leg crossed over the other, and his hands were clenched into tight fists resting in his lap. His posture betrayed the tension that had not yet left him.

"You seem to have a nasty habit of getting away from me," he added, a faint, wry smile playing at the edges of his lips, softening the sternness that had settled over his features. The combination of relief and reproach in his eyes alluded to the worry he had endured. The dusty armchair creaked slightly as he shifted, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward, his gaze never leaving you.

Your lips parted to respond, but the pain and dryness in your throat silenced you, leaving only a strained whisper. The effort made your vision blur momentarily, and you felt a wave of dizziness threaten to pull you back under.

The Ghoul jumped from his seat, closing the distance between you in two swift strides. He grabbed a glass of water from the side table and held it to your lips. His hand gently rested underneath your chin, helping you tilt your head back into the pillow as you swallowed painfully. The cool water soothed your raw throat, each gulp easing the burning sensation and bringing a momentary relief from the discomfort. His gloved touch was surprisingly tender, his eyes filled with concern as he looked down at you.

"Easy now," he murmured, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. The rough exterior he usually presented was momentarily stripped away, revealing a depth of care you hadn't fully realized before. As you finished the water, he set the glass aside, his hand lingering on your chin before carefully adjusting the pillow behind your head, ensuring you were comfortable.

"Thanks," you managed to whisper, your voice still hoarse but filled with gratitude. "Guess you can't get rid of me, can you?" You joked, your voice light despite the underlying exhaustion. 

A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Wouldn't want to," he replied, his tone gruff but softened by a note of sincerity. A flutter rose in your stomach at his words, and you felt an ache at the growing distance between you as he returned to his seat. Your fingers flexed against the bedsheet, wanting to reach out to him, but the memory of his words in the house still lingered.

The room seemed colder without his proximity, the silence stretching out once more. You watched him, noting the tension still evident in his posture, the way his hands clenched and unclenched restlessly in his lap. His gaze was fixed on some distant point, lost in thoughts you couldn't decipher.

As your eyes adjusted and began to focus, you took in more of the surroundings. You were in a bedroom, worn and slightly dishevelled. The vanity mirror across from the bed was cracked, its spiderweb fractures distorting the reflections it caught. A large, old wardrobe stood partially open, its doors unable to fully close, with clothes spilling out like colourful waterfalls onto the dusty floor.

The walls were faded, peeling wallpaper hinting at a time long past, while the floorboards creaked softly under any movement. A small nightstand next to the bed held your Pip-Boy and the empty glass. The bed you lay in had a wrought iron frame, rusted and showing signs of age, with a thin, threadbare quilt covering you. A faint scent of dust and age hung in the air, mingling with a lingering hint of antiseptic from recent efforts to clean and treat your injuries.

Despite its state, the room had a certain charm, a sense of having been lived in and cared for, even if that care had become sporadic over the years. The small details—a chipped teacup on the vanity, a child's drawing pinned to the wall—made it feel almost homely.

Your eyes widened in a flash of panic as you turned back to the Ghoul, but he cut you off before you could speak. "We aren't back there," he quickly interjected, his voice firm but reassuring, keen to alleviate your fears even momentarily. "We're safe."

His words settled some of the immediate panic, and you took a deep breath, trying to ground yourself in the present. Of course he hadn't taken you back to Mags' house, he'd wanted to get away from there almost as much as you had. Maybe more.

"Where are we?" you croaked, trying to make sense of your surroundings. Your gaze shifted to the window, where thin curtains let slivers of daylight filter through, casting faint patterns on the floor. The sounds of street vendors calling out their wares and distant bird calls drifted in, mingling with the occasional clatter of footsteps and murmured conversations from passers-by.

He shifted slightly in his seat, the gentle sunlight casting a warm glow on his worn features. "A makeshift clinic, managed by an old friend," he explained, his voice calm but laced with a hint of unease. "It's safe, for now." His eyes flickered towards the window, as if to reassure himself of the safety he promised, before returning to you with a determined expression.

He paused, his face reflecting deep thought as he carefully considered his next words. "You've been unconscious for almost two days," he disclosed, his voice heavy with the weight of the vigilance he had maintained while watching over you. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, the lines on his face more pronounced from the sleepless nights.

"You should have told me," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and concern. "How could you be so reckless to keep this to yourself?" His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away, the weight of his stare drilling into your conscience. The guilt welled up inside you, sharp and consuming, making your chest tighten with regret.

"I didn't want to bother you," you said softly.

He scoffed in response, rolling his eyes. "That's ridiculous," he muttered.

Narrowing your eyes in determination, you pushed yourself up to rest against the pillow, wincing slightly from the effort. The fabric rustled as you settled into a more upright position, your gaze locked onto his, the resolve in your eyes challenging the storm of emotions swirling in his.

"I'm tired of being a burden," you continued, your voice steadier now. The weight of your words hung in the air, the unspoken resentment evident in your tone. The room felt still, the sounds from outside momentarily fading as the intensity of the moment drew both of your focuses inward.

He shook his head, a sneer playing on his lips as he looked at you. "That's not your choice to make," he said, his tone carrying a cold edge. His eyes shifted away from you, staring out the window as if searching for answers in the distance.

The room seemed to grow colder, the sunlight no longer providing its gentle warmth but instead highlighting the tension between you. Each breath you took felt heavier than the last, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on both of you. The air was thick with emotions, and the distance between you felt insurmountable.

A chill ran through you, his words settling like a heavy weight in the space between you. "Seems I don't get much choice over anything nowadays," your voice wavered slightly, but you held his gaze when it snapped back to you, determined to confront him. You could see his jaw tighten, his eyes flickering with a mixture of frustration and something you couldn't quite identify. Each second stretched out painfully as you waited for his response.

"If you've got a death wish, that's between you and that baby," he growled through clenched teeth, pointing at your pregnant belly. "But don't drag me into it. I'm not hauling my ass across the desert just for you to throw your life away at every turn," he spat, his words sharp and biting.

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sunk in. "Glad to see where your priorities truly lie," you said, tears welling in your eyes. Anger surged through you at his insinuation. You didn't have a death wish—far from it. Since the bombings, you had fought tooth and nail to survive and to keep your baby safe, and he knew that.

His words felt like a betrayal. Whether he was trying to push you further away to save face or make it clear that he really did feel nothing for you, his harshness cut deep. The tears spilled over, tracing hot paths down your cheeks. "You know I've done everything to keep us alive," you continued, voice trembling with emotion. "I can't believe you'd think otherwise."

His eyes flickered with a brief moment of regret, but it was quickly masked by the anger that still lingered. "I'm just trying to keep you safe," he muttered, but the words felt hollow against the backdrop of your pain.

"I never wanted this!" you shouted, your voice cracking. "You captured me. I didn't ask for any of this!"

The anger and fear boiled over, and your desperate cries filled the room, making the air between you almost suffocating. The walls seemed to echo your words, amplifying the magnitude of the moment. His expression remained hard, but you could see a flicker of something cross them.

"You think I wanted this?" he shot back, his voice rising. "None of this was supposed to happen!"

"You should have just left me out there!" You cried, voice breaking under the weight of your anguish.

"I wish I did!" The raw emotion in his voice startling you as he stood up, his figure towering over you. The intensity of his words cut through your anger, slicing deep into your heart and leaving you both teetering on the brink of something irreversible. His face was flushed with a mixture of regret and pure fury, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes was a stark contrast to the harshness of his words.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words and unresolved pain. Each of you grappled with the complex web of emotions that bound you together, the weight of your shared past and uncertain future pressing down heavily.

You wrapped your arms protectively around your belly, your gaze dropping to the intricately patterned bedsheets. The delicate floral design blurred as tears welled up in your eyes. "Get out," you whispered, your voice barely audible, but the sharp flinch of his jaw from the corner of your eye told you that he had heard you clearly.

The words felt like lead on your tongue, heavy and final, as you struggled to maintain your composure. The room, once a refuge, now felt like a battleground. You could sense his presence still looming over you, his conflicting emotions almost tangible in the air between you. The moment stretched, every second amplifying the tension.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you thought back to the memories you'd shared together. Each recollection felt like a dagger to the heart—the lingering gazes, the fleeting moments when you sought solace in his arms, the fragile bond you believed was forming between you. Perhaps it had all been a figment of your imagination, a desperate illusion in the midst of chaos.

The realization struck you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless and reeling. The weight of it pressed down on you, squeezing the air from your lungs and making your chest ache. You remembered the way his eyes would soften, the rare, fleeting smiles that had given you hope, the comforting warmth of his embrace. But now, those memories felt like cruel jokes, mocking your naïve belief in a connection that perhaps never truly existed.

The Ghoul sighed, running his tongue over his teeth as his gaze briefly flickered to the ground before locking back onto you. "What are you gonna do?" he asked, his tone softer but still edged with irritation. "Don't be so foolish; you wouldn't last a second out there alone."

"Maybe not, but that's no concern of yours," you retorted, refusing to meet his gaze. "If you don't want us, then we don't want you either." You placed a firm hand on the swell of your belly, feeling the life growing inside you.

A small flurry of movement, a determined kick from within, gave you a momentary pause. The sensation was both a reminder and a source of strength. You sniffed, drawing in a shaky breath, and willed your voice to work as you finally looked up at him through bleary eyes, the tears making everything a blur. "Leave," you commanded, your voice trembling but resolute.

He sighed again and moved toward you with an outstretched hand, but you stopped him mid-step. "Go! Get out!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the walls.

The Ghoul looked at you exasperatedly. "There's nothing for you here with me, do you understand? Dispel any romantic notions you have about me, darlin'. I am not a good man," he said, his eyes pleading with you. "But it doesn't mean I want you in harms way—far from it. Just listen to me, dammit."

His words cut through the air like a knife, sharp and final. "I said get out!" You shouted again, your hand gripped the Pip-Boy on the nightstand, and with a surge of adrenaline, you hurled it towards him. He ducked just in time, the metal device shattering against the wall behind him. Shards of glass and metal scattered across the floor, the sharp sound punctuating the tension in the room.

He straightened up, his eyes wide with shock. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by your heavy breathing. You sat there, chest heaving, eyes blazing with a mix of fury and desperation. The broken pieces of the Pip-Boy lay on the floor, a stark reminder of the irreparable rift between you.

"Just leave," you said, your voice now a raw whisper. "We don't need you." The determination in your eyes left no room for argument. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on you, before turning and walking out of the room, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed through the stillness.

A few hours later, a knock on the door startled you from your sobs. The door creaked open, and an elderly man entered. His features bore the unmistakable signs of ghoulification: mottled, decaying skin and sunken eyes. Despite his unsettling appearance, his expression was warm and kind, a gentle smile softening the harsh lines of his face.

You eyed him warily as he stepped into the room, each movement slow and deliberate, as if he was conscious of not alarming you further. The contrast between his ghastly visage and the kindness in his eyes created a strange, almost disorienting juxtaposition, leaving you uncertain but cautiously hopeful.

"Good to see you awake," he greeted with a gentle smile, his voice carrying a soothing, raspy tone. He moved toward your bedside with a practiced ease that spoke of long experience and familiarity with such situations. His steps were steady and confident, his presence oddly comforting in the wake of the Ghoul's absence. 

He stopped next to you, his eyes briefly scanning the room before focusing on the IV bag connected to your arm. With expert hands, he adjusted the flow, his touch slow and precise. "Your friend said you were feeling better," he remarked, glancing back at you with a reassuring nod. "Looks like the RadAway is working," he commented, his tone imbued with calm confidence. 

The mention of 'your friend' had your eyes darting to the door, replaying the memory of him walking out of it hours before. A sudden dread gripped you as the realization struck: perhaps it really would be the last time you saw him. Why wouldn't it be? You'd told him to leave, said you didn't want him, which was only partially true.

The truth was more complicated. You wanted him. You undeniably craved his affection and needed his approval, but your stubbornness—almost a mirror of his own—kept you from admitting it. He had made it clear that he didn't want you, or at least that's what his words said. Yet, his actions often told a different story, leaving you confused and frustrated.

You weren't going to beg. Pride and self-respect wouldn't allow it, no matter how much your heart ached for him to come back. The conflicting emotions swirled within you, a storm of longing, pride, and hurt. You drew a shaky breath, pushing the thoughts aside as you refocused on the present, determined not to let your vulnerability show.

"Dry your eyes, pet," the doctor said softly, offering you a handkerchief from his pocket. You took it with a grateful smile, dabbed at your wet cheeks until you felt the tears ebb.

"Thank you," you whispered, watching as the yellow liquid filled the tube attached to your arm. "What is RadAway?" you queried, your eyes narrowing slightly with caution as the elderly ghoul continued his examination, his fingers pressing against your wrist to check your pulse.

"It's a medical treatment used to flush radiation from the body," he explained, his voice steady and informative. "It speeds up recovery, especially with injuries like yours." He paused, then gave you a concerned look. "It's essential out here. I'm surprised you don't know about it."

His eyes held a hint of curiosity, perhaps even worry, as he studied your reaction. The weight of his gaze made you acutely aware of your vulnerability and the gaps in your survival skills, but his tone remained kind, without a trace of judgment.

You sniffed and feigned a smile. "I'm still getting my bearings on the surface," you said, your voice small.

His eyes flickered with an unspoken understanding, a subtle nod acknowledging the enormity of adjusting to life above ground. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly in a sympathetic smile, and he placed a reassuring hand on your arm.

"That makes sense," he replied softly, his voice full of understanding. "It's a lot to take in, but you're lucky your friend got you here when he did. He almost woke the whole town with his hollering. I was in the middle of a quiet evening when the commotion started. I looked out the window and saw him rushing through the streets, carrying you in his arms. Poor feller, the colour drained straight from his face with all the worry—well, as much as it can drain from us irradiated folk."

He paused, shaking his head slightly with a wry smile. "He was frantic, you know, practically bursting through the door, demanding help. I've seen people in desperate situations before, but the way he looked at you... It was clear you mean a lot to him."

The doctor's words painted a vivid picture, but you shook your head, dispelling the hopeful image he conjured. The Ghoul's actions came about as a result of you flaking out on him during his urgency to get away from that house. Despite wanting to believe otherwise, you reminded yourself that you didn't mean anything to him.

"He was just trying to get away," you murmured, more to yourself than to the doctor. "I collapsed, and he didn't have a choice."

The doctor studied you for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe," he conceded gently, "but actions speak louder than words. Sometimes, people show they care in ways they can't admit to themselves."

You didn't respond, letting his words linger in the air as he pulled a rusted stethoscope from his coat, preparing to listen to your heart. The cold metal pressed against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of your conflicting thoughts.

As the doctor listened intently, you couldn't help but replay the moments of the Ghoul's protectiveness in your mind. The anguish on his face when he found you at the house, the curl of his finger beckoning you closer, his arms wrapping tightly around you as you lost yourself in his touch. Had you really imagined those moments? The ones before those? They felt as real as the beat of your heart pounding against your chest at the thought of them.

The tenderness in his eyes, the security of his embrace—it all seemed too genuine to be mere figments of your imagination. Yet, his harsh words and actions contradicted those fleeting instances of connection, leaving you in a state of confusion and doubt.

But sometimes, kind words did slip through. You remembered what he had said hours ago, before the shouting: you had told him that he couldn't get rid of you, and his response had been a soft admission, almost lost in the tension of the moment. "Wouldn't want to," he'd said.

You were so hurt by his past rejection, by his constant pushing you away rather than addressing any feelings he may harbour, that you didn't stop to consider, in the heat of the moment, that perhaps you were doing the exact same thing when you told him to leave.

The doctor finished his examination and removed the stethoscope, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Your heart sounds strong," he said, his tone reassuring. "Physically, you're doing better. But don't ignore what's happening inside here," he added, gently tapping his temple.

You nodded absently, his advice barely registering as you continued to grapple with your emotions. The lines between reality and wishful thinking blurred, and you found yourself longing for clarity in the midst of the turmoil.

"Would you like me to check?" he asked, gesturing to your stomach that you still hugged protectively. You blinked, slow to understand until he mouthed 'the baby.' He was a genuine doctor, or as close to one as you could find in the wastelands. The individuals who had held you captive in the vault were more torturers disguised as scientists than actual healers. However, the risk of revealing your pregnancy was not lost on you, especially after recent events.

His hands stilled as he met your gaze with an understanding that seemed to stretch beyond the typical patient-doctor exchange. It was evident he had a wealth of experience dealing with the unique challenges of the wasteland, a far cry from the so-called doctors of your past who had hidden cruelty behind their clinical masks.

"Yes please," you replied, your voice tinged with apprehension. You hesitated, weighing the risk of revealing too much against the need to know your child's fate. "Is my baby okay? Can you tell me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, yet laden with the weight of your worries and hopes.

The elderly ghoul's expression softened further, and he nodded slowly, placing a reassuring hand on your arm. "Let's take a look," he said gently, reaching for a small, somewhat battered handheld device from his bag. He moved the device slowly over your abdomen, his eyes focused intently on the faint screen.

After a moment, he looked up, a small smile breaking through his weathered features. "From what I can see, your baby seems to be doing just fine," he announced softly. "The heartbeat is strong and steady. You're both fighters, that's clear."

Relief washed over you upon hearing the doctor's reassuring words, easing some of the persistent tension that had gripped you since you regained consciousness. Your eyes instinctively sought the Ghoul's, and your heart dropped at the sight of the empty chair.

"A few more days of rest and you should be back on your feet," the doctor said, gently covering your stomach with the thin sheet. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle of pills. "Take one a day with food, and if you come into contact with any large bouts of radiation, double the dose until you can get some RadAway," he instructed, handing you the bottle.

The torn label read Rad-X, and you turned it in your hand, trying to decipher the rest of the words. The doctor watched you with a patient expression, his gaunt features softening as he spoke. "Rad-X is used to increase your resistance to radiation," he explained, his voice steady. "It’s different from RadAway, but just as important, especially with your...relations," he finished, and your cheeks burned at his insinuation.

You thanked the doctor when he promised to check on you again soon before leaving the room. As the door closed behind him, you sighed and settled back into your pillow. Relief washed over you knowing your baby was healthy, but the sense of being on your own left your heart heavy. The room felt both too big and too small, the deafening silence pressing in on you as you stared at the Rad-X label, contemplating the uncertain future that lay ahead.

You didn't see the Ghoul after that, but a supply of RadAway and bullets appeared on your bedside table. The sight of the neatly arranged supplies made you pause, a mix of surprise and gratitude washing over you. You assumed it was his doing, imagining him sneaking in during the night amidst the few hours you'd managed to sleep. The thought of him moving silently through the darkened room, leaving behind the essentials you needed, brought a bittersweet pang to your heart.

A woman named Ada, who you had come to learn was the owner of the establishment, dropped in regularly to bring you warm meals. They were hearty and nourishing, intended to build your strength, but your appetite was often suppressed by the weight of your thoughts and the loneliness that settled in your heart. Ada's gentle encouragement and understanding smile were small comforts in the otherwise stark and quiet room.

She chatted with you during her visits, sharing stories about the settlement and its inhabitants, giving you a glimpse of the life that awaited you once you were well enough to leave the confines of your room, if you were to stay in town. Her tales painted a picture of a tight-knit community, resilient and resourceful, each person playing a vital role in their collective survival.

"The Ghoul, he's gone," she informed you on morning, her voice gentle but firm. "I do hope you'll consider staying. He's covered your keep for more than enough time." She rested her hand on your shoulder, her touch warm and reassuring. "It's not safe out there alone."

Her words hit you like a wave, the reality of his absence sinking in. The weight of his generosity and care pressed heavily on your heart. Her eyes were filled with concern, reflecting the danger that awaited beyond the safety of this town, and her kindness was a small comfort in the midst of your turmoil, a reminder that you still had allies even in his absence.

"Thank you, Ada," you said, offering her a smile despite the worry inside of you. "But I have to go."

The morning sun cast a gentle glow on her face, highlighting the kindness in her eyes. She nodded, her own smile reflecting a mixture of pride and concern. "Where will you go?"

You eyed the map in your hands, the one you had taken from the Ghoul the day you left to find the vials. Your eyes traced the path that led to the haven, a route marked with careful notations and warnings. The map had become a lifeline, a tangible connection to him and his meticulous planning.

During the last few days of your bedrest, you had spent hours poring over it, mapping out your journey, and planning stops for resting and loading up on supplies. The intricate details on the map showed the effort he had put into ensuring your safety on your journey to the haven, each mark a testament to his care.

It wasn't until that morning, as you packed your bag and ran your hand over the tattered paper, that your resolve solidified. The realization that he had crafted this map specifically for you, considering every possible danger and refuge along the way, filled you with a bittersweet determination.

"I'm going to find him," you told her, your eyes steely with persistence as you adjusted your backpack over your shoulder. "There are some things I left unsaid," you finished, your voice resolute. 

You hugged her goodbye and thanked the doctor for his car on your way out. When you left the clinic, your gun felt heavier on your hip, the burden of not having the Ghoul there for your protection weighing it down.

Navigating through the bustling streets, you kept a firm grip on the map, each step taking you further from the comfort of Ada and the doctor's care and deeper into the unknown. Vendors continued to call out, their voices blending into a distant hum as you made your way toward the town's edge.

As you reached the outskirts of the town, the lively sounds of the marketplace faded behind you, replaced by the vast silence of the open desert. You paused for a moment, breathing deeply, taking in the endless expanse of sand and scrub stretching out before you. The horizon shimmered with heat, the sun high and relentless in the sky.

You questioned whether you were making the right choice in attempting to find the Ghoul. The vast, treacherous wasteland stretched out in every direction, offering countless places for him to disappear. He could have gone anywhere, but deep down, you felt certain that he wouldn't retrace his steps. He would likely stay as far away from Mags' home as possible, avoiding any place with too many memories or potential danger.

Then, the hairs on your arm stood to attention at the familiar sound of spurs jingling on the ground behind you. The distinct, rhythmic clinking sent a surge of recognition through you, and a hopeful smile began to tug at your lips. However, before you could turn around, the cold, unyielding metal of a gun barrel pressed firmly against your temple, sending a chill down your spine and freezing you in place.

Your breath caught in your throat, and your heart pounded in your chest, the sudden shift from hope to fear almost too much to process. The coolness of the barrel contrasted starkly with the warmth of the sun on your skin.

"I'll ask you this just once," a rough voice growled from behind, the command filled with menace. "Where is Cooper Howard?"

Taglist: @cheshirecat484 @lothiriel9 @ancientbeing10 @maeplaysbass @moon-trash1507 @rebelmarylou @giggle-shade @skrzydlak

(if you have been removed from the taglist it is because your blog does not show an age)

This was a great chapter, my one comment is, let's see how far the couldn't die plays into this 🤔

The Woman Who Couldn’t Die Part 6

master list

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,

Pairing: The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x Original Character 

Alternative Universe where I make things up cause I can only research so much

Synopsis: There is something in the woods, and our brave travelers are stuck between a rock and a hard place.

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning: This is based on fallout except typical: Drug use, blo0d/g0re, animal death, alien critters, angst, lots of hurt no comfort, Canon divergence, hints of SH/SA/NONCON, Slow Burn,

Note: that I will not be spoiling any of the reading. I will keep my tags relevant without spoiling what is happening in the story.

Enjoy the show kiddlets.

Night seems to come faster here, the tall imposing trees shrinking the daylight away. They had walked until Jade couldn’t see and almost fell again. The Ghoul had thankfully caught her before she had hit the ground, his lightning fast reflexes snatching her as she tripped over the uneven road. Carefully right her, and making sure he didn’t pull on the stitches Jade still had in her arm. 

“Careful there, ya got to tell me when yah can’t see,” The Ghoul said firmly. He had been weirdly quiet, usually there was a story or two they’d share between them. But today he had asked for silence, his head tipping this way and back listening to every small sound. Lucy had heard almost nothing, the silence was eerie. 

“I can’t see in the dark,” Jade said huffing, dropping her bag on the ground and stretching her back. She groans, the stitches in her back aching as she moves trying to pop bones back into place. The long walk always left her feeling stiff and tense, the added hush of the forest making her extra tense. 

“Exactly,” The Ghoul says, also dropping his saddle bag. “I can, so you gotta tell me when yah can’t see.” She wishes she could make out more than his shadowed outline, she was used to the dark, but this felt different. 

Jade flops herself down on the ground, digging around in her bag for water. “Guessing fire is out for the evening?” A fire here was a deathwish, she’d only be able to see just beyond its light, setting them up for an easy ambush.  

“Not sorry. Somethin’ is very off about this place,” The Ghoul states, she could hear him take a hit of the inhaler. Had he been taking it more often? She pushed the thought out of her mind, she needed food and maybe to try and sleep. The last thing she should be worrying about was if the Ghoul was going feral, they had a dozen plus vials on them. Right now making it to the next morning was more pressing. 

“I don’t like it,” Jade finally says, she didn’t, the whole place felt spooky. No noise. How was there no noise? “It’s too quiet, can hear you think.”

She could almost see the Ghoul’s eyes light up at her, “Don’t think you’d wanna know my thoughts now, Tiny.”

Jade huffs cracking open a can of food, she couldn’t tell what it was. Maybe she didn’t want to know, maybe she did. Jade knew somewhere down inside she wanted to know, to understand him more. Why? There wasn’t much of a reason besides connection. Something that was far too difficult to find in this husk of a world they lived in. Maybe she could pry something out of him tonight. She looks up at the stars, even though they weren’t enough to give light to this wretched place. “What if I did want to know?”

Silence for a moment, but then she hears him sit down, almost beside her. But always an arm's length away, why he couldn’t just sit beside her she didn’t know.  She remembers the heat of his hand wrapped around her body, how his hand had been inches from her face. Pushing that away she continues to eat the mystery meat in front of her. 

“I’ve been around for a long time. Too long if you ask anyone who knows me.” The Ghoul said out into the dark, his voice low enough that it didn’t echo. “Nothing good in between the holes I call ears.” 

Jade mulls that over, it was the most he had said all day. Hoping she could convince him to tell her more she asks, “How long?”

She could hear his boots slide on the dirt as he stretched out, “Long before you’re born, or your mother, or your mother’s mother.”

“You talkin' pre-bomb?” Jade pushed, she was walking a tight line here. He told stories, but never anything truely personal. Jade wanted more, she needed to understand what drove him to stay alive this long. 

“Depends on which bombs you are talking about.” He says she could tell that he had opened a can of something. At least he was eating, he hadn’t touched a thing all day besides the chems and a small amount of water. 

“I am talking about the bombs that end everything,” Jade states, she wasn’t terribly well versed in history, it wasn't like there was anyone teaching her. That said, she knew that there had been a single large event that had happened. That had flattened the entire country with nuclear bombs. This didn't cover the bombs that had been dropped between warring factions, or some such horseshit like that. 

“Yeah, a little older than those bombs,” He says it like a joke, like the fact he was over two hundred years old was nothing. How the hell had he stayed alive that long?

Jade finishes her can and drops it beside her with a clang. Every noise echoes around here, making her skin crawl like something was watching her. She rubs her hand nervously over the stitches that she could feel poking at her clothes. 

“Don’t think I’ve met anyone from before.” She adds, not entirely sure where to take the conversation. “I knew Ghouls could live for a long time. But I didn't think it was that long.”

The Ghoul huffs, dropping his own can beside them. “If you keep yourself fed, and watered pretty much immortal. Comes in handy I’uppose.”

