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keeksandgigz · 2 months

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Chapter 1: Les Usurpateurs

Part 1 of Words are Futile Devices- A Steddie x Reader Call Me By Your Name AU

Somewhere in Northern Italy, 1983

cw: ~3k words, no smut (yet), EVERYONE IS OF AGE!!!, a lot of unnecessary description for the vibes, reader is a bit of a cunt

notes: I'm back (I think)

Despite the lack of smut in this chapter, this and all my works are 18+ minors do NOT interact

There was something of a quiet intimacy in hearing the summer sparrows in the morning. Nothing but the gentle hum and chirp buried in the ripe peach trees. Thus marking the beginning of your yearly summer stay in Italy, of doing nothing but lounge around and savor the crickets at night, lying down on the couch of the villa your mother had inherited from her great grandparents.

What you liked about your summers in Italy was that time seemed to go slower, at your leisure, spending it between the lake with your friends, the town just a short bike ride away or staying home buried in the pile of books you had brought over just to keep in your room, a bit overgrown, but unable to make it “too yours” because of the guests you’d have to concede your room to a mere four weeks after your arrival at the villa.

Every summer, your father would host literature and art history students at the villa, aspiring professors, authors, archeologists, to help with their dissertations. They’d come with their american ways, obnoxiously disturbing the peace that you had created for yourself in the idyllic world you’d surrounded yourself into. Like that was a different astral plane you’d projected into, with the same friends as always, the same views, the same places to go. A different guest you’d have to surrender your room to for ten weeks, while you were banished to the communicating room, divided only by a shared bathroom. A small twin bed, an old desk and chair, a big enough window to let a good amount of light in, so you don’t suffocate and turn into a vampire. You despised that room.

They always arrived on the first day of July, when the weather seemed to turn from needing a light pair of jeans in the evening to clothes being unbearable. If you were in your room you’d limit yourself to a long enough shirt to keep you decent for the ghosts in the villa. There were no ghosts, but Giovanna, the housekeeper, would pop in from time to time to drop off your clothes– washed, ironed and folded. They smelled like citrus.

You were reading The Count of Monte Cristo when the guest arrived. The rippling sounds of the gravel under the heavy tires of the car sounding like an alarm. You placed your book face down on the page you had been reading and ran to the window. Curious to see what the tide had brought this year. Maybe someone whose English wasn’t very good. Or some lunatic who could only stay inside because of his pollen allergy. You wondered what they would have looked like. Tall? Ugly? Obnoxious in the sense where you could hear them play shuffle and slam and bang doors and cabinets and drawers in the morning when getting ready?

The car came to a stop in front of the door, right under the window of your room. The driver’s door opened, Giuseppe, the groundskeeper of the villa went around to open the trunk. Your heart thumped as you saw the passenger door open. It was a man. He was wearing a pair of white linen shorts, a blue flouncy short sleeve button- up shirt and gold- rimmed glasses. He pushed them up as he placed two hands on his hips, quickly removing one in favor of running his hands through his hair, styled and coiffed like he had not just come off an eight- hour flight.

“You must be…” You’d heard your father say, placing a finger on his bearded chin, the name of the boy must have slipped him.

“Steve. Piacere” the boy said, in an Americanized Italian, sounding like he had a hot potato in his mouth.

“Ah! Steve, Benvenuto” your father said, bidding his welcome and shaking the boy’s hand. Your mother extended a delicate hand as well, introducing herself with a bright smile. At the same time, the opposite passenger door opened. Another boy.

This one had long, frizzy hair. His face was framed by the bangs that stuck on his forehead. He was wearing a black t- shirt of a band you’d never heard of before tucked inside a pair of cutoff denim shorts held up by a belt, a chain clinking at the boy’s side as he stepped off the car. He wouldn’t let Giuseppe take his bags, insisting he could have done it himself.

Your father followed the boy with his eyes as he carried what appeared to be a duffel bag and a beat up suitcase towards your father.

“And this must be Eddie, then” your father said, as Eddie released his suitcase to shake your father’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you” the boy said, and from this new angle you could see that he sported three chunky rings on his left hand and a chain necklace around his neck. Your father saw you peeking out the window and motioned for you to come down.

“Shall we go inside? Show you around before dinner?” He motioned towards the boys as Eddie picked his stuff up once again and followed inside. You rolled your eyes. That was your cue to put on some pants and come downstairs.

Your father’s office was just on the right at the bottom of the stairs, as you hopped down the marble steps. You heard chatter.

“Oh there she is” you heard your father announce as you leaned against the doorframe of his office. You tended to dislike his theatrics “Boys, this is my daughter” the two guests turned around, reaching their hands to squeeze yours, as you firmly told them your name.

“Hey, I’m Steve,” he said, fixing his glasses with his other hand. He was soft, but his handshake was firm. Hands bigger than yours.

“You’re the archeology and history nerd” you quipped, a slight curl of your mouth followed it.

Steve didn’t seem to like the name, as he let go of your hand, mouth in a straight line. Embarrassed. Put off. You needed them to know that they weren’t welcome here.

“Hey, what’s up I’m Eddie” the other guy said. His hand was much more rougher and calloused than Steve’s, likely a guitarist.

“You’re the soon to be failed author?” you tilted your head at him,

you tilted your head at him, you heard your mother gasp, the indignation dripping from her mouth as she said your name. Eddie chuckled, a bit taken aback, but amused.

“How do you like daddy’s money, hm?” It was your turn to be indignant. You heard your father snicker behind the boy, followed by Steve. Your hand brusquely retracted from Eddie’s, as your mother poured springs of apologies on your behalf.

“She’s not like this, usually,” your mother said. Which was a lie. You were always like this. Rude, witty, sour.

You heard the disappointment in your dad’s tone “Go show them their room” he said, an intimation for you to leave.

“Make yourselves at home,” he said, before you guided them back upstairs.

Eddie huffed up the stairs. You didn’t offer to take his bags, as he seemed to not need nor want any help.

You opened the large pinewood door.

“You guys are gonna sleep in here. This is my room, but it’s gonna be yours for the rest of your stay. I’m gonna be in the next room over. Unfortunately we’ll have to share a bathroom” You could see sleep calling to them, as their eyes opened and closed slowly at the sight of a made bed.

Eddie dropped his bags and thumped on the bed, sleep immediately overtaking him.

“You have to excuse him, this is the first time he’s traveled outside of the States,” Steve said, sitting on the bed, leaning to take his shoes off.

“Nervous or what?” you asked, examining your bookcase in case you wanted to steal a book to take to your room.

“Just not as lucky as many” Steve shrugged, laying himself down on the mattress “this is his big shot. If your dad likes his stuff it’s all uphill from here” Steve groans, voice full of sleep “thanks for lending us your room, let us know when dinner is.”

And that was that. The boy fell into the arms of slumber.

And when Giovanna rang the bell to announce dinnertime, once again you peeled yourself away from The Count of Monte Cristo. You wondered if they were still sleeping.

You wandered into the bathroom and towards the door as you shot a quick look at the two sleeping bodies on the bed. Eddie was snoring. You were unsure if you should have woken them up.

You toyed with the bathroom door, swinging it between your hands. A grin decorated your face as you decided to slam it. Steve jumped awake, annoyed and scared.

“Dinner’s ready” you muttered, reaching for the handle of the door.

“I’ll pass, thanks” Steve said, shaking Eddie from his almost comatose state. The boy mumbled a semi- discernible “huh?”

“Dinner, Ed. ‘m not going, but you can feel free to” Steve said to the other, but he just turned around and sleepily muttered an “‘mgood, thanks.”

“He’s good. We’ll apologize to your mother in the morning” Steve said, laying back down, ignoring you completely.

Where’s my apology?

You were thankful for the lack of guests at dinner. That way you were able to silently eat and then slither back into your room. Back into your book. Lulled by the crickets, and the whisper of the trees in the weak evening breeze. You ended up falling asleep.

In the morning, Steve was already outside having breakfast with your parents. He looked like he had showered, but you didn’t recall the faint sound of the water running. He was wearing another pair of shorts, another flouncy shirt. Fumbling with a slice of toast, buttered with jam as he talked to your father about the morning paper.

“This is gorgeous by the way” Steve admitted, looking around “your orchard?” he looked at your mother, who was smiling proudly at the compliment.

“We grow a lot of fruit here, Giovanna makes apricot juice fresh every day” she smiled, biting into a slice of bread.

“You had a lot to say yesterday, now you’re a quiet little mouse?” your father teased, elbowing you lightly as you rolled your eyes.

“It’s okay, she apologized” Steve said, an assuring look in his eyes “she didn’t mean that stuff. She told me, it’s just her welcome wagon” he chuckled, and you felt yourself grow red. Why would he save you like that?

Eddie popped out from the door, hair in a bun, changed out of his shirt in favor for a new one.

“You should show them around some time, dear. Take them into town, maybe at the lake, I hope your father is not gonna keep them cooped up in his office for ten weeks” your mother giggled.

“Yeah, no we’d love that. Maybe I’ll get some inspiration for the book” Eddie sat down at the breakfast table, between you and Steve as he fumbled with a soft boiled egg Giovanna had to crack open for him. Embarrassment was veiled on his face.

You looked at his ringed hands, fumble with the small spoon. Did it always look so small?

“We’re not gonna start until the beginning of the week, but I might ask you to go get some supplies into town today and take these two with you. Eddie’s gonna need some nice paper for his typewriter, won’t you?” your father gave him a heavy pat on the shoulder, at which he smiled.

“Have another egg” your mother encouraged the boys. Eddie dug into the pot again, getting more confident with the way he spread the runny yolk on a slice of toast. Some of the runny egg dripped in between his fingers.

Just not as lucky as many.

Steve passed. “I know myself too well, if I have a second, I’ll just have a third and a fourth and a fifth and then I’m just gonna have to get rolled outta here” he joked. I know myself. Self- assured, cocky. You wondered what it felt like to really know yourself, to have everything figured out like he did.

You lent Steve Giuseppe’s old bike, Eddie got an old one of yours, the squeaky rusted tires alerting the two strangers’ presence. You were afraid you would have been pressured into giving one of them your own bike, seeing as you had already surrendered all of your possessions to them.

It was a pleasant day. Not too incredibly hot to be embarrassed if the two boys were to see you, face riddled with uncomfortable beads of sweat, breath heaving irregularly from the dry air of July. Instead, a nice breeze came through the mountains, as you debated on going for a swim later in the day.

That’s what you liked about your summers there. A swimsuit was always the wardrobe of choice under your summer clothes, the freedom to subsist in a plane of existence where your obligations began and ended within the span of a few miles of green grass and honeysuckle flowers.

The two boys followed you down the graveled road into town, which seemed to be deserted, families abandoning their houses in favor of driving to the beach for the weekend.

You asked them if they wanted to get a coffee, as you dismounted your bikes and parked them in front of a coffee place.

You sat outside as you sipped from your espresso cups.

“So” Steve broke the silence “What does one do around here?” you put down your book, the device you so desperately tried to ignore them with, trying to drown them out.

“Wait for the summer to end” you mumbled carelessly, going back to the words on the page.

“Ok and then in the winter you wait for the summer to start?” Eddie snickered.

“Seriously though, what do you do here the whole summer?” Steve interrupted, taking you away from your book again, as you tossed it on the table.

“I read, mostly. Play music, swim at the lake, go out” you huffed out annoyedly, reaching for the book. Eddie preceded you.

“Kafka? What happened to Monte Cristo?” he flicked through the yellowed pages.

“I finished it. How’d you know I was reading that?” you snatched the book back from his hands.

“It was on your bed before I slammed onto it. You should read something a bit more substantial,” he said “Kafka isn’t gonna teach you shit, why don’t you read Dorian Grey instead?” it annoyed you how patronizing his tone was.

“I read that last year, thanks for the help” you retorted, taking the book back from him with a roll of your eyes.

“Your dad seemed to make it abundantly clear that you need to be nice to us” Steve intervened, whining like a petulant child.

“Or what? You’ll snitch on me?” you snapped, the two boys looking at each other.

“Listen, sweetheart,” your nose curled at the nickname, “we’re not your enemies or whatever you think you’ve made us out to be. We really don’t want to be a nuisance to you” nothing about what he said seemed sincere. You rolled your eyes in response.

“Well,” Steve stood up from the metal chair with a violent noise, Eddie following suit “we’ll see you later,” as the both of them mounted their bikes and left. The creaking noises of the rusty old bikes followed in their pedaling.

They finally got the hint.

You spent the rest of your day at the lake, not really in a mood to interact with Chiara or Alessandro, two of your longtime friends. Instead, you made the slushing of the water current your friend, staring at the words on the page. Meaningless words. Kafka didn’t seem so enticing after all.