“Have you thought about-” Jade stops herself, who was she to ask if he had thought about ending his life? She’d been here for a short time and the thought had crossed her mind more times than she could count on both hands. 

“Maybe one day,” The Ghoul hummed, she guessed he had laid down as his voice was lower to the ground. “For now, just gonna take it as it comes.”

***

The forest was eerily quiet, no buzzing insects, or scurry of birds, just the sound of her boots and the Ghoul’s spurs hitting the ground. Jade feels tight, her whole body coiling readying for something to jump out of the forest. If last night was bad today was somehow worse; she could feel that both of them were waiting on the edge of a knife for something to jump out.  There were a few dilapidated signs, a handful of empty tins, and other trash. But other than that no other signs of anyone. No fresh tracks, or small fire pits, it was as if no one had been here in years. The Ghoul was on alert, checking behind them regularly. The Ghoul being on edge only heightened her fear.

“Have you gone this way before?” Jade asks, talking helps ease the anxiety, even if her voice echoes around the place. 

“Not in a long time,” The Ghoul said, he stopped abruptly, head tilting as he listened. He held up one gloved hand to silence her.

Jade stops, trying to force herself to listen harder. The squeak of her leather holster and the rustle of the Ghoul’s jacket seem to reverberate around them.  As she stood with her head tipped the same way as his, a twig snaps. 

“Something is coming our way,” The Ghoul said, the shotgun he wore on his back now in his hands, he loaded it swiftly and started moving backward down the road. 

Jade grabbed her pistol checking rounds as she took up the same backward walk as the Ghoul did. She could now hear more limbs breaking off trees as they started to move back at a fast pace. Looking up at the tops of the trees she could see them moving; the trees parting in horrid cracks and snaps. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Jade stammers out starting to turn, pistol still in hand as she looks towards the Ghoul, an unreadable expression across his face. 

“RUN.” The Ghoul yells as he starts to move, turning the same as Jade. They both run in the opposite direction of the horrid noise. 

The beast crashes through the trees onto the roadway with enough force to topple trees onto the road. It was an unimaginably massive hulking thing, bear-like legs thick as tree stumps; each foot lined with dozens of claw-like talons, black matted fur that faded up into scale covered skin. The creature was nearly as tall as the trees, the head a mangled twist of flesh that looked like the burnt carcass of a deer. Its eyes flaming red, mouth open in terror inducing scream. The monster charged towards them as they ran, the haunting call shaking the ground beneath their feet. The screech was loud enough to momentarily deafen them. 

The Ghoul stops, sliding into a half kneeling position and firing a shot at its head. Jade took up the same crouched stance, steadying herself as she fired at the beast's underbelly. Black ichor oozed from its flesh but the beast didn’t slow down. Jade moves lower aiming for a leg, she watches as chunks of flesh go flying out of the thing. 

“Take out its legs” Jade calls, watching the Ghoul load in different ammo, before leveling his weapon back at the thing.

The creature came up on them fast and hard, the ground around them shaking. A loud pop erupts and one of the creature's front paws explodes into gore. The creature fumbles but continues forward on three legs. Barely slowed down by the missing appendage. 

“Fuck,” The Ghoul roared as he reloaded and went to aim, a chuck coming free from the blast. It wasn’t enough, the thing was going to be on top of them in moments. 

Any rational thought went out of Jade’s mind, her pack slipping off her back, they were going to die, and the beast was going to be on top of them in moments. Dropping her pistol, which had been nearly useless up to this point; she grabs the machete from her back and runs towards the thing. She could hear the Ghoul calling out her name as she ran straight at the beast. The thing's head coming down, mouth opening, decaying teeth, and spit drooling out.  Wild eyes burning against hers as she dove towards it. Jade could see right down the beast’s throat, as she crashes into its mouth, her makeshift sword straight ahead of her. The feeling of hot humid stink coming out as she turns to swing in an arch around the inside of the monster's throat. A wrecked scream shook her as she felt black blood splash around her. Her ears going deaf from the intense noise ringing around her. The space got smaller as she slashed and swung wildly, chunks of its flesh flying as she lodged herself in its throat. She could feel it trying to swallow, her machete lodged firmly in the roof of the creature's throat. Reaching for her waist Jade grabbed her hunting knife sticking it down into the soft tissue. The thing is trying to scream as she cuts and hacks, trying to remove herself from inside its maw. 

She felt another impact rattle the creature’s body, the beast tossing it’s head back and forth. Jade holding on for dear life and as she tries to cut and saw through whatever she could. Reaching up she grabs the machete slamming it in between her feet as she slides towards the monster’s guts. The soft flexible flesh below her opens up as she slides down the horrors esophagus. She dug her boots in as she felt it start to fall, her body tensing bracing for impact. Her world goes dark as she watches the ground come flying up as the creature collapses. 

The Ghoul felt fear wash over him as he saw Jade leap into the gaping maw of the thing. He calls out her name several times hoping it would somehow stop her. The creature stopping and shook its massive head back and forth trying to cough her up. He could see blood oozing as his companion struggles inside. He reloads the explosive round back into his shotgun. The beast pausing long enough for him to aim for the other front leg. The rounds punching through and shattering the beast's foot. It rose on its back to feet, front stumps trying to grab at the horror's throat. He could see the machete blade poke out and start to slide down opening up the beast’s throat. He reloads and aims for center mass,firing. The Ghoul hoping to the stars that he would miss where Jade was. A head sized hole went through the beast's chest, it sways back and forth before falling forward.

“Fuck,” The Ghoul shouts, running toward the beast, its fiery eyes dimmed, black ichor covering the ground, guts, and bones scattered in a circle of gore. 

He got to the beast trying to move it, which was a near Herculaneum feat. He managed to roll it enough too see where Jade had hacked underneath its giant jaw. The slit she had made that ran down the monster’s neck, gaped open. Following it down he used his blade to start opening it up more, going down to where Jade’s hands were gripping the machete. Two of her fingers on her left hand were gone, as he peels back the meat to reveal more of her arms.

“Jade, Jade,” Ghoul shouts, fingers slipping on all the black blood, he grabs at her hands and tries to pull. The right one felt wrong, looking into the hole it is clear that her arm is probably dislocated. Cussing some more, he cut and cut. Thankfully his knife was sharp. He found her head and her eyes rolling back as he tips her face up to him.

“You better not be fuckin’ dead,” He shouts, slapping her face trying to get her attention. “Come on girly, come on.”

He held her up and cut low enough he could grab under her left arm and pull. Hoping that he didn't tear her stitches as he yanked. Part of her popped out, her hips still stuck. Growling he rips at the flesh tearing it apart with his gloved hands and yanking her out. Her body flops on the ground covered in black goo. Scrambling over to her, he flips her over clearing her mouth and nose of any goop. The stuff was everywhere. He shook her, calling her name several more times, but she lay limp in his arms. Pulling one of his gloves off he searched for a pulse, his hands were too thick and gnarled from radiation to feel much. He lays her gently, taking his hat off he unzips her jacket and pulls her shirt up placing his ear on her chest. 

The soft steady beat of heart and lungs working was like a shot of chem. He leans back covering her skin gently, wincing at the number of fresh bruises blooming across her abdomen. Looking around he spots her bag, getting up he walks over and opens it up, grabbing a stimpak. He walks back and injects one into Jade’s neck. She doesn't move. 

He wasn’t sure the extent of the damage, she was missing two fingers which could be stitched closed and bandaged, her right shoulder was dislocated, another easily fixed thing. The bruising was worrisome, looking down he could see her feet weren’t sitting properly. Moving down he moved her pant legs up some, the coloring was purple at the top of her socks.

“Goddamnit,” The Ghoul hushes, he’d need to get her boots off. He untied them, opening them up some more, her feet were so swollen they didn’t want to come off. 

“You’re gonna hate me, but these got to come off,” Sighing, he cut the boots off. His hands might have lost a lot of feeling but it didn’t feel like her bones were broken. Carefully he grabbed her heel pulling it towards him and twisting. A satisfying pop echos, the Ghoul letting out a breath, before moving on to the next one. He rests her feet down on the ground, checking over the rest of her, he was shocked there wasn’t more damage. Next, he grabs her right arm feeling up to the shoulder and rotating it into place. The girl didn’t even move, he wonders if he should be grateful or worried. Leaning down he could still hear her breathing, looking over her face he couldn’t see any bruising but that didn’t mean there weren't issues. He grabbed his hat and slipped it back on, staring at her. 

As the Ghoul ponders what to do next with his companion, his eyes catch the black slim moving. Standing he watches as it starts to slither back towards the body. Looking around he could see bone had started to grow out of the stumps of the blown off paws. Turning he saw the slit at the thing's throat begin to mend. The black ooze moving on its own back to the mangled body.

“What the fuck,” Ghoul mutters as he watches the things start to piece it’s self together. It wasn’t instant but it wasn’t slow either. In a matter of hours, most of the gore would be gone and the creature repaired.

The Ghoul turning back to his unconscious companion, his mind running. Some part of him wanted to leave her there, take off, as she probably won’t make it anyway. Las thing he needed dead weight and all that. His eyes looking over his companion, she looked so different compared to the day he found her. Her skin wasn’t pale anymore, now a deep sandy color, the stitches on her arm poking out. 

Jade may have looked like a frightened young woman when he met her, but she was anything but. She was a survivor, a fighter, and had had his back on more than one occasion. The stupid girl had jumped down the throat of this beast without thinking.

“FUCK,” The Ghoul shouts, kicking at the dead carcass as he stomps over to the treeline. 

Snapping several smaller branches he walked back over to Jade, digging around he found a length of rope. He used it to make a makeshift sled. He wasn’t going to be able to carry her all the way out, but dragging her might give them enough to get away from whatever the fuck that was. He shed his duster laying it down on the makeshift sled, before moving his companion onto it, Placing the bags on either side of her bare feet to try and keep her steady. Grabbing the rope he started to move away from the dead beast. Looking over his shoulder he saw the blackness still seeping back into the dead body. He wished he had a bomb, so he could blow the thing up enough that it would take weeks to piece itself back together not hours.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

*likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated

*we got a lot of hurt, and very little comfort, it's gonna be tense for a while friends.

@pixelatedprofilepic @hiddlebatchedloki @toogaytofunctiondangit

All the angst was sooo good, this fic in general is so amazing, and it has my heart and soul every time it updates 😭😭

Also love the way you write Edward. He's always been a dick, and it's nice to see that represented (I ate up the twilight books)

Bound | Chapter 7

Word Count: 4.3K

Summary: Rosalie always carried the resentment of not being able to fulfill the image of the perfect family she had in her head. But the universe had set out to grant her everything she could’ve hoped for in the most unconventional way and in the form of a witch. Can their love withstand the promise of forever or will Rosalie and (Y/N) succumb to the grapples of time?

A/N: all of the feels and sadness in this chapter for reader and Bea. But it's a step closer to the reader and Rosalie finally meeting. not gonna lie, this one hurt

<- Previous

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” (Y/N) muttered as she examined her features in the mirror. “It’s been a couple of years, and my face has not changed at all. Not even a gray hair on my head. It doesn’t make any sense.” 

Bea chuckled as she walked over to the young witch. Her hands rested on her shoulders as she brushed away the strands of hair from her skin and left a soft kiss on it. “Maybe it’s genetics,” she mused. “Just be grateful you don’t have to deal with smile lines and crow’s feet at twenty-three. Now, that’s a travesty.” 

“How could your happiness ever be a bad thing?” (Y/N) smiled. “You’re as beautiful as ever, Bea.” 

“Oh, you only say that,” the girl chuckled. “I would gladly give you the three grays I found in my hair.” 

“My little salt and pepper beauty,” the other witch teased. “I know you’ll look marvelous with an all-white mane.”

“Oh, goddess, I just hope it’s at least twenty years down the line,” Bea whined. “Not anywhere near my twenties or thirties.”  

“Well, maybe you could give some to me,” she laughed. “I’m in serious need of some aging here.” 

“I wish those were my problems,” Bea sighed. “Anyways, as much as I would love to stay here and chat about how your skin and your hair are perfect, I do need to go to school if I ever plan to finish college. I think five years is enough time to have finished already.” 

“Everyone has their own pace, Bea.” 

“Yeah, says the girl who finished her degree in three and a half years and is already finishing her master’s.” 

“Well, not everyone can be me.” 

“Clearly,” she playfully scoffed. “Beautiful and unbelievably intelligent. Save some for the rest of us.” 

 “I’d give it all to you if I could,” (Y/N) smiled. “But for now, you’re going to have to apply yourself in school and embrace your changing body. I know I will.” 

With a hug and a kiss on Bea’s lips, the two young women left the small house and walked onto the village center to head to the coven’s entry point. They chatted amongst themselves, enjoying the cold air of October, when Margaret, a coven elder, stopped them in their tracks. 

“Good morning, girls,” the woman said. “Are you off to school?” 

“Beatrice is,” (Y/N) answered. “I’m simply escorting her.” 

“Well then, why don’t we leave that to Russell?” Margaret asked but both girls knew it was an instruction. “I fear I must steal you away, (Y/N). It’s a rather urgent matter.” 

“Is everything okay?” 

“Oh, nothing you have to worry about, Beatrice,” she smiled. “But I do need to speak with her.” 

“Russell will get you to school and back safe,” (Y/N) assured, smiling at the awaiting man. “I’ll be here when you get back.” 

“Alright,” Bea sighed. “I’ll see you then.” 

(Y/N) watched as Bea and Russell disappeared through the trees, one second there and the next gone. As much as she wanted to take off running after them, the last thing she would ever do was disobey an elder. If their instruction did not go against anything she believed, there was no chance she would ignore them. 

“Come on now, (Y/N),” Margaret called her attention. “Off to my cabin.” 

The girl followed the woman to her home, running a million scenarios in her head. She knew there were no rules she had broken, and she doubted it had anything to do with her human and witch studies. (Y/N) had always been on top of it all. She had even been assigned the role of mentor only two years before. Clearly, she had been doing something right. 

“Is something the matter, Margaret?” the girl asked as they finally reached the witch’s house, nerves building far too high for her. 

 “I was wondering the same thing, (Y/N),” the woman smiled brightly. “I just couldn’t help but notice that in the last–give or take–six years of your life, your face has remained as young as it was then. Not a single sign of aging.”

“Oh, that,” (Y/N) chuckled awkwardly as she looked down. She had been working tirelessly to find answers by herself, but no one seemed to be able to give her what she needed. Not even her magical books had given her what she had been looking for. “I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything about that just yet. But I promise I have been looking everywhere for answers. ”

“Why don’t you have a seat, little one?” Margaret invited her to sit on the rocking chairs that lived on her wooden porch, grabbing a worn-out book from a shelf by the entrance of her home. “I think it is safe to assume your search for answers has been rendered fruitless. There’s no surprise there. Not much has been recorded about your particular situation.” 

“My situation? I can’t say I’m following what you’re saying, ma’am. What situation could I be in? ”

“Do you remember the teachings about soul pairings, my child?” (Y/N) nodded, unsure of where the conversation was leading. “I am sure you also remember the teachings of other supernatural beings that share our spaces. This journal right here belonged to my great-great-grandmother...” 

“Lady Esther?” the young witch interrupted. “Those are the personal writings of our first High Priestess?” 

The woman smiled at (Y/N)’s eagerness, but it pained her to know that excitement would soon die down. “Grandmother Esther made sure to record each and every situational encounter she had, preserving a possible solution to the most curious of cases. The books have been passed down from generation to generation to aid in scenarios such as yours, where not even supernatural logic makes too much sense,” she laughed. “As soon as I saw the signs, I remembered a story she had written in her personal journal–this book has been open only to our family’s eyes. When she was younger, she went through the same thing you are right now.”  

“Signs? What signs have there been?” 

“Well, the inability to age is one of them,” Margaret said. “There’s also the night of your alleged magical resurgence. And before you ask, yes, Beatrice spoke to me about it because she was worried that it could be something bad. There’s also your new ability to heal quicker than others. For example, the cut that you had two months ago that seemed to heal overnight.” 

“I just thought after that night, my magic was different,” (Y/N) mumbled. “So, you’re saying this has happened before? To High Priestess Esther?”  

“That is correct, my dear. And she was just as confused as you are,” she rocked. Margaret flipped through the pages until she landed on the specific date she was looking for, handing the open book to the expectant girl. “It was a hard time to be a witch back then–not that it’s any easier now–but somehow she had managed to skate by unnoticed. One day, she noticed her face had stopped aging, and so had her mother. Her face seemed to be frozen in time, but she didn’t know why. That was until she met the immortal Samuel.”  

“A vampire?”  Margaret nodded in confirmation. “But I’m not sure I understand. How did meeting Samuel affect her physical status?”  

“You’re rushing the story, my child,” Margaret chuckled. The girl was itching for answers, but patience was something the elder always taught. “There’s a reason I mentioned soul pairings earlier. When we are born and reborn, fragments of our soul enter the lives of others, tethering them to ours. Throughout your life, you might meet some of your soulmates, yet no connection will be as strong as the bound soul. Not many find them in their lifetime. The lucky few that do experience a love like no other. That’s what Samuel was to Esther—the love of a lifetime. Are you following?” 

“I believe so. They had a supernatural connection that tied their lives together. Mind, body, and soul.”  

“You’ve always been a smart one, (Y/N),” the woman chuckled joyfully before she continued. “As the years went on, Esther started to tie loose ends together. The reason she was never changing was because he was never changing. Bound souls are connected, body and soul. When Samuel had been turned into a vampire and, in turn, immortal, so did she. Esther wrote about how, after the first encounter, her magic was stronger, and her connection to the elements felt surreal. But the love she felt when she was with him was something unparalleled to anything she had experienced in this lifetime.” 

“But if she’s immortal, how come we’ve never met her? How are you here? Vampires can’t procreate.” 

“In those times, vampires were still heavily hunted. Samuel had gone into town one day and, unfortunately, never made it back home. They shared thirty beautiful years building a life together, isolated from society. Living in the shadows, doing their best to survive. Unfortunately, once Samuel’s life ended, so did Esther’s immortality. Her life cycle had regained its normalcy,” Margaret sighed. “She had been devastated for a long time. She describes how she felt her body was hollowed out and her magic began to falter. “Fortunately, she found love again in the man who was my great-great-grandfather, Abraham. They made a family together, creating our coven,” she smiled. “Esther never forgot Samuel, carrying his memory close to her heart every day that passed until her death after approximately 140 years of life. Her story now is not unlike yours. Though supernatural beings have now learned and adapted to the ever-changing society.”  

“But this means that as time goes by, everyone I love will pass, and I will continue on being as I am today,” (Y/N) stated, tears burning the corners of her eyes. “How do I cope with losing all the people closest to me whilst I have no foreseeable ending to this life?”  

“Death is something we all must endure, one day or another. Even immortal beings face mortality in many ways. How to handle the inevitability of death is a very personal thing. In time, you’ll learn the best way to accept it.”  

“But that means…” 

“Yes, (Y/N). You’ll one day go through the pain of seeing Beatrice pass,” the woman confirmed. “I know it will be hard, my child. But it is a moment you must endure. You have her entire lifetime to enjoy by her side. Don’t let the inevitability of her passing stop you from living.” 

The young witch remained silent as warm tears burned their way down her skin. She had grown accustomed to death from a young age. That wasn’t the problem. (Y/N) had lost her mother when she had been all but fifteen years of age, and her father had passed long before she could even remember his voice. It wasn’t death that scared her. It was living after Beatrice. What pained the girl beyond repair was that not only could she not give Bea the life she dreamed of, she couldn’t even give her the life they had planned. 

(Y/N) wouldn’t be able to grow old beside her, taunting each other about who had more white hair. She would never get to the point where they would both need canes to walk or salves and ointments for their aching joints. No. She would only be able to watch it happen to Bea while she remained the very image she saw staring back at her in the mirror. There would be no aging pains for her, no shriveling skin or weakening bones. All there would be was her and the passage of time. 

As the hours passed, it dawned on the young woman what she had to do. As much as it broke her heart, there was nothing else that would make sense for her future. If she had no chance at her happy ever after, she’d make sure that at least Beatrice would. 

She couldn’t have known how much time had passed, but when the sound of Bea’s laughter by the door rang through the house, the sun had already set. (Y/N) peeked her head out the bedroom door to find the girl saying her goodbyes to the lovestruck Russell, a bouquet of roses hanging from her right hand. 

The young witch saw possibility there. She saw right before her eyes everything she could never give her. She saw the life they had always dreamed of, the life only one of them would be able to live. 

“Sorry I’m late, darling,” Bea said as she hung her coat on the rack. “Russell invited me out to the movies. I forgot to call.”

“It’s okay,” (Y/N) responded, trying her best to conceal the sadness that had sunk its claws into her throat.  

But she couldn’t. At the tone of her voice, the raven-haired girl turned around and crossed the room in an instant. “What’s the matter?” she asked as she led them toward their couch, sitting beside (Y/N), her hands gripping hers comfortingly. “What did Margaret say?”

“I-I, uh,” (Y/N) stammered, unable to get the words out. 

And before she could say anything else, Bea noticed the tears that brimmed (Y/N)’s eyes. Her eyes were already red and puffy, a testament to the pain she was already feeling. “What’s wrong, Rubs?” she questioned worriedly. “Is it bad?”

“I don’t… I don’t know if it is or not,” she sighed. “But it’s gonna change everything, Bea. It’s already changed me.”

“Sweetheart, you’re scaring me,” Bea said. “What’s going on, (Y/N)? What changed since this morning?” 

(Y/N) could feel her breaths staggering, the nerves coursing through her veins making her tremble under the weight of the inevitable. This was it—the moment when she would lose it all. With a heavy heart, the witch set off to explain all that Margaret had told her. She told her about Samuel and Esther, about bound souls, and vampires and witches. Finally, she told her what it all meant to her. The very reason both their lives would never be the same. “She said the reason I haven’t shown any sign of aging and I had that odd attack that night was because my soul is most likely tethered to a vampire,” she explained, fighting the new tears that threatened to spill across her cheeks. “I’m never gonna age, Bea. Everyone around me will grow and die, and I will stay just as you see me right now before you. I don’t know how I could ever give you the life you’ve always wanted.” 

Bea rose from her seat as though it had burned her. Her thoughts spiraled and sparked inside her head before she could process anything that (Y/N) was saying. None of it made sense to her. She was a witch and knew of the existence of many other supernatural beings. But that? That she couldn’t get her mind around. 

The girl pressed her palms to her eyes, stopping the tears before they stained her face, but not before they pooled around her eyes and mixed with the black of her makeup. She was distraught, unwinding at the seams, unable to process her emotions properly. Bea couldn’t grasp that those would be their last moments together as they were.

“What does this mean for us, (Y/N)?” the girl asked. “What are you gonna do?” 

“I wish I could tell you I had it all figured out, Bea, but I don’t,” she cried. “I don’t want to lose you, that’s for sure. I just don’t know what I can offer you.” 

“What about school and all that? You just got accepted to Yale. How are you gonna be a lawyer like this?” 

“I don’t know, Bea!” (Y/N) exclaimed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about any of that just yet. I just found out that I’m immortal today. There’s nothing laid out just yet.” 

The younger witch knew what (Y/N) was saying without words, and she also knew she wouldn’t say the words even if they were the only ones that had to be said. Bea wanted to believe there was a way to fight the inevitable—find a sliver of hope in the midst of their dark reality. 

“You deserve everything you’ve ever wanted, Bea,” the older witch broke the silence softly. She took tentative steps towards the other, softly wrapping her arms around the unconsolable woman. Bea leaned into her touch, even though her body screamed to get away until it was all resolved. “You deserve a wedding, you deserve kids, you deserve the big house with the even bigger garden, you deserve someone to grow old with. And as much as I wish I could give you that and the entire universe, I can’t. I can only give myself, darling, and I promise I’ll try my hardest to make you the happiest you can be with whatever time we have.” 

“You can’t promise that, (Y/N),” Bea whimpered. “As much as we want to, neither of us can promise that.”

“Why not?” she cried. “I love you more than anything in this universe. That’s enough for me.” 

“It’s only gonna be enough for now,” the younger girl sighed defeatedly. “We can’t exist on love alone, sweetheart. I wish it were that easy.” 

“What are you saying, Bea?” 

“I think it’s best that you move to Connecticut, set yourself up over there while you’re going to school,” she said, swallowing the sadness that threatened to wreck her. She had to be strong for (Y/N). She had to be strong for them both. “After, you’re gonna have to move from place to place. Never stay too long in one city or state. Never go back there until anyone that could remember you is alive.” 

“I could just stay here,” (Y/N) offered, knowing it wasn’t going to be an option. “I don’t have to ever leave the village. We could have a life here.:  

“You know that’s not possible, sweetheart,” Bea sighed. “Maybe back in the days of Esther, but I know you’ll grow angsty. You have dreams, (Y/N). You have goals you want to accomplish. You can’t stay here and wait until I die for you to start living. I couldn’t live with myself if you did.” 

“What about what I want?” she said in a voice so broken that it almost shattered Bea’s resolution. It made her wonder if there truly was a way for them to work out. But she knew. “What if all I want is you, Bea?” 

“You’ll do great things, beautiful,” she said as she turned in (Y/N)’s arms and ran her fingers through her hair. “I know everything you do will be as amazing as you are. You will go on and do all these things and see the world, and I’ll always be here, cheering you on from the sidelines.” 

“What am I supposed to do without you, Bea? We were supposed to be forever.” 

“And you’ll have forever, (Y/N),” she smiled sadly. “I won’t. And I can’t steal away a part of your life because of it. Don’t ask me to do that.” 

(Y/N) gazed into Bea’s eyes as tears blurred her vision, trying her best to plead with just one look. “You wouldn’t be stealing any part of my life, Bea,” she trembled. “You’ve shown me a life I could have. A life with you would be a life fulfilled. Why can’t that be enough?” 

“Maybe in another life, it could be,” Bea whimpered. She placed her hands tenderly on the girl’s cheeks, softly wiping away the tears that didn’t seem to stop. “But it wasn’t meant to be in this one, my sweetheart. We had the years we did, and they will always be the best of my life. And what gives me a respite is that you will have so many great years after me because I just know your life will be glorious and that I’ll continue to love you every day until I take my last breath.  And I know you’ll be happy—even after me, you’ll be happy.” 

(Y/N) couldn’t find words as they knotted in her throat. Her eyes felt like an open faucet as tears fell faster than she could hold them back. All she could do was wrap her arms around Bea and hold her as tight as she could. Because for that moment, she was still there, they were still possible. For that moment, she could pretend they were forever.

And that’s what she did every day and every night for the coming three months. (Y/N) would hold Bea as though she’d turn to dust the second she let go. There was not a moment she didn’t spend with the younger witch. She even pretended to be excited about the cross-state move, showing the girl apartment listings and bringing her to buy whatever she’d need for it. Maybe if she acted like she was all for the move, there would come a day when she would be. 

There was one thing she was sure of, at the end of those three months, she’d be losing the greatest love of her life. And before she could truly prepare herself, the day had come. 

“Time flew too fast, didn’t it?” Bea whispered from the bed, watching through hazy eyes as the witch walked from side to side, gathering all she needed for the long trip to Connecticut. “Can’t believe the day is finally here.” 