When you got home it went back on the dusty shelf. Your hand lingered on the spine of Dorian Grey for a moment. The cover was brown and worn, it was your mother’s before it became yours, your heart picked up at the words on the spine, gold lettering. You thought about what Eddie had said earlier.

You picked up Heart of Darkness instead.

tagging: @littlexdeaths, @xxbimbobunnyxx, @aphrogeneias, @rowanswriting, @stveharringtn, @impmunson, @strangerstilinski, @lavendermunson, @rebelfell, @bimbobaggins69, @cryingglightningg, @thornsnvultures, @jamdoughnutmagician, @take-everything-you-can, @eddiesxangel, @ali-r3n, @emxxblog, @corrodedcoffincumslut, @str4ngergirlw0rld, @yujyujj, @gregre369, @subconsciouscollapse, @aol19, @cooljadejacksonthings, @maeneedsabreak, @eddiesguitarskills, @freak-of-hawkins, @eddiesghxst

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homelanderbutbig · 1 month

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A Quaint House With a White-Picket Fence (G/T Homelander x Reader)

1139 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You teach Homelander about Animal Crossing.

With a rare day off, you decided to spend your afternoon doing something you haven't been able to for a while, play Animal Crossing. Homelander has never played a video game before, and he has made it perfectly clear to you that he has zero interest in doing so. He is also not shy at showing his jealousy at how engrossed you get playing your silly games instead of paying attention to him. As a result, you usually only play for short periods of time when you're alone.

Today was different. You have been doing nothing all day except play Animal Crossing, just like you used to do before moving into the Tower. You don't even hear him storming into the penthouse, in one of his signature grumpy moods. Grumbling irritatedly seeing you lounging on the couch, he can't believe you aren't acknowledging him and inviting him over for a cuddle like you always do. It's not like he's easy to miss.

Homelander walks over in front of the couch, attempting to make a point with his purposefully loud footsteps. And yet, you still don't even look up as he looms over you. Rolling his eyes, he places his hands on his hips as he taps his fingers on his belt. He can feel his anger bubbling to the surface, with the annoying little beeps and boops coming from the game only serving to aggravate him further.

Finally, he's had enough at watching you ignore him. With a motion so fast you barely even register what is happening, he picks you up so he can lie down on the couch, keeping you on top of him. His arms are wrapped immovably around your waist while his big head is snuggled firmly on your shoulder. He lets out a deep huff from his nose, making certain that you know how exasperated you've made him.

You stay there for a moment of tense silence, waiting for him to say something first. You feel bad for not even noticing him, but you want to see where he is mentally before you make a move.

"What is this?" he eventually asks you, contempt dripping from his voice. If you won't stop playing this dumb thing, he may as well learn what it is.

"Animal Crossing," you tell him, laughing as you practically feel him rolling his eyes. Ah, he's in one of these moods.

"It's a game where you get to play in this cute village and just do whatever," you try to clarify. "You can fish, catch bugs, decorate your house, and make friends with your neighbours. It's relaxing."

"…Why?" he retorts. He is baffled at how doing things in this game that you could do in real-life would have you so fixated.

"I dunno, it's hard to explain," you respond. "There's no stress in this world, no time-limits or deadlines. It's like… an escape."

Homelander is hushed as he contemplates your answer. The appeal still doesn't make a lot of sense to him.

"What… are you playing as?" he enquires, brow furrowing slightly. Your tiny avatar appears to be a boy with slicked-back blonde hair, wearing a blue shirt with an eagle design.

"I tried making you," you answer honestly, with a brief giggle. You click a mysterious button on your gaming device, and suddenly this character is smiling wide back at him.

"You… made me?" he ponders, rubbing his head into the nape of your neck.

"Yeah, I normally just make myself but… I wanted to see how you'd look too," you smile, returning his nuzzle. "You turned out cute, right?"

He sighs, not dignifying you with a response. This facsimile is nowhere near his level of perfection, but at least you tried.

"What's that noise?" he mumbles. "It sounds like a bug."

"What direction is it coming from?" you respond. "It might be a mole cricket, I haven't caught one of those yet."

"To the left," he guides you, using his super hearing to easily discern the origin of the bug's droning call. "Under that rock."

Homelander watches as you pull out your shovel and hit the rock, causing a cricket to pop out which you swiftly catch with your net.

"Look at that! We caught a mole cricket!" you exclaim.

"…Now what?" he queries. He doesn't understand why you seem to excited over this, it's just a disgusting, insignificant insect.

"Now we take it to the museum, so Blathers can put it on display," you reply.

"And what, we get a reward for it?" he asks.

"No, it's just for fun!" you attempt to explain. "We can get a golden net if we catch all the different kinds of bugs though!"

Once again, he feels flabbergasted by your reasonings. This is just one of those weird human things of yours that he figures he will never understand, no matter how many questions he asks.

Homelander decides to stay quiet for a while, simply observing as you go about your activities. Seeing you run around this confined space, pointlessly catching more bugs and fish. Listening to you tell him which animal villagers are your favourites, showing him your house and how you decorated every room.

Strangely, the longer he watches you play, the more relaxed he starts to feel. It's weird, seeing your miniature caricature of him running around this fake town. He's just spending his days trapped in this virtual world, living in a quaint house with a white-picket fence, surrounded by friendly neighbours… without anybody staring at him like he's a freak… without a care in the world.

He's living the life Homelander always wished he could.

"Do you think we could ever live in a place like this?" he contemplates in a somber voice. The genuineness of his thought takes you by surprise.

To be honest, you don't have an answer for him. Vought has such a tight grip on every aspect of his life, you aren't sure if he'll ever be able to be free of their influence. He's never known what it's like to be 'normal', his entire existence has been dictated for him, his every opinion pre-calculated for what's best for the company.

"Hey, why don't we spend the weekend at your cabin?" you suggest, trying to pivot the heavy conversation away to something more tangible. You put your game down to caress his cheek, feeling him angle his head into your touch. "Just the two of us, no schedules or worries."

You can feel a little smile spread across your shoulder at your proposal. Homelander tightens his hold on you ever so slightly, cherishing the feeling of your small stature in his arms. He's glad you aren't able to see his face right now, letting him hide the fact that he's blinking away forming tears.

"Yeah," he whispers. "I'd like that".

#the boys #the boys tv #homelander #homelander x reader #g/t #size difference #my writing #animal crossing wild world was my shit as a kid

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melanieph321 · 6 months

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Ruben Dias x Reader - A House Is Not A Home Part 7/8

This chapter makes me 😤 but it had to be written.

Ruben's wife dies during childbirth along with their son. Ruben hasn't been in a relationship since. Y/N is a single mother to a four year old boy. She buys a house in the small town that Ruben lives in. The house needs alot of fixing which Ruben helps with, resulting in him slowly falling in love with Y/N. However, falling in love with Y/N makes Ruben feel like he is betraying his dead wife.

Enjoy!

A memorial for Gina was held at your house on the 25th. Katarina helped you with the food and David made sure to solve any logistics so that Ruben wouldn't have to. Alot of people in town had known Gina and most of them came to honor her memory. You had never imagined your house being this full of people. Especially people you didn't know.

"Hi."

"Hey."

You found Ruben alone on the porch, a bottle of beer in his hand. It was his third one for the day. You felt guilty for keeping count.

"Food's ready if you want to head inside?" You said.

Ruben took a slow chug of his beer. "Nah, I'm good thanks."

"I could make you a plate, bring it out here if you like?"

Ruben tilted his head to look at you, a crooked smile on his lips. "It's okay Y/N, I'm not hungry."

You nodded, but did not leave the porch. "Mind if I join you?" You didn't think he would mind anyway and prepared to sit down. As you bent your knees Ruben's arm brought you down to sit between his legs on the step below where he was sitting. He tucked you in by wrapping his arms around your body, letting you relax with your back against his chest. There was a minute of silence as the sound of nature around you took over. Birds sang in the trees above your heads and a cricket lurked somewhere in the tall grass. You found it difficult to see beyond the property. There was fog in the distance. Not even the barn could be spotted amongst the evaporating clouds.

"Do you miss her?" You asked. Perhaps the question wasn't justified in a time like this, but you wanted Ruben to feel comfortable talking about Gina with you, somthing you knew he wasn't.

"Every day." He sighed, his chin resting on the top of your head.

"What do you miss the most about her?"

Ruben had to ponder for a moment, perhaps let the memories of his wife resurface in his mind. "Her smile." He smiled. "And her kindness. Gina always wanted the best for everyone and would go out of the way for people, expecting nothing back. It's where we differ."

You tilted your head up, letting Ruben see the frown on your face. He raised a brow as to ask 'did I say somthing wrong?'

"You helping me with the house, was that not you showing your kindness?"

He nodded. "Yes, but I had my reasons."

"What reasons?" You sat up, wanting to face him.

"Like I said Y/N, that house had been haunting me for years. I was glad to sell it to you, but I wasn't gonna let you stay in a house with no roof. Helping you clear the house after the storm was not me being kind, it was strictly business."

You wanted to argue further, ask if Ruben kissing you had been strictly business as well? However, your questions silenced within you since Ruben was probably hurting. You settled down between his legs again and let his rough hands outline the contours of your face. Behind you the front door came ajar. Both you and Ruben turned around to see David, with Johnny bouncing in his arms.

"Has any of you seen Emily? Kat says she's missing."

Ruben got up almost immediately, forcing you to do the same. "I'll check upstairs." He said.

"Alright. Johnny and myself will check the basement, but I doubt it she's down there." This left you on the porch, feeling ill willed that you had no interest in looking for Gina's sister Emily. Nevertheless you grabbed a coat from inside and stepped out again. You might as well cover some ground as to say that you participated in the search. You came as far as to the fields where the fog was as thickest. But as you stood near the fence you could see the outline of the barn, it's door swaying with the wind.

"Emily?"

Light rain had begun to fall when you reached the barn. You hurried to take cover under its high roof.

"You threw all of it away?"

You turned as a shadow swept behind you. It was Emily, wearing nothing but a black dress and a pair of gummiboots.

"My god Emily, what are you doing in here? Aren't you cold?"

Emily gave you one of her fretful glares. You had gotten quite used to them since she stepped into your house. She made it seem like everything you did was wrong or insulting, weather that would be clearing a plate from a table or hand Johnny his juice. For some reason Emily seemed to constantly judge you. Obviously disliking you.

"You threw all of it away, all of her things." Emily hissed, ignoring your question.

"What things?" Emily was older than you, but only by a couple of years. Along with Gina she had studied law in Manchester, now serving as a divorce attorney at a law firm in the city. Compared to her you felt so unacomplished with your nursing degree.

"My sister things, all of her belongs. They used to be here in this barn." She said, clearly upset not to have found them there.

"They were given to charity." You said. "It was Ruben's idea actually."

"He would never." She chuckled. "What else have you brainwashed him to do, huh?"

"Pardon?" You frowned.

"You've forced Ruben to give away all the last memories of my sister, what else have you done? Tricked him to thinking that your son could ever replace the child he lost?"

You caught yourself wanting to say something that you would regret, but quickly redeemed yourself. Just like Ruben this must be a very difficult day for Emily as well. "I know you're hurting Emily." You said, your voice low and reasonable. "But making others around you hurt too, won't make the pain go away."

"Who are you to...." Emily flinched, but you interrupted her. "Ruben hasn't done anything to deserve this." You said. "But there is nothing wrong with moving on. Surley it's what Gina would have wanted."

"What do you know?" Emily's face trembled with rage as tears slid down her cheeks. "What Gina would have wanted, Ruben and I are going to make that happen, sooner than you think."

Your eyebrows furrowed, unsure what she was indicating.

"He hasn't told you I see." Emily looked amused. "I suppose he wanted to spare the time you had left together."

"What are you talking about Emily?" You couldn't stand her fretful glare. The way Ruben described Gina, she would have been nothing like her sister.

"Gina always wanted a house in the country."

"Yes, so I have heard." Katarina and David told you this some time ago.

"But she also wanted a house in the sun. Ruben suggested his home country, Portugal. The sun there definitely shines more than it does here. All he needed to do was get rid of the house. Luckily he found you."

You were beginning to understand.

"Upon my arrival I was given the green light from the land owners in Madeira, and what would be greater than me delivering the news to Ruben personally. Turns out he and you had gotten a little too familiar during the treaty of the property. A distraction, I think he called you."

"You're lying!" You exclaimed, by now you really were pissed. Emily's uneven stans also suggested that she has had a little too much to drink to cope with her emotions. What she was saying to you couldn't possibly be the truth.

"Ask him yourself." She laughed. "Am I not telling your little friend the truth Ruben?"