“Yeah,” (Y/N) sighed quietly, whispering her next words. “Kind of wished today never came.” 

“Do you have everything you need? Remember, you’re supposed to meet up with Lance over there. He is part of our sister coven over there and knows everything about your situation.”

“Yes, Beatrice. I know what I have to do,” she spat unintentionally. “You’ve had this planned out for three months already. Almost feels like you can’t wait for me to go.” 

“You know that’s not true,” Bea bit back quickly. “The last thing I want is to lose you, (Y/N). But we both know that it simply wouldn’t work. Not in this lifetime.” 

“It could have worked,” (Y/N) cried. She didn’t care that she’d have to redo her makeup or that she’d have puffy red eyes during her train ride; she simply allowed the tears that had never seemed to stop to fall free. “If you would have given us a chance, it would have worked.” 

“For what, sweetheart?” the girl questioned softly, unable to meet the same bark that (Y/N) had. She was sad, she was weak, she was losing her everything. “You grow restless when we stay merely a day in this house. What makes you think you’d last sixty years?” 

“I could do it for you, Bea.” (Y/N) walked to their bed and sat by Bea, taking one of her hands in hers. “I would give my entire life to be with you.” 

“That’s a price I’m not willing to let you pay,” she whispered softly, using her free hand to caress (Y/N)’s wettened cheek. “You need to let me go, (Y/N). You need to let me let you go. It’s the only way either of us will be able to make the choices we need to make for our futures.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Yes, you can,” Bea smiled tenderly. “You could tell the sun to stop shining, and it would. You can do anything, (Y/N) Carmine.” 

“But I don’t want to.” 

“You have to,” she continued. “Go. See the world. Get your degrees. Open the law firm you’ve always dreamed of. Help supernatural folks like you’ve wanted. I’ll be here, always. Getting old and loving you. But don’t stay stuck. If you can’t do it for yourself, then do it for me.” 

Without another word, (Y/N) kissed Bea’s lips and gathered all she would need for the trip. The air inside the house was thick with pain and sadness, but neither girl made another mention of it. They simply let things be until it was time for her to go. 

Russell had come to help with her bags, putting them in one of the few cars the village owned. He knew all that had been happening under the girls’ roof, but he never judged, never put in his two cents, and never, ever, turned them away. Maybe because he was smitten with Bea or because he respected his friendship with (Y/N), but he’d never looked at them any differently than he did everyone else. 

“We’re just about ready to go,” he announced from the doorway. “Car is packed and running.” 

“Thank you, Russell,” (Y/N) smiled softly. “‘I’ll be out in a moment.” 

With a tip of his hat, he turned to leave the girls to say their goodbyes. It was the last moment they’d ever look as young as each other. Beauty stuck in time, and love perfectly conserved in the image of a memory. That’s how (Y/N) wanted to remember them: young, happy, and full of love. 

“I’ll come back every year,” she whispered to Bea as she cradled her cheeks. “Every single year, no matter what.” 

“And I’ll be waiting,” Bea smiled, tears falling down her cheeks. “I’ll always be waiting by Bound Soul’s Bank. Every year, to the day, I’ll be there. Even when I’m old and frail and can barely walk, I’ll be there.” 

“You are my sun,” (Y/N) cried shakily. 

“My moon,” Bea responded in tandem. 

“And all of my stars,” they said in teary unison before sharing a last passionate kiss and a tight hug. 

The last image (Y/N) had of Bea was as she ran through the village behind the running car, yelling words of love and encouragement until there was no trail left to follow and the trees engulfed her figure. 

And with a shattered heart, and the promise of a never-ending future, (Y/N) did the hardest thing she could imagine. (Y/N) Carmine started to live.

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I love this and can't wait to see more! It's cool to see the series starting as little pieces of memories, old and new. Excited to see how you'll take this story Author!

A Wasteland Reunion

Summary: It's been more than 200 years since you've last seen your cowboy. Pairing: Cooper Howard x Reader Word Count: 1,070 (a drabble? what's that?) Warnings: mentions of violence, swearing, A/N: Part of The Cowboy & The Movie Star series, a part 2 if you will. Let me know what y'all would like to see from this series. What snapshots would y'all like to see?

I do NOT consent to my work being translated or published onto third party sites - including AO3 and Wattpad.

A layer of dirt and grime covered every surface of the Red Rocket Gas Station. Outside the sun blazed down, covering the Wasteland in a blazing heat. The wind gave an occasional whistle as it blew more dirt into the gas station’s broken windows. Though you were paying attention to none of that, you were focused on the sound that should not be there. 

The thumping of heavy footsteps on broken concrete. 

So with your back against the checkout counter you reload your gun and cussed Ma June. If this ‘simple favor’ didn’t kill you, you were going to ring the older lady’s neck. 

As the heavy steps get closer your finger tightens around the trigger of your gun. The old bell chimes above the door and heavy footfalls turn into light steps as the newest customer to the Red Rocket navigates around the debris littering the floor. The footsteps grow quieter as the person heads towards the other end of the gas station. 

Taking the opportunity, you slowly crawl towards the open door a few feet to your right. The manager’s office was threadbare, a simple desk and chair sat in the middle of the room with a few filing cabinets sitting behind the desk. It did not offer many hiding places, however you had no interest in hiding. You were interested in getting the piece of tech Ma June was searching for and getting the hell out of the Red Rocket. 

After waiting a moment, with bated breath for the sound of footsteps to draw closer. You were surprised when they never did, coming to the conclusion that the person must have left. Likely abandoning their search when they came up empty handed. Not that you minded, The less people here, the less bullets you would have to use to make it back to Filly. 

Pushing the other person from your mind, you began going through the drawers of the desk. Where you found a handful of plastic forks, a loose cigarette and four caps. With another glance to the open door and a pause to listen for steps, you turned your attention to the filing cabinets behind you. 

The first cabinet was a bust, holding nothing but trash. You had moved onto the second cabinet, only starting to pull the first drawer out when the hairs on the back of your neck rose and a pit of dread opened in your stomach. Before you could turn to inspect, the hammer of a pistol was pulled back. The click echoed off the walls of the dusty gas station. 

“My, my,” A low voice drawled out behind you. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ all alone out here?” 

The voice was low, gravely, distinctly a man’s voice. It trickled down your spine like ice water, setting off every nerve ending within you. But deep down, there was a familiarity in the voice. A familiarity that had your heart tightening in your chest. 

“Just surviving,” you replied., hand tightening around your own pistol. “Wasteland’s a rough place.” 

You tried to keep your voice level, not wanting to give away any of your intentions or give the stranger a reason to pull his trigger. At this point you were ready to call this mission a bust, sure that the tech Ma June was after was not worth your life. 

“Stand up, leave your gun on the ground” the man demanded, leaving no room for arguments. 

Complying with the man, you left your gun in the dirt and stood. Muscles aching and protesting from being squatted for so long. Once fully stood you began to turn around. Wanting to see the man who was likely going to shoot you down. 

The man, no, the ghoul in front of you was menacing from looks alone. A long, leather trench coat covered the rest of his outfit, an ammo belt stretched across his chest, and a weathered cowboy hat was pulled low on his head. A sneer stretched his lips across yellowing teeth and fire burned in deep brown eyes. 

As you locked eyes with the Ghoul a weight of emotions crashed into your chest. If silence hadn’t consumed the gas station you would have thought he shot you.

“Cooper?” The name fell from your lips before you could stop it. 

The sound bubbled in the space between the two of you. Growing with the tension in the room before popping with a deep growl from the man. 

Quicker than you could realize, he was on you. A heavy arm pushing against your throat as he slammed you against the hard metal cabinets behind you. A handle dug harshly into your hip, surly going to leave a bruise. However, you could not find it in you to care. Not when Cooper Howard was standing before you two hundred years after you had seen him last. Two hundred years after you were sure he had died.  

“How do you fuckin; know that name?” He growled, pushing his forearm harder against your throat.

“Coop, please,” You coughed out, struggling to breath past the pressure Cooper was putting on your neck. “It’s me.”

His eyes darkened, a predator staring down at you. “Bullshit.” 

The arm not holding you to the cabinets began to raise, The metal of his gun was cold as he placed it to your temple. 

“I’m only gonna ask one more time.” He pulled the hammer back with a sickening click. “How do you know that name and why are you wearing her fuckin’ face?” 

He was nearly shouting at the end of his question. Fury beginning to take over his composure. 

Knowing you only had one more chance to prove to Cooper that you were standing in front of him, you dug into your memories with Cooper. Going back to a place you had long wished to go back to.

“I told you I loved you for the first time the day the bombs dropped,” you choked around the words, “I had a meeting at the studio and you were getting ready for a birthday party. We were standing in the driveway and you were wearing that damn cowboy getup, but I couldn’t wait anymore so I blurted it out.” 

The fire in his eyes diminished as another emotion took over. With a small sigh, your name escaped his lips in a whisper. Like a prayer he had long since forgotten.

Always Waiting for You

Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings/tags: 18+; fluff, pining, friends to lovers, slow burn, angst, canon typical violence, eventual smut, use of pet names & nicknames (no y/n)

In the beginning you'd been content helping your grandmother run Springwood, the quaint bed and breakfast she had owned and ran for most of her life. You'd grown a fondness for Springwood over the years, already having long since known your grandmother wished to eventually pass the bed and breakfast onto you. But the more you got to know the curious Winchester brothers every time they sporadically turned up to rent rooms, the more you'd begun to long for a little something more in your life. You soon found yourself becoming close friends with the brothers–even after finding out what they really did–and you easily found yourself falling for Sam. But the pair of you only ever remained close friends as the years passed by despite you always secretly holding onto the hope that he'd someday finally stop trying to protect you from himself and his life.

Installment List

1| First Meetings {Coming Soon}

pls rb if you think cuddling doesn't have to be s3xual

im tryna prove a point to my bf's mother help me out

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The Cost of Flesh

18+ 4.9k the ghoul x f!reader. gif credit. dirty talk, vaginal fingering, clothed/naked, finger sucking, grinding on a cowboy boot, cooper's busted anatomy forces him to get creative, body worship, lightly established dynamic, surprisingly sentimental. a prompt from @tearueful that got wildly out of hand. thank you, friend! 🖤

When what starts off as a purely sexual arrangement with the Waste's most notorious bounty hunter–the ghoul–gradually grows into a living, breathing love, you're both forced to confront the inevitable humanity that comes with sharing your body with another.

There’s a living myth that walks the wastes, a figure known exclusively as the ghoul. He’s enigmatic, a force of nature that declares himself to the world with his every step. If you're unaware of sharing a room with him, it’s likely because he’s hunting you, in which case it’s not a matter of if he catches you, but when.

Naturally, it was the talk of the town when he made a regular haunt out of the saloon you worked in.

He watched you serve drinks all evening, his gaze a physical thing upon you. Normally you expected a degree of harassment from clientele, raiders and the like often rolling through, but it was as though everyone else sensed his attention on you as much as you did. You could tell from the tilted angle of the wide brim of his hat when he was listening to your conversations.

It was as eerie as it was intriguing. You couldn’t fathom a bounty on your head, so what did he want?

You would soon be ensnared by him, but not for a bounty. It was for pleasure. Your pleasure.

“Come upstairs with me,” He murmured in your ear, standing close behind you, a gloved knuckle rolling up your spine. “Y’ain’t gatta do nothin’. I won’t hurt’cha none. Just wanna hear a pretty bird sing.”

You shivered, caught unaware. You never even heard his approach, even though the din of the bar had quieted in the late evening.

“I’m not for sale,” you replied, testing the water. He was close enough that you felt him, but not so close you were pinned. You could move if you wanted to.

“I ain’t buyin’,” he gave back. You could feel the heat of his breath on your neck. “But I’ll make it worth y’while.”

The gravel grit of his voice was nearly drowned out by the drumming of your own pulse in your ears. To this day, you don’t know what possessed you to agree, but you did. He took your hand in his, the leather of his glove soft with wear, and led you away from the bar. The next thing you knew, he was stripping you bare in one of the dark rooms above the bar.

The ceremony with which he undressed you had felt disconcertingly like meal prep. He tied your hands above your head, and your heart thundered with the understanding that there was nothing to stop him from devouring you alive where you lay sprawled out on the bed. 

By the time his gloved hands were dragging away your underwear, you felt dizzy with the heady mix of arousal and fear, an unquiet ache thrumming between your thighs. Your only meager assurance was that of all the legends you’d heard of the ghoul, seducing and eating barmaids wasn’t among them. 

And yet devour you he did. You were hooked from that very first wet, hot slide of his tongue against your clit. He spent hours with you that night, mapping your body with his tongue, your scars and blemishes serving as waypoints and constellations. He nipped and sucked until dark marks blossomed under his tongue, and he relished those spots more than any other.

He never took off more than his gloves, and he never let you touch him. He never fucked you. He brought you to climax with his mouth and his hands so many times you lost track of the number. All you could do was writhe and moan your pleasure. He didn’t stop until those moans turned to sobs, until you begged him to. After that, he cut your binds loose and left you a mess on the bed, aching and used. 

You laid there for a long time, thinking you would never see him again.

The ghoul returned not a week later. 

He wasn’t subtle about what he wanted from you, beckoning you from across the bar with a crook of two fingers. You felt your knees weaken with the memory of those same fingers in your mouth, your cunt, that hand pinning you by your throat to feel your cries against his palm. He stared at you from beneath the brim of his hat, cocked his head. You nodded, and his eyes flashed.

Hungry.

You didn’t learn his name until your third encounter. He whispered it in your ear.

“Now scream it for me, sweetheart.”

You did.

The two of you would meet several more times. He would stay a little longer after each session, and bit by bit, you would come to understand the man beyond the ghoul. He doesn’t talk about himself, and he doesn’t ask anything of your life in turn, but he reveals himself in pieces nonetheless. Beneath the ruthless pragmatism of his legendary persona, you find the manners of a shockingly tender gentleman lurking.

He’s always unhurried in disrobing you, devoted to the task at hand: taking you apart piece by piece. He treats each article of frayed clothing like a piece of paper that might tear if he pulls too hard. He makes the process of being undressed in and of itself feel like sex, every move intentionally sensual. 

For you, the experience ranges from thrilling to maddening depending on your mood that day. He never heeds you, always keen to take his time regardless of your impatience. He takes a particular kind of enjoyment in your body, the likes of which you’ve never known. You’re certain he knows it better than you do at this point, and yet he’s never laid himself bare to you. Never let you bring him the kind of pleasure he brings you.

He’s never kissed you.

“Please. I wanna touch you, too,” you tell breathlessly, knelt between his legs, naked as sin. His focus breaks, gaze snapping to yours. You lick your lips, relishing the rare feeling of catching him off guard. You slide your hands up his thighs, inching towards his groin. “Taste you. Make you twist. When’re you gonna let me, huh?”

He catches your wrists as quickly as a viper strikes, holding you still for a long, tense moment. You hold his gaze without any of the fear or reservation you’d felt that first day. 

Despite the warmth that’s grown between you in the time since that first night, you’re uncertain of what exactly the two of you are now. It would be romantic to think of this feeling in your chest as love. Certainly it is intimacy. Familiarity. What is love if not consistency? Perhaps it’s like masonry. Steel against stone, and the conscious choice to change something as immutable as solid rock.

For as long as he chooses to come back to you, to find his pleasure in you, is that not love? If it isn’t, it might just be the closest you’ve ever come to it.

Dumbstruck for a moment by the tenderness in your gaze, Cooper’s own drops to your hand, lifting it to his mouth. His grip is tight, but not painful. As he does with everything else, he takes his time answering.

“Won’t do much good, darlin’,” he says, folding your hands wrist over wrist. You perk up. He’s never given a proper explanation for why he seems to have no interest in your reciprocation. From his belt, he withdraws a length of rope and begins encircling your wrists. You allow it, the ritual a familiar one. “Plumbing’s long busted, but that don’t mean I don’t enjoy myself. Enjoy you.”

Like the final piece of a puzzle falling in place, understanding dawns. His initial use of you drops perfectly into context. It was like you were more an object to him than a person, a vessel for him to exact sensation upon. You understand now that that’s exactly what you were. Be it the radiation or the myriad of drugs he takes to keep the degeneration at bay, it’s likely just one more piece of him the Wasteland has stolen.

“Oh.”

“Disappointed?” He asks, fastening the rope with a sharp tug that shoots a hot throb between your thighs. If he’s apprehensive about your answer, he hides it well. If they still made movies, he’d make for a fine actor.

You pause, giving the question the thought it deserves. “Not exactly. Maybe a bit,” you say, struggling to articulate the feeling. “Kind of relieved, though. I didn’t know if you couldn’t, or just didn’t want to,” you admit, leaning into it when he brings his palm to the side of your face. Your lips part automatically for the brush of his thumb along them. “I just want to do more.”

Cooper’s gaze softens, the line of his mouth twitching in what almost looks like a smile before it’s tampered by a profound sense of sadness. However, it disappears as quickly as the smile that nearly was. His expression smooths back out into controlled focus.

“So do more,” he says in that molasses drawl, thick and sweet. It could be your imagination, but his voice sounds warmer than it did a moment ago. “Put on a show for me.” He widens the spread of your legs with the press of his boot to your inner thigh. “I got plenty ‘a things for you t’ride.”

He lifts the worn leather to the wet heat gathering between your thighs and you shudder, lashes fluttering. His boot sinks back to the ground and you follow it, grinding down against the leather with a soft sigh of pleasure. He hooks his fingers through the tether around your wrists and draws you forward by it, his knee pressing between your breasts, your bound hands resting on his thigh.

“Don’t take much t’get you moanin’, do it, sweetie?” He baits, mouth curved in a crooked smile. You roll your hips with a soft keen, shaking your head. You were already tingling all over from the slow way he’d undressed you, and now that ache is growing rapidly into thrumming need. He whistles lowly. “All that noise for a li’l friction.”

He bucks his boot against your cunt, wringing a cry out of you. You screw your eyes shut, clutching at his pant leg while you roll your hips, embarrassed by how right he is. Everything he does is electrifying, and his honied voice in your ears helps turn the curve of his boot into the most exquisite touch you’ve ever known.

With his teeth, Cooper tugs off his glove and touches your cheek with warm, rough fingers. His bare thumb hooks your bottom lip, easing it open until you taste the salt of his skin pressing down on your tongue. “Or just didn’t want to…” He echoes through a frayed laugh, sounding equal parts amused and wistful at your words on his tongue. “Y’got no idea what I’d do to this sweet mouth if I could.” He presses his thumb deeper, watching with dark eyes as you start to suck. “What I’d give t’see how pretty you cry, chokin’ on my cock.”

He paints such a pretty picture that you long for it, too. Releasing his thumb with a breathy sound, you open your mouth. “More,” you say, your breaths shallow. “I want more.”

His own chest is heaving with each breath, his tongue caught between his teeth. He slips two fingers into your mouth, pushing them all the way to the knuckle. You both moan with it, pressure creeping slowly up your spine. He rocks his fingers in and out, and you start to match his pace, grinding against his boot as fast as his fingers fuck your mouth. 

Catching on, he kicks his pace up a notch, captivated by the pull of your lips, the shimmer of your saliva on his weathered skin. You can see it in his eyes, how he loses himself in your pleasure as if it’s his own, filling in the gaps with faded memories. He pushes in a third finger, teeth raking over his bottom lip. You push your tongue between them, over them, sucking and lapping as if it really is his cock in your mouth. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” he hisses, pulling sharply on your bindings. You make a noise around his fingers, so close to the peak of release that your lungs begin to seize, throat quieting. It’s pure agony when Cooper abruptly hauls you up onto your knees, halting your ascension. “C’mere,” he growls, all grit and throaty need. His fingers slip from your mouth and he manhandles you up into his lap, bringing you into a straddle over him, your bound wrists thrown over the back of his neck.

The same fingers he had halfway down your throat now move between your thighs, pressing into your slick, yielding body with two wet fingers in one deep push. You groan, the burning ache of it so good your eyes roll back. His free hand skirts up the length of your torso to the underside of your breast, kneading soft flesh with a rough hand. Then, so quick all you can do is gasp, he pushes the weight of it upward, meeting pearl-soft skin with lips, tongue and teeth.

All the while his fingers sink deeper, moving faster. He adds a third and you strain against your binds, arching your back, pressing your chest into his hungry mouth. He scissors his fingers, determined to make you feel every inch he fills you with.

“C-Cooper…” You keen, shivering for the hot slide of his tongue over your nipple, how he sucks it into his mouth.

Pulling off with a wet pop, he drags his tongue up the line between your breasts, greedy for the taste of you. “Shh, shh,” he hushes, already teasing a fourth finger. His breath is hot on your damp skin. “Just a little more, you can take it,” he says, pressing his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles to soothe the burn of being filled so suddenly.

“I can’t, I can’t,” you protest, nails biting into your own hands, eyes screwed shut.

“Y’already there, sugar,” he rumbles, each word rougher than the last. He’s right, you’re seated in the crook between his thumb and index finger, so full of him that your thighs are trembling from the strain of it. He rocks his hand slowly, fucking you deep, crooking his fingers until a sharp jolt of pleasure makes you shudder. “Doin’ good, takin’ everything I give you. That’s it. Go on, pretty bird. Sing me a song.”

Your eyes meet, both bleary and wild. You could lose yourself in the darkness of his gaze, and given his insatiable hunger, you know he would swallow you whole. You moan for him, sing his praise with the breathlessness of your voice, with the sway of your hips as you pick up his rhythm. He nods absently, watching you with such voracious wonder, you feel beyond yourself. Half human, half embodiment of pleasure. 

The meteoric rise back to the cusp of your climax feels like flying, your stomach tightening, the velvet walls of your cunt throbbing and squeezing his fingers so tightly, you feel their every slide.

You come hard on his fingers, crying out just before the height of your pleasure seizes you. Cooper watches every second of your release, his own lids flickering, though he never blinks. He slips his arm around your body and pulls you to him, naked skin pressed snug against leather and tattered fabric. You collapse into him, held up only by his grip and the tether binding your hands around his neck.

He holds you through the aftermath, savors every last wet quiver of your cunt around his fingers. His thrusts slow, but he doesn’t stop until–in a quaking breath–you beg him to. His fingers settle in deep, lingering a moment before he slides them free. The relief of escape from overstimulation is rivaled only by the awful emptiness that his fingers leave in you. You clench your shaking thighs on either side of him so that he might understand.

Stay.

Either he understands, or he simply isn’t through with you. His gloved hand slides up and down your back, thumb brushing the back of your neck on every upward swipe. Before long you hear a decidedly wet slurp, and you lift your head from his shoulder to look at him through euphoria addled eyes.

One by one, Cooper licks every one of his slick fingers clean, purring his approval. “Not even decades of radiation poisoning can erase the taste of good pussy,” he says, voice low and lazy. “And this, darlin'? Gourmet."

You smile, heat rushing up your chest to your cheeks. “I think you have an addiction,” you say, a slight slur to your words. You roll your fingers, which tingle faintly, the rope taking its toll on your circulation.

He clicks his tongue, hands settling on your hips. His hands are warm, and his touch erupts goosebumps up your spine. “Y’say that like it’s a problem. Gonna cut me off?”

“As your dealer, it’s in my best interest to encourage said addiction,” you say, cocking your head. Up close like this, focused only on each other’s eyes, it’s easy to forget he’s anything other than a man. His eyes are beautiful, the color of sand in that fleeting hour of sunset that turns the whole world gold. Not even the hole left from the decay of his nose takes away from the beauty of them. Truth be told, you find the whole of him entirely too handsome. “Besides, I find myself similarly afflicted.”

His lips split into a slow smile. “Y’somethin’ rare, darlin’. Fine company’s scarcer than clean water these days.”

Another wave of heat washes through you, but this time it concentrates in your chest, coiling around your heart and squeezing. “You’re just not used to talking to people who know how to read,” you say, trying and failing to swallow back the sentimentality swelling in your throat.

He chuckles. It’s a rare sound, one that does nothing for the growing affection suffocating your heart. “True, true.” He already admitted that the way you spoke is what caught his attention in the first place.

“Say…” You begin, hesitant. “You remember what I said to you when we first met? Down in the bar.”

Gently, Cooper lifts your arms from around his neck, setting your hands between your bodies. He blows out a breath and starts untying your hands. “I’m old, sweetness. Refresh my memory.” 

"I told you I wasn't for sale," you remind him, blood rushing back into your hands with the removal of the rope. You rub them together.

He makes a small noise of recollection, winding the rope around his hand. “Y’did.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” you say, watching him carefully.

His gaze flickers up to yours, searches your expression. He can tell you’re guarding it, and his own sobers in response. “Dare I ask the cost?”

"Love,” you blurt out, far more graceless than you’d been in your mind. His eyes widen a fraction, caught off guard. In any other moment you’d be smug about that, but now it’s precarious. Whatever nebulous sentiment exists between the two of you, you know it’s fragile. “Love. Yours, or just… mine. The cost is love.”

“Y’don’t love me, sweetheart,” he says, but the gentleness of his words does nothing to dissuade you. It only worsens the yearning in your heart.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you say, a frown tugging at your lips. 

He’s quiet for a moment, gauging you. “Y’don’t know me.”

“You let on more than you think you do,” you counter, hands braced on his chest. “I might not know everything about your life, but I know you.”

You know he read westerns and science fiction novels written by a man named Louis L’Amour, but confessed to liking his poetry best. You know the variations in his smiles. You know the sound he makes when he gets up from sleep, stiff-limbed and weary. You know him in intimacy. You know how he craves  peace and grace in the warmth of your body. If blinded and deafened, you would know his touch.

Whether he likes it or not, you know him the way souls know each other.

His eyes drift away as if he’s leery about you seeing anything more than you have. “What you’re lookin’ for, y’not gonna get it from me. I’m burnt out, darlin’. All dried up.”

“I’m not asking for more than you’ve given,” you say, trying not to let the terrible ache in your chest color your tone. You could scream at him for how wrong he is. How much left of him there is to love. “I’m telling you that I have more to give, and I want you to have it.”

“I wouldn’t even know what t’do with it anymore,” he says, gazing somewhere distant.

You wish he’d at least look at you as you bled your heart. “Nothing you haven’t already done, if that’s what you want.”

“Then why say anything at all?” He asks, an edge creeping into his tone. He does finally look at you, the lines of his expression as guarded as they were the first day you met him. “If y’didn’t want t’change things, why say anything?”

You stiffen to keep from shrinking away. You want this too badly to let him spook you now. 

“So that you know,” you say, choosing your words carefully. Each one feels sharp on your tongue, too honest. Too vulnerable. You’re giving him too much power with each one that falls. “I’m telling you so that you know I love you. I’m telling you because if I don’t, I might explode with it,” you say, fervency climbing in your voice, spurred on by the beginning sting of rejection. “I’m telling you for me. Is it easier to accept my love if it’s selfish?”

There it is again, that flicker across his face. Whatever he expected to hear, it wasn’t that. Slowly, Cooper removes his other glove, dropping it to the wayside. With that same hand, he brings his knuckles to your face, ghosts the heat of them down your cheek.

“Y’deserve better than half measures from a broken old man,” he says so quietly, you strain to hear each word. “Most of me’s always gonna be out in the sands, lookin’ for what’s lost. That’s no life for you.”

Taking his hand in yours, you hesitate a beat before you start to place gentle kisses on his every first knuckle. “Maybe. Maybe not,” you say between kisses, not meeting his eye yet. You’ve never been quite so openly affectionate. “But it’s like you said… Fine company is scarce,” you say, kissing each second knuckle next. “Don’t deny me the best I’ve ever known.”

His smile is reticent, tugged from the corner of his mouth as if by an invisible string. There’s something wistful in his expression. He watches you kiss the pads of his fingers next, the prints of them long worn away and replaced with thick calluses. His thumb is last. You give it a playful little nip, lest the softness of your lips scare him off.

Cooper slips his hand out of yours, the wistfulness of his gaze replaced with somber resignation. “M’sorry, darlin,” he murmurs, cupping either side of your face. 

Your stomach drops, the bitter stench of a goodbye settling into the air between you. You remind yourself that you knew this might happen. You repeat the thought again and again, as if being right will make it hurt less.

His thumbs stroke over your cheeks. “If I were a better man, a stronger man,” he says, gaze dipping to your lips. “I’d walk away for good.”

Your brows furrow. “Wh–”

He kisses you with such gentleness it breaks you apart. Your hands fly to his jacket, holding him to you. It’s as if the entire world spins on its axis, your stomach flipping wildly with it. It leaves you floating, tethered only by the grips you have on each other. What begins as a chaste press quickly heats up into a gnawing hunger, his tongue slipping into your mouth, your teeth scraping his bottom lip.

“Lucky for me that I ain’t even a good man,” he says, words peppered between kisses. 

The world spins again, but this time you really are moving through the air. You let out a yelp as Cooper flips you onto the bed, kissing a trail down your naked chest. You’ve felt his tongue and his teeth, but never the reverent press of his lips. As if you’ve only just given him permission to see you as something more than a tool for vicarious pleasure, he touches your body the way a superstitious man worships–full of intent and genuine belief.

“Cooper,” you sigh, smiling. “It’s my turn to touch you,” you remind him, tugging at the shoulder of his tattered jacket. The most he’s ever taken off is that jacket and his hat, but you want more.

He looks up at you from between your breasts, hesitating a beat. “You should know that it only gets uglier ‘neath the collar, sugar.”

“You’re not ugly,” you tell him. At his skeptical expression, you continue, “I’ve seen ugly. Heard it, felt it. You’re not ugly. Not to me.”

He quirks a hairless brow and lets out an incredulous little breath, adjusting himself onto his knees between your legs, swayed. “Y’might consider glasses,” he tells you, shrugging out of his coat. 

You hook your legs over his and use them as leverage to sit up, reaching for the buttons of his vest. “That might not end well for you,” you say coyly, popping each one loose. 

“I’m used to it,” he says, leaning down for another kiss. This, too, is reverence. He takes his time, savoring the feel of your lips against his, licking the taste of you from them like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever known. With his vest open, you work on his undershirt next, tugging them loose while sucking on his tongue.

Halfway down, he stills your hand with a firm grip on your wrist. “That’ll do,” he tells you, voice little more than a rasp. You bite back a protest and nod, understanding that this is likely more exposed than he’s been in a long, long time. You push back into the kiss and press your hand to his chest, sliding slowly down. 

The skin beneath is as gnarled as old tree bark, pitted in places and scarred in most. For as durable as ghouls are, Cooper’s skin has been shredded and torn and riddled with bullets enough times that parts of his body have taken hold of those memories forever, formed around them.

You treat them gently, tracing them with your fingertips. You feel unreasonably powerful when he shivers subtly beneath your touch. You press your hand flat to his heart to hold the beat of it in your palm. It’s slow, but each thud is strong. You break from him with a deep breath, dizzy from the way he makes your head spin with each kiss.

“Lie down,” you say breathlessly. You’re almost surprised when he does, unaccustomed to taking so much control. You cozy up against him, laying your head where your hand had been a moment ago, and close your eyes. His heartbeat sounds just as it felt. Steady, firm, slow. You imagine the radiation has scarred him inside and out, left his heart thick and misshapen as well. Alive nonetheless.

After a brief hesitation, Cooper’s arm slips around your waist. His thumb caresses your hip. “For what it’s worth,” he begins, his tone overly conversational, masking whatever true feeling lurks beneath. “I won’t hold you to none of it. Not if y’get sick of it.”

If you get sick of him, he means.

You tip your head back to look up at him. His gaze is affixed to the ceiling, but you can see apprehension in his distant expression. You drop your eyes, nuzzling your cheek against his chest. His hand cups the back of your head in response, stroking. You smile faintly, soaking in all these little affections. You wonder how long he’s been holding back from touching you like this, denying himself such simple intimacies in order to maintain a distance he didn’t feel, but deemed necessary.

“You’re wrong, Cooper.”

“‘Bout what?”

“You are a good man.”

He goes quiet at that. The two of you lie there a long while, his hands absently roaming your body like he’s committing you to memory. Your hands do the same, dipping under the hem of his shirt to explore further. He hooks his knuckle under your chin, tips your head back to kiss you languidly.

There’s a surreal domestic feel to the unhurriedness of it all, as if he won’t be gone to the winds come morning. You make a home of this moment in your mind, constructing four walls in which to imagine another life. The kind you’ve read about in tattered books and seen on fuzzy old screens.

All the while Cooper holds you, his lips never long from your skin.

You eventually find your way under the covers together, past the point of words. You drape yourself back down against him, your ear finding the chamber of his heart once more. You fall asleep listening to the beat of it, content for now to take each day you spend with him as they come.

Percy, in the middle of battle: goddess, save us all.

Someone: don't you mean gods?

Percy: nope. Most of them are unreliable. I only pray to Hestia, and when I asked she said that she preferred she/her pronounce.

Hello everybody with summer fast approaching here is your regular reminder that:

Everyone needs to wear sunscreen

SPF 50 is pretty much the best protection you can get, an SPF higher than that will have the same effect

Melanin does not protect you from skin cancer

Tanning is caused by exposure to ultraviolet radiation

Spending the majority of your life receiving regular large doses of UV radiation without any skin protection is a good way to get skin cancer

Don't use tanning beds, and don't go sun tanning

Wear your fucking sunscreen

Ahh I'm loving this series!!! Reader is an interesting character, can't wait for the angst!

Great chapter, and I'm desperate for more 🙏

Get Off the Highway || Chapter 5

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 1.6 k 

Warnings/tags: Enemies to lovers trope, angst, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome

A/N: Let’s learn more about reader, shall we? No Winchesters in this chapter, sorry guys!

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Dividers by @cafekitsune

Life was running its course as usual. Well, as usual as it could when you were a hunter. Your family didn’t quite know about this new career of yours. Except for your brother. To the other members of your family, you were travelling the roads of the states, doing odd jobs. You never went into specifics; they didn’t need to know everything.

Your father thought you were wasting your time, seeing as you weren’t making a lot of money. And it was true, being a hunter wasn’t always rewarding—financially. But money didn’t really matter to you. Helping people was far more important than anything else in your eyes. Also, it was reward enough to finally do something you chose for yourself.

Graduating high school, going to college, had all been for your father. You were the eldest and the first one to go to college, your father was proud of that. He had told you that much. You were going to set an example for your younger siblings. A good example they were supposed to follow. But none of them had. And they were still successful, while you had been stuck doing something that had made you miserable.

You graduated, of course, you had put in the work. And you may have gone to a community college but your degree was worth the same as one you may have gained from Yale or Stanford. People tend to look down on people who went to community college. As though your education had less value because you didn’t pay 30k or more to get into college. Of course, Community college didn’t have the same facilities as a prestigious one but you were still getting a good education. One that had the same value that one could receive in those high paid colleges.

College had offered you some time away from the chaos that was your home life. But it had also further strained your relationship with your siblings. And from that point forward there were no going back to the way things were before that.

“Dad, I’m trying to help here.” You sighed, frustration slowly rising in your chest.

“Help? How am I supposed to pay for this?” Your father shot back. “I don’t have 300 bucks laying around.”

It was a lie. He had the money; he just didn’t want to use it. His door had broken due to poor maintenance on his part. It needed to be fixed. You had found the people to fix it. It was, in your opinion, for a good price. But for him it was too expensive. He wanted things done for him without having to pay for anything. He even looked at you, asking you if you had the money to pay for it.

“Then, leave it open.” You snapped.

“Mind your tone with me.” He said in a warning tone.

“Oh, I am, trust me.” You replied. “You don’t want to fix it, and you don’t want to leave it open. So, what do you want to do?”

“So, I should just pay the guy?”

“YES!” Your hand slammed on the counter in your outburst. You took a deep breath. You needed to get out of this house before it escalated into something far bigger. “It’s either you pay the guy and he fixes your door. Or you don’t and your door stays open for strangers to waltz in. Your choice.”

You left after that. You knew your father, he was going to fight you on this, grumbling for hours, fight some more and then simply agreed to it. Walking away was the best decision, it saved you from the unnecessary headaches.

Dealing with your parents was unpleasant to say the least. Your siblings had limited their contacts with them and you were the only one who still had a relationship with them. Although, at times like this, you still wondered why. One could say; “Well, it’s family.” However, family wasn’t everything. Family didn’t excuse everything. Not to you anyway. Not anymore

Thankfully, Garth needed your assistance on a hunt. You were more than happy to help him. Especially, if this hunt was taking you away from your infuriating ways. Unfortunately, you wouldn’t be working with Garth on this one. It was a fellow hunter that required assistance. A fellow hunter, you’d rather avoided. For as long as you could.

His name was Andy. Tall, freckled face, blonde hair, a really handsome fella. You two had met on a hunt and hit it off pretty quickly. It was nothing more than a fling. Or so, you thought. You weren’t looking for anything serious. But it had become so. He was a good guy and had treated you well. And yet, things between had ended in a somewhat sour note.  

“Hey, pretty girl.” He greeted you as you sat across the booth from him.

“Hey, Andy.” You greeted him back.

“You’re looking real good.” He smirked leaning across the table. “Are those new jeans?”

“Andy—” You sighed tiredly. “I’m not here for that. You said you needed help.”

He put his hands up, and he leaned back. “Business as usual.”

You scoffed. “So, what is this about?”

There was nothing the two of you couldn’t do together, Andy had told you, once upon a time. When the two of you were hunting together. Before there were feelings involved. Before it had gotten messy. You worked well together, you always had. But things between you had gotten complicated. And you decided to just walk away. It was easier this way.

The hunt had gone fairly quickly. Nothing any of you had not faced before. He was sitting in your motel room, shirtless while you patched him up. He let out a hiss as you pierced his skin with the needle.

“Sorry,” you quietly said. You worked in silence, piercing his skin with the needle and thread, sewing his skin back together. You were focused on making sure the stitches weren’t too tight.

“Where did you go?” Andy asked you suddenly.

You paused, glancing up at him. “What?”

“When you left, where did you go?”

You let out a deep breath, “as far away as I could.”

“Was I so bad you had to run away?” He scoffed.

“No. If anything you were—you are one of the good ones.” You reassured him. “I’m not.” You paused, resuming the stitching. “I thought it better to run away to save you from me. I would have hurt you.”

“Bullshit.” He snorted, you frowned.

“So, you know better than I do?”

“In fact, I do.” Andy reached for your hands, stopping their movements. “You got scared because of what you were feeling. And instead of trying to find out if I was feeling the same, you ran away. It was easier than rejection.”

Way to call you the fuck out? You remained quiet and pulled your hands away and finished stitching him up. Could he really blame you for this? He knew the kind of home you grew up in. He knew what sort of childhood you had. You told yourself you wouldn’t walk away from him. You liked him a lot, he made you feel good, put a smile on your face. He made you happy and that terrified you. So much so, you simply walked away from him.

“I’m sorry for hurting you by leaving.” You apologized softly, without looking at him. “You deserved better.”

“So did you.” He got up from his seat, he put his shirt back on and you turned to him. He had a soft and sad look on his face.

“I left you.” You reminded him.

“I know.” He stepped closer to you; his hand came to rest on your shoulder. He leaned in, his lips brushed against your temple. “Still, you deserved better too.” Andy grabbed his coat before going for the door. He turned to you, “see you around beautiful.”

“See you around handsome.” You smiled back and watched him leave.

Your throat clogged up; your eyes welled up with tears. Regrets clawing at your chest. Every single time, you let yourself have feelings for someone, you enjoyed the relationship and then—you get cold feet, you get scared and you ran away from them. Why couldn’t you just let yourself be happy? Why did you have to go and ruin everything?

And what you hated the most was the fact that he didn’t hate you. It would have been easier if he had been mad. If he had told you how horrible you made him feel. It would have felt better if he had told you he would never forgive you for hurting him the way you did. If he simply hated you as he should have. But none of that happened and it made you feel utterly horrible for the way you ended things.

Andy deserved better from you. Much better.

Your siblings were raised the same way you were and yet, they were happily married with kids. And you just couldn’t understand why it was not happening for you. Why were you so afraid and why were they not? Maybe there was something wrong with you. Maybe you were more broken than the rest of them. Maybe, you were broken in ways they were not.

Or maybe— maybe, you weren’t simply made for love. Or at least, there was no one in this world that you could love, or that could love you. In some toxic and twisted part of your brain, you had wanted for Andy to come after you, to fight you on this. You had expected a text or a call, for him to ask you what was going on. But none came, you left and he had accepted it. Even now, he did not fight you back on this. But he did not.

You weren’t good enough for your parents and you weren’t good enough for your siblings. Why would you be good enough for Andy? Why would he want to fight for someone like you? When even your parents did not care to do so.

You weren’t good enough.

You never had been.

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I love frank so much, BUT HE IS SUCH A COCKBLOCKER in this fic!!!

Fantastic chapter, Madani needs to get better Intel lol, great job Author!!

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Ten

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour in a public setting, use of toys. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.6k

A/N : I'm sorry these keep ending up so long. Anyway, enjoy some smutty cuteness...

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE

MASTER LIST

Chapter Ten

The second your eyes opened, you regretted it. 

Light streamed in through the windows and your head hurt - though you couldn’t tell if it was because of all the champagne you’d drunk the night before, or because you’d sobbed yourself to sleep. One look in the mirror had you grimacing. Even though you’d tried to remove your make-up before bed, you’d still ended up with dark mascara circles under your eyes.

As much as you wanted to crawl back into bed, you needed to wash your face properly, get something to drink, and see if you had any painkillers left to help with your pounding headache. A quick glance at your watch told you that it was almost noon.

Half-asleep, you pulled open your bedroom door, only to almost jump out of your skin at the sight of Billy, sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, knees pulled to his chest and his head resting on his arms.

“Billy?” 

He looked up and your heart threatened to stop; his face was bruised and his lip was split and, though his injuries already looked like they were healing, you started to panic.

Before he could say a word, you were on your knees in front of him, cradling his face in your hands, looking over his wounds, while he tried not to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered softly, voice thick with exhaustion, “I didn’t want to hurt you. I never should’ve -” 

“Billy,” you spoke just as softly, “you didn’t hurt me.”

“I shouldn’t’ve started this. I never wanted to put you in danger.”

You shook your head. “Where is this coming from? You haven’t put me in danger.”

“I’m dangerous. Just being around me is dangerous.”

“No,” you told him firmly, still holding his face, forcing him to look at you. “I’m safe with you, Billy.”

“No, I -”

“Is that what your friend told you? That you’re dangerous? Because you’re not. You showed me last night that you’re not,” you continued. His eyes closed and he shook his head. Your heart ached at how broken and defeated he looked. “Please don’t push me away. They’re wrong about you. I know they are.”

Without any sort of hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight, pressing your face to his chest, trying to fight back tears.

“I heard you crying,” he said, sounding devastated, as if that one piece of information proved his point. It didn’t.

“Not because of you, Billy.”

“Then why?”

“Because I didn’t want last night to end. I wanted to stay with you, and they ruined it.”

Finally his arms moved, wrapping around you and pulling you closer. You let out a shuddered breath, a tired sigh of relief, glad that he finally seemed to believe you. He moved himself as he pulled you towards him until you were on his lap with your face pressed against his neck, enjoying the feel of his cold skin against you.

“I thought that...” He started but trailed off just as quickly.

He didn’t need to say it; you had a pretty good idea of what Billy thought and why. But it was wrong, and you weren’t going to let him hold onto that thought any longer.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you told him again, prepared to tell him as many times as you needed to in order to make him see sense. “Everything that happened last night happened because I wanted it to.”

Billy nodded but stayed quiet, his arms tightening around you. Minutes ticked by and you were content to stay like that, to hold and be held, to let him know that you were there and that there was nowhere else you’d rather be. 

After a while, he seemed to settle and relax, his hand softly rubbing your back, giving you comfort that you hadn’t realised you desperately needed. But there were things beyond comfort that you also needed; answers to questions you never wanted to ask but now couldn’t avoid.

“Last night,” you started quietly, “you said he fucked up your life... what happened?”

His chest shuddered and rose as he took a breath, but you kept your face against his neck, wanting to give him some sense of space without you looking at him.

“Frank’s the one who turned me,” Billy told you. “He’s the one who made me a vampire.”

The revelation had your blood running cold in your veins; his business partner, his friend, was the one who’d turned Billy into something he hated. You had a thousand different questions all at once but had no idea where to start. Fortunately, Billy didn’t wait for you to figure it out.

“We served together and, one day, we were selected for a special task force,” he sighed, his voice turning almost mechanical, like he was recounting the story on auto-pilot. “Things got fucked up and weird; we were seeing things that shouldn’t have existed, that didn’t seem real. I couldn’t handle it, I didn’t want to stay, so I got a transfer back to Force, but Frankie stayed.”

There was a pause, letting you absorb everything he’d told you, letting you make sense of the timeline. You already knew that he’d been turned a year or so before vampires were revealed to the public - was he saying that the military had known about them longer?

“After I left, they started... experimenting. Frank got turned but he managed to escape, he managed to get back to New York. They sent a team after him. My team. They were going to kill Frank and his family.” He paused again, seeming like he really didn’t want to continue, but he did regardless. “When I realised what was happening, I tried to save him and got shot in the back by one of my own men.”

You gripped him tighter, worry consuming you, even though you knew that Billy was alright.

“I would’ve died if he hadn’t turned me, but - but sometimes I wish I had. Sometimes I wish he’d just let me bleed out so I didn’t have to live like this,” he continued, his voice flat, betraying no emotion. “We had to hide out for a while but once vampires became public knowledge, we threatened to go public with everything we knew and they paid us off - that’s how I was able to start Anvil.”

Taking a deep breath, you pressed yourself closer to him, your mind racing. You didn’t say anything, you just kept hold of him, feeling completely useless for not knowing exactly the right thing to say.

The silence stretched on until it became unbearable.

“Please say something,” he prompted, his voice cracking and threatening to break.

“I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to upset you.”

“Why would you upset me?” He asked.

Finally you forced yourself to look at him again. You tried desperately to keep yourself from frowning as you searched his face for some idea of what he was feeling.

“Because I want to say that I’m glad Frank turned you,” you told him and immediately felt him tense. “I’m glad you’re alive and that you’re like this because, otherwise, I never would’ve gotten to meet you.”

You weren’t sure if the look he gave was one of pain or sorrow, but it broke your heart either way.

“I’m sorry,” you continued, “I know it makes me awful and selfish, but I don’t want to think about a world where we didn’t meet and I didn’t feel this way...”

“You’re not selfish,” he told you, pressing his cold hand to your cheek. “I’m glad we met too.”

Words failed and the distance between you seemed to shrink, though you had no idea if it was you or Billy moving. Your lips met and you both sank into a sweet and tender kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips as he held you tight. The kiss helped settle your nerves and caused you to hope that Billy now understood what you were feeling.

When you finally pulled back, you looked at him, your fingers brushing over his bruised cheek.

“Did he do this?” 

“Yeah.”

“But why?” You asked. Why would his friend hurt him like that?

“Because he knows about my problem and, because he turned me, he’ll blame himself if I hurt you.”

You shook your head, not wanting to go over everything again, so you let it go, instead opting to get a good look at him. Aside from the bruising (that seemed to have healed even more in the time that you’d been talking), his jacket and shirt had both been torn at the shoulder and on the collar, there were blood splatters on the white shirt, and his hair was sticking up in every direction. But, more than anything, he just looked so tired.

“Do you want to lay down? We could -”

“No,” he interrupted sharply, almost causing you to jump. He took a breath and shook his head. “You can’t invite me into your room, okay?”

“But -”

“Please, hummingbird,” he begged. “It’s the only room in the penthouse that I can’t enter. It’s the only place you’ll be safe if anything happens.”

Part of you wanted to argue, to tell him again that you were safe with him, that he hadn’t hurt you and you didn’t think he ever would, but you recognised that this was one of those situations where Billy needed reassurance. He needed to know that you had a safe place, somewhere you could escape to.

“Okay,” you relented. “But you still need rest. You look exhausted.”

“So do you.”

“I need to go wash this mascara off my face and eat some breakfast,” you told him, smiling softly, not wanting him to worry about you any more than he already had.

You started to move, getting off his lap and to your feet before offering him your hand. After helping him to his feet, you found yourself struck by just how deep your feelings had started to run. You should have been ushering him off to bed, but you were desperate for just one more minute with him. And, Billy seemed equally reluctant to leave you.

“I -” he started but quickly second guessed himself.

“What?”

“Well, since the cat’s out of the bag, I -” he hesitated for a beat “- I don’t want to sneak around and hide this anymore. I want to take you out to dinner. Tonight.”

The corners of your lips started to tug upwards and before you knew it, you were grinning at him.

“Mr Russo,” you said, forcing a dramatic tone, “are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yes, little hummingbird, I am.”

“I suppose I could go to dinner with you, if I can find something to wear,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Is that your way of asking me for a new dress? Because I definitely wouldn’t say no to another handjob in the fitting rooms.” He retorted, grinning just as widely as you were, as if you’d finally managed to help lift some of the weight from his shoulders.

Laughing, you pressed your face to his chest again, telling yourself just one more minute again and again. 

“You could take me out for dinner every night for the rest of the year and I’d probably still not get through half of the outfits in my wardrobe. I’m sure there’s something suitable in there,” you conceded. 

“Be ready by sunset. I’ll book us a table somewhere nice,” he told you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before pulling away from you.

“Don’t you have work tonight?”

“After last night, I don’t think Frank is going to want me around the office for a while,” he shrugged, heading for the door leading back out to the penthouse before you could think to question him further. “Get some rest and I’ll see you at sunset.”

And then he was gone, leaving you alone with the swarm of butterflies that had taken flight in your stomach. You couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop thinking about him and how things were going to change between you now that you weren’t hiding.

After eating, you took the world's longest and hottest shower, finally managing to get the last traces of mascara from your face. Then it was straight to the wardrobe to find something suitable to wear for dinner.

When you finally saw him again, he looked much better; rested, with only the faintest traces of bruising left beneath his eye. He stopped in his tracks, taking in the sight of you and the dark blue corset style dress you’d picked, while you admired the dark grey suit he’d opted to wear. Your cheeks warmed as his gaze lingered on your legs even as you stepped towards him to hand him his glass of blood.

“I see you found something to wear,” he remarked, fingers brushing yours as he took the glass. 

A moment later he started making his way towards the sofa, explaining that you had some time before you had to leave for the restaurant. You followed after, finally letting your gaze drift around the penthouse, noticing what an amazing job the cleaners had done. If you hadn’t been there, you never would have guessed that there had been almost two hundred people there the night before. 

It wasn’t until you sat that you noticed something on the coffee table; the necklace he had given you. He must have found it after everyone had left the party. Without thinking you reached for it, inspecting it, hoping it hadn’t been damaged.

“I’m sorry I didn’t explain what that meant,” Billy sighed. “It was shitty of me to put it on your neck without telling you. It wasn’t fair of me to claim you without asking first...”

“No, it wasn’t,” you told him with a sigh of your own. “You should’ve told me. I-I still would’ve worn it.”

“Really?” He asked, and you nodded. He hesitated for a beat before; “then would you wear it tonight?”

Your breath caught and, for a split-second it looked as if he was about to take the question back. Knowing what you knew about the necklace, about its meaning, the answer should have been obvious; you weren’t his and you didn’t want to belong to anyone.

Only, you weren’t sure that was entirely true.

“I think that depends on you,” you finally answered.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want me to belong to you?” The question left him looking more than a little confused. “I meant what I said last night; I like you, Billy. I don’t know what that means in the long run, but I’d like for it to mean something now.”

“And you’d be happy with that?” He asked after a moment of hesitation. “You’d be happy being mine?”

“Would you be happy being mine?”

You didn’t expect the reaction to be so visceral, for Billy to tense and almost curl in on himself. You’d hit a nerve but you didn’t know how. His knuckles turned white around the glass and his eyes fixed on the windows.

Suddenly you felt sick. You felt stupid. There you were offering yourself up to someone who had no intention of ever doing the same. He’d told you from the start that it would be like this, that he would never give you more than he already had. And you’d just ruined it because you were selfish, because you were greedy, because you wanted more than anything to possess him and be able to say that he was yours.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, getting to your feet and heading for the kitchen, getting a glass of water as an excuse to put some space between you.

Your heart anxiously pounded in your chest and, even when you had a drink, you didn’t turn back. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, to see the damage you’d done by wanting too much.

You took deep breath after deep breath, trying to ignore the way your cheeks were burning and your stomach was knotting. 

(Of course he didn’t want to be yours. Who would?)

“No one’s ever wanted me to be theirs before.” His voice cut through the silence and, when you finally turned, you realised he was standing a couple of feet behind you. “My own mother gave me up hours after I was born. Foster families always sent me back to the group home. The only person who’s ever stuck around is Frank...”

Oh. The realisation was painful.

“So, it’s not that I don’t want to be yours,” he continued, dropping his gaze, “it’s just...”

“I’ll leave you,” you finished the thought for him. A moment later, you were shaking your head. “You’re right, it was a stupid thing to say. I’m sorry.”

When your gaze dropped, you realised that the necklace was clutched in his hand. After taking a slow breath, you closed the distance between you and reached it and smiled.

“Will you put it on for me?” You asked.

For a moment, all he could do was stare at you, confused by the request. You were a little confused yourself, not because you were second guessing it, but because the urge to belong to him, to have him claim you, had come on so quickly.

“Are you sure?”

“I want to feel like I belong somewhere, even if it’s only temporary,” you tried to explain.

Before Billy could say another word, you turned, lifting your hair out of the way so he could put the necklace around your neck. The feel of cold metal against your skin and the weight of the choker around your neck had you letting out a gentle sigh; he might not have been able to want you in the same way, but you could at least be happy that he wanted you.

Turning, you leaned to press a gentle kiss to his cheek before excusing yourself, telling him you needed to grab something from your room before you left.

It took about thirty minutes to get to the restaurant  and, when you arrived, you were rendered speechless by the opulence. Billy was clearly well known and the staff couldn’t do enough for him, taking your coats before leading you to a secluded table by the window with views of the Hudson. You were too distracted by the view to pay much attention to the conversation going on between Billy and the maître d' - it was something about a rare wine they’d been saving.

Once you were seated, you realised that there were no menus. Billy explained that they used a set menu and, honestly, you felt a little relieved that you wouldn’t have to try and choose for yourself when there was so much to distract you.

Within minutes you each had a drink; a deep, sweet red wine that you were told would pair excellently with the night's menu. Then came your entree. 