You turned around as Emily's gaze was focus somewhere over your shoulder. Because of the increasing rain you hadn't heard him come up behind you. Ruben, standing in the rain, looked both guilty and innocent at the same time.

"Y/N...let me explain."

He had overheard your conversation and these were his first choice of words.

"It's true?" You frowned.

"Yes ." Emily spoke behind you, but your eyes were only on Ruben.

"Yes and no." He said. "I was planing on selling the house and use the money to build a new one in Portugal, but...."

"But?" You chuckled as it was absurd. How come he hadn't told you?

"But then I met you." He nodded. "And I couldn't decide."

"So you're still contemplating it, moving to Portugal?" You were quite stunned. Ruben's answer was slilence which was enough for you.

"Y/N, don't."

You stepped outside, the rain showering you in seconds. You turned back to the barn where Ruben stood in the doorway. Emily had shied away in the back, perhaps too difficult for her to remain standing.

"For once in my life I need someone to choose me." You said.

"Y/N, please, come inside. We can talk about this inside. " He stretched out his hand, offering it to you.

You shook your head. "There is nothing for us to talk about, I have a son Ruben and like always, I choose him. But for once...." Your voice trailed off. You thought about Johnny's father and how much this reminded you of the day you told him that you were pregnant. "For once..." You said, wiping your eyes. From rain not tears. "For once I wish someone would choose me. I was stupid to think that that someone would be you."

"Y/N, wait!" Ruben stepped out into the rain, chasing after you. He didn't chase for long, of course. Emily was left in the barn, drunk and unable to return to the house by herself. And so Ruben made a choice. He chose her.

#fanfiction #football imagine #ruben dias #man city #manchester city #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #football angst

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fleet-of-fiction · 4 months

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Jake Kiszka x Narrator & Sam Kiszka x OC.

Chapter Two

Summary: The Jones Family are new additions to the sleepy community of Beech Run. A tight knit scattering of rural houses, where everyone knows everyone. Deeply religious and overbearingly strict, the daughters of the family are kept under lock & key by a fanatical Father and submissive Mother. They watch from bedroom windows as their neighbours, The Kiszkas, draw intense curiosity and desire to be free. Madness of youth , hope & obsession collide to bring the danger of forbidden love to poetic ends. (Era A/U)

A/N: This chapter is particularly seeped in religious doubt. There's sexual activity in church. Spanking and cock warming and talk of it being a punishment from God. If you are particularly religious or have any trauma regarding this I urge you not to read. These views are the views of a character I have created and do not directly display the views of the writer.

Warnings:Religious trauma. Parental trauma. Intense emotions including desire, obsession, grief and yearning.Loss of virginity.Explicit sexual activity.Heavy praise kink.Severe edging.Oral sex m/f.Fingering.Masturbation.Dirty filth talk.

Summer 1984

I would have taken a thousand punishments in the wake of the memory of that hazy afternoon. Surrounded by tall grass and the sound of crickets on the breeze. Jake, and his exploration of my body, like a dream that I'd yet to wake from. Still frames in my mind, of his mouth and his eyes and his voice. I could still smell his flesh long after I parted from him. Consumed by it even as I stood at the foot of the stairs, beyond the hour of our curfew. My fate already sealed.

Jolene was unrepentant. The flush of her cheeks and the ravaging of her hair telling a story that she would never utter in words. I knew better than to ask. But when she'd appeared, breathless and without remorse, I knew that Sam Kiszka had been gifted with her heart, and perhaps more.

I don't think either of us came away from that afternoon exactly as we'd arrived. If innocence was the price paid, I felt a little richer for what I'd received in return. Perhaps a bird with clipped wings losing it's feathers, only to find that beneath there was an even greater bird just waiting to fly. That was how I imagined myself. On the verge of taking flight.

"Explain to me, boy."

Dad was standing in the hall, formidable and with a rage simmering away beneath a steady gaze. I'd only ever seen him this vexed once before, during a time when he'd been forced to reconsider the limits of his power over our brother. I thought, perhaps, that Ben would take his moment to exert his mounting power. But he wasn't the alpha, not yet.

"Car trouble, Dad." He replied nonchalantly, throwing his jacket on the bannister. "We're only a half hour late."

He would lie for us, but only to better serve his own needs. If he wanted to take Harriet Dinsmore out again and use the car, he'd have to pretend that nothing nefarious had happened out there while he was meant to be our escort.

"Don't you lie to me, boy!"

The way he spat the words out made me flinch. Instinctively reaching for Jolene's hand. The two of us ravaged and ruined by those boys, softly acknowledging that flower petals had been plucked in those fields. And we would take whatever punishment would accompany it.

"I had a phone call from Mrs. Dinsmore. Thanking me for my son getting Harriet home at a reasonable hour." He said, meeting his son at eye level. "And then she also happened to mention that young Lewis had been glad to see my girls down at the creek today."

I sensed the fear in Ben's eyes. The boy he once was never too far away. Bolstered by his freedom and the reluctance to lose it, he backed down immediately. And my lungs deflated.

"I left them in town, I swear." He pleaded, "I didn't know they went to the creek. I swear, Dad!"

It was pitiful. The way his cheek was turned as our Father struck it. That painful retrospect of what he could or should have said playing over and over in his mind as he looked directly at us. As if somehow Jolene and I had caused this. As if he didn't understand quite fully how free will worked just yet, and he'd had a choice. He could have told the truth.

"I'll deal with you later."

There was a look of reproach as Ben stormed up the stairs, clutching his cheek in a shame that was yet to properly manifest itself. He'd treat us like ghosts for the rest of the summer, but we truly didn't mind.

I was sad to see him go, still. Without the focus on Ben it meant that it was my turn to feel my Father's wrath. A wrath that he truly believed was descended from God himself. Sometimes I wondered if the truly believed that, or if it was a diocese of lies he told himself in order to sleep at night as the tyrant he truly was.

"I expected better from you." He said, standing with his finger extended at me. "I expect my daughters to uphold the values of this house and the church we embody. Not go against my word at the first opportunity."

He cast his eye towards Jolene, who would stand firm. She'd finally experienced something worth holding on to. Something she would protect, even in the face of God's wrath; which seemed to always wear our Fathers face.

"Dad, we're sorry." I apologised, although the validity of it felt like a sin within itself. "We had every intention to go into town with Ben. It was awful hot though, and we just wanted to cool off by the water. We didn't know that there would be others down there. Promise."

There were flecks of spit in the corners of his mouth as he leaned in. A tremble of his lip as he tried to keep his tongue in check. I could see my Mother lingering in the kitchen door way, like a shadow that bore no use without the shade she dwelled in. Both of them prisoners to their own demeanours. I hoped that there'd been a time, once, where they'd known how it felt to lay down and feel what I had felt that afternoon.

"Proverbs 19:9 - A false witness shall be punished, and a liar shall be caught." He quoted, as he often did, when he needed witness to his tyranny. "And I'll not have liars for children."

I didn't feel much like a child. And he would see me punished like the young woman I was becoming. Yanking me away from my sister, digging venom into my flesh with fingertips that intended to bruise me.

"You'll go to the church. And you'll pray on it until the sun comes up. And if I don't find you on your knees, you'll stay there until supper tomorrow."

Jolene knew better than to protest. Her hands flew to her mouth as he handled me out of the door and out towards the car. Her silent pleas for him to let me go left on the tip of her tongue. I wouldn't struggle. And she knew that I would go to my punishment as willingly as she would go to hers. And somehow, we knew, that we'd meet in the aftermath.

I was grateful for the sweet coolness of the church floor. The ebb and flow of a breeze that in the shade was a welcome respite from the summer heat. My knees were bent, pressed into the red velvet tuffet as I rested my elbows on the solid wooden edge of the kneeler bench. Genuflecting to the lord with my fingers entwined and a solemn knot in my stomach.

That was where he found me. Alone in my retribution. The gentle click of the church door alerting me to his presence, although I didn't turn and look. I allowed the echo of his footsteps to guide him towards me, my eyes burning into the effigy of Jesus Christ on the cross. My knuckles white, palms growing steadily more sweaty.

In the candle light it appeared as if Jesus was smiling at me. And I wondered if it were a cruel trick to lull me into thinking that I was absolved. The devil painted such a beautiful picture in my mind, and he arrived just when I thought I could be saved.

"I followed you." He said, his voice echoing against the rafters. "I didn't think he was going to leave you here, though."

He would know me in my anguish. I dared to turn my head a little, greeting him with a soft apology for the state in which he'd found me in.

"You should leave, Jake." I whispered, afraid that if my voice carried any higher God himself would hear.

He was wearing the same shorts, sunburnt shoulders now covered by a light blue shirt. Half of his hair tied back, the rest tumbling down against his neck. As I swallowed, I realised my mouth was unflinchingly dry. The sight of him an unholy memory of what he had done to me mere hours ago.

"I'm not leaving this church until you do." He assured me, slumping down onto the dusty floor, his back against the kneeler. He propped his forearms up on bent knees and sighed heavily. He didn't ask me to stop praying. He just...sat there.

"You'll be here until dawn." I warned him.

"So be it." He replied, without hesitation. "If I'm the cause of your punishment, I'll be the remedy too."

I didn't quite know what he meant. I didn't dare ask him to explain. The darkness was drawing ever closer and the temperature was dropping. The candles flickered in the encroaching draft, and my knees began to give way. The warmth of the afternoon felt like a fever dream. And he could feel the way my body began to tremble against the enormity of it all.

"Here." He offered, rising to press himself against my back, "Lean against me."

He took a little of my weight, but still didn't make me stop my prayers. He was like scaffolding around me, holding me up as I tried to right the perceived wrong I had done. His body still felt warm and tender against mine, his breath exhaling on the line of my jaw. His chest against me, arms tucked around my waist. I felt completely detached from the divine. As if my soul wanted nothing more than to dwell with Jake.

"We didn't do anything wrong today, Bonnie. You know that, right?"

I wasn't a moral compass on what was right and what was wrong. All I knew was that I'd done something which merited the endurance of midnight prayer. I couldn't speak to it, the softness within which I recalled the heat of the afternoon. It had me tongue tied as I tried to speak to God and beg for his forgiveness for such wretched wickedness. The wickedness of pleasure.

But God didn't speak to me that night. The only voice I could hear was Jakes.

"Do you want to be punished?" He asked, "For what we did?"

His question caught me off balance. My breath caught a little and a tiny, almost indiscernible gasp escaped my lips. This involuntary move made him hold me a little closer, a little tighter. Pulling my body up and more earnestly against him.

"God see's everything." I replied, trying to breathe against his palms that were flat to my sternum. "I'll be punished regardless."

He breathed an amused little sigh into my ear.

"If God see's everything, he's an immoral voyeur who knows that the flesh he created cries out for touch." He explained, taking the liberty of wrapping his fist around the hem of my dress. "Don't you think what we did down by the creek was a gift from God?"

When I thought about it like that, like it was God's hand guiding me into sin, I didn't want to believe in him anymore. And not because the God I'd been raised to fear might have been a foolish idea created by men who desired control over others, but because there seemed to be no God that could ever satisfy me.

"What are you saying?" I asked, keeping still as he pulled my dress up, revealing my underwear to the altar.

"Puppets. All of us. Moving around by the command of one puppeteer." He continued, his voice low and commanding. "All seems a little... inconceivable. Doesn't it?"

I was powerless to stop it. The thrum of blood beating in my core. The way it seemed that every muscle and sinew in my body seemed weak against his strength.

"All these moving parts, tethered by invisible strings to a hand nobody can see." He preached now, tucking the back of my dress into my bra strap, viciously pulling down my panties until I was fully exposed where I knelt. "You could kneel at this altar for hours in penance and feel nothing. Or you could let me help you feel something."

"You blaspheme." I whispered, closing my eyes as he slipped a righteous palm down the curve of my ass.

"You blaspheme!" He growled, "Against yourself, against your body...against me."

Perhaps I did. Fear was the definition of every corner I'd ever turned. Fear of God. Fear of my Father. Fear of wanting something I knew neither of those things would ever allow. It all seemed trivial though, somehow, when Jake ran such careful hands over me. When I could feel his body responding to mine. Heavenly, almost.

"Proceed, then." I allowed, fingertips digging into the bench. "If you're here to make me feel something. Go ahead."

If Jake was here, perhaps he was sent by God to instruct my punishment? Or maybe it was all just a bunch of nonsense. Maybe he was here because he wanted to be? Maybe all of this was just fuelled by nothing more than two people who wanted this?

I could feel the trembling in his body as he prepared himself. My underwear languished at my knees, my dress pulled up so that my entire lower body was on display. I remained in my kneeling position as he pulled himself back, taking a deep breath.

"Do you want to be punished, Bonnie?" He asked again.

"There is no God, is there?" I almost sobbed. "Only us?"

"Have faith in me." He replied so softly, his hand slowly riding down my thigh. "I'll never worship anything but you, Bonnie. I swear it."

I'd never forget that night in the church. The way my fear in God died and in it's place was planted a new found obsession for pleasures I'd been repeatedly denied.

Jake was nothing if not gentle with me. The soft rise and fall of his hand as it skimmed the inside of my legs, parting them a little where I knelt. His arm was pressed against my collar bone, keeping me steady when I might weaken. His subtle whispers were for me, not even God was privy to them as he spoke directly into the shell of my ear.

And then I knew his purpose. The slow roll of my body as he leaned it forward. The sharp recoil of his previously gentle palm as it reeled back. And the bitter sting of it as it connected with my flesh. The sound echoing around the church walls. And my silent scream ringing out into the far reaches of my mind, unable to flow out of my mouth as I bit down heavily on my lower lip.

Jakes hand lingered on my ass. Squeezing it as he centred himself. The very act he'd just performed seemed to draw such high levels of arousal that his breath seemed to cease for a moment. His mouth resting breathlessly against my shoulder as he pulled back once more. This time the connection was even more unyielding. And he moaned, digging fingertips into my tissue where I knew it would bruise.

Each time he spanked me I could feel myself drawing closer to something divine. Not God, not a deity I could believe in. The tears of it dripped down my inner thigh and rolled down my leg into the fabric at my knees. This was something else. Something only Jake could give me. My senses were entirely heightened. The sound of it against church rafters. The sting of it on my reddened skin. The pain of each squeeze as he revelled in it, and the way he seemed to go deeper into an arousal he could only speak of in feral groans with each snap.

"Your silence wont make a difference." He said, noticing the droplets between my legs for the first time. "Your body speaks where your voice will not."

I was still learning. "Once more." I urged.

I needed it. Whatever this feeling was. I craved it. The way his reactions made me wetter and wetter. The way his ministrations made it unbearable for him. The way I knew it was because of me that he damn near sank his teeth into the flesh at the base of my neck. Fighting for his life as he breathed harder. Kneading my ass cheek, rolling his palm over the heat.

"Tell me how much you need it." He begged, "Tell me how much you need my palm across your sweet little ass."

I began to think, perhaps, that he needed it more than I.

"Is it wrong how badly I need it?" I dared to ask, my voice quiet and small.

"No." He breathed. "You don't have to be pure if you don't want to be."

He did it again. Harder. With more vicious intent. The sensation of it sending ripples through my flesh and down into the folds of my beating pussy. That time I couldn't hold myself together. Whimpering so wretchedly that the candle flames danced in my breath.

"Again." I beseeched.

He didn't preach to me again that night. He pummelled his hand over my ass repeatedly until I gushed a river. My cries finally finding their voice. Ascending like a choir into the bell tower. With each switch of his wrist he grew more insatiable. And it seemed that he couldn't bear it any longer once he was done with me. Almost as if all it would take would be one more strike to make him ravage me.

He was exhausted by the time he hastily pulled up my panties. Ruffling down my dress, making it appear as if he'd never touched me at all. Nuzzling against my neck, his nose pressed against my jaw. Trying to swallow and breathe, like he'd lost all control. And despite the drop in the temperature, his brow was covered in a sheen of sweat.

I fell helplessly into his arms. My legs buckled under the weight of what we'd done. And he held me tenderly. The hand which had executed my desired punishment now brushing back my hair and lovingly stroking across my temple. I didn't reach orgasm, neither did he. But there was this strange comforting feeling I knew we both shared that something had inexplicably changed there in the church that night.

Once we had both calmed, we found ourselves tangled in a sweet embrace as we sat on the cool church floor. He coiled a light touch beneath my chin, cupping it in the curve of his index finger as he tilted my head up to meet his gaze. And he kissed me with all the uncontrollable arousal he'd supressed. His tongue explored mine. His gentle lips soft like pillows, opening and closing at slow intervals to allow his tongue to retract. Pulling back just enough to look into my eyes as daylight began to turn the black night into a pale blue hue.

"Why don't you ever stand up to him, your Dad?" He asked, playing absently with my fingers as we held each other. "You're eighteen. Surely that has to count for something?"

I knew he would ask eventually, I thought perhaps it would have come a little later.

"It's not like it is at your house." I sighed, "Your parents actually care about what you want. I don't think my Dad ever stopped to wonder if any of us wanted any of this. It just... is."

He stroked the back of my hand and curled both of his around it, closing around it like an oyster shell. "It doesn't have to be."

I wanted to join him in his hopefulness. But with the sun coming up I knew that I would have preferred to face the consequences of him being there alone. Another punishment. Another atonement for something I'd done that felt good.

"You'd better go before he gets here to pick me up." I responded, with my heart sinking even as the words spilled out. "I don't want you to have to deal with him."

But Jake was staunch. Sometimes I forgot that he was older than me.

"I'd take him on in a heartbeat if it meant that I got to keep you." He said reluctantly, sweeping his lips across my cheek. "Find what you love...and let it kill you."

The day I met Jake was the day that everything started to make sense. The night I spent with Jake in that church was the night I knew why. The pieces of my life finally started to fit. And there was no joy to be found in anything except for him. And I knew that I was irrevocably in love with him. Doomed, some might say.

Jolene was sitting in the window as I arrived home. Her forlorn morning stare reaching out to me through the glass as I climbed out of the car, the journey home wordless and without any conclusion. My Father had simply walked into the church, ascertained that I hadn't fallen asleep at my post, and opened the door for me to walk outside.

The weary walk to my room was peppered with my Mother taking my cardigan at the door and sheepishly asking me if I was feeling alright. I felt a sense of betrayal from her that usually simmered below the surface, but that particular morning it raged so aggressively I could barely look at her.

"May I go to sleep now?" I asked, ascending the stairs as my Dad silently nodded his approval.

No sooner had I opened the door, Jolene flew to it. Dark circles painted beneath her eyes, as if she hadn't drawn a wink of sleep either. Her nails bitten down to the quick and almost manic as she gripped my shoulders.

"Did Jake find you?" She demanded, frantic as I tried to sit at my desk. "I saw him, his car sped out of the driveway after Dad took you out. He looked pretty pissed."

There was a strange sense that my head was under water. It felt like my ears were blocked and my vision blurred. I hadn't slept, I'd been on high alert. And every time I thought it was safe to, I forgot that it hurt to sit down.

"Yes, yes... he found me." I sighed, pulling off my dress and slipping into my night gown. "We can talk about it later, now I really need to sleep."

She continued to fret as I climbed into bed. I hadn't realised that my body had been tensed, my muscles suddenly relaxing as I pulled my blanket around me. In here nothing else mattered and I closed my eyes. Feeling Jolene's unease as she lingered on the edge of her bed on the opposite side of the room.

"Let me sleep, Jo." I said, eyes still clamped shut.

She hesitated a little before responding.

"I had sex with him, Bonnie." She whispered, forcing me to open my eyes.

I wasn't really sure what I'd expected her to say. That perhaps they'd exchanged a sweet kiss. That she'd let him trail his fingers up her shirt, but nothing quite so absolute as the full act.

"What do you mean?" I asked, reluctantly sitting up as a beam of morning light began to creep in through the crack in the curtains.

She rolled her eyes and began wringing her hands between the folds of her night gown nervously.

"That's why we were late to get back to meet Ben." She explained, her eyes trained on the closed bedroom door. "All of this is my fault. I should have been the one doing midnight prayer. I'm the reason we were late. I'm the one who committed the sin."

She'd endured her own type of punishment. I could see it in the way she couldn't settle. Her knees in a frenzy as they shook up and down, her fingers in her mouth as she continued to chew on her nails. I opened up my blanket and invited her to lay with me. Immediately she drew the same calm as I had from being shrouded in pillows and blankets. Our bodies side by side as I hunkered down with her. Something we hadn't done since childhood.

"Was it what you wanted?" I asked, delicately pushing her hair away from her tired face. "With Sam? Did you do it because you wanted to?"

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Of course I wanted to. He didn't make me do anything. Maybe I got caught up in the moment, but he was gentle with me from start to finish."

He was just like Jake. She weaved a tale so soft and seeped in romanticism that I was swept away with it. The way he'd offered her his hand to hold. The way he'd wanted to show her where all the fish liked to gather at an old bridge further down the creek, and they'd sat with their feet dangling off the edge talking about nothing of consequence. It sounded like a perfect summer afternoon. And she'd let him kiss her on that bridge for the first time, her and I locked in our unfolding stories at the same time.

"One minute we were kissing on that bridge and the next he scooped me up and carried me to the river bank. I don't think either of us had any idea what we were going to do. It just...happened."

She didn't have an inkling of regret. Even though she was sleep deprived, there was a sparkle there in her eyes as she talked about him. About the way he'd soothed her with caresses, assuring him it was what she wanted when he would have stopped. Calling her his little grasshopper because she'd been so excitable. He'd been slow and careful with her, repeatedly asking if she was ok throughout the whole thing. Taking care not to hurt her. Promising to shoulder the brunt of any punishment laid out.

"He's going to ask Dad for permission to date me." She said wistfully, "I told him that it didn't matter whether he asked for permission or not, that we'd never be allowed to date. But he was adamant. He said he wasn't going to let it come between us."

Our secrets were ours to keep. I knew that the minute Sam Kiszka crossed that street and onto our porch that they would unravel. I wanted to keep our secrets safe. It didn't matter how many punishments we endured. Jake seemed to understand this. His was a far more mature and level headed approach. Jake would have followed me anywhere, in pursuit. He would have snatched me up and taken me anywhere I pleased. But he knew better than to try to defy a man who was neither sound nor reasonable.

"I know he think's that he's doing the right thing, but he can't ask Dad to date you. It'll only make things worse." I worried, careful not to bring my own intentions into it.

Jolene's eyes moved down. Gentle disappointment laced in her heavy breath. When she looked up it was with forlorn dismay. A film of tears threatening to spill over her lashes.

"He's in my bones now, Bonnie." She sniffed. " I want my chance with him in every life time, not just this one. Don't you understand that?"

Such a romantic little thing, she was. I carried the bruises of the sexual deviances of what I'd done, but she'd known something I'd yet to know. A secret that was all hers, that I was no part of. I wondered why Jake hadn't tried to have sex with me, why her and Sam had come to it so soon? She was so eager to have everything so suddenly, part of me wondered if she hadn't instigated it herself.

It didn't really matter. Her mind was so staunchly set that I couldn't argue with it.

"Ok." I conceded. "Well, did it hurt?"

The swell of her smile was enough to keep me awake. The fissures of a giggle threatening to give way.

"A little." She replied, "I didn't know what to do at first. He laid me down and touched me, told me it was so that I'd be ready. And then he kissed me all the way down until his mouth was... you know...and then he kissed me there a little while. I don't know what came over me, I just knew that I'd let him have his way after that."

A flush of pink rushed to her cheeks. She seemed more awake than she had been a moment ago.

"And then... it was like a hot knife cutting through butter. Smooth and slow. And I could feel it sting, but only for a moment. And he asked me if I was alright, he never stopped looking into my eyes for any hint of pain. I just kept nodding, trying to keep it together. Not knowing if I should make a sound or stay silent. If I should move and let him do all of it. I just laid there for the first few minutes, taking it all in. Like even as it was happening I knew I'd recall it like a dream."

Theirs was a sweet summer love. A tender fairytale I could see a shadow lingering behind. But I didn't dare tell her. I hoped that it was stay where it was and leave them be. She deserved a summer of love.

It made me wonder what was going on in Jakes mind. The opportunity to descend into sexual madness had presented itself twice now, and twice he hadn't tried to take my virginity. I questioned whether it was a long game he was playing, or if he simply did not desire to have it.

"Did you do it with Jake?" She asked, almost as if she'd heard the reverb of my thoughts.

I couldn't lie to her. "Not all the way. With him, it's like he's playing this long game. Almost like he can't bear to take it too far too soon."

I knew she would think that I judged her. But what one brother would do wasn't always going to be what the other did. She was well suited to Sam, and yet their shared penchant for chaos was the face of that very shadow I could see behind them.

"Do you love him?" She asked, yawning and rubbing her eyes as the sun crept in.

That was something which seemed to have a more simple response. I didn't know his favourite colour or the way he liked his eggs cooked. I didn't know what songs he liked to listen to in the car on long journeys, or if he ever sang in the shower. These were things I ached to know, and resolved to know in due course. The little things. It was the biggest thing which drew me to my conclusion.

"He took a risk coming to the church last night." I replied, feeling my eyelids grow ever heavy. "For that alone, I will love him."