You frowned, comparing yours to Billy’s, wondering why they looked different.

“It’s blood,” Billy explained, noticing your confusion. “They cater to vampires and humans here.”

“Oh,” you remarked, not sure why the thought left you feeling uncomfortable.

“Does it bother you?” He asked. “Me having someone else’s blood in front of you?”

Yes, you wanted to say, but you knew you didn’t have the right. He wasn’t yours.

“No. I guess I always knew that you had other blood. It’s just -” you let out a huff, frustrated that you couldn’t find the words to explain it.

All the things he could taste when he drank your blood, now he was sitting across from you tasting those things in someone else. It felt almost like a betrayal, even though you knew that wasn’t what it was.

“It doesn’t compare to your blood. It doesn’t even come close,” Billy told you, and that settled you a little.

Taking a breath, your attention turned to your own food, knowing you couldn’t begrudge a vampire his blood. You wanted him to eat and enjoy the evening.

About twenty minutes in, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom and were annoyed to find a familiar face waiting for you as you washed your hands.

“Having a nice evening?” Madani asked with none of her usual concern.

“Very nice, thank you,” you answered pointedly. “What do you want?”

“I want you to realise how much danger you’re in.”

“I’m not in danger. Billy hasn’t hurt anyone. If you want to keep me safe, you should go find Krista, she’s the only one who’s tried to bite me,” you snapped, patience quickly running out.

“You’ve seen Krista Dumont?” Madani asked, surprised. You nodded. “When?”

“Last night. She crashed Billy’s party and tried to bite me.”

“She’s a vampire?”

“Yes, and before you ask, no it wasn’t Billy.” You finished drying your hands and stepped past her towards the door. “Please just leave me alone.”

Returning to the table, you decided not to mention anything to Billy, hoping it was the last you’d see of Madani. Now that she knew Krista was alive, surely she’d leave Billy alone.

You continued to eat and made small talk, keeping the conversation light, both avoiding the more serious topics you’d already covered at the penthouse. And, when the main course was put out in front of you, you decided to do something to make things a little more entertaining for the both of you.

“Do you have your phone?” You asked him, gaze shyly dropping to the table.

“Of course, why?”

“I figured we could have some fun again.”

He looked at you blankly for a few seconds, not understanding what you were trying to suggest. You bit your lip as your cheeks warmed and, finally, the penny dropped.

“You mean...?” he asked, lips pulling into a grin.

“Last night we couldn’t see each other, so I thought...” you tried to explain.

Billy didn’t have to say anything, you knew he could hear your racing heart. You were close enough that you could see his eyes get darker as his pupils dilated, and you heard the hitch in his breath. You held his gaze, barely breathing as he pulled his phone from his jacket and placed it on the table, watching as he unlocked it and opened the app that controlled the toy.

But, then, he hesitated.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, running your teeth over your lower lip again, struggling to find the words.

“Last night was... fun. I liked knowing you were thinking about me as much as I was thinking about you. When I know you’re thinking about me I...” your words caught on the lump in your throat.

“You can tell me,” he prompted quietly.

“You make me feel brave. When I’m with you, when you look at me like that, I feel like I could do anything.” you admitted. 

There was so much more you wanted to say, so many things you wanted to tell him but, after your conversation back at the penthouse, it didn’t seem fair. He wasn’t yours, he never would be. And you would only temporarily be his.

You sat a little straighter when the vibrations started, thighs clenching together beneath the table. Sucking your lower lip, you forced yourself to look him in the eye and let him see what he was doing to you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “you were right; it’s a lot more fun when I can see your face.”

His free hand reached across the table to hold yours while the other swiped at his phone, changing the intensity of the vibrations. Your fingers tensed against his and Billy smiled.

“How is everything this evening?” The waiter asked, stopping by to refill your glasses, oblivious to what was going on.

“It’s amazing,” you answered, barely tearing your eyes from Billy, who struggled to hold back a laugh.

The waiter said something about dessert and left you to finish your main course.

Billy continued making small talk as you ate, occasionally and very brazenly reaching for his phone mid-conversation to start or stop the toy, spending the rest of the night toying with you and trying to drive you crazy. A couple of times you came close to climax, but he knew you well enough to know just how to deny you. 

By the time you had to walk back to the car, your legs were trembling and you had to loop your arm through Billy’s for support.

“Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

“No, thank you, hummingbird.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek as you walked across the parking lot. “After last night, I didn’t think -”

“Let’s not talk about last night,” you decided. “Tonight has been perfect and I don’t want anything to ruin it.”

He stopped to open the passenger side door for you but, before you could get in, Billy kissed you. Time seemed to stop and you were more than happy to let it, not even stopping to let yourself think about how this was the first time he’d kissed out in the open where anyone might see. The tiniest of moans slipped from you and you immediately felt Billy’s lips pull into a smile against yours.

“What?” You asked, letting out a nervous laugh.

“I don’t know, you’re just so -” Billy gave a laugh of his own, “- cute.”

“You think I’m cute?” Your cheeks started to warm, not sure if it was meant as a compliment or not.

“Yeah,” he answered, cupping your cheek and running his thumb across your lips. “You’re cute and innocent and sweet. And I love that about you.”

Before you could respond he was kissing you softly and opening the car door for you. And, for a moment, you were willing to forget about anything but his lips on yours.

“Come on, it’s getting late,” he finally ushered you into the car and, less than a minute later, you were on your way back home.

For most of the drive home, you were quiet, eyes fixed on the world beyond the car window, taking in the sights of the city late at night. It seemed to you like New York really was the city that never slept. From time to time, you glanced at Billy, smiling when his gaze caught yours.

There was a feeling of dread in your chest when he finally pulled into his space in the underground parking lot and killed the engine. When he moved to get out of the car, you found yourself reaching for him. 

Billy looked at you, puzzled.

“I don’t want tonight to be over yet,” you told him.

He nodded as if he felt exactly the same way before leaning in to kiss you softly. His hand cupped your cheek but, soon enough, it was drifting down to your neck and, then, as the kiss continued, it started to sink lower. It came to rest over your racing heart, his fingers tenderly squeezing your breast through your dress.

You shifted closer, fingers tangling in his hair, turning the kiss a little more desperate. Your other hand slipped down the front of his shirt to his belt and clumsily started to undo it. As you fumbled, Billy helped, pulling open his belt before helping you with the button and zipper of his pants.

A moan slipped from his lips the second you reached in to pull his cock out, the kiss momentarily faltering when you started to stroke him. You moaned in return when you felt him grow hard in your grasp. You pulled back from the kiss to look at him, taking in the look of lust on his face before your gaze dropped to your hand as it wrung around his shaft. 

The glistening tip had you licking your lips, pulling your legs up onto your seat so you could lean over the centre console. Billy started to say something but quickly fell silent as your lips wrapped around the swollen tip of his cock, your tongue lapping up the pre-cum that had accumulated there in a way that betrayed that this was something you’d done before.

Billy swore, groaning your name as you slowly started to take him into your mouth, continuing to stroke him as you did. It wasn’t long before you felt his fingers tangling in your hair. Your lips sank lower and lower, taking more of him. Your movements slow, deliberate. In a way, you were showing off - this was something you knew how to do well.

“Fuck, little hummingbird,” he groaned when you lips reached far enough to meet your hand at the base of his cock.

You would have smiled if your mouth hadn’t been full. When you pulled back a little, you managed to look up at him through your eyelashes, the tip of his cock still in your mouth, just in time to see Billy reaching for his phone.

Fuck. Your whole body tensed as the toy started to vibrate and, for a second, you froze.

“Don’t stop,” it sounded like a breathless command and you had every intention of following it, quickly returning to what you’d been doing.

Billy didn’t mess around, didn’t waste time, he cranked the vibrations up to the highest setting and turned things into a race against time.

His moans got louder the more of him you took and you could feel him throbbing. You drew your cheeks in and sucked, letting you little moans of your own. Every time you sank down, you felt his hand gently pressing against the back of your head urging you to take even more. Your eyes started to water a little when he hit the back of your throat but you refused to stop. You pulled back and took a breath before sinking down the length of him again, relaxing yourself as he slid into your throat.

“That’s it,” he gasped, “your mouth feels so fucking good...”

Your cheeks felt like they were burning with the things that Billy was saying and the way he was moaning as you dragged your lips up and down his shaft, but there was something empowering about it too. You liked knowing that you could make him tremble. Your free hand moved to your neck, fingers brushing against the necklace, wanting nothing more than to belong to him in that moment, to be nothing but his.

You started to moan even louder, too overwhelmed to even think about holding back, trembling and tensing as you started to come.

“Fuck... I’m gonna come,” he warned. Pulling his hand from your hair so you could pull back if you wanted.

But you didn’t want to pull back, instead you doubled down, tracing the throbbing vein on the underside of his shaft with your tongue.

Billy swore and gave you one last grunt of warning before he started to pulse in your mouth and you felt him spill onto your tongue. You closed your eyes tight and swallowed everything, revelling in his desperate groans.

Once you were done, you pulled away slowly, letting him fall from your lips. Your cheeks burned as you turned away to wipe any traces of cum from around your mouth, not looking back again until his hand found yours.

“You okay? He asked softly. All you could do was nod. His hand cupped your cheek and you found that you could barely meet his gaze. “Hey, don’t be embarrassed. You wanted to do that, right?”

“Yeah, I -” you started to answer but quickly trailing off, hating that you didn’t have the words to describe what you wanted.

Your whole face felt hot, trapped between how you felt and how you thought you were supposed to feel. Despite all the time you’d spent with him, the things you’d done since leaving home, the shame was hard to shake.

“It’s silly,” you shrugged. “I’ve never enjoyed doing that before. I was always told women weren’t supposed to enjoy it, but with you...”

The press of his hand on your cheek became a little firmer, ensuring that your eyes stayed on him.

“That’s bullshit. You’re allowed to enjoy it - you’re allowed to enjoy everything we do together. We’re equals in this. If there’s something you don’t like then you don’t have to do it,” he told you.

Before you could answer, he was leaning towards you, making a point of kissing you deeply - something no other guy had ever done after finishing in your mouth - and leaving you with no doubts.

You didn’t speak again until he pulled back and you caught him looking at you with an expression that fell somewhere between questioning and sympathetic. “What?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged, “I just think I’m starting to understand you a little better.” You didn’t respond, you just gave him a questioning look until he continued. “No one had gone down on you before, but you’ve obviously given a blowjob before... that says a lot about the guys you’ve been with.”

Again, you didn’t respond - you didn’t know what you were supposed to say to something like that.

“Now, come on, it really is getting late,” he said a moment later.

You both got out of the car and it wasn’t long before Billy’s hand found yours, keeping hold of you until you arrived back in the penthouse, and only letting go because his phone was ringing.

He gave you a look before letting out a sigh, and you took that as your cue to head to bed. Pressing your lips to his cheek, you held him tight for a few seconds, before starting towards your rooms, closing the door just as Billy angrily answered his phone.

“What, Frank?”

End Note : Again, I got carried away with the cuteness and this ended up really long 😅 The next chapter is also going to be pretty long too and, as a heads up next chapter is going to be particularly smutty, but it's also going to contain some potentially triggering stuff, so please make sure you read the warning on next weeks chapter!!

As always, thanks so much for reading/liking/commenting/reblogging I really love how much you all seem to be genuinely enjoying this fic! Have a great weekend!!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

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Loved this chapter, and the way you wrote May was so fitting for her character! I could vividly see her saying this to someone questioning Spiderman. Fantastic job, take care, author!!

Trust Me- Chapter 4

Masterlist

When Matt arrived at the address Frank had sent and noticed a rapid heartbeat, he was more than a little worried. Apparently that heartbeat came from a man who went by the name “Micro”. Micro was clearly not excited to be here. He sat on the far end of the room, surrounded by computers and Matt could hear his muffle breath, probably wearing some type of mask to hide his face.

“Let’s get started, yeah?” The man said, eyeing the way Frank was making himself at home, disassembling his handgun and beginning to clean it. “You’ve got a name for me?”

“Peter Parker, high schooler in Queens, friends with a girl named MJ.” Matt was prepared to continue when Micro began to speak.

“Found him. Peter Benjamin Parker. Race: White. Height: 5’10. Age:” he gave a low whistle “sixteen, on the younger end of sixteen. Family: Richard and Mary Parker, deceased. Was taken in by his Uncle Benjamin Parker and Aunt May Parker, Ben is also deceased.” The man muttered as he leaned into the computers to get a better look. “He lives with May now. She works twelve hour shifts in a hospital working as a nurse.” 

“What’s his school life look like?” Luke asked from where he was leaning on a wall.

“Umm, he’s smart. He goes to ‘Midtown School of Science and Technology’; which is a super expensive private school. He got in on scholarship after getting a 99 cumulative grade on the entry exams. Only one other kid got the scholarship, super competitive entry…at least for those who can’t afford to buy their way in.”

“His friend?” Jessica drawled.

The clicking of Micros keyboard continued, “There is no “MJ”. But, there is a Michelle Jones-Watson that goes to his school. African-American, 5’3, sixteen but turning seventeen later this year. Uhhhhh, her father was in the air-force, her entire dad side of the family has some history of being in the military. Mom is an immigrant from the Dominican Republic, no siblings. She is the other scholarship kid, and scored a 90." He turned in his chair to look at the vigilantes. 

“When does the kids' aunt get off of work?” Frank asked, whipping his hands that had been smeared black from his gun with a rag.

“7am, so nine-ish hours from now.” 

Frank leaned back, “Let’s all kill some time and meet up in Queens at 6:30. We’ll wait for his aunt to get into their apartment and then go have a chat.”

A loud choking noise came from Micro, “Let me suggest that someone other than you and Daredevil go be the ones to talk to her. Respectfully, it's not exactly… thrilling to have vigilantes and mass murders ambush someone at their home.” he said, staring hard at Frank. 

“If I’m not going I need you to give us something that’ll let me hear and see everything.” Micro opened his mouth to argue, “Either wire us up or I’m going in. I’m not leaving this alone.”

Micro’s chair squeaked quietly as he turned, apparently thinking it over, “I have a small camera with a mic that one of you can wear but I want it back.” he said, speaking with more strength than Matt expected him to be able to speak with. 

“You’ll get it back.” Frank swore.

“...Fine.”

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

The Parkers lived in one of the several apartment buildings in Queens. The area was not a good one, Matt kept veering off course to stop crimes which caused him to show up last of the group. The vigilantes were unnervingly serious. There was no banter, Jessica wasn’t drinking, Luke's leg wouldn’t stop bouncing and Frank just kept loading and unloading his handgun. The steady click-click click-click click-click was starting to drive Matt insane but he was stopped from yelling when he heard a simple conversation begin.

“Peter! You’ve gotta leave or you’ll be late”, the sound of a body hitting a wall was clear, “Don’t break through the wall to leave though. It’s not that serious.”

“Ha ha ha, you’re hilarious. You should quit being a nurse and become a stand-up comedian, I’d support you.” 

“She’s home, he’s leaving.” Matt reported, catching the attention of his fellow vigilantes.

He heard the boy say goodbye before giving his aunt a short hug and barreling out the door. From there he focused on the woman. Her heartbeat was steady and her footsteps were heavy as if she were dragging herself around. “We should go in thirty minutes to give him some time to get out of range.”

They waited, every second feeling like an eon, before Luke stood up saying, “Time’s up. Let’s go.” The group had decided he and Jessica would go to speak to her as they were the least intimidating out of the four, thanks to Jessica’s low(ish) profile and Luke’s reputation as a beloved hero. Jessica had the camera attached to her jacket and Matt and Frank sat around the tablet connected to it, eagerly listening to the impending conversation.

The two slipped into the building and knocked on the apartment given by Micro. “Oh, so you’re who he was warning me about. Come on in.” was what they were greeted with when the door opened.

After sharing a look they walked in, “Warned you?” Jessica asked.

“Why don’t you explain yourself first, yeah? You were the ones who came to speak to me.” May spoke as if it was a genuine offer but the implication was clear that she wasn’t going to tell them shit until they said what she was looking for. 

They watched as the woman walked over to the kitchen table and sat down continuing to eat what looked like…Fruit Loops. They looked at each other again and after debating silently Luke said, “We wanted to talk about your nephew.”

She stared at them expectantly, “What about him?”

“He’s Spider-Man.”

For a long moment nobody spoke or moved, “God dammit. If this stupid thing froze, I’m going to give him hell.” Frank swore from where he and Matt sat on the roof across the road.

Before he could continue to threaten the life of Micro they heard, “What does that have to do with you?”

“Excuse me?” Luke and Jessica said unanimously.

“What does that have to do with you?” May asked again. When they didn’t respond she continued, setting down her spoon, “See, here’s what I think happened/is happening and feel free to tell me I’m wrong. But from where I’m sitting it looks like you found out -somehow- that he is Spider-Man. Then went out of your way to find who knows what information and then came here to tell me that he is Spider-Man, as if I don’t already know.”

“I’m going to go ahead and assume - for my sanity and your safety- that you did this out of concern. But now that you have told me, this is what’s going to happen: you are going to get rid of any and all information you have on Peter, me and anything else you have in relation to us; then you are going to leave us the hell alone.”

“You’re just going to let him keep going?” Luke asked judgmentally. “You’re okay with the messes he’s putting himself into?”

May sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, “Have you ever raised a toddler?” 

The vigilantes didn’t respond. 

“Or an elementary schooler or a middle schooler or a highschooler or really any child, ever? No. No, I didn't think so. So let me put this into perspective for you. I love Peter. I raised Peter.  Watched him grow into the person he is now. That person has abilities no one else has. That person has a heart bigger than he knows what to do with. That person will not look away when he knows there's something he can do.” 

She took a breath, “I don’t love it. In helping others he is putting himself in danger and everytime he comes back hurt a part of me dies inside, but this is who he is. He will put others before him and he is too strong for me to stop him. I literally couldn’t stop him if I tried. And believe me I tried.” she gave a soulless laugh. “But really, none of this is any of your fucking business. He is my kid. Mine. Not yours, not anyone else's. And my kid has been given an impossible situation and now he is managing as best as he can. And that is all I can ask of him.”

“But what-”

“I’m not done.” May said cutting off Jessica. “That’s all I can ask of him…you though. I can tell you to stay out of his way. You have no place in this conversation. You don’t like that he’s Spider-Man? You want him to stop? Too fucking bad. If he won’t stop when I ask him to, he sure as hell isn’t going to when you tell him to. And good fucking luck trying to force him to stop, he is stubborn and strong and smart like no other and he will just embarrass you, so step away now.”

Frank slumped against the wall they were sitting on, “I fucking knew it.”

“Oh congratulations, Frank. You were right, the sixteen year old isn’t going to stop throwing himself off buildings.” Matt mocked.

“Shut the hell up you-” 

May interrupted him from where they were watching the scene on the tablet, “Do you have anything else you want to say?”

“How do you sleep at night?” Jessica asked, looking at the woman who was so accepting of the fact that her nephew may die at any moment.

May gave a small smile, “I don’t.”

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

“What now?” Micro asked.

“I don’t know about you all but I’m going to keep an eye out for him and give him my number.” Frank said, pulling out a box full of bullets and magazines from under the table he was sitting at; he began to load the magazines ignoring the groan that came from Micro.

“Please stop leaving your weapons here.”

“No.” 

“Give him your number then what?” Luke prompted, sounding tired.

“Tell him to let me know if he needs anything.” 

“You really do only care about kids and dogs, huh?” Jessica asked.

“Yes. Listen I have some business I have to deal with in Queens, which means that the kid will also be there. I’ll give him a burner with all of our numbers. I’ll tell him to call me if he needs anything and that he should only call you guys if there’s an emergency. Is that fair?”

The group was in agreement and as Matt began to leave the building he heard Micro tell Frank, “Give him my number too. I completely understand what May was talking about, and I know you do too. He isn’t that much older than my kids and I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep knowing that I didn’t at least try.”

The DRAMA!!! I love it so much!! I'm so curious where Carlisle could have gone, either he's really close to Forks or somewhere completely different, and I hope (Y/N) makes him beg to get back with her, which is something I always wished Bella would have done (even if it's a bit out of character for her).

I was so excited to see this new release, fantastic job author!!!

Collision | Chapter 24

Word Count: 3.2K Warnings: death

Story Description: (Y/N) Uley is back home after being away for four years. Her life is at its first standstill and she is taking this time to find out who she is without school. But she never thought that coming back to the reservation would turn her whole life around. In the midst of secrets and mystery, a man crashes into (Y/N)’s and her life will never be the same.

A/N: slowly but surely finishing up some WIP chapters for every story and a couple of oneshots and requests 😊

<- Previous

The last place (Y/N) wanted to be in was a funeral. Especially when guilt clung to her like a dark cloud. It didn’t matter how many people told her it wasn’t her fault or that there was nothing more she could have done. She couldn’t help it.

Harry’s heart had taken its last beat under her hands, it had stopped while she was the one caring for him. And even if it had flatlined, she felt like there was more she could have done. Maybe if she had kept going, he would have magically come back. Stranger things than that had happened. To her, it didn’t matter if he’d had heart problems or that the pressure on the organ had been too much for recovery. She simply felt there was something else she could do. Anything else.

Clad in a dark dress, (Y/N) made her way to the Clearwater house. But once there, she could not make it past the first step. Tears flooded her eyes as she stared at the front door, the murmurs from the inside rushing to her ears. How could she face them? How could she face all the people who loved Harry and tell them there may have been more to do?

“(Y/N)?” a voice broke her out of her trance. The girl turned to find a worried Paul walking toward her, and fight or not, she found herself crashing into his arms. They fell to the ground as he cradled her in his arms, allowing her to crumble. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

“It’s my fault, Paul,” she cried. “It’s my fault he’s gone.”

“It is absolutely not your fault, (Y/N),” he whispered. “You did all you could. Sam told us how hard you fought to keep him alive. There was nothing else you could do, (Y/N). It was just his time.”

“No. I could have saved him,” she continued. “I should have saved him.”

“He was a man with pre-existing heart conditions that had the scare of a lifetime, (Y/N). There was no way he would have survived this. There was nothing more to do,” he said. “Unburden yourself of his death because it was not, and never will be your fault.”

With teary eyes, (Y/N) finally allowed herself to look up at her friend, feeling her chest lighten at his words. Even if the knot was still there, she could feel herself growing used to the feeling, and others started to come to the surface. “I thought you were mad at me,” she sniffled, sitting on the ground as her breathing steadied. “Why are you here comforting me?”

“Just because I’m mad at you doesn’t mean I’d walk past you when you’re crying,” he said, sitting next to her. “You’re still my best friend, (Y/N).”

“So, does that mean you’re still mad at me?”

“Not as much as before,” he teasingly shrugged, shoving her softly. “I will admit, in the time that we’ve been apart, I’ve had a chance to think about my actions, and I have to say I may have overreacted a little bit. I knew you didn’t feel the same way I did, but I still let myself think that we’d one day be more. Then I got mad at you when you didn’t act the way I thought you should. I got my feelings hurt and I took it out on you. I’m sorry for that, (Y/N).”

“Well, if we’re airing out our grievances, I should apologize for using you like I did,” she admitted. “I knew how you felt about me, and I still asked you to do something almost impossible. I should never have asked you to get involved with my moving on in the way I did. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m sorry.”

“I’m the one that said yes, (Y/N). I knew what I was getting into, and I still said yes,” he refuted. “I had every chance to say no, but I chose to stay. So, I’m sorry.”

“No, Paul. If I hadn’t…”

“Look, we’re not gonna spend the rest of the morning saying sorry back and forth, (Y/N),” he chuckled. “Let’s just agree we both fucked up and go back to being friends. I’ve missed you for far too long.”

“I’ve missed you too, Paul,” she sniffled once more. “I have so much to tell you.”

“Let’s get through this first, okay? Then we have all the time in the world to catch up.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

With Paul by her side, the funeral was easier to bear. Though the pitiful stares and the sorrys were getting to her, having her best friend helped appease her guilt and her sadness. She was able to face the heartbroken Clearwater family and offer them condolences, embracing a terrified Seth and a heartbroken and detached Leah. There were no words she could tell them that could make the moment better. No amount of condolences or blessings would assuage the pain of losing their father in such a tragic way.   And telling them she felt guilty about his passing would never compare to the guilt she was sure his daughter already felt.

Leah’s face was stoic, plastered with anger and despair. But (Y/N) knew what she was hiding. She could sense the girl’s self-reproach; it was the same she was feeling. To her, it was unmistakable. That hidden darkness in her eyes, the staggering in her breath, the closed-off posture. The Uley girl knew the signs all too well. They had been etched into her skin like an infected tattoo for years, making her skin itch and swell, but nevertheless remaining, staining. A mark that she would carry for the rest of her life. And now, so would poor Leah.

(Y/N) wanted to show her support in any way she could, but she knew her words did not mean anything yet. The last thing the girl needed was to hear from the sister of the guy who had broken her heart. No. What she needed for the moment was space—time to grieve and process the trauma she had just gone through.

So, instead of badgering the girl with empty words and sentiments like most people were doing, she let her be.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Seth startled her as he sat down beside her on the front porch. “Sorry. I just wanted to thank you for what you did for my dad. Mom told us how hard you tried to save him.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Seth,” she smiled sadly. “I was simply doing my job.”

“I know it was more than that,” he chuckled softly. “He cared about you, you know? He always knew you’d be going far, and he was right. A doctor at only 19? I’d say that’s pretty far. I mean, I’m only fifteen and the most impressive thing I’ve done is become a wolf, and I didn’t even do it on purpose.”

“Well, I’m still a student,” she said, but noting his annoyance, she chuckled. “But I get what you’re saying. I cared about him a lot too. I just wish I hadn’t been so busy these few months and got to spend more time with him. He always treated Sam and me with so much love and kindness, I can’t help but regret not giving as much as I received from him.”

“Nah, he knew how much you loved him,” Seth shrugged. “Honestly, we almost made you a forbidden name in our house because of how much he talked about you. When Leah got angry and would bring up that you hadn’t been in the rez for years, he always shut her down and told us you were putting us on the map. The more time you spent away, the prouder he was. I’m sure he knows how hard you fought for him and how much you loved him.”

“You’re too smart, kid,” (Y/N) hid a sniffle with a chuckle as she messed with his hair. “But don’t worry about me. How are you?”

“Honestly, I think I’m still in shock,” he sighed. “I woke up today hoping to find him on his chair, reading the newspaper, just waiting to talk to us about being wolves. Instead, I woke up to people rearranging the living room to fit his casket for the showing. It’s weird and confusing, and I think it hasn’t hit me quite yet. But, honestly, it’s Leah that I’m most worried about. She’s taking it really hard.”

“That’s to be expected, unfortunately. It was no easy thing what she went through—what you both went through,” the girl said. “It’s gonna take some time for her to feel normal again. At least a new version of normal. She’s gonna need us all, even if she thinks she wants to push us away.”

“I just wish she knew it wasn’t her fault. That no one blames her for what happened.”

“It’s gonna take some time, kid,” (Y/N) said as she hugged his side. “But we’ll be here. Every step of the way.”

Three hours felt like an eternity as the veil of grief draped itself over the Clearwater house. Even as they celebrated the life of Harry, the sadness was inevitable in the moment. It clung to the walls, to the floor, the very air they breathed. It was everywhere they went, even if no one had invited it in.  Three hours was far too long for (Y/N). Three hours had been enough for her.

With a final walk around of condolences and sad smiles, (Y/N) decided she had reached her grief limit. As much as she wanted to spend more time with the family, she needed to be able to breathe. If she stayed any longer in that house, she was afraid she’d never be okay again.

But her day did not end once she left the funeral. She had promised Bella she would see her right after, and a part of her regretted agreeing to go all the way to Forks. There was nothing she could think of that could warrant Bella’s insistence that she visit her. (Y/N) knew it couldn’t be about Victoria because Jacob wouldn’t have left the girl’s side for a second. It couldn’t have been about Harry since she hadn’t gone to the funeral. The only thing that she could imagine was impossible and downright infuriating.

And yet, as she rounded the corner to Bella’s street, a car made her breath hitch in her throat. The black Mercedes was unmistakable, and just the sight of it made the girl’s heart hammer against her chest. Not only was it surprising that it was there, but that it was the first time she had heard about it.

Mixed feelings rushed through (Y/N)’s body as she got closer to the house. Just the idea of seeing him unnerved her. But she couldn’t quiet the part of her that hoped it was him behind the door, waiting, expecting her. She couldn’t stop the thought that he had come back for her, to tell her that he had made the biggest mistake of his life by letting her go. Still, that wasn’t the part that was winning in her mind.

Anger quickly surged to the top as she made her way to the front door. Words of ire and disappointment rapidly formed on her tongue, ready to be spat the second she saw golden eyes staring back at her. Because he shouldn’t have been there. He had no right.

“Bells?” (Y/N) called out, finding the door unlocked. “I’m here.” 

Suddenly, a face she had seen one too many times appeared, worry splattered across her face like a stain. It wasn’t the one she was expecting, but it was a surprise, nonetheless.

Before she could say anything, Alice Cullen had her arms around (Y/N) as though no time had passed. It was borderline the softest touch and a bone-crushing hug all at the same time. There was only love and happiness coming from the vampire. But it was something (Y/N) couldn’t reciprocate.

“Alice,” she found herself whispering. Her voice came out in a hush, a tone so low only the supernatural would be able to hear it. “W-what’s going on? Why are you here?”

“Well, I thought Bella had died,” she said. “I had this vision that after the whole cliff diving fiasco, she didn’t make it out of the water. It wasn’t until I got here that I found out a wolf had saved her.”

“And you couldn’t have called?” (Y/N) asked, sounding colder than she intended. “One phone call could have cleared everything up.”

“I wasn’t really thinking,” Alice continued. “And then Rose told Edward what happened before I could confirm anything, and now he’s about to commit the dumbest mistake of his life.”  

“Again, a phone call would work.”

“Oh, you know Edward won’t believe me until he sets eyes on her,” the girl dismissed, pa omg as her head raced with thought, oblivious to (Y/N)’s coldness. “Regardless, he’s not picking up his phone. Goodness, first, Carlisle goes missing as soon as we’re out of Forks, and now Edward wants to get killed. What is happening to this family?”

(Y/N) couldn’t hear anything after the mention of Carlisle’s name. I’m her head, he was thriving in life being a big shot head doctor at some other hospital, he was with his family being the mysterious Cullens somewhere else. But Alice had said he had disappeared. Over half a year had passed, and none of them had heard from their father figure. Not even Alice’s visions had seemed to help the situation.

“W-what do you mean Carlisle is missing?” (Y/N)’s voice broke Alice’s incessant rambling. “I thought he was with you.” 

“Oh, no, (Y/N),” she brought her hands to her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t…”

“How could he just disappear, Alice? Where could he have gone to that none of you know where he is?”

“I don’t…”

“Oh, (Y/N)!” Bella called out as she rushed down her stairs, a backpack hanging from her shoulder. “I’m sorry, but we have to cut this visit short. I don’t know if Alice told you…”

“No,” she spat. “Alice hasn’t said much of anything. At least not anything of much importance.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, not only do I come here to find Alice after over six months of radio silence, but now I find out that no one in the family knows where Carlisle has gone.” His name rolling out of her tongue felt bittersweet. It made her heart flutter with the intensity of the bat of a million butterfly wings, but it made her stomach churn as though she’d been stuck at sea for too much time. It was refuge and terror all wrapped up in a beautiful word. “But I guess what interests you more is the fact that Edward thinks you’re dead.”

“I didn’t…,” Bella stammered before turning to the vampire. “You didn’t say Carlisle was missing. All you said was that it wasn’t him on the phone. Carlisle’s missing?”

“Look, I’m sorry. But he’s the least of my worries right now,” Alice exhaled. “Esme has been looking for him and has some good leads. Right now, I care about the fact that Edward is going to get himself killed by the Volturi in Italy. I wish this could have been a beautiful reunion, but it is what it is.”

“Bella, you know you don’t have to do this, right?” (Y/N) blurted. “You are not under the obligation of saving him after what he did to you.” 

“I know,” the girl sighed. “But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try to help him live. As much as he hurt me, the love I have for him is far greater than our past. Wouldn’t you do the same for Carlisle?”

It should have been an easy answer. Yes. If it meant that Carlisle was alive and well, of course, she would have jumped on a plane and traveled around the world to save him. Yes. Three letters. One confirmation. That should have been easy to say.

But a voice inside her yelled no. As much as she loved and yearned for him, (Y/N) couldn’t say yes. Not when he had ripped her heart to shreds purposefully. Not when he had said things he’d never be able to take back. She should have said no. Just no.

“I don’t know,” she said instead. “Maybe I’m not as strong as you.”

“No,” Bella smiled softly, taking (Y/N)’s hands in hers. “You’re stronger.”

“Just be careful out there, Bells. Even if they don’t return, come home.”

“I promise,” she said. “And I’m sure Carlisle is okay. Esme will find him soon enough.”

“He can take care of himself. I’m more worried about you,” (Y/N) said, squeezing Bella’s hands comfortingly before turning to Alice. “You better make sure nothing happens to her. Leaving us is one thing. But if anything else happens to Bella under your watch, that’s gonna be unforgivable.”

“She’ll be safe, I promise,” the vampire peeped, a shake in her voice that almost sounded like she was terrified. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

Turning back around, (Y/N) continued. “Be safe, Bella,” she said as she took the girl in for a tight hug. “And I’ll make sure your dad is safe and doesn’t get too angry about your impromptu trip.”

“Thank you, (Y/N),” she chuckled softly. “Whatever happens, we’ll always have the Cullen Discard Club.”

“Best club to be in,” (Y/N) laughed. “Now, go. And be safe.”

(Y/N) wanted to stop Bella. Shake the girl until she finally saw reason. But she couldn’t lie, she understood. As she watched the black car disappear down the road, she couldn’t help the worry that overtook her body as she thought back to Carlisle. She couldn’t help but wonder where he had gone to hide, if he was safe, if he had fed.

It took everything in her to close the Swan door behind her and go back to her home. There was nothing she could do for him anymore, that much she knew. But there was an itch inside her that begged to find him, that called on her to make sure he was okay. It was the same voice she shared with Bella. The love you could only have for someone that had infected your soul.

When she got back, her house was quiet, and it was just what she needed—silence. It allowed her to just be, to just feel—no judgment or anger—just silence. It was so quiet that as she removed her coat, a piece of paper fell from the pocket and clattered softly against the ground.

With genuine interest, (Y/N) picked it up and wondered how it had gotten there until she read it.

This is Esme’s number. Just in case you wanted it.

I truly am sorry for everything.

-Alice

(Y/N) didn’t know when the vampire had written the letter—not that, with her speed, she would have ever noticed—but a small part of her was grateful for it.

That night, she went to bed staring at the piece of paper, wondering what she would do with it. She could have picked it up and called Esme, gathered as much information as she could to help in her search, joined her in New York, and turned it upside down until they could find him. Then again, she could have done absolutely nothing at all.

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PLEASE IM LOSING IT AUTHOR!!! I need MORE 😭

This is a fantastic fic and a really cool spin on a winter soldier reader. I'm curious (if you still decide to make more) if we'd ever see Bucky. This is an awesome fic and I love reader's personality so much!!!

If you don't mind, could you add me to the tag list?

Thanks for this awesome fic <333

the albatross ii - matt murdock

a/n: my first part two! i really love odd reader shes my favorite person ever. uh i don't really have much else to add i just love their dynamic. sorry the beginning is kind of bad im trying to figure out how much i want to delve into readers past like that. also im going to start a taglist for this so let me know if you wanna be included :)) warnings: cursing, drinking, lots of talk of death, reader has a lot of insecurities, reader has boobs my bad, oh! like a very brief mention that reader has sexual trauma, and lots of talk of sex though nothing happens-- word count: 5.2k summary: if there's a stunning woman with questionable character in the room, matt murdock is going to find her, and foggy nelson is going to suffer. pairing: matt murdock x winter soldier!reader the albatross series : i // ii now playing: the albatross - taylor swift "i'm the albatross/i swept in at the rescue/the devil that you know/looks now more like an angel/i'm the life you chose/and all this terrible danger"

September 19th, 1972

When you wake up, you’re freezing and out of breath. The initial moments after those long-term freezes were always frightening. You do not know how long it has been since you were taken, and part of you wonders if you ever will. You’re only ever conscious here, surrounded by generals and guards.

As soon as you wake up, a muzzle is clamped over your mouth. You’re a screamer, or at least you used to be. But now the muzzle is put on as a reminder that you are truly trapped and have no autonomy.

Someone will come in soon to say a list of words that will snap you out of your brain—Maybe snap is the wrong word. You will be locked out of your brain, conscious enough to know what you are doing but not at all in control.

You’re sitting in this big metal chair that might have scared you all those years ago, your arms strapped to the arms of the chair. The dimness of the room almost makes you scared as if you are a six-year-old who is afraid of the dark.

 A gruff looking man walks into the room, and behind him, you can see some soldiers dragging along an exhausted man, whose hair is long, but your eyes are drawn to him. Are there.. are there other people who are in the same situation as you?

In the back of your mind, a foreign emotion sparks, something that you cannot name at first, but then you find it— hope. Maybe hope is a strong word, maybe what you should be feeling is dread, that the things you are being forced into are happening to some other poor soul. You almost want to throw up when you realize it, but like everything else in your exhausting existence, you are ripped out of your thought by commanding forces around you. The man in front of you follows your eyeline to see you watching the man, and you think you see him grimace.

You have found something that was meant to always be a secret from you. You recall a foggy memory that isolation is the key to abuse.

The man nods towards you, and suddenly, you feel a violent shock go through your body as the man wills you to forget the small detail that you will hang on to for as long as humanly possible.

When a second jab of shockwaves hits you, you black out for a few seconds, only—

• • •

You sit up in bed, gasping or air as you try to orient yourself. Your hands come up to push sweaty hair out of your face, and you grip it tight to try and ground yourself. Your heart is racing as you take deep breaths in your nose and out of your mouth, not wanting to spiral into a panic attack.

You get up from bed to go shower, before changing your now drenched in sweat sheets, and it’s only then do you turn on your light and grab the book you’ve been reading.

You sit on the floor next to your bed, feeling disgusting and upset. You try to read, but you are rereading the same paragraph repeatedly. After twenty minutes of that, you grab your flip phone off the bedside table and dial Matt’s number.

You know it’s four in the morning. He’s asleep. He has to be up for work in the morning, but you cannot help it. You have been seeing the handsome stranger for a little under a month, and he has become your drug.

But there’s a couple of things.

First, you are still lying to him. He has no idea about your time as who is known in government circles as “The Midnight Agent”, and he has no idea that you will never be able to give him the life he deserves. Hell, you haven’t even spent the night with him, your relationship has been the definition of taking it slow.

Which leads to this: You have not slept with the man.

Back in 1945, you were surrounded by purity culture. Sure, you could have had a handsome soldier in your bed, but there was a part of you that always felt guilty when you looked to your large catholic family who were always insistent on saving yourself for marriage.

But you recall the memories of your time trapped, of guards who went unchecked and memories of men who took advantage of the fact that you were brainwashed, and how you might freakout if Matt’s hands wander too far..

And you recall Matt’s comment on your first date, about how he thought a long time to go without a date was a few months.

He picks up the phone before your thoughts can spiral any further.

“Hey, baby. You okay?” His voice is thick with sleep, and you feel a pang of guilt for waking him up. But you also melt at the simple pet name, not quite used to it yet.

“Hi.. I’m sorry I woke you up..”

“No, no, it’s okay.” He lies, “You didn’t..”

“Liar.”

“Okay, you got me.” He chuckles softly, “But seriously, it’s okay. What’s up?” He asks, and you let out this sigh. What to tell him, what not to tell him..

“Can’t sleep.” You sigh, rubbing your eyes. “Wanted to hear your voice. I tried to read The Outsiders, but I couldn’t focus.” You cannot seem to do anything right..

“Okay.” He says gently, “Why can’t you sleep?”

“I had a nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“..Not really..”

“Okay, that’s fine.”

“Sorry..”

“Why are you apologizing?”

You pause. It’s a good question.

“I dunno..” And then after a few moments you ask, “Matt?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Is it okay that we haven’t had sex yet?” The question eats at you. You recall Matt’s assumption that a ‘while’ since your last date had meant a few months. You’re worried that you’re not satisfying him and that he’ll get bored. Bored of you, bored of your quirks and oddities, bored of all of it.

And you don’t know when you’ll be okay to have sex with him, or if you’ll even be able to make it all the way through when you get to that point. And it’s eating you up— You could at least be good at something if you insist on being odd and bizarre throughout this whole relationship.

“Of course it’s okay,” He promised, “Why wouldn’t that be okay?” Sure, Matthew had his fair share of partners in the day, but this was different— You weren’t just a date to him, you were fascinating. If he hadn’t been such a realist, he might have accused you of being a time traveler.

And sure, sometimes he thought about you, about being buried between your thighs, about making you shake and cry with pleasure, and about how well he could fill you up..

But those lewd thoughts always take a backseat to how utterly interesting you are— Your odd taste in ice cream, odd movie and book tastes, the way you speak, some of the things you say..

“Because you’re hot,” you blurt out and then sigh. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, you’re so fucking handsome and I can’t even..” The words die out in your mouth, as you curl up into yourself on your floor, holding the phone pressed tightly against your ear.

“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t need to sleep with you to know that I care about you.” He promises. “Do you want me to come over? Maybe you’ll sleep better if we’re together.” He says softly.

You hesitate, looking around your apartment. If you had a nightmare, he’d question what happened.. But on the other hand, you were fucking exhausted, and maybe Handsome Matthew would be the trick to you getting some sleep.

“Sure.. but uh.. My apartment’s super messy..” You confess, and he just chuckles.

“Somehow I don’t think that’ll bother me.” He teases, and you laugh.

“Right, Right.. Sorry..” You say. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

“See you soon.” He promises, and as soon as he hangs up, you immediately get up and start shuffling around to clean your apartment.

You do the dishes, you throw all your dirty clothes in the hamper, you make your bed with pristine edge and of course.. You grab the gun you keep under your pillow and stuff it right next to your vibrator next to your fuzzy socks.

You’re finally finishing up with your minor chores when you hear a knock at the door. You open it and have to take a beat to catch your breath since Matthew looks especially good with his grey sweatpants and black sweatshirt.

He grins at you, leaning into greet you with a kiss as he steps into the apartment.

“So, this is where the magic happens, huh?” He asks, and you smile bashfully.

“Something like that.” You shrug, letting him lead you through the apartment. His cane tip-taps against the floor, and your hands come up to rub your arms. It is your apartment, and yet, you feel absolutely exposed. “Uh, just… Keep going straight and the bedroom is on the right. Do you need anything?” You ask, unsure if he has some weird hypervigilant bedtime routine at.. you know.. Four in the morning.

His cane shifts hands and he holds his free hand out behind him, for you to take.

“Just you.” Your face flushes as you take his hand,

“You’re such a flirt.” And he laughs.

“How can I help myself when I’m in a pretty girl’s place?” he asks, and you go to answer but he leans against the wall right next to the doorframe, dropping his duffle bag and cane in favor of pulling you close, your chest against his. Your breath catches and he smirks as if he can see your flustered nature.

“You’re a decent young man,” you start, “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s rude to grab people?”

“No, the nuns never mentioned that.” He does that adorable half chuckle before tilting his head. “Why? Do I make you nervous, sweetheart?”

Your face flushes.

“Everything makes me nervous, Matthew, you know that.” You accuse and he laughs again, nodding.

“Yeah, maybe I do know that. Seems familiar.” He hums, his grip on you loosening a bit. He presses another kiss to your lips. “Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart.” You don’t protest, simply grabbing his hand and pulling him along to bed. He’s more than happy to follow you through.

You find yourself laying in the bed, and he’s standing to the side as if he’s staring at you. You raise an eyebrow to him.

“What? What is it?” You ask, and he quickly moves, jumping on top of you. You laugh a bit to hide your nerves, and he grins. He leans down and presses a long kiss to your lips before whispering,

“If we never have sex, I’ll still stay with you forever.” He says gently, and your face is deeply flushed.

“Forever?” You ask gently. He nods, leaning down and pressing another kiss to your lips.

“As long as you’ll have me.” He says gently, and then, he rolls over and lays next to you. His hand finds yours and he laces his fingers with yours. You look at him for a long time, just holding his hand. “What is it?” he asks softly, glancing over to you.

“I just..” you laugh a bit. “I’ve never had a boy in my bed before.” You confess, and he laughs, his arms wrapping around you.

“You’re so odd.” He says softly, his hands finding your hair to play with it gently. “I love it.”

• • •

And this is how you spend your early morning. You sleep soundly in the arms of the one who loves you, something you have never had the privilege of before.

You slip out of bed rather early considering that you don’t have work today. But you can’t help yourself, you find yourself making breakfast for Matt. Pancakes, sausage, and coffee, just for him. At some point, he calls out to you,

“Hey, babe, where’s the shower?” And it’s rather domestic, in a way that makes you both uncomfortable and giddy. At the same time. Weird.

“Uh, right across the hall from the bedroom,” you tell him. And after about twenty minutes, Matt comes out to the kitchen. He’s dressed for work, but his tie is undone, sitting on his neck. His jacket hangs over his arms, and for a minute, you are just as you were always meant to be—

A young woman, in love with a man who has a good career, who loves you and is kind, whom you cook breakfast for and anxiously wait for him to get home.

And before you can stop yourself, you walk on over to him and begin to fix his tie, and he tilts his head.

“Where’d you learn to tie a tie on someone else?” he asks curiously. Your brain flashes to the soldiers who were never taught to tie a tie, so you learned, making sure to help them make sure their uniforms were in pristine condition.

But better than telling your boyfriend about that, you settle on a different truth.

“Needed to tie my brother’s tie a lot before work.” You settle on, and he smiles. That was the first time you had mentioned any of your family, so he just nods.

“What was his name?” ‘Was’ is a cruel but accurate detail.

“Anthony.” You tell him, finishing your work on his tie. Then, you press a kiss to his cheek. “Ready for breakfast?” He smiles and nods, as you direct him towards your table.

Yes, even though you ate mac and cheese while sitting on the floor when you first met him, you do own a table.

“What’s for breakfast?”

“Pancakes and sausage. Oh, and Coffee,” You tell him. You serve breakfast and sit across from him, placing a jar of jam on the table as well as syrup. When you pop the lid off the jam, Matt tilts his head.

“Why do I smell strawberry jam?” He questions, and you just raise an eyebrow.

“For my pancakes?”

He begins to laugh.

“This is what I mean when I say you’re odd. The only other person I know who’d do that is my dad, who learnt it from my grandparents.” He tells you. You shrug.

“I grew up with jam. Syrup’s too sweet.”

“Of course you did.” He smirks, taking a bite of his breakfast.

• • •

After Matt leaves for work (After breakfast, a make out session and then ten minutes with you fixing his disheveled look), you begin to actually clean your apartment. But your apartment is only so big, so by lunchtime, you’re bored again.

So, you start cooking and making these chicken ceaser wraps and french fries, before hopping in the shower. You’ve never dated anyone who you’ve felt the need to make and bring lunch to, but there is a first time for everything.

When you get to his office, you take a while to notice and observe every little thing about the walk. When you get to the front door, your hands run over the sign that reads ‘Nelson, Murdock & Page.’ And then you remember that in going up these stairs, you’ll meet his two best friends, and your stomach flips at the idea of it.

But your fingers twitch at the idea of seeing Handsome Matthew again. You’re incredibly down bad for the man you refuse to sleep with, so you push open the door, making your way to the office. When you step inside, you’re faced with a blonde man holding a cup of coffee, talking to a different, more blonde, woman who eats her lunch. 

Maybe you have the wrong office.

“Hi— Uh, I’m looking for Matt.” The words tumble out of your lips, and you wish you could say something more.

“Yeah, he’s in his office, I can grab him for you.” The man says kindly, and steps towards the only office door that’s closed. You nod and stand awkwardly. This is weird, you know that. You are a stranger in this office holding a big lunch box.

Matt steps out of his office and smiles in your direction. Immediately, you relax. There he goes, Handsome Matthew completely messing up your thought patterns and making you go against everything you ever thought you’d do.

“Hi.” He says, leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

“Hey.” You smile, and you see a moment of recognition on the faces of his coworkers.

“Oh, you’re the girl—” The man starts, and then it clicks that these people must be his best friends.

“And you’re Foggy and Karen.” You smile, sticking a handout for them to shake, and they do. You introduce yourself, and they do the same. It’s not as awkward as you would’ve thought, but you’re making it so much worse in your head.

“What’s going on?” Matt asks, and you redirect your attention to him.

“Uh, I made lunch. I thought I’d bring it to you.” He smiles at this.

“Thank you. Here, let’s uh, eat in my office.” He takes your hand, and you tell Foggy and Karen that it was nice to meet them, as he closes the door behind him. You sit down in one of his chairs.

“Sorry for just barging in on you guys. I probably should have called first.” You decide, but he shakes his head.

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine.” He smiles, sitting down in his own chair as you unpack lunch. You’re seriously not used to any of this, so it’s as if you’re taking foreign steps.

The two of you make pleasant conversations before Matt asks you,

“Hey, do you want to come to the bar tonight?” He asks, “We have a usual spot we go to. I thought it might be a good way for you to get to know my friends.” He hums.

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude...”

You also don’t really want to get drunk around Matt, afraid of what you might say. But he answers,

“Don’t worry, Foggy’s wife is going and so is Karen’s boyfriend.” You notice the shift in Matt’s body language.

“You don’t like Karen’s boyfriend.” You immediately recognize.

“What? No—“ He chuckles, “It’s just a complicated history..” The part of you that never grew up, that wants to dive head first into drama, the part of you that is still twenty something, clutching the arm of your sister as she spills about all the people she doesn’t like gets to your mouth before you can stop it,

“What do you mean, ‘complicated’?” You ask, and he just laughs a little.

“Really, sweetheart, it’s not—”

“Let’s make a deal,” You say, “In exchange for me bringing you a delicious lunch,” You start, “And for telling you something about my messy past, you have to tell me about that complicated history.”

“Deal.”

“Okay, than spill.”

“You remember a few years back, the uh, Punisher?” He asks, and you tilt your head. No, you don’t. It was probably before you were allowed to have autonomy and live on your own.

“Uh.. No.”

“What? It was all over the news.”

“I wasn’t living in New York until a few years ago.” Not untrue, you were living in the middle of Europe until recently.

“Oh, right.” He nods, “Well, he killed a lot of people he thought deserved it, and, as someone who has great respect for human life, I don’t know, I just can’t imagine dating someone with a kill count at all, let alone over thirty people.” He sighs, “But Karen sees something in him, I guess.”

A shiver runs down your spine. You realize that you can’t ever tell Matt about what had happened to you. He wouldn’t understand, he’d see you as a monster. Well, you are a monster, but you cannot ever tell him that! Is this a mistake? Are you supposed to break up with him now not to hurt him?

“Yeah, I can understand that.” You take another bite of your wrap.

“I believe I’m owed some of your messy history.”

“Right,” you nod, “Well, Before I moved here, I was living in Europe.” You tell him.

“Really? Where in Europe?”

“Here and there.” You shrug. “I just sort of went wherever I was needed.” You explain, again—Not a lie. Definitely not a lie. You were ordered around and told to go here and there.

“What did you do there?” He asks.

“It’s all kind of a blur,” You’re really being truthful now.

“Has anyone ever told you how weird and odd you are?” He acts, voice full of affection.

“You. Last night.” You grin, and he just grins back.

“Right. I really have a way with words, huh?”

“Yup. You’re a real charmer.”

“I meant it though.”

“Which part? The part where you called me strange?”

“The part where I asked you to come out to the bar with us tonight—And the part where I told you I’d stay with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Yes.”

“Yes you’ll come to the bar with us or you’ll let me stay with you for a while?”

You get up, circle around his desk, before placing your hand on his jaw, tilting his head up to you. Your other hand comes up to take his glasses off. For a minute, you just admire him, before pushing the hair from his face. Then, you lean in to press a kiss to his lips.

When you pull away, his lips try to follow yours, but your thumb just gently wipes away your lipstick stains from his lips.

“Yes.” You repeat, and he just grins.

He absolutely adores you.

• • •

You make sure to fix your hair before you leave your apartment, and then, you find yourself leaning on the brick wall outside of the bar. Your heart is racing, and although you do not smoke, god you need a cigarette.

Your foot taps anxiously against the pavement.

This will be fine, you tell yourself. Matt likes you, surely you can get the others to do the same. Or at least, you can try your damn best, and not just sit out here like a bitch.

Your head glances over to the door as a rather tall and gruff man approaches the door. He sees you staring at him, and opens the door before asking,

“You coming in, kid?”

Kid.

You’re a hundred years old, but okay.

“Uh, yeah.” You answer, before heading into the bar, “Thanks,” He just nods back at you. You walk in and look around for Matt and his friends. You immediately soften when you see him. Of course you can do this.

As you make your way over to them, the man who opened the door for you also heads over to them. You tilt your head as you get to your boyfriend and his friends before Karen comes over to you guys, sends you a smile, before greeting the man with a kiss. Oh. This is the boyfriend that Matt doesn’t like.

Matt greets you with a kiss, before Karen asks,

“What are you drinking?” You realize she’s asking you. What do you drink?

“Uh, whatever. I kind of like everything,” You smile weakly, before shrugging. She just nods, and then her and her boyfriend head over to the bar. You glance over to Matt, and smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiles and kisses you again. “I’m glad you decided to join us.”

“Well, I did say yes earlier.”

“Yeah but you were being very vague and odd.”

“You said you liked that!”

“Shhh,” and then he kisses you again.

“You two are gross.” His friend, Foggy, says, and his wife just swats his arm.

“Sorry,” You smile, and then Frank and Karen are back at the table, and this large bottle of whiskey is placed on the table, and six glasses are placed along side it.

“Woah, big bottle.” Foggy whistles, and Karen shrugs.

“Long week. Lots of whiskey required.” Matt leans over to you and says,

“You don’t have to drink that if you don’t want to—”

“I said I like everything,” You told him, “And I meant it.” You remind and the people around you laugh, so it definitely gratifies your desire to please them.

“See, this is the type of energy you needed in a date,” Foggy grins, and Karen laughs as she pours the whiskey for you all.

“I agree, I like her a lot more than I liked the last one.”