It felt as if I'd only closed my eyes for a moment. I was drifting from a dream that I wouldn't remember when I opened them. I could hear familiar voices rising, my name somewhere on the breeze. Perhaps I was still dreaming? Somewhere in the distance I could hear my Father's voice. His venomous sermon waking me, and I sat bolt upright in a panic that I hadn't known would come.

I had no sense of the time. The sun was beating down from the centre of the sky, my curtains rippling in the warm summer breeze as my window sat at half mast. And outside the peace of the afternoon was broken by the sound of my sister's screams.

I grabbed my robe off the hook on the back of the door and flew downstairs. The front door was wide open, so rarely was it ever left like that; I knew immediately that something was wrong.

My Mother was standing on the porch, pacing a little as she watched from her safely appointed spot in the background. My Dad was standing at the foot of the driveway, holding Jolene back as he pointed an ominous finger at Sam. He was flanked by his older brothers, who were trying to convince him to pull back. Jolene was crying. Tears streaming down her face, begging to be let go of. Trying to rip at Dad's shirt, like an animal caught in a snare trying to fight for it's life.

The moment I appeared Jake's eyes lost their focus. He let go of his brother. Bile began to rise in my throat and I shook my head, terrified that he was about to move towards me. The very motion of my head seemed to break his heart. He would have made his claim, would've fought for me. But now was not the time.

"Please, Mr. Jones. Just hear me out!" Sam pleaded, trying to reach for Jolene. "I love her, Sir. I wont hurt her, I promise!"

It was as if he couldn't feel the push and pull of his daughter who wriggled on the end of a hook that only he had the power to reel in. He barely shook against the onslaught of her efforts to break free. His eyes burning into the boy who had come to ask for his permission.

"You set foot over here again, boy, and I'll call the police. You hear me?!" He threatened, "This is my land. My daughter."

Josh was still fervently attached to Sam's shoulder.

"With all due respect, Sir, my brother is a good person. He doesn't mean any harm to your daughter." He reasoned, holding a palm up towards my Dad to signal a cease fire. "We only live across the street. Only seems natural they'd take a liking to each other."

He didn't know it, but he was kicking the hornets nest. I wanted to intervene, feeling useless as I stood there with a voice that couldn't speak and feet that wouldn't move. I felt no better than my Mother as I watched the screen door over at the Kiszka house fly open. Their sister appeared, trying to explain what was going on in violent hand gestures, as their Mother stormed across the front yard and over to where her boys were trying to avoid a scuffle.

"Marie, come and take your daughter." Dad said calmly, shoving Jolene back towards the house as my Mom scurried down the porch steps to retrieve her.

I stayed close by. I didn't know what else to do.

"Boys, get back in the house!" She demanded, pulling them apart like rubber bands. "Mr. Jones, I know you're a well respected pastor in this town but I don't like your attitude towards my family. We welcomed you in to the street, we were met with indifference. So I'd kindly ask that you don't raise your voice or your hand to my son again!"

The way she stood there, fierce and unflappable. I'd only seen her a handful of times, taking groceries into the house or tending to her flower beds around the edge of the porch. Sometimes she would sit with Mr. Kiszka on the porch of an evening. The two of them sharing a drink and watching the world go by. That sort of slow living I thought only existed in movies.

"You keep those feral mutts away from my girls." Dad argued, that terrible finger of devout judgement mere inches away from her face.

But she remained unperturbed. Josh and Jake lingered at her back, Jake not knowing whether to stay behind his Mother or come to my side. I continued to subtly shake my head every time I caught his eye.

Mrs. Kiszka, with her arms folded and her eyes wide with rage, kept her lip tucked firmly under her teeth as she weighed and measured my Father. I noticed Ben lingering by the garage door, an oily rag in his hand and the car bonnet propped up as he stared at the chaos unfolding. An onlooker, no better than I. And I hated myself for it.

"If my feral mutts go anywhere near your girls, it's because they were invited." She bit back, keeping her voice low and steady. "It only seems hospitable that we extend the invitation right back."

Such poise and grace deserved accolades. She took a few tempered steps back, raising a cheerful grin as she looked back at the house and regarded only me and my sister.

"Girls, you are more than welcome over at our house any time." She said sweetly, "You know, it's downright cruel the way you keep them cooped up like that during summer."

She gathered up her boys and began the triumphant walk back across the street. I knew the rage that simmered beneath my Father's still frame was unfathomable. He remained where he stood for a few more moments, deftly trying to fight against raising his voice or going over there to continue the fight.

I left him there. Taking Jolene from my Mother, ushering her back inside to calm herself. Utterly broken by the events that had unfolded. I looked back only once, to see Jake staring at me from his driveway.

Dad went into his office and slammed the door behind him, the sound shaking the walls of the house. I sat Jolene down at the kitchen table and made some tea, her face all pink and blotchy from the tears. I could hear the sound of lawn mowers humming outside in the distance, and Ben hammering away at something in the garage.

Like it had never happened.

But it had. And there was no going back from it. Shaken and ruined by it, I sat holding her hand. Trying to ignore our Mother as she appeared, cleaning away the dishes at the sink as if she was looking for something to occupy herself.

"You girls, you know you shouldn't get him angry like that." She dithered, almost as if she couldn't see the state in which Jolene remained in. "It's so much easier to just... not push his buttons."

"And I suppose by not pushing his buttons you mean never speak a word, stay in our rooms and be on our best behaviour at church?" I replied, urging Jolene to drink her tea.

She pushed it aside. "I don't care what anyone says, I won't be kept apart from him."

Mom dropped a glass in the sink. "Oh, Jolene... you know your Father just wants the best for you. To marry a good Christian boy from the church."

"I don't want no one but Sam!!!" She yelled, our Mother flinching back as if she'd thrown hands. "You'll never understand! Just because that's what you did, it doesn't mean that's what I have to do! Look at you, like a frightened little puppy! Scared of what he'll say if you step out of line! I'm not afraid anymore. And if you want me to stop seeing Sam, you'll have to kill me."

I didn't know it at the time, but Jolene had set in motion a course of events that would never be able to wash it's hands clean of the blood that would be spilled. I would often think back to that day in the kitchen and hear the sound of that glass shattering in the sink, our Mother's hand bleeding out under the run of the faucet. And I would wonder what might have been if she'd just kept it a secret a little while longer.

That night, I couldn't sleep. My pattern ruined from the previous night of wakefulness and the day I'd spent catching up. Unable to settle in my bones thereafter, after being woken so abruptly. Jolene had spent hours beneath her blanket, refusing to be comforted. Sobbing into her pillow until her breath had gone shallow and I could discern the waves and depth of sleep that had taken over.

I kept the window half open. The heat still bearing down, even when the sun had set. The trails of the night breeze gliding over my leg as I hitched it over my blanket and tried to distract myself with a book.

The way that Jake had looked at me was etched in every single thought I had. Barely able to eat supper at the excrutiatingly silent dinner table, unable to focus on anything but the way he'd wanted to step to me. That same tangible desire that was being screamed out of Jolene's lungs existed within mine.

Only mine was a little quieter. A little more serene. But no less bold in it's approach. I wanted him so bad I couldn't read any of the words on the page. I had to actively stop myself from going to the window to see if he was waiting there with a sign. I knew that if I did I wouldn't be able to stop myself from climbing out and going to him.

I didn't need to wonder, though. The night was so thick with atmosphere, the sound of the crickets had shrouded his movements. It wasn't until his hands curled around the window frame, pulling it open as wide as it would go, that I looked up from my book and felt my heart begin to rage within my chest.

He fell into the room, knocking over my pencil pot as he climbed over my desk. Admonishing himself as Jolene stirred a little, but did not wake. He silently placed the pencils back where they belonged and stealthily moved over to my bed.

It felt as if I hadn't seen him for days. About to whisper my fears as he placed a warm hand to my mouth and hushed me before I could utter one word.

"Ssssh now." He whispered, "You don't want to get us caught, do you?"

I shook my head with his hand still firmly planted there. His body was firm against mine, his eyes scanning my face in the low, golden glow of my bed side lamp.

"You sure do look pretty when you're all tucked up in bed like that." He said quietly, smirking as he released me. "Get dressed. Meet me out on the porch roof."

I glanced at my alarm clock. It wasn't yet midnight. I knew that if I could slip back in before sunrise, the risk would be lessened. I thought about it as I watched Jake climb back out, waiting until he was completely through the frame before yanking off my night gown and carelessly picking up the first thing I could grab out of my closet. Conscious that one creak of the floor boards could wake Jolene.

Would I even care, even if I did get caught sneaking back in? Would the consequence be worth it? I clasped my bra on, pulling the straps over my shoulders as I shimmied into a pair of white linen shorts and a blouse. I shoved my feet into a pair of sandals and knew that the regret would haunt me for the rest of my life if I didn't climb out of that window right then and there.

The sight of Jake in the summer moon, silver light illuminating his side profile as he sat on the edge of the porch roof waiting me, it was all I needed to know that I might never climb back inside the window. He was looking up at the stars, completely enchanted by the expanse of little white dots scattered across the noir. And when he noticed me, his face transformed from one of spacial wonder to one that knew it's home when it saw it.

"Do you trust me?" He asked solemnly, extending his hand for me to take as I climbed out.

He was wearing a muted purple t-shirt, ripped at the hem and paired with a pair of washed out old levi's. His hair hadn't been brushed, I could make out the knots even in the light of the moon. The wild elements of him only serving to make my heart beat faster. There wasn't anything about Jake that made me think that I was about to enjoy a peaceful evening. Everything about him had my danger receptors firing in all cylinders. And yet, I did trust him.

"Why, shouldn't I trust you?" I asked, letting him guide me down the trellis that ran down the side of the porch, his hands reaching for my waist as he helped me onto the ground.

"That very much depends." He fired back, "If your Dad intends me to bring you back without knowing how much I've fallen in love with you, then no."

His words stilled me. There under the moon, he caught me with a gentle gaze that guided me into a kiss that could have been witnessed by every eye in the whole world and I wouldn't have cared. His palm rested on my cheek, his hips angled towards mine. Heaven tasted like his tongue which gently probed into my mouth and brushed over mine, sending a rush of arousal to my beating pussy.

"What happened today shouldn't have happened." He said, keeping his forehead rested against mine. "I can't pretend that I understand why the fuck your Dad is such a narcissistic bastard. But I'll take you the fuck away from here. Just say the word. I've been working at my Dad's music store, saved up enough to get my own car. A little left over, too. We can go anywhere you want. I'll look after you, Bonnie."

I almost died inside at the sentiment. Waves of heat and flutters of excitement churned away in my stomach as he awaited my response. There wasn't a single condition to the way that I loved him. I didn't know how or why or even when I knew that it was love, the exact moment I could have hand picked from the little ones we'd shared. But I knew, beyond all conviction, that I would have followed him into the fire and brimstone of hell if that was where he was destined to go.

Jake made the dead parts of me breathe again. The parts of me that I'd long since disregarded and thought could never be resurrected. And I wanted so badly to honour that. To take his hand and let him lead me as far away from Beech Run as was humanly possible. But I couldn't leave Jolene. Not with the threat of the days events still hanging over her head. Without me, there was no guiding light for her.

"I promise." I whispered against his open mouth. "One day I will ask you to take me away from here. But not yet..."

For now, I let him take me across the street and up the gravel of his driveway. Every light in his house was out, save for the flicker of something glowing behind the half raised garage door.

"I meant what I said." He reminded me, stopping right before he would open it fully. "I'm gonna show you how much I've fallen in love with you."

"Maybe I'll show you." I countered, leaving him a little bewildered as he pushed up the garage door.

"You deserve to have beautiful memories. I really hope this is one of them."

The garage was only a small space. Littered with music paraphernalia. Multiple piles of vinyl in cardboard sleeves. A few stereo systems of varying degrees of use were dotted about. There was a drum kit right at the back and a set of guitars leaning on stands sitting on a moth eaten old carpet. On the walls there were posters, some of them lovingly placed in glass frames and others haphazardly tacked to the wall and ripped at the edges. I didn't recognise any of the faces in the images, but they looked like musicians or from movies. In the centre of the room was a couch with a pull out bed. He'd taken the liberty of making it up, surrounded with pillows and several blankets and comforters like he'd tried to build a soft little nest.

And all around the room were the dainty flickers of tea light flames. Hundreds of them, lovingly placed and ignited to fill the room with a soft glow that gave me a lump in my throat as I looked at what he had done for me. If he had wanted me to remember this, it would always stand proudly at the front of everything I did that summer.

"You did all this, for me?"

He went over to one of the stereo's and at the very top was a record player. He set the pin into the grooves, and let it begin to spin. I didn't recognise the song, but it set the mood perfectly.

"This is the least of what I'd do for you." He said, pulling me in to slow dance as I rested my head against his shoulder. "And when you finally decide to run away with me, then you'll know how far I'm willing to go."