“Flattered, I love when people talk about me like I’m not here,” You tell them, as you take a long drink of your whiskey.

“You are odd,” Foggy says, and again, his wife swats his arm.

“Franklin, you cannot say that to someone you just met!”

“I was just joking, really it’s fine,” You assure, and take another sip of your drink. Then another drink. Your eyes get a glint of dog tags hanging around Frank’s neck. You nod to him. “Military?” Everyone’s head snaps to look at you, and then to him.

“Marines.” He answers, and he waits.

“I was a nurse overseas for a while.” And you almost slap your hands over your mouth, horrified at the words that just left your lips. Everyone looks at you, very confused, including sweet Handsome Matthew.

“Wait, you were in the army as a medic?” He asks, and you just nod.

“Yeah, I don’t.. really like talking about it..” You sigh, “It was a long time ago.. Before I was in Europe doing whatever, I was in Europe being a nurse.”

“Europe? There hasn’t been active combat in Europe since the 40’s,” Frank says, and you shrug.

“That’s where they had me. It’s where I learned to drink.” You finish your drink and go to refill it, “You’d be surprised how many young cadets try to assert their dominance over drinking games.” You laugh fondly at the memory.

Matt leans in to kiss your cheek, whispering in your ear, “Odd.”

• • •

You and Frank get into your own form of a drinking game as the night goes on. After two glasses, Foggy and his wife stop drinking, something about brunch with her parents in the morning.

Matt stops drinking after three, and Karen after four.

But here you and Frank are, swapping war stories like old army buddies as you make your way through the bottle. Five, six, seven.. You can’t remember by the time the bottle is empty. All you know is you’re leaning against Matt, and Frank is holding Karen close, and you are happy.

You don’t feel hidden anymore.

When the bottle is done, Matt’s fingers run up and down your arm.

“We gotta get you home, honey.”

“You need to kiss me.” You blurt, too drunk to know what you’re saying.

“What?” He grins.

“Kiss me. I want you all over me,” and you lean over to kiss him, and after a few moments, he pulls away from the kiss.

“Alright, but let’s get you home first.” And then you nod, because that’s a good idea. You don’t want Frank and Karen to see all the vicious things you want to do to Handsome Matthew. He helps you up and wraps his jacket around your arms, before glancing back to his friends. “Have a good night guys. See you Monday.”

You take a minute, before smiling at his friends.

“Thanks for having me. I had fun.” You cannot remember the last time you had this much fun. “Sorry I’m so fucking odd,” You start giggling, “But I had fun.” Everyone else, too tipsy and drunk to say much else, just laughs and sends you on your way.

You and Matt stumble home, as you mumble soft things about how much you like him, how pretty he is.

When you get back to your apartment, he locks the door behind you and helps you to your bedroom. Once there, you begin to kiss him.

“Sweetheart,” He mumbles into your lips, “Wait,” He pulls away and smiles at you. “Pajamas first.” He requests, and you nod.

“Yeah. Great Idea.” You mumble, going over to your drawers (Not the one with your vibrator, socks and gun) and pull out an old tee shirt and shorts. You begin stripping down, and you stop and glance to Matt, in just your shorts and bra, before asking, “Wait, how do I know you’re not staring at me?”

He almost laughs at how drunk you are.

“Honey,” he begins softly, and then taps the space between his eyes. Then you laugh, feeling silly.

“Oh.” You unclip your bra and slip on your tee shirt. You sit on the bed, and then lay down. You sigh deeply, your bed surprisingly comfortable after all of those drinks. You watch as Matt begins to strip down. “Handsome.” You mumble, and he laughs.

You fall asleep as he kicks his pants off before crawling into bed with you.

• • •

You wake up at some god-awful hour, maybe around two in the morning. You run over to the bathroom and vomit into the toilet. After a while of throwing up, you wander on over to the kitchen.

You take a big, long drink of water, before sighing deeply.

Your stomach growls. You find a loaf of sourdough bread you had brought home from work yesterday and begin to butter a few slices. You munch on your food, and remember Matthew in your bedroom.

Your Matthew.

You finish your snack, and then find yourself sitting on the floor of your kitchen. Just like you did the first night. Your lean your head back against the cabinet. You think about your boyfriend, and you think about everyone you lost.

In your half drunk state, You only smile when Matt sits next to you on the floor.

“What’re we doing on the floor, baby?” He asks softly.

“Just.. Sleepy..” You mumble, and then a grin spreads across your face. “I’m thinking about my best friend.”

“Your best friend?”

“Taylor.” You say softly, “She was my best friend.”

“And where is she now?” He asked, leaning over to brush your hair out of your face.

“Oh, she died ten years ago.” You say, and then laugh as if it’s funny. “Natural causes.” You shrug. She had died of old age.. And you weren’t there for her. Your best friend..

Matt’s arm is around you in an instant.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He says gently, and leans in to kiss your head.

“And you..” You glance over to him. “You.. I don’t even know what to do with you.” You laugh, and he frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I..” You sigh. “I mean that no one’s ever made me feel like you have..” You mumble, and then you admire him, only in his boxer briefs. “I love you, Handsome Matthew. And I don’t know what to do about it..” You mumble.

Matt just leans in to kiss your head again.

“If I said I love you too, would that help?”

“It would be a start..”

“I love you.”

“Even though I’m odd?” You ask, “Weird and bizarre? Off my rocker, completely out of my fucking mind..?”

“Especially because you’re odd.”

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

taglist: @writtenbyred , @indestructeible

Ahhh the slow burn is rough with this one 😭😭

Poor reader, geez! But also... The ghoul turns around and suddenly the reader is missing, lol.

I knew what they were as soon as that nasty dish was in front of us. What else would be in that!?

Fantastic chapter, and I am on the edge of my seat! Can't wait to see more.

From A Previous Life (Pt 3)

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Preg!Reader

Summary: You rush to the Ghoul's aid, but find that hospitality doesn't come cheap in the wasteland.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, pregnancy, talk of cannibalism, mention of child loss, canon-typical violence, blood, angst, grief, yearning, rejection.

Word Count: 8.8K

A/N: This is late! I'm sorry this wasn't finished last week, but it took me a while to get the ending to a place where I was happy with it. Part 4 coming up next! I'd love to know what you think 💌

Part 1 | Part 2

In the weeks that followed, a palpable tension thickened the air, suffusing every moment with a sense of unease. The Ghoul, ever cautious and seemingly intent on minimizing any unnecessary interaction, forwent sleep altogether. Instead, he adopted the role of a silent sentinel, perched upon whatever seating deemed acceptable as he watched over the entryways of your temporary shelters. There he would remain, a solitary figure in the dim moonlight filtering through shattered windows, his hat pulled low over his ghoulish features, shrouding them in shadow.

As you lay awake, restless and watchful, your gaze was repeatedly drawn to him, silently pleading for him to abandon his post and join you in the refuge of your shared space. Still, he remained steadfast, his bed beside you still empty and unused by your departure the following morning.

During the days, you travelled in silence under the relentless glare of the blistering sun, each step bringing you closer to your elusive destination. You would pause occasionally, your keen eyes scanning the barren landscape for any sign of abandoned treasures that could be sold for a fine price. Each discovery was accompanied by a hopeful glance towards your companion, a silent plea for approval. More often than not, his response was a grunt or a dismissive shrug, leaving you to carry the weight of your excitement and disappointment alone.

He had truly reverted back to the aloof and distant man he had been before that fleeting moment of connection shared around the crackling fire—the night he had gifted you the Pip-Boy. It had felt like a heavy reminder of the vast divide between you, a symbol of the distance that must remain for your child's safety.

The internal struggle waged within you relentlessly, tearing at the fabric of your resolve as you walked alongside him. On one hand, the instinct to protect your child, to prioritize their safety above all else, pulsed through your veins like a guiding light. But on the other hand, an undeniable longing stirred within you, a selfish desire to throw caution to the wind and reach out for him, to seek the comfort of the companionship you had felt briefly.

You remembered the warmth of his arms briefly wrapped around you, the intimacy of talking freely together like you had done that night by the fire. The memory tugged at your heartstrings, igniting a fierce longing that threatened to overwhelm your senses. And despite your best efforts to bridge the conversational gap, to break through the walls he had erected around himself, he remained stubbornly distant.

The silence between you grew more pronounced with each passing day, a distinct barrier that seemed to stretch endlessly between you. You couldn't help but feel a sense of resignation settle over you. Some divides were simply too vast to bridge, and perhaps, you thought with a heavy heart, yours and the Ghoul's were among them.

It wasn't until one particularly hot mid-afternoon as you battled against a relentless radscorpion that had sprung at you from beneath an overturned refrigerator in that evenings shelter, the Ghoul's patience reached its limit. With a single, precise shot from his magnum, he dispatched the giant arachnid before turning to you with a sour expression.

"Outside," his voice commanded, firm and unwavering.

You followed behind him obediently, watching in silence as he collected the empty Nuka-Cola bottles scattered on the porch and lined them up along the railing. Once satisfied with his work, he turned to you and nodded, signalling you to follow him. Together, you descended the steps and moved further away until you reached a spot that provided a clear shot at the makeshift targets.

You eyed him cautiously, uncertainty gnawing at the edges of your resolve as you waited for his next instruction. But when his gaze settled expectantly on the gun holstered at your hip, you knew what you were to do. With quick hands, you fumbled to unholster the weapon, your fingers closing around its familiar grip as you prepared to face the challenge that lay ahead.

Despite the sweltering heat and the sweat that trickled down your brow, you squared your shoulders and raised your weapon, determined to prove yourself to the Ghoul—to show him that you were capable of holding your own beside him. And as you took aim at the makeshift targets, a sense of determination surged through you. Today, you vowed, would be the day you proved yourself worthy of his respect.

Pulling back the hammer, you let out a shaky breath as you pinched the trigger. The shot rang out, reverberating through your body like a thunderclap as you felt the recoil jolt through your arms. Taking a step back to steady yourself, you lowered the gun and peered ahead at the targets, your heart sinking as you realized that all five bottles remained stubbornly intact, mocking you from their perch.

A sense of annoyance bubbled up inside you, mingling with the disappointment that weighed heavy in the pit of your stomach. You heard the Ghoul sigh from his spot to your right, where he leaned against a a utility pole with his arms crossed.

"Again," he said, his voice carrying a hint of exasperation. "And keep your eyes open this time."

His words jolted you out of your reverie, pulling you back to the present moment with a sharp clarity. Despite the simmering frustration within you, you nodded in acknowledgment, steeling yourself for another attempt with the gun raised.

"Feet further apart," he instructed, his tone firm and authoritative. Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and adjusted your stance, grit crunching beneath your boot. You heard him tut, then suddenly felt him beside you. His heavy boot kicked at the inside of your own, widening your stance even further. His gloved hands pressed against your shoulder with a firm tap, guiding you into position before withdrawing just as quickly. "Again."

As the Ghoul moved back to his post, you steadied the gun out before you, pushing down the giddiness that surged through you like a current. It was an unexpected sensation, sparked by the lingering heat left behind by his brief touch—the first physical contact he had initiated since your embrace around the fire. You took aim at the first bottle, and with the memory of his guidance in your mind, you pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out, its echo reverberating through the desolate wasteland. A split second later, the sharp noise of the bottle smashing reached your ears, the shattered pieces scattering across the ground like sparkling jewels.

"Yes!" you exclaimed triumphantly, a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you raised your arms above your head in victory. Turning to your mentor with a wide grin, you hoped for words of praise, but you were instead met with a stoic nod of approval, his expression unreadable as he regarded you with a steady gaze. Disappointment panged in your chest, a fleeting moment of deflation amidst the rush of triumph.

"Four more, then you can celebrate," he gestured towards the remaining targets and you eyed him with defeat as your arms dropped to your side.

Eyebrows furrowed in determination, you rolled you neck as you prepared yourself. A brief glimmer of pride flickered in his eyes as he watched you turn back towards your targets with a raised weapon.

"Four more, then you cook dinner," you countered and he laughed quietly, a short huff of air out his nose that was barely perceptible.

As the afternoon wore on, you focused all your concentration on the task at hand, determined to prove yourself capable not just to the Ghoul but to yourself. With each bullet that flew past its target, the Ghoul's sighs of irritation echoed in the stifling air.

He had retreated to the scant shade offered by a nearby fence, his slumped posture a testament to the oppressive heat that hung heavy in the air. From his vantage point, he observed your progress with a stoic demeanour, offering little in the way of encouragement as you struggled to find your mark. Still, you refused to be deterred by his silence, channelling your frustration and determination into each shot. With each miss, you adjusted your stance, honing your focus. Finally, the satisfying sound of shattering glass filled the air as the last bottle exploded into a thousand pieces, scattering across the ground.

Pride swelled within you as you looked down at your gun, a tool that had once seemed so foreign and intimidating. In that moment, a sense of awe washed over you as you realized just how far you had come from the life you had once known. The image of yourself as a wife, a homemaker, seemed like a distant memory, a remnant of a time before the world had been plunged into chaos. 

As you stood there, gun in hand, dirt under your nails, and a sense of purpose burning within your soul, you couldn't help but wonder how absurd your former self would find this scene. The thought of her reaction brought a smile to your lips, a bittersweet reminder of the person you had once been, and the person you were becoming.

A slow clap from behind you drew your attention, and you turned to see your partner walking towards you, his lips pulled into a wry smile. "Well, as long as no one moves, you might just cut it."

Despite his teasing, you welcomed the familiar banter, a reminder of the rapport that had developed between you before it's abrupt end. With a smile, you looked him over, a wave of gratitude washing over you. "Thank you, for this," you said, gesturing with the gun towards the broken glass. "I feel like The Man From Deadhorse."

With a playful grin, you raised your gun towards the Ghoul, a glint of mischief in your eyes. "I hope you like the taste of lead, you commie son of a bitch."

The sudden shift in atmosphere caught you off guard, the playful jest dying on your lips as the Ghoul's demeanour transformed with alarming speed. Before you could react, he closed the distance between you with swift, purposeful strides, his grisly features contorted with rage.

In the blink of an eye, he knocked the gun from your hand, the dull thud as it buried into the sand was loud in the tense quiet. Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched in stunned silence, your wide eyes snapping back to him when he seized your arms in a vice-like grip.

"You don't play like that, you hear?" he scolded, his voice low and harsh, the intensity of his gaze drilling into you like a laser. His leather-clad fingers dug into your flesh, leaving behind faint impressions as he held you firmly in place.

With a shaky nod, you swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper as you replied, "I hear you." The tension hung thick in the air between you. "It was from a movie, I didn't mean nothing by it."

As he regarded you, the intensity of his grip slowly eased, his features softening marginally as he released you from his grasp. Though his anger still simmered beneath the surface, there was a hint of remorse in his eyes, a silent apology for his outburst. "This ain't no movie, darlin'."

"I know that," you said wistfully.

"Then act like it," he grunted, a wheezing cough escaping him before turning away. "Let's get moving," he muttered, his voice tinged with resignation as he retrieved the gun from the sand and handed it back to you.

You holstered your gun, a sense of caution settling over you as you eyed him warily, your footsteps echoing softly against the gravel path as you followed him back to your shelter. He stopped abruptly a few steps ahead, his posture rigid as he doubled over, sputtering into his closed fist.

Instinctively, you moved toward him, concern etched into your features, but you halted in your tracks at the sight of his outstretched hand. "Get back," he rasped, his voice strained, a clear warning in his tone.

You watched with growing unease as he struggled to regain his composure, each laboured breath sounding like a heavy weight upon his chest. The deep, chest-rattling wheeze that emanated from him sent a shiver down your spine, but despite the urge to rush to his aid, you knew better than to defy his command. With a reluctant step backward, you maintained a cautious distance, your eyes never leaving him as you waited anxiously for the bout of coughing to pass.

The coughing had started a few days prior, coming sporadically but with increasing frequency, especially when the Ghoul worked himself up. At first, you had dismissed it as the inevitable toll of his years spent wandering through dust and dirt, but as the days passed and you witnessed the panic in his eyes one evening while he counted his stock of liquid-filled vials, you knew it was something more. The sight of his trembling hands, the frantic glint in his tired eyes, sent a chill down your spine,

You didn't fully understand the significance of the vials, only that they were his medicine—but for what ailment, you couldn't be certain. You had assumed it was for pain, a necessary relief for someone who had endured the relentless exposure to radiation for so long. You knew better than to ask him about it directly. Even in moments of calm, when the worry over his dwindling supply wasn't etched into his furrowed brow, you knew that prying into something so personal would be met with resistance.

The Ghoul staggered back to the shelter and you followed behind him with growing concern, your heart pounding in your chest. You watched in silence as he grasped the stair rails for support, his normally steady gait now faltering. It was a sight you had never witnessed before—him weakened and vulnerable—and fear shot through you like a bolt of lightning, unwelcome thoughts of what this could mean racing through your mind.

You quickly put the invasive thoughts aside, hurrying to join him inside where you found him hunched over his saddlebag. His movements were frenzied as he loaded a vial into the inhaler that distributed the medicine. With a deep, shaky breath, he puffed the inhaler, the sound echoing loudly in the confined space. Minutes stretched into eternity as he fought to regain control of his breathing, his chest heaving with each ragged inhale.

You held your breath in anticipation, watching as his chest heaved and then settled, but your frown deepened when a groan escaped him. He threw himself back against the wall, his movements laboured and unsteady. His arms hung limp at his sides, the inhaler discarded and forgotten on the ground beside him. His hat slipped from his head, tumbling to the dirtied tiles below, leaving his bald head glistening with perspiration, the droplets of sweat trickling down his tired face.

It was a sobering sight, one that filled you with a sense of helplessness as you stood before him, unsure of what to do to alleviate his suffering.

"Told you to stay away," he breathed, his voice weary as he met your gaze, exhaustion evident in his eyes. "I'm fine," he muttered, though the strain in his voice betrayed his words. "Just need to close my eyes."

As his eyes fluttered shut, you moved to his saddlebag with haste, your heart pounding in your chest as you searched desperately for another vial to bring him back to you. But as your trembling hands sifted through the contents, your heart sank like a stone—empty. He had been rationing his vials for days now, telling you there was a place up ahead to get more, but that you weren't to come with him. Another one of his solo trips.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you realized that he was going nowhere in this condition. His shallow breathing reduced you to panic as you fumbled at the inside of his heavy duster, your hands shaking with urgency. Ignoring the incessant clicking of the dosimeter, you pulled out a weathered map that he had drawn up at the beginning of your journey, showing you just how far you had to go until you'd find the haven and the stops that you'd make between.

Your gaze swept over the roughly sketched lines and symbols, tracing the route ahead with a growing sense of urgency. Finally, your eyes landed on a cluster of squares topped with triangles, situated close to the location you recognized as your shelter on the map. Beside them, a lone letter "V" was scrawled, signalling the area designated for his next collection of vials. The distance seemed manageable, just a half-day's journey at most—perhaps even less if you pushed yourself.

The prospect of venturing out alone was daunting, yet despite the risk of leaving him vulnerable, of being scolded for leaving upon your return, you knew there was no alternative. He relied on those vials, and you relied on him.

With a heavy heart, you removed his gun from its holster, carefully positioning his gloved hand around its grip before settling it on his lap. Adjusting his hat back on his head to shroud his closed eyes, you hoped that any passing traveller might be deterred by the implication of a formidable foe awaiting their approach.

Taking a deep breath, you glanced back at your companion one last time, the weight of your decision settling heavily upon you. With a silent prayer for his safety, you asked him to wish you luck before turning away and setting off towards your new destination, determined to retrieve the vials and save the Ghoul.

The two-story house stood large and imposing before you, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon casting long shadows across the grounds. Its faded white paint was peeling, revealing the weather-beaten wood beneath, and its roof sagged precariously as if it could collapse at any moment. The yard, overgrown with tall grass and weeds, was littered with the carcasses of rusty, broken-down vehicles and an assortment of discarded debris, each piece a story of neglect and abandonment.

Stepping onto the sprawling porch, the creak of the wooden boards seemed to echo through the still air as you steadied your nerves. You rapped your knuckles against the front door that hung slightly ajar. 

"Whaddya want?" a disgruntled voice hollered from inside, and you stepped back as the door was torn open to reveal a man, his greying hair unkempt and greasy, clinging to his weathered face that was etched with deep lines and one large, pink scar from eye to jaw. "Well, what is it?"

Clearing your throat to dispel the tension, you attempted a friendly smile as you greeted him. "Hello, I'm hoping you can help me," you began, holding the unfolded map up to show him. With a pointed finger, you indicated the spot marked by the Ghoul with a "V." "I'm looking for vials, is this where I can get them?"

He peered closer to the map, beady eyes squinting as he considered it. With a dirty hand, he rubbed at the white stubble of his chin as he hummed, his gaze flicking over you quickly before straightening. "Vials, you say? You're in luck," he gave you a toothy smile, displaying his blackened teeth.

Despite the turn in your stomach, you breathed a sigh of relief. Tucking the map away in the side of your bag, you smiled gratefully. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that," you laughed.

"Well, don't dilly-dally on my porch all night, girl," he said, ushering you inside.

Stepping into the dimly lit home, you were hit by the musty scent of decay and mould. The house was cluttered, filled with stacks of old newspapers, broken furniture, and various knickknacks. The man led you through a narrow hallway into a small room that served as both a living space and a workshop. A cluttered table sat against one wall, covered in tools, scraps of metal, and various mechanical parts.

"Sit," he ordered, pointing to a rickety chair near the table. "I'll see what I got."

You sat down cautiously, the chair creaking under your weight. The man rummaged through a pile of junk on a nearby shelf, muttering to himself as he searched. After a few tense moments, he produced a small wooden box and placed it on the table in front of you.

"Here they are," he said, his tone gruff. "How many you need?"

You glanced at box, your heart pounding with a mix of relief and anxiety. "I need as many as you can spare. How much for all of them?"

The man scratched his head, considering your request. "Caps, or trade?" he asked, eyeing your bag.

"I have caps," you replied, reaching into your bag and pulling out a small pouch. You poured the caps onto the table, counting them quickly. "Is this enough?"

He scooped up the caps, weighing them in his hand before shaking his head. "Not hardly," he said, pocketing them as he stared down at you expectantly. You quickly fumbled in your bag, trying to find something to offer. "How about that there contraption?"

Your eyes followed his to the Pip-Boy on your wrist. What would the Ghoul say if you returned without it? He had insisted you keep it on, gifting it to you as a means of gaining some semblance of control that you desperately wanted. Granted it had recently become an unwanted reminder that loneliness would be your only companion until you met your baby, but he wouldn't want you to trade it. Yet he wasn't here, and you were in desperate need of those vials.

"Please, anything else," you pleaded, one last ditch attempt at negotiation as you rifled through the contents of your bag. "I have scrap, copper, toothpaste, you can even have my gun," you continued, listing your items in a desperate ramble before throwing your gun onto the table beside you. 

The man's narrow gaze swept over the array of items you had laid out, his expression a mask of disdain. Without hesitation, he seized your bag and upended its contents onto the worn tabletop. With a rough hand, he sifted through the items, emitting grunts of disapproval as he scrutinized each one.

"No, no good," he muttered, crossing his arms in a gesture of finality. "That thing's worth more than all that junk combined." His lip curled in distaste as he indicated the Pip-Boy resting on your wrist. "It's the gadget or no deal."

Desperation gnawed at you. You needed those vials; the Ghoul's life depended on it. Leaving empty-handed wasn't an option. Fighting back tears, you took a deep breath and looked up at the man, striving to keep your voice steady. "Fine, it's a deal," you conceded, fingers trembling as you unclasped the precious device from your wrist, placing it reluctantly into his filthy palms.

His cracked lips curled into a predatory grin as he regarded his newfound treasure. With a casual shove, he pushed the box of vials across the table towards you. Eagerly, you reached for it, anticipation tingling in your fingertips. But as you pried open the lid, hope turned to bitter disappointment at the sight within.

"There are only three vials here," you stated, disbelief colouring your voice. "We agreed on the Pip-Boy for everything you've got."

A mirthless chuckle escaped the man's throat as he he leaned back against the table, a smug gleam in his eyes. "There it is," he declared, gesturing towards the meagre contents of the box in your hands. "Lesson learned, darlin'. Always check the goods before sealing the deal."

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and frustration, cursing yourself inwardly for falling prey to such a blatant deception. Anger surged within you, fuelled by both the injustice of the situation and the man's smug satisfaction.

"That's not fair!" Your voice rose, laced with indignation, drawing a startled expression from the man across the table.

"Now listen here, you little-"

"What's all this hoo-ha about?" a woman's voice interrupted him as she entered the room. She was about the same age as the man, greying and wrinkled, but whereas his face was stern, hers warmed when she saw you. Her hands went to the apron tied around her thin waist, wiping at the dirty fabric as she spoke. "Well, who do we have here?"

The man released an exasperated sigh, his patience wearing thin. "Just a fool not knowing when a deal is done," he muttered, flinging your empty bag in your direction. "Collect your shit and hit the road."

Before you could react, her hand shot out with startling speed, connecting with the back of his head with a resounding smack. He recoiled, irritation contorting his features as he rubbed the offended spot.

"Goddamn, woman!" he exclaimed, shooting her a venomous glare. "She got the chems, I held up my end of the bargain."

Her eyebrows arched inquisitively as she scrutinized you. "And what might someone like you want with those?"

"My friend, he's unwell," you explained, rising from your seat to begin to deposit your items back in the bag. 

"So, he sent you to fetch them," she deduced.

You nodded, choosing your words carefully as you gauged the situation. Despite her apparent kindness, you sensed it wise to withhold certain details of your predicament. "Something along those lines," you replied cautiously, then pointed to the three vials. "I just hoped there were more."

"There are more," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument as she delivered a swift reprimand to the man beside her. "Edwin, why are you lying to this poor girl?"

Edwin, still nursing a sore spot on his head from her earlier blow, shot her a disgruntled look. "Can't a man try and make a profit in this economy?"

Ignoring his protest, she turned her attention back to you, a friendly smile gracing her features. "My husband will whip up as many vials as you need, don't you fret," she assured, her reassurance a comforting balm to your frayed nerves. Casting a disapproving glance at Edwin as he started to object once more, she added, "And to make amends for his rudeness, I'll whip you up a plate."

You breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, but I really must hurry these back to my friend," you insisted.

"Of course you must," she affirmed, her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled again. "Edwin will go fetch you some from the cellar. We can't keep such valuable stock out in the open, you understand." Her explanation was delivered with a nod of assurance, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Edwin grumbled, leaving the room presumably to fetch the vials.

"Why don't you and me wait for him in the dinin' room," she suggested, her voice carrying a hint of Southern charm from the old world. "You ain't tasted nothin' till you tried my brahmin roast." 

Your protests dissolved into silence as she gently guided you into the room from whence she appeared. A grand wooden dining table commanded the centre of the space, its unpolished surface bearing the scars of time and use. Two weathered candelabras sat empty upon the worn tabletop framing an intricately designed vase that stood proudly in the centre, its once-vibrant bouquet now reduced to a collection of decaying flowers, a red hue faded to a sombre brown. Despite its faded grandeur, there was a certain charm to the room, a nostalgic reminder of simpler times.