We made out on the pull out bed for a little while. His smile as I kissed his teeth made him giggle, sharing laughter as we kissed amongst the piles of vinyl and instruments. I could have stayed like that forever, just taking in the memory of his lips and the way it felt to have his arm tucked beneath my head as he pulled me in. Sometimes his hair would fall out from behind his ear and sweep across my cheek, making me shudder at the sensation of it. And he would gallantly tuck it back, taking a moment to catch my expressions in the candle light.

"Tell me what you know about sex." He said, playing with the cord on the waist band of my shorts. "Do you ever think about it?"

I suddenly felt so very small in his arms. "Of course I think about it."

The steady beat of his heart became so erratic I could hear it in his breath. He was doing anything to distract himself, twirling the little string of fabric between his fingers and only looking at me when I hadn't said anything for a while. Like he'd been waiting for me to speak and didn't want to break the spell.

"I know enough about sex to know that I think about it." I offered, "Why do you ask?"

He couldn't look me in the eye, then. Preferring to shoot his gaze at the stereo, the clear plastic hood of the vinyl section propped up like a car bonnet as the pin skipped over to the next song.

"What I did to you in the church... and in the field the other day... I don't want you to think that it's all I want." He sounded sincere, bringing his eyes back to me after he'd finished speaking.

I could see the conflict. His desire to protect me and fuck me at odds with one another. I pulled him into another superfluous kiss. It had been enough for him to do all this for me. To lay the bed out with all the soft comforters and pillows and light all the tiny little tea candles, pick out his favourite music and making sure he said all the right words.

"But I also want you to know that I would do it all again. Over and over. Because your body does something to me that is beyond all fucking reasoning." He trailed his hand down from my throat into the valley of my breasts. "It started the first time I saw you in the window. Took every ounce of strength I had not to get too hard. And then when I saw you coming towards me down by the creek, I felt dizzy for the first time over a girl. I wanted to give you something, something that would make you feel good. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to know what you felt like. I couldn't get the thought out of my head for hours, even in the church I wanted to pull your panties all the way down. I wanted to just pull my zipper down and let it happen. But I knew that if I did, I'd regret it. You deserve to be courted sweetly. Not spanked to the edge of tolerance under God's roof..."

"I liked it." I cut him off, his fingertips pushing the edge of my blouse away from the curve of my breast. "I'm not made of porcelain, Jake. I wont break. I've been treated like I shouldn't be exposed to sex my whole life. Like it was a dirty sinful thing that would land me a one way ticket to hell. I don't care where I end up after I die. I just want to live..."

"Then we'll live." He agreed, wordlessly tugging at my clothes until he had taken them off and thrown them down by the bed.

In my underwear, I'd been conditioned to feel shame. But there was nothing but power there as Jake knelt at the foot of the bed and stared at me as if he'd unearthed buried treasure. His tongue sat the edge of his teeth, his eyes moving down from the way my hair tumbled over my breasts right down to the curve of my ankles.

"You ever seen a hard cock before?" He asked, shedding his t-shirt and unbuckling his belt. "I don't want to scare you."

I couldn't help but giggle. "I'm not afraid."

Perhaps there was a part of me that was curiously on edge. It wasn't fear, but as he began to take apart his zipper I could feel the apprehension rise. He didn't take his eyes off me. Carefully watching for my reaction as he pushed his levi's down. Beneath the fabric of his white boxer shorts I could make out the line of his cock. He gripped it tightly, giving it a little shake as he released some of the tension.

"It's not fully hard yet." He explained, "Do you want to touch it until it is?"

I swallowed thickly, the lump in my throat somehow bigger as he kicked off his jeans and scrambled up the bed to lay back down at my side.

"Show me how you like to be touched." I said, letting him guide my hand over the bulge, almost like the fabric between his flesh and mine was a slow introduction to how he liked it best.

"Just wrap your hand around it." He instructed, watching as I coiled my fingers around the shaft. "Yeah, just like that. And then squeeze it a little. And move up and down slowly."

The pulse quickened immediately. A rush of blood taking him to a solidness I hadn't expected. And it made me wet. I could feel the crotch between my thighs grow moist, and he noticed it too. Tracing the line of fabric that had darkened in colour, breathing heavily as he ghosted a feather light touch over my mound.

"I'm trying to take it slowly, but I need to have your body free of these..." He pulled on the waist of my panties, moaning softly as I continued to move my hand precisely the way he'd told me to.

"We're always trying." I mused, rolling onto my back so that he could take my underwear off. "Trying to be good. To work hard. To do what's right. Why don't people ever try to do what they want, what they need?"

"Oh, they do." He replied, peppering my breasts with kisses as he unclasped my bra and threw it down with the rest of my clothes, his body above me as I looked up at him. "They just don't talk about it."

The way he slid down my body, taking my panties with him, I couldn't bear it. " Oh...I guess that makes sense."

His head snapped up from covering my stomach in soft little kisses. His hair already knotted up and fucked.

"For instance, right now all I want to do is make love to you. But that's our little secret. Nobody else gets to ruin this for us. This is ours. Between nobody but me and you. Ok?"

I barely noticed that he'd rendered me naked. I laid there without a stitch on, his body lingering above me as I watched him move back. He was so beautiful. I couldn't take my eyes away from how his stomach moved as he breathed. The way his messed up hair sat at his shoulders. Even his thighs were making me feel like I'd never really been alive up until this moment. I'd just existed through out a series of events that had brought me here.

"You have no idea how possessed I am by you." He told me, sliding his hand down behind the waist band of his boxers as his eyes closed a little. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you bewitched me."

There was humour in his inflection, enough that it drew a breathy little giggle as he pulled out his cock. He let his boxers fall to the ground, observing me as I laid on the little nest he'd built for us.

"It's got a hold of me, too." I confessed, "Whatever this is. I'm a part of it."

It seemed to be enough that we were both entangled within this spell. He stood there gently stroking himself as I parted my legs. Letting him enjoy the view, taking in the sight as I watched him right back. He seemed to know the pattern of his own touch, letting his cock stand as he rounded a palm over his balls and left a shimmery trail at his bellybutton as his tip leaked.

"I don't want to wait anymore, Jake."

There were such things as ghosts. Not the people who had once lived and had died, but the versions of ourselves that had been and were never more. I felt like a ghost as he coveted me. My thighs welcoming his body between them and the rush of arousal that flooded every nerve ending was like lightening striking the earth.

I didn't quieten myself for Jake. For him, I did not enter a room as if I were not invited. For him I opened up, offering him my heart and my virginity; the two things perhaps the greatest gifts I had to offer him. And there was no confusion over what it meant to him. He laid down on top of me, holding his weight just enough so that I could feel his intention and taste his breath. The softness of his approach in direct contrast to the unrelenting hardness resting at the unopened door.

"Can you feel that?" He asked quietly, his lips brushing against mine. "It's all for you, Bonnie. All of it."

I knew he was mine the moment he shifted. His weight rolling down, hips dancing forward. And I was a vessel on calm seas. He didn't take his eyes from mine as he slowly entered. The tip just sitting in the tightness, stretching me out and making me wince a little. But it wasn't unbearable. I placed my hands around him, keeping him tethered. Ensuring no part of him would retreat if my expressions betrayed me.

"Ok?" He checked, moving a subdued kiss across my cheek bone, sweeping his lips across to where his whisper entered my ear. "Does it hurt?"

"Just keep going." I urged, certain that the burn and the ache would subside, "Don't stop..."

He let out the most delicious sound as he slowly continued to enter. Moaning softly, his breath warm against my cheek until he was entirely within me. And I could feel his groin rub against my thighs, soft pubic hair against my mound. And there he stayed, leaning up on forearms so that he could get a better look at me.

"I'm not going to fuck you, not yet." He explained, his palms coming to rest against my temples. "I just want to commit this feeling to memory."

I'd never felt more full. Almost like he was nearing the inside of my stomach, the pain and the sting of was worth all the misery of wondering what it would feel like. Because it simply wasn't how I could have ever imagined it.

"I love you, Jake." Was all I could fathom to say, staring up at his intense brown eyes that couldn't seem to look away from me.

He mouthed the words back to me, resting his forehead against mine, breathing a little harder as I clenched my pussy around him. The action was somewhat involuntary, as the inevitable burn began to lay waste to a feeling that was entirely new. With every flex he moaned again, and the melody of it drew a throb from me that almost demanded movement.

"So... tight..." He fought against it, keeping his cock nestled inside me, making a home for it as he buried his lips against my jaw and whispered sweet words that made me fall in love with him over and over again.

He would have stayed like that forever. And I would have kept him there for eternity. But the need and the animalistic urge to thrust was one I hadn't been prepared for. The way my body felt the rigid pull back was a delight. And the slow push back inside was delicious and my senses were spilling over with every thrust, every touch. Every breath and every kiss. Every word spoken and every soft moan. My mouth filled with his tongue, my fingers digging into the soft flesh at his waist. His cock slammed into me, fucked me and made love to me so softly at first and then when I couldn't stop myself from crying out he let himself take it a little harder, a little rougher until we were moving in unison.

"You feel so good, Bonnie." He told me, breathless between kisses, "I claim you..."

"I claim you, Jake..." I panted it, my voice coming out like a desperate whine that didn't quite sound like anything I'd ever spoken like before.

He seemed to like it. Bringing his mouth down to my hard nipples and clamping his lips around them. He sucked so gently, keeping his rhythm so perfectly I could feel my body start to vibrate. Overstimulated and ascending to the stars that he had promised me.

And yet, I had a feeling that he was nowhere near to being done with me.

To be Continued...

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon y @char289 @dancingcarbon @gvfpal @violetstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @jazzyfigz @gvfmarge @ignite-my-fire

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #fanfic #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf #fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka x reader #sam kiszka gvf #sam kiskza #sam kiszka fanfic

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wtfgaylittlezooid · 26 days

Note

Saw your Bug!Vicagent.

... could you please give us some more tidbits of them in your Au? Because I've been staring at that post since you posted it lol-

I'm so normal about them /j

Sure! :DD I don't have any references for them on hand, but these two images show their designs pretty decently.

Agent is a pretty rare case of a tall dragonfly, so he's one of the lucky few bug species who can still fly.

Victim is a very special case: a cordyceps fungus in a locust host. Cordyceps are pretty rare, and locusts are just as rare. Locusts aren't born, they are triggered. Usually from a grasshopper or cricket, after going through an extreme trauma they become locusts, but the only locusts discovered are dead. Victim is no different.

Cordyceps are also pretty weird. Most cordyceps simply take the body and woe. zombug be upon ye. However, ancient Roaches wanted to try and replicate immortality and thus began the kidnapping of other bugs and experimenting on different species and themselves with cordyceps. It IS possible for somebody to live on thanks to the fungus, as the fungus can take and hold memories rather than replacing them. Only thing is, those cases tend to be artificial due to the extremely specific requirements

That being magic and a strong body. Poison and Ice are the easiest kinds of magic to work with, and one of the few species that can physically handle the cordyceps and magic without overloading the fungus are moths.

Victim got lucky. He was Alan's first little experiment when he discovered that bugs come from little larvas and eggs and if he grows his own bug then he can have endless entertainment. Victim couldn't fight back well against Gammas or whatever other Deadlanders Alan threw at him, but Alan is observant. He knows bugs use roach crystals to heal by hitting them. So he basically impales Victim alive with a crystal and murders him lmao

Cordyceps finds Victim's body and attaches to it, and he got lucky enough to where the tiny shards of crystal stuck in his system was just enough for the fungus to hold his memories and self. So victim basically becomes the fungus.

BUT THAT IS STILL NOT GOOD. It was sheer luck and because hes not even a moth the connection is pretty unstable. In a strong bond, there would be no worry about reverting to the zombie-like state, but since his connection is so unstable it can get triggered.

On the bright side, this makes him a living magic detector. Its how he finds one of the shards of the Wasp King's crown so easily, which allows him to brainwash Chosen One. On the ugly side, you get this:

This happens after Victim tries and fails to kill Alan. He basically gets really pissed that Alan doesn't want to kill him anymore, that he isnt even trying to fight back, and starts mentally spiraling because of it. He compares himself to the other Hollows which are all sorcerers and have magic, and chalks up his failure and lack of control over the situation to that lack of magic.

So to fix that he basically ditches everyone and goes to Snakemouth Den, aka the original lab where the Roaches experiment cause goddamn that place is potent with it you can literally see it in the air. Basically goes there and something something recreating the events of trauma so you can control the outcome, smashes a shit ton of the crystals into smaller shards.

Agent brings the color gang into this (the only mercenary who knows about vics situation) because he had a feeling shit would go wrong and boy was he right. Victim drives the crystals through his exo-skeleton and

he does it. he gets poison magic. but he still gets knocked down easily so rinse and repeat of him attacking, getting beat, healing by impaling with a crystal, and so on. But yeah the more magic he siphons from the roach crystals the more it makes the fungus kinda lose it and slowly but surely the grip the fungus has on his memories and self starts slipping and the instincts from the fungus and the sentience starts getting blurred. Yeah sorry victim in your obsession and greed for control for others you lost control of yourself

Basically a boss fight at that point, feral zombie vic vs his loyal lapdog of a bug and 5 children. At first its just operating off of the instinct of getting them OUT of the territory, but he also burns through the magic really quickly which means he needs more and oh look at that cute little bee hes full of magic. Basically a stalling game of blocking off the exist and making sure he doesnt rip the crystal stuck in seconds head out.

Eventually they win and after a quick revive from Second, an unconscious victim gets carried to an inn by Agent and everyone leaves the caves that day with so much trauma yippeeee

#they call me the yapper #anim vs bf au #vicagent #ava victim #anim vs #ava agent #body horror

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animekpopsimp · 1 year

Text

Faded Memories (Muichiro x sister reader)

(Warning: Spoilers for season three of demon slayer and Muichiro's backstory. Gore, death, reader death, angst, blood.)

(Y/N) quietly slid the door of her home open to see her brother, Muichiro, kneeling next to their mother as she let out a string of coughs. A frown appeared on the little girl's face as she slowly approached the pair. Her mother lay on the mat, a cloth placed on her forehead in an attempt to comfort her. (Y/N) joined her brother at their mother's side, both of them looking down at the woman, neither of them said anything, only focused on the ill woman.

"Don't worry, father will be back soon" Muichiro told his mom, the storm still raging on outside of the small home. The woman didn't reply, eyes closed tightly as two of her children tried their best to comfort her. Muichiro quickly took the cloth off of her forehead and dipped it back into the nearby pale of water. (Y/N) placed a hand on the woman's forehead, winching at how hot it felt.

"She's burning up" the little girl commented, looking over at Muichiro as he placed the now damp cloth back on his mother's forehead. The two watch helplessly that night as their mother succumbs to her illness, little did they know, their father had met his own death after falling off of a cliff.

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Muichiro, Yuichiro, and (Y/N) all worked together to cut wood, having to take care of themselves since the death of their parents. Muichiro had remained optimistic despite the circumstances, though Yuichiro wasn't keen on pretending that everything would be ok. (Y/N) did her best to keep her spirits up and keep her brothers from fighting as often as she could, though it didn't work. After a particularly bad fight the two brothers weren't talking to each other very often, (Y/N) being the only one either of them would openly communicate with. One night (Y/N) lay awake, the heat making it hard for her to fall asleep. The area was mostly silent aside from the quiet sound of crickets chirping outside. The little girl's attention was so focused on staring up at the ceiling that she didn't notice the shadowy figure entering the house. When she did spot the stranger she could feel her entire body begin to shake with fear. Her heart began to race as she remained still, hoping whoever had broken into her home would leave without noticing her. However, much to her horror the figure turned to face her and in an instant, they pounced on her. (Y/N) didn't even get the chance to scream before the figure's hand covered her mouth. Tears welled up in the little girl's eyes as the stranger raised their other hand and within a second, the little girl's life was swiftly brought to an end.

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Muichiro slowly opened his eyes as he sat up, the heat bothering him to the point where he couldn't stay asleep. The little boy slowly got to his feet and made his way across the room to get some water, however, he noticed a tall figure out of the corner of his eyes. Muichiro slowly turned his head to face whoever it was, only for his eyes to go wide with horror when he noticed the fact that the figure was holding his sister's bloody body in its grasp. The little girl's eyes had gone dull, and blood stained the area around her neck. (Y/N)'s limp form dangled from the figure's grasp as Muichiro found himself staring in horror.

"(Y/-(Y/N) the little boy said, hearing his voice the figure turned to face him, dropping the little girl's body to the floor. Muichiro was too scared to move as the shadowy stranger prepared to finish him off as well.

"Muichiro!" Yuichiro called out, rushing forward. He jumped in front of his brother, getting his arm sliced off in the process. Both boys dropped to the floor in shock, Muichiro doing his best to comfort his brother. He pulled both himself and Yuichiro toward the corner of the room, the two being cornered by their attacker. Suddenly, Muichiro felt something deep in the pit of his stomach. An intense feeling of rage bubbled over as a scream louder than ever before escaped his lips.

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Muichiro stared at the battered body of the demon, rocks having crushed its head and its limbs impaled with wooded spikes. The sun slowly started to rise and as the light reached the creature it turned into ashes. Muichiro turned back to his home, his body feeling heavy. He fell to the ground but forced himself back to his home. The inside was covered with blood and both Yuichiro and (Y/N) lay on the floor. (Y/N) was completely limp, eyes open, but dull. Her neck was sliced open, dried blood staining the area. Yuichiro was still alive, but barley. The place where his arm used to be was bleeding, and he was muttering to himself. Tears welling up in his eyes, Muichiro crawled toward his brother. Finally, he began to solve as it dawned on him. He was all alone.

#anime #demon slayer #demon slayer muichiro #muichiro #anime x reader #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer muichiro x reader #muichiro x reader #anime x sister reader #demon slayer x sister reader #demon slayer muichiro x sister reader #muichiro x sister reader #anime angst #demon slayer angst #x reader angst #x sister reader angst #reader death

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harrypoppinss · 10 months

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Empty promises

Kili Durin x afab!reader

Warnings: heavy angst, established relationship, mention of character death, pre BOTFA

Summary: With the battle closing in and Thorin fighting the dragon sickness, you seek comfort in your one.

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The past few days have been rough to say the least. You had successfully made it to Erebor, and it has been reclaimed by Thorin the only problem was that he had fallen into the same sickness that his grandfather had. The dragon sickness from the gold that was claimed by Smaug after the fall of Erebor all those years ago.

The Orcs were near, you had a feeling. Thankfully though, Kili had lived through getting a poisoned arrow in his thigh and he was now in Erebor with his brother and the others that had been comforting him through the incident. Now here you were, wandering the halls of Erebor in search for your one.

You had never known a castle to be so confusing until now, but luckily you had spotted your brown haired boy sitting along the gigantic hole in the wall, gazing out at the lost city of Dale. You walked up behind him, before gently taking a seat beside him and like clockwork, his hand found yours.

“How are you feeling my love?” You asked him, being his knuckles up to your lips as you kissed his hand softly before allowing it to fall into your lap, still grasping onto your own. Kili sighed as he moved closer to you, his head finding your shoulder as your head rested on his. “As well as I can,” he said in a soft tone, his gaze not wavering from the empty city infront of Erebor that used to be so full of life and love.

The two of you sat like that in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound reaching your ears was his gentle breathing and the sound of the crickets singing in the tall grass outside. As you gazed out into the landscape, you couldn’t help but let a feeling of pure fear wash over you. Soon you would all be fighting for you life against Azog and his troops for middle earth.

“Amrâlimê?” Kili said in a soft whisper, making you glance at him as he lifted his head off of your shoulder to meet your gaze. “Yes love?” You asked back, your free hand grasping his other one has your thumbs rubbed over his knuckles. His eyes fell to your hands before he lifted then back up to look at you. “Are you afraid to die?” He asked you, catching you off guard completely. You looked at him like he had grown two heads, he had just been on the brink of death with the arrow and he was asking you if you were afraid to die?

“Well…” you said as you looked back out into the now peaceful landscape that you knew would be filled with blood and death soon. Sighing softly you looked back at your lover, a sad expression covering your face. “I am,” you said after a moment, before you brought both of his hands to your lips this time, kissing his knuckles once more. “But, I’m more afraid of losing you to the hands of the Orcs.” You said as you dropped his hands back into your lap as his eyes scanned your face.

“Oh Amrâlimê,” he sighed with a soft smile as he saw the faint tears building in the backs of your eyes. He reached out, bringing you into his chest as his hand ran along your hair gently. You arms wrapped around his neck as you nuzzled your face into his shoulder, the tears fall from your eyes staining his shirt temporarily. “I will never leave you, not in death nor in glory,” Kili whispered to you softly. “I would rather spend a thousand lifetimes fighting for you than allowing myself to be taken away for you in such a way.” He finished, tears of his own spilling down his cheeks as he pulled away from the hug to rest his forehead against your own.

“Promise?” You croaked out, your eyes meeting his brown orbs as you watched the corners of the crinkle softly as he couldn’t help but allow a small smile to overtake his features. “I promise, in this lifetime and the next.” He said, before he leaned in, placing a gentle kiss to your lips. If only he knew in the end, that the promise he made would have to wait until the next time you two meet again, until the next life when your souls will bound together as one again.

———————

Amrâlimê - My love; love of mine

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mantisgodsart · 8 days

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Hey, you! Do YOU like himbos? Do YOU like thembos? Do YOU like herbos and xembos and every other pronoun you might want to apply-bos and unreasonably high-ranking bandits who bully their boss and have inexplicably wide-ranging friend groups? Boy, have we got the bug for you!

Bau is a dune cricket who is

unreasonably tall

unreasonably well-armored

unreasonably friendly

and looking for YOUR votes in the @bug-oc tournament! Bau is one of our older OCs for Bug Fables, and though we don't draw them a lot because we made their design way too complicated we're gonna have WAY too much fun drawing them for things! Fun fact, their cloak is one of Astotheles's old pre-disarming ones. They stole it and just didn't give it back. It has been "borrowed" for close to five years now (exact time period may vary by WIP). He would like it back but he's mostly given up on trying.

Here's a link to the poll post if you want to vote! We would be delighted to bring Bau through future rounds and we very much look forward to the outcome!

(the beetle being tossed in the first sketch is Bink from @mouse-drawings who's temporarily become Taller for doodle purposes)

#our art #bug fables #finished #watercolor #sketch #ocs #bau #we speak #bug oc tournament #bink #astotheles

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necroromantics · 8 months

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🌾 — Battle Fields

ticciwork short story

- a boy lay silent atop the bright autumn meadow of the countryside. farmstead and forest still waiting, but the woods of the darkened world no longer lure him in, and horrify him with its dreadful kingdom.

- silently, he wishes to a god who is not listening to remain lying under the warm sunlight, breathing along to the birds song and humming symphony of crickets.

- here in the endless wilderness, he was removed from the world of man, and creature. he never saw so clearly the wide blue spread of heaven coated by soft white cloud.

- his back met the grassland that cradled him as dandelion weeds sat messily in his brunette hair. tired, ladened eyes found a semblance of strength in the sky as he stared up. strange country surrounded him, nevertheless the forest brook spoke to the young man.

- a deep inhale of the reek of the wartorn fields caused the boy to tremble with the wounds of a hundred dying and sick. time has long slipped past him, and he knows only that somewhere in the distance, a battle is being fought.

- brown, earthly eyes grow heavy and darken the world around him for a moment. slowly, he begins to slip away. he, too, will return to what he was. he will once again become a soldier. and he will once again know, that the sweet breath of peace, the precious possession of heartbeat, is only a loan.

- a soft kick to his side fluttered him awake, the small boyish frame hurriedly taking a seated position and faced the leg which had touched him. he looked up, and his gaze met with a familiar, tall and brunette girl.

- “what’re you doing out here?” she spoke.

- “what do you care?” he replied.

- the rolling chirp of a northern cardinal was heard in the distance, singing from the tall trees of orange and yellow. in this torturous year, autumn had come early.

- without another word, the girl had taken a seat beside the boy whose thick brow was now furrowed in disregard. with his eyes, he promised friendship, and they were so young. the winds come and go, the clock that sat itself inside her left eye ticked on, and yet she stayed. sat for a time by his side. she stayed in silence.

- the last warmth of the fall catered itself onto their skin, and the wide meadow enveloped the pair. the mighty sun falls kindly onto their foreheads, and jackets. breathing in, they shared a sense of an upcoming winter.

- “maybe some day you will come back from the war, and take a walk with me one evening.” the clock-eyed girl spoke, her slender arms draped casually around her long legs as to hug them. the boy only stared at her in reply. he had forgotten for a moment what he was, and where he was supposed to be.

- “give me your hand then, i still have a long way to go.” a reply was spoken in a low mutter, a boyhood fear of making the companion beside him run off as one frightened deer might. he was a soldier running away from the battlefield, and she was beautiful.

- “you know nothing of time. you will remain in those woods until it kills you,” her eyes gazed forward into the edge of the dark, tall forest that beckoned, “you will never free yourself wholly like this. the puppet strings remain attached.”