Memories of your past life flooded your mind. You remembered the stressful joy of hosting gatherings, the meticulous attention to detail as you fretted over the correct placement of place mats and whether the centrepiece was in keeping with the latest trends from the home magazines you avidly read. Glenn, ever the laid-back husband, would often be found nestled in his recliner, savouring a glass of whiskey as the radio drowned out your worries. He only intervened when you were on the verge of tears, calling for Patti to come and mend his frantic wife.

As you took in the scene before you, a pang of nostalgia tugged at your heartstrings, a bittersweet reminder of a life left behind in the wake of the bombs. In this dilapidated dining room, this family had somehow managed to create a semblance of normalcy amongst the disorder. You only hoped to do the same for your own child.

"I'll have Junior walk you back to your friend," she announced, her voice carrying a gentle authority as she guided you to a seat amidst the array of mismatched chairs. "He's a good boy, you won't come into any trouble out there with him by your side." 

With a tender smile, she disappeared through a swinging door, leaving you to ponder her offer in the dimly lit room. However, your contemplation was interrupted by an unpleasant odour that wafted through the doorway, assaulting your senses with its acrid essence. The stench caused your stomach to churn uneasily, and you couldn't help but wrinkle your nose in distaste.

As she returned with two steaming plates balanced delicately in her hands, the offensive smell accompanied her, its presence overwhelming. Recoiling slightly, you fought to suppress the urge to gag and wondered how the woman wasn't doing the same.

Setting one plate down before you with practiced grace, she deftly produced a worn napkin from her apron, gently draping it across your lap with an air of hospitality. Expressing your gratitude, you watched warily as she took her seat opposite you, her eyes bright with anticipation.

Since your escape from the vault, you hadn't consumed anything that hadn't been prepared by your own hands or originated from a tin can. While her gesture was undoubtedly kind, you couldn't shake the apprehension that gnawed at you, fuelled by the putrid scent emanating from the meat on your plate.

You hesitantly prodded at the dish, watching as the jellied fat quivered around the thick bone it encased. A wave of revulsion washed over you, and opting instead to sample a carrot, you found it had been thoroughly drenched in the juices and carried the same off-putting aroma as the dubious meat.

Swallowing heavily, you mustered an encouraging smile for the woman across from you as she observed your reaction, her gaze expectant. Despite the foul taste in your mouth, you smiled in appreciation, hoping that it was enough to mask your unease. 

"It's delicious," you fibbed, delicately patting the corners of your mouth with the napkin. You eyed the door you had entered through. "Will your husband be joining us soon?"

You didn't want to push, but the urgency of your situation weighed heavily on your mind. Every moment spent away from the Ghoul felt like an eternity, and the thought of his deteriorating condition filled you with a sense of dread. You could have left with those three vials, but what guarantee did you have that they would be enough?

You knew nothing about his condition, nor did you possess the knowledge to provide any meaningful assistance. All you could do was return with as many vials as you could carry, hoping that the sheer quantity would be enough to appease him and alleviate any resentment he might harbour towards you for leaving.

"It's a big cellar," she offered in explanation, her tone carrying a hint of apology for her husband's delay. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, her gaze unwaveringly fixed on you. "Gets a mite lonesome in this old house."

You offered her a sympathetic smile, sensing a shared understanding of loneliness in her words. "And Junior, is he your son?" you asked.

"One of 'em," she replied with a wistful smile, her gaze drifting momentarily into the distance. "The only one left. Tall as a redwood and about as sharp as one too, bless his heart." There was a fondness in her tone, a mother's unconditional love for her child evident in every word. "But us mothers, we love 'em all the same, don't we?" she added with a gentle chuckle, her eyes flicking to your pregnant belly before returning to meet yours with a glimmer of joy.

Your eyes widened in astonishment at her revelation, and a surge of vulnerability and protectiveness welled within you, prompting your hands to instinctively cradle your bump. You had grown noticeably, your pregnancy now too pronounced to conceal any longer, compelling you to discard your vault suit in favour of garments salvaged from an old dresser. Amidst the solitude of your journey with the Ghoul, encounters with others had been rare, limited to a handful of oblivious traders who had failed to notice your condition. This unexpected revelation felt like a breach of privacy, like divulging a secret that had been shared exclusively between you and your companion.

"Of course," you replied cautiously, sensing the weight of her words.

"I'd move mountains for my boy, just to ensure he's fed and breathing. In this world, that's about all a mother can aspire to," she murmured, eyes glistening with the threat of tears. "It's a pitiful state when a mother can't even provide that much for her own kin."

Your heart constricted with anguish, fears surging to the forefront as you contemplated the prospect of being unable to provide even the most basic necessities for your unborn child. The notion of welcoming a helpless infant into a world of scarcity and violence filled you with terror. You had been hesitant to confront the reality of impending motherhood, unsure of how you would navigate the responsibilities that lay ahead. Despite clinging to the hope that sanctuary awaited you at the haven, you couldn't shake the nagging doubt that lingered in the recesses of your mind.

As you looked into her sad eyes, a pang of empathy tugged at your heartstrings. This poor woman had endured unimaginable loss, yet here she was, seemingly trying to cling to a semblance of normality by creating a home for her remaining family in the wasteland.  It was a fragile existence, one that could be snatched away at any moment, and as her resilience struck a chord within you, you wondered: Could this be your future as well? The thought lingered in the depths of your mind, weighing heavy on your chest. 

"Don't feel sorry for me, darlin', I got my time with my boys," she assured you, reaching across the table to rest her hand gently on yours. 

You smiled sadly as you regarded her. "I can't even imagine what you've been through," you admitted, your voice laced with genuine sympathy.

"No, I suppose you can't," she replied softly, her hand withdrawing from yours as she settled back in her chair. There was a moment of quiet contemplation before she spoke again, her words carrying the weight of hard-earned wisdom. "I've come to realize in this world that it's not about what's been done to us, but what we are willing to do."

You nodded in agreement. You had been thrust into this harsh reality, subjected to the horrors of the vaults and the betrayal of those who promised salvation. Yet, despite the trials and tribulations you had faced, you had fought tooth and nail to survive, to carve out a place for yourself in this dangerous new world. And now, with the imminent arrival of your child, that determination burned even brighter within you.

"Are you willing to do anything for your baby?" she asked, her voice soft yet resolute. Without hesitation, you nodded, unwavering resolve in your eyes.

Her gaze dropped to the table momentarily, lost in thought, before lifting once more to meet yours. "So am I," she declared softly, an edge in her voice that belied her gentle demeanour.

With a swift motion, she brought her index and middle finger to her lips, emitting a sharp whistle that pierced through the stillness of the old house. Your brows furrowed, trying to make sense of her action before Edwin shuffled into the room, trailed by a looming figure whose long hair obscured the majority of his face. "Christ, Mag, I thought we'd be waiting all night," the older man grumbled. "Junior, grab the girl."

You turned your gaze back to Mag, the panic rising within you like a tidal wave, but as your eyes searched for reassurance in hers, you found only avoidance. Her gaze remained fixed on the table, refusing to meet yours, her expression inscrutable.

Junior closed the distance with two swift strides, his towering frame engulfing you as he efficiently yanked you from your seat, flinging you onto your back on the table with a brutal force that stole the air from your lungs. The table's decorations rattled to the ground, mingling with the scattered food in a cacophonous crash.

As Mag's now stern voice echoed through the room, a cold shiver ran down your spine. "Don't leave any marks, Junior," she scolded, authority in her tone. Her son nodded in obedience.

Your hands trembled as you instinctively reached for your holster, only to curse under your breath when you found it empty. The realization hit you like a sledgehammer— you had handed your gun to Edwin during the negotiations, a decision that now seemed foolish in hindsight. Defenceless, vulnerable, and at the mercy of forces beyond your control. Like a cruel nightmare, you were back where you had started. 

"Can't sell meat that's all bruised up," Mag's words lingered in the air as she left the room and your eyes widened in terror as the door swung to a shut. You scrambled to rise from the table, but Junior pushed you back down, though this time with less force. 

"Please, you don't have to do this," you begged, tears welling in your eyes.

"She's not for selling, she's for eating," Edwin interjected callously, disregarding your pleas as he seized your ankles. Junior seized your wrists in an iron grip and pinned them above your head, stretching you out before them. 

"Says who, you old coot?" Mag challenged, reappearing with a hefty butcher knife gripped firmly in her hand. The awful smell filled the room again, and you felt bile rise in your throat.

"Says me, the one who got her inside in the first place," he retorted, grunting as you struggled against his grip. "Besides, I'm sick of that rancid meat. He's been festering in there for weeks." He nodded toward the door where the putrid smell was emitting from.

His words sent a chill down your spine as you glanced at the mess of food scattered across the floor. Your eyes honed in on the repulsive meat that now lay splayed on the grubby carpet amongst the ceramic shards of the plates. Brahmin meat, she had told you, but now you realized it was another poor soul who had crossed this family's path.

Perhaps you were naïve to not consider the act of cannibalism in this dire new reality, but your mind reeled at the images of teeth ripping through bloody flesh.

"Please, why are you doing this?" you cried, tears hot on your cheeks as panic consumed you, each futile struggle met with unyielding strength from Edwin and Junior. Mag moved to your side.

"We've had this conversation, darlin', you know why," Mag whispered, her face looming mere inches from yours. The warmth that once suffused her features had now drained away, replaced by a chilling resolve as she gazed down at you. "Motherhood demands sacrifice, and this is the sacrifice I'm willing to make."

Her gaze shifted to your belly, assessing it before turning to address the old man. "We'll keep her for meat and sell the babe for a hefty sum," she declared, eliciting a triumphant whoop from him. As her hand tenderly caressed your sweat-dampened hair, a shiver ran down your spine at the realization of your fate. "I want you to know that I mean you no ill will," she murmured, her voice a soothing contrast to the horror of her words. "But my boy has to eat."

The gentle touch of her hand offered little comfort as you recoiled from her touch. When you shook your head in a futile attempt to rid yourself of her grasp, she stepped back, her voice hardening once more.

"I wish I could promise this won't hurt, but there's only one way this baby's comin' out," she stated matter-of-factly, her words ringing with finality as the weight of your impending ordeal settled like lead in the pit of your stomach.

As the blade hovered menacingly above you, your mind raced with desperate thoughts. You couldn't shake the image of the Ghoul alone, abandoned where you'd left him while you embarked on this ill-fated rescue mission. What if he awoke to find you gone, vanished without a trace? Would he think you'd left him, angry over what had transpired between you both? Or perhaps that you'd waited until his weakest moment to finally run from him. The mere notion tore at your heartstrings.

You needed him to know the truth, to understand that your departure was in aide to help him not abandon him. You couldn't die knowing that he may think so badly of you, even though you weren't sure why it mattered so much. He'd been difficult and stubborn, scolded you and made you cry, but there was a yearning that you felt for him beyond your own understanding. With every fibre of your being, you silently pleaded for a chance to return to his side, to make things right and ensure that he could never doubt your devotion.

But you were trapped, with nowhere to run and no escape from the horrors unfolding before you. The full stretch of your body left your bare stomach uncomfortably exposed to the imminent danger. The cold, unforgiving blade of the knife traced a path across the swell of your belly, its touch sending shivers of dread coursing through your veins. Though the first cut was not deep, the sting of pain accompanied by the trickle of blood down your side served as a grim reminder of the perilous situation you had walked yourself and your unborn child into.

Since escaping the clutches of the vault, you hadn't dared to picture your future, quickly learning that the dangers of the wasteland were capable of shattering your reality with ruthless brutality from one moment to the next. Yet, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, one thing had remained constant: your unwavering determination to protect and nurture the life growing within you.

From the moment you heard the doctor confirm your pregnancy, a flicker of hope ignited within you. Despite the deceit of your husband, the looming threat of war, and every obstacle that stood in your path, you had clung to the unwavering belief that you were destined for motherhood. It was a truth that resonated deep within your heart, but you felt it slowly being swallowed by the hollow ache of despair and regret.

With a heavy heart weighing down every fibre of your being, you closed your eyes, bracing yourself for what was to come. In that harrowing moment, a chilling realization swept over you like a tidal wave: if you were to remain conscious through these next moments, you would meet your baby. You were so far from carrying to full-term, but why would Mag go to such lengths unless she was confident that your baby would survive. Afterall, a living baby must be worth a fortune in the wasteland. A commodity, as the Ghoul had described you. 

Then, the thought pierced your soul: your baby would enter the world alone, without you, unaware of what transpired or why you weren't there beside them. Growing up to think that their mother never loved them. You couldn't let it happen.

With your last shred of resolve shattered, a primal scream tore from your throat.

A distant crash from another room shattered the tense atmosphere, bringing the woman's relentless pursuit with the knife to an abrupt halt. All three members of the family turned their heads towards the doorway, their eyes widening in shock as it was obliterated before them. A deafening cacophony of splintering wood filled the air as a single bullet burst through, sending wooden fragments flying in all directions.

Instinctively, you turned your head away, seeking whatever meagre protection you could get. In the midst of the commotion, Edwin's agonized holler pierced the air, his body recoiling as the bullet sliced through his neck. With a forceful impact, he was thrown back against the kitchen doorway, his form crumpling to the ground with a heavy thud that reverberated throughout the room.

Junior's anguished wails pierced your eardrums. Despite his distress, his vice-like grip remained unyielding, keeping you firmly in place even as he grappled with the shock of his father's demise.

Meanwhile, Mag offered only a fleeting acknowledgment to the lifeless form of her husband before her attention snapped back to the now-open doorway. There, a figure emerged, a silhouette framed by the shattered remnants of the entrance. With each step, the sound of spurred boots rang out like a beacon of hope.

As the Ghoul's hulking frame filled the doorway, a wave of relief washed over you. He appeared worlds apart from the unconscious man you had left behind in search of aid, and as you took in his daunting appearance, you noticed the inhaler clutched in his hand, an almost empty vial inserted inside. 

Locking eyes with him across the room, you watched as his weary gaze swept over the scene before him: you, splayed out and held down on the table, a small cut marring your belly, tears streaking your face.

In that fleeting moment, his expression darkened with a silent fury. With swift and merciless precision, he raised his magnum, his aim unwavering as he first targeted Junior. In an instant, the sound of gunfire shot through the room, a single slug piercing through Junior's skull, extinguishing his cries in a heartbeat.

Mag's horrified gaze barely had time to register the terror before her own fate was sealed. She turned to the Ghoul with venom in her eyes. "Coop—"

With ruthless efficiency, another bullet tore through her chest, sending her crumpling to the floor beside her fallen son. In the span of mere seconds, the room fell almost silent, the only sound being the Ghoul's heavy breaths as he surveyed the aftermath of his swift justice.

A low groan echoed across the room, drawing the Ghoul's attention to the source of the sound. Without hesitation, he fired off two more shots into Edwin's chest, putting an end to his suffering. As the final ring of gunfire faded, the Ghoul lowered his gun, his gaze fixated on you once more. His eyes, dark and brooding, seemed to bore into your very soul, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable in their intense scrutiny.

With trembling hands, you pushed yourself up to sit on the table, the weight of so many emotions swirling within you like a windstorm raging inside your chest. Fear, relief, guilt, and gratitude warred for dominance, each vying for your attention as you struggled to make sense of the harrowing ordeal that had unfolded before you. In that moment of uncertainty, you found yourself paralyzed by indecision, unsure of how to proceed as you watched the Ghoul, awaiting his instruction.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he holstered his gun and tucked the inhaler back inside his coat, the look of anguish etched upon his scarred face. With a silent understanding passing between you, he beckoned you to him with a curl of his fingers, a wordless invitation for comfort that you never thought possible from him. Your body moved on instinct, propelled forward by a force beyond conscious thought, as you leaped from the table and into the safety of his waiting arms. In that moment, all pretence of strength crumbled away, leaving you clinging to him with a desperation that bordered on frantic.

You held onto him so tightly that you could almost feel the air being squeezed from your lungs. As his muscular arms enveloped you and your unborn child, a floodgate of emotion burst open within you, unleashing an outburst of tears that wracked your body with their intensity.

"I never left you," you whispered through each sob, your voice hoarse from screaming, the words spilling out in a plea for understanding. "I swear, I was coming back."

His touch was tender as he stroked your hair, his breath warm against your ear as he comforted your trembling form. "Nobody would blame you if you hadn't," he murmured softly, then cleared his throat. "I told you, you weren't to come here."

"I had to save you," you insisted, your voice shaking but resolute.

"Sure did a fine job," he said, glancing around the room at the carnage. "Looked like you had everything under control."

His teasing stung, and you pulled away from him, hurt flashing in your eyes as you stood your ground. "You were unconscious. If I hadn't come, you would have—" your voice cracked, unable to finish the thought.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" he interrupted, irritation thick in his voice. "Good thing too, because I wasn't aware just how dumb you could be."

"I didn't know if you'd make it," you shot back, your voice a raw blend of frustration and fear. "I had to do something, I couldn't lose you."

For a brief moment, his eyes softened, a flicker of understanding passing between you. But it was quickly replaced by steely conviction. He pointed a gloved finger at your belly, his tone firm yet edged with concern. "I shouldn't be your concern right now."

You cradled your bump protectively, looking up at him with glistening eyes. "And yet here we are."

He was silent for a moment, his hand dropping back to his side as he regarded you with a mix of frustration and helplessness. "What am I going to do with you?" he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You didn't answer him. Instead, you moved back into his chest, seeking the comfort you'd felt moments before. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, the tension in his muscles softening as he held you close.

"This can't keep happening," he said after moments of silence passed between you, his words hammering at your heart. You couldn't tell if he was referring to the intimacy of your embrace or your reckless brush with death once again. Regardless, you tightened your grip on him.

"Just a little longer," you whispered, your voice barely audible. He sighed in resignation as he gently disentangled your arms from his waist, pushing you back to look into your eyes. His hand slipped into the pocket of his coat, and he retrieved the device that would sever any remaining physical connection between you.

You had barely had time to enjoy the unbridled freedom of those moments in his embrace, the silence broken only by the rhythmic beating of his heart against your cheek rather than the disturbing clicking. But now, as your eyes fell on the Pip-Boy, you realized you weren't ready to relinquish that freedom, despite the protection it promised.

"I told you not to take it off," he chided. When you started to explain yourself, he cut you off. "I don't care, just put it back on."

You shook your head, your eyes locking with his, defiance met with disappointment. "Don't make me do it," he pleaded earnestly, his voice softening, laden with a desperation you hadn't heard from him before.

"I have a choice, and so do you," you told him, your voice steady but your heart pounding.

He smiled sadly, a bittersweet expression that deepened the ache in your chest. "I wish that were true," he replied, pulling your hand gently and fastening the Pip-Boy around your wrist. The device closed with a sickening clink, severing the fragile connection between you. You held his gaze, chin high, though you wanted to curl into yourself.

"I wonder if it really is me you're protecting with this thing," you said, your voice trembling with rage and sorrow, your hand still enclosed in his as the clicking commenced. "I'm not so sure anymore."

His gaze dropped as he took a deep breath, bracing himself before looking back at you with a rueful smile. "Me neither, vaultie," he admitted, his voice a whisper of regret. He dropped your hand and turned to leave the room. "Maybe it's better that way."

He disappeared through the open doorway, leaving you alone with the heavy silence and the cold weight of the Pip-Boy on your wrist. The freedom of touch you had tasted moments ago now felt like a distant memory, replaced by the stark reality that, regardless of anything else, the Ghoul was determined to keep you at a distance. 

Taglist: @cheshirecat484 @lothiriel9 @ancientbeing10 @sillysimping @maeplaysbass @moon-trash1507 @spookyoat @rebelmarylou @writtenbyhollywood

This was so cute, and hilarious at the end!!!

I LOVE the symbolism and meanings behind Reader's dreams, and the vulnerability shown in Cooper's!!

Chapter Six: Chem Induced Dreams

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: The chems and alcohol fuel some strange dreams for the two of you.... Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, SOME smut (FINALLYYYY), eventually more smut, language, canon-typical violence, chem/alcohol use, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 1.6k

A smoothie and a ghoul lay side by side, their bodies intertwined and in a peaceful slumber, the effects of the alcohol and chems they consumed begin to take hold. Through the night, their minds are transported to a realm of vivid dreams, where reality bends and twists to the whims of their subconscious.

Smoothie

“Please, sir. Please, sir, please.” The man's desperate pleas for mercy echo in the tense silence that hangs in the air as The Sheriff, who is quite obviously Cooper Howard, stands unwavering with his gun trained on him.

“There’s an old Mexican eulogy.” The Sheriff begins, his gaze unwavering. “Feo fuerte y formal. Means he was ugly, strong, and had dignity. Well, Joey, I’ll give you two out of three on that front.”

The sharp crack of a gunshot splits the air, the deafening sound echoing through the stillness as the bullet finds its mark, piercing the man's forehead. He crumples to the ground, lifeless and motionless. Your heart races as you rush over to the Sheriff, the hem of your dress trailing slightly behind you, collecting dust from the barren ground.

His gaze meets yours, weariness in his eyes, hinting at the burdens he carries and the lines he's crossed in the name of justice.

"Oh, Sheriff!" you exclaim as you rush into his arms, "Thank you for saving the town! For saving me!"

"It was no trouble, ma'am," The Sheriff replies, his voice reassuring while he protectively embraces you. "Plenty of folks wanna make life hard for people just tryin' to survive. I'm not willing to stand for that kinda shit."

The familiar words spoken by him resonate deeply within you, stirring memories of the ghoul from your past who uttered the same words. As you stand in his embrace, the echo of that long-ago conversation plays in your mind. You slowly gaze up at the Sheriff, his touch gentle yet firm as he places one hand around your waist, drawing you closer. Leaning in close, your noses brush against each other in a tender, intimate moment. You close the remaining minuscule gap between you and press your lips to his in a soft, heartfelt kiss.

“How can I ever repay you, sir?” you whisper.

“I believe you already know, ma’am,” he smirks. Firmly guiding you toward a small worktable close by, he lifts you onto it, a rush of emotions and sensations coursing through you. His touch is commanding, his gaze intense as he looks into your eyes.

You can feel his growing bulge press against you, sending a shiver down your spine. His hands move with purpose, exploring every curve and contour of your body. The Sheriff's lips brush against your neck, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. Your heart races as desire flares within you, a primal need building with each passing moment. His fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls you closer, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.

He pulls your dress up with a certain abruptness, allowing it to slide over your legs and hips, fully revealing you to him. "No undergarments, miss? You’re brave." He murmurs into your neck, his hands firmly cradling your hips as he pulls you closer. His breath on your skin is a tease, his whisper a command.

"Don't move," the Sheriff orders, his thumb beginning a gradual exploration of your intimate folds. The soft moan you emit in response elicits a deep groan from him, your reactions spurring him on. He carefully slips a finger inside you, the sensation sparking a shiver that courses through your body. Simultaneously, a nuclear detonation erupts in the distance. The ground vibrates ominously as the shockwave from the explosion begins to barrel towards you.

As he continues his ministrations, an undercurrent of urgency begins to build. The sheriff's breath hitches as he feels you respond to him. In the distance, the nuclear explosion casts an eerie glow, the rumbling shockwave growing ever closer. Your heart pounds, the adrenaline surging through your veins adding an unexpected intensity to the already charged moment.

"Stay with me," he commands, his voice a beacon of stability in the face of the looming chaos. The blast wave engulfs both of you, yet you remain unscathed. However, the Sheriff's appearance starts to morph grotesquely under the radiation's influence. His clothes fray and tear, his skin blisters and heals into severe scars, and every strand of hair on his body apart from those beautiful lashes you’ve come to know evaporates. His nose starts to deteriorate, the transformation continuing until he becomes The Ghoul.

Despite the monstrous changes overtaking him, the Sheriff's eyes remain the same - dark, intense, and focused on you. "I'm still me," he rasps, his voice now a hoarse whisper. One hand, now roughened and scarred from the ghoulification, reaches out to you as his other hand continues the rhythmic movement of his fingers within you.

“Cooper…” you moan, a mixture of longing and desperation in your voice.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he urges, the command driving you towards euphoria. But just as the waves of ecstasy are about to wash over you... you suddenly wake up, the dream fading into the harsh reality of two men holding weapons. You glance over at The Ghoul, who remains undisturbed, sound asleep with a noticeable tent in his pants.

"Seriously?" you mutter in disbelief.

The Ghoul

The movie hums softly in the background, a mere backdrop to the unfolding scene between the two of you. As he leans in closer, the effects of the chems begin to show, his tough exterior slipping away to reveal a vulnerability beneath the surface. The quiet understanding in your eyes is a cruel sting, a reminder of the man he once was before becoming the grotesque parody of one of his film characters. Your gaze, strangely enough, holds a blend of intrigue, fear, and something akin to... desire?

His lips meet yours in an achingly tender kiss, an act so human. The moment they touch, it feels like a minor nuclear reaction, sparks fissioning through both your bodies in a wave of warmth and despair. Your lips are softer than he expected, the whisper of them against his own triggering a barrage of nearly forgotten memories - laughter, love, loss, all rolled into this one desperately intimate act. He pours his years of solitude and longing into the kiss, the taste of you intermingled with the bitter taste of whiskey.

He pulls away, his eyes meeting yours once more, searching for signs of repulsion or fear. Instead, he finds a silent understanding, a quiet acceptance that fills him with a strange sense of relief. He reaches up to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. He can feel the heat of your skin, the pulse of your life beneath his touch, grounding him in a reality he thought he had lost long ago.

You move to straddle his lap, looking into his eyes for any sign of hesitation. "Is this okay?" He nods, his gaze never leaving yours. You lean in for another kiss, this one more intense than the one before. His hands move to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. His lips move against yours with a newfound urgency, the taste of liquor on his tongue now mixed with something else - a raw, burning desire.

Your touch sends a shiver down his spine, the warmth of your body seeping into his, your heartbeat pounding in sync with his. The heat between you builds, each kiss stoking the fire within. Feeling the urgency of the moment, you start to move against him, the friction sending a shockwave of pleasure coursing through both of you. His breath hitches, a low groan escaping his lips as he surrenders to the intoxicating sensation.

You eagerly start undoing his belt and pants, your movements hurried and desperate as he trails his tongue and bites along your neck. A soft giggle escapes you, a mix of nervous excitement and desire. A groan rumbles deep from within him as you slip your hand down his pants, feeling the heat and hardness beneath your touch. Your hand envelops him, stroking him with a firm grip, igniting a fire within him.

Despite the intense pleasure coursing through him, a fleeting thought crosses his mind - does the texture of his skin unsettle you? Has the touch of a ghoul ever crossed your path? The curiosity lingers momentarily before being overtaken by pleasure once more.

You slide your hand over the head, getting your palm slick, then back down his shaft, making him sigh against your neck. The sound of your moan catches him off guard, stirring something within him that he thought had long been buried. For a fleeting moment, he questions whether you matter to him in a way he hadn't anticipated - he barely knows you, after all. He can’t help but thrust a little into your hand in response.

"If you don't slow down, darlin'," he begins, his voice husky with a mix of warning and desire. But your response is to move faster, the urgency between you driving you to press your lips to his in a fervent kiss. His hands move lower to grab your ass, pulling you closer as your tongues entwine in a heated dance of desire. He's on the edge of ecstasy, lost in the whirlwind of passion, but the moment fractures abruptly as his eyes flicker open. The sight that meets his eyes - two armed men and you, with a look of disbelief on your face as he becomes aware of his painfully obvious erection.

“Well shit.”

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