- the girls long thin fingers calloused with years of creation, and destruction, wrapped neatly around the boys blood-stained hand. they interlocked as though they were never meant to be apart in the first place, as if a puzzle piece was being put into its proper place.

- “i need to make my way back now. the sun is beginning to set,” he spoke softly, there was a hint of melancholy that hitched his speech. only in reply did the girl stare out to the orange and red rusted skies as the two watched the sun lay to rest.

- “its going to kill you some day, toby.”

- “that is knowledge i can live with.”

- “take me with you to your grave, then, stubborn boy.”

- a low chuckle escaped his mouth at the oh too familiar scold of his closest friend. he nodded in agreement, joining her in a peaceful gaze at the beautiful view ahead of them. when he made a glance over to her, he saw a hint of deep sorrow make its way into the cracks of her time-ridden face as her brow creased and her lips folded into a frown.

- it seemed that no matter the exchange of words, the boy had an unfortunate habit of upsetting his intimate other. shaking his hand from her comfortable grasp, he stood up from his bedding within the vast golden green fields and stretched his tired body. the sweet breath of life shook sorrowfully from his overworked limbs and a quick goodbye was exchanged before he made his way back into the distant woods.

- for the boy, always a dim picture of a legend. war will remain, and heavy are the recent days. he has no place in the peaceful meadows outside the bounds of the battlefield.

#tombwrites #creepypasta #ticciwork #ticci toby #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta ticci toby #toby rogers #clockwork #clockwork creepypasta #creepypasta ticciwork #ticci toby x clockwork

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more-than-tender-curiosity · 9 months

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this is brought to you by me reading the princeton holograph over and over again until im sick to my stomach. I can tell when fitz was drunk writing this. That’s how much I’ve been looking at this.

No but I’m being serious. Let me transcribe this for you.

To set the scene, Nick has just come over to talk to Jay and Jay asked if he could confide in him. They’re sitting in the garden and Jay explained his past with Daisy. All fuckass grammar is Fitz’s own.

"Well, you have Daisy," I said, "After all she ought to be a satisfactory incarnation of anything."

"She is," he answered without conviction. "But it's a little like leaving a place where you've once been happy."

"You don't know what you want," I told him impatiently. "You wait three years and then after three weeks you're tired."

“We all grow old,” I told him, “It seems to me you’ve come pretty close to getting all your desires.”

“I haven’t got anything,” he said simply, “I thought for awhile I had a lot of things, my house—“ He looked up at it for an instant— “and things like that. But the truth is I’m empty and I guess people feel it. That must be why they keep on making up things about me, so I won’t be so empty. Why, —Daisy’s all I’ve got left from a world thay was so wonderful that when I think of it I feel sick all over,” He looked around with wild regret, “Let me sing you a song—I want to sing you a song!”

He began to sing in a low unmusical baritone. The tune seemed to be a vague compendium of all the tunes of twenty years ago. It went about like this:

“We hear the twinkle of the gay guitars

We see the shining Southern moon;

Where the fire-flies flit

And the June bugs sit

Drones the crickets single tune.

We hear the lapping of the wavelets

Where the longsome nightbirds sing

And the soft warm breeze

Tell the tall palm trees

The Dreamy Song of Spring”

“I made that up when I was fourteen,” he said eagerly, “and the sound of it always makes me perfectly happy. But I don’t sing it often now because I’m afraid I’ll use it up.”

Through all he said, even through the doggerel of the song, I was reminded of something—an elusive time, a fragment of lost words that I had heard somewhere a long time ago. For a moment a phrase tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips parted like a dumb man’s, as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled air. But they made no sound and what it was that I had almost remembered was made incommunicable forever.

Like. Do you mean to tell me that boy didn’t just make you remember what it felt like to be loved? That phrase you tried to form, wasn’t it I love you?

#the great gatsby #jay gatsby #nick carraway #natsby #tgg

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witchersmistress · 9 months

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From the Ground Up

Hello my darlings! i have a monster update for ya'll, its mostly going to be Harpers pov as august didnt have much to say.

Triggerwarning: Sex, slight stalking, breaking and entering

Word count: 5.1 K

The last week in August feels like a countdown, the days ticking down to when it’s over between Mr. D and me. We both know everything shifted when I left, and maybe it did again when I came back. I’m more awake now, too awake to be his doll. I try to still my hammering heart when I think about going back to school, but I hold onto the determination, one of the only feelings I can manage.

The day before I plan to return to school, Mr. D is quiet all through dinner and our visit to the garden. He cuts a huge sunflower blossom and lays it on my chest where I’m reclined on the chaise lounge. Then he sits down beside my legs, his back to me. Crickets chirp in the golden field below. The air is heavy and dense, that late August heat that lays thick on the day like a weighted blanket, threatening to smother you even after the sun has sluggishly drifted below the horizon. I pick up the flower, stroking the soft petals between my finger and thumb. “Thank you,” I say. “Is this a sun to brighten my first day of school tomorrow?” “You know why they’re called that?” “Because they look like suns?” “Because they follow the sun,” he says, pointing up at the half dozen tall stalks towering over us. They’re all facing west, where the sun just disappeared. “Every day?” “Every day.” “What if it’s cloudy?” “Even when it’s cloudy, when they can’t see what matters, they never waver in their path.” Is he talking about the Walkers, about revenge?

He turns to me, pulling his knee up beside me, and watches my face like he expects a response. “Maybe they should,” I say, because I know what revenge does to a family, what it costs those who seek it and those in their path. “Things change.” “At night, at their darkest point, when the sun is furthest from them, they turn back to the east,” he says. “They wait for the sun to come back. They know it will.” I swallow hard, my chest tightening as I search his eyes. He’s not talking about revenge. He’s talking about living again. “Are you my sunflower?” I ask, my words barely more than a whisper. “Or am I yours?” He takes my free hand in his, lacing his elegant fingers through mine. “You’re a sunflower, but you’re not mine,” he says. “I’m not anyone’s sun anymore.” “You could be,” I say, my throat tight. He shakes his head, the corners of his mouth pulling down. “No, Harper. You don’t belong here. You never did. We both know that.” My eyes blur over, and I have to blink a few times. I don’t want to let go of his hand, to leave this cocoon with only brass knuckles for protection. I crave the oblivion, the weightlessness of life in his pristine world. “I can’t thank you enough for… Everything.” “You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “Just promise me one thing.” I tense, ready for the demands. I know what he wants, but I don’t want to be part of that world anymore. I have no fight left, not even for the boys who destroyed me. “I can’t.” He squeezes my hand. “Find your sun, Harper.

That’s all I want for you.” A tear spills down my cheek, and I reach for his face, my fingers faltering before I make contact. “Can I?” He stiffens, but he doesn’t move. I carefully untie the silk ribbons that hold the silver mask in place and lift it off. My breath catches, but I force myself not to drop my gaze, not to look away. His skin is tight, red, and angry, over half his forehead and down one side of his face, the side with the unseeing eye. His eyebrow and lashes are gone, his eye slightly skewed and smaller than the other. My fingers shake as I reach up and touch the edge of the mark. “Some people like playing with fire,” I whisper, remembering Colt’s words. He doesn’t look at me, but I know it’s over. He wouldn’t have shown me if he thought I’d come back. I should say something, tell him it’s not so bad, but I don’t want to lie to him. “Maybe we all do,” he says quietly. “I’m no use to you anymore,” I whisper. “August doesn’t care about me. I’m dead to him.” “Do you think you could stay one more night?” he asks, the ache of his vulnerability making my chest contract painfully. “Just let me hold you one more time.” I nod, my eyes burning. He slides onto the chaise with me, fitting his body along mine. He doesn’t put the mask back on, and he faces me, but he closes his eyes, as if he can’t bear to see my face now that I’ve seen him. I turn toward him in the chair. I run my fingertips over his unmarked cheek and then his scarred one.

Finally I lean in and brush my lips over each eyelid. The contrast brings tears back to my lashes. “Thank you for saving my life,” I whisper. The corner of his mouth tugs up the slightest bit. “Ditto.” I let out a quiet laugh through the tears. “I didn’t do anything.” “You never know.” Sometimes you do, though.

For months, Mr. D woke me up to fuck every morning. Since returning to him, he hasn’t touched me. Not that way. On the first day I planned to return to Georgia State, I woke to the sun streaming in the wall of windows. We came down after dark last night, and he lay me in bed between his high thread count sheets. He didn’t take pictures. We didn’t talk. He just turned off the light without replacing his mask. This morning, he’s still asleep, his terrible, scarred face even more heartbreaking in the light of day. I get up and shower, since I didn’t get a chance last night. When I come out of the bathroom, he’s sitting up in bed, his mask over his face again. “One more time, for old time’s sake?” he asks, patting the bed beside him and giving me a tentative smile. It’s different, though. We’re real people now, not marionettes.

He hasn’t fucked me in weeks, since I told him I wouldn’t be his whore. “Can I get my sponsorship back?” I ask. It’s too late for me anyway. I’m already a whore. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says with a little smile, like he’s thinking about the same thing, like he wants to assure me it’s not a trade for sex. I’ve been considering this since I started making up the work, debating whether I’m strong enough. I’ve finally decided. I’m not strong enough. I’m broken enough. If I could bear the brutality of the Walker twins and their friends for one night when I was whole, I can bear to see them every day now that nothing matters. I might have freaked out when I saw August, but that’s because I loved him once.

He won’t be at Georgia State, though. If I do this, I will never have to see any of them again in my life when it’s over. If this is what I have to do to leave this place and never look back, start over somewhere far away, where no one knows my name or my body, I will. I once felt a kinship with Mabel Darling, but now I truly understand. Now I know what would make a person change their name and disappear like a ghost, cutting ties with even their family. Some rottenness is too severe to fix, and the only way to live is to cut it all away, like a gangrenous limb. And I’m just numb enough to cut away mine. I climb onto the bed and sit back on my feet. “Take off the mask,” I tell Mr. D. He hesitates, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Then he reaches back and unties it, dropping it onto the nightstand before reaching for me. He pulls me into his lap, then grabs the lube in his top drawer. I caught his wrist. “Do it right,” I say, sliding off him and pulling him back down on the bed. He draws the covers over us and scoots close, until our bare bodies are pressed together. I try not to think about all the things we said to each other in those messages, so many months of messages. It doesn’t seem real that he can be the same person. He’s not what I pictured at all. But maybe no one is. He presses his lips to mine for the first and last time, cupping my cheek in his hand, saying goodbye. The ache in each slow kiss twists tight inside my chest until I’m sure my ribs will crack. He slides his other hand between my thighs and touches me, and when I’m ready, he rolls onto me and pushes inside. “Good girl,” he says, his lips skimming mine. “So fucking good.” I close my eyes. “Mr. D,” I whisper, as if to make it more real. He lets out a little laugh of breath. “You don’t have to call me that when I’m inside you,” he says. “It makes me imagine you’re picturing my dad.” I nod, and he moves slowly on top of me, sliding in and out, watching me like he’s waiting for something. I felt nothing for him all these months, but now I can’t help it. Since seeing August shook me awake, made me feel something again, I’ve been coming back to life despite myself. I wanted to stay numb forever, but every day my mangled soul twitches a bit more than the day before. I look up at Mr. D, and I try to remember what I should feel when a man is inside me, but I can’t. I don’t love him. I know that. All I feel is sadness.

Tears slid down my cheeks, wetting my hair. “Is it my face?” he murmurs. “I can put the mask back on.” I shake my head, trying to stop the tears, to stop my lip from trembling and my throat from squeezing so painfully tight it brings more tears. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks. I shake my head again. I wrap my arms around his neck, and I hold him close and give him what he wants, not sex but closeness, however empty it is. I wish I could fix all the brokenness in him, that he could fix me, and that we could be that for each other. But we’re just not. When he’s done, he showers, and I go to the kitchen and make eggs and toast. Everything in his kitchen is clean and shiny and expensive. No chipped plates or mismatched knives. I think about how angry my mother will be when I tell her I’ve walked away from this. She’ll tell me it’s every girl’s fantasy—every girl like me. That I’ll never do better. And maybe she’s right. Mr. D comes out wearing his mask, charcoal grey dress pants, and a blue button-up shirt that matches his mismatched eyes. We eat in silence, but it’s different, the air heavy instead of relaxed. “I want to go back to Georgia State,” I say.

He makes a noncommittal sound and forks through his eggs. “Thanks for cooking.” “How old are you?” I ask, pulling back to study him—his sharp chin freshly shaven, his lips that never touched me until today. It’s hard to tell with the mask, but I know he’s younger than I pictured. He’s the furthest thing from a gross old guy jerking off in his trailer and offering me the moon. Or even a gross old rich guy jerking off at his computer while I told him about sucking dick. “27” Damn. He’s only been out of college for a few years. He seems so much older, at least in his mid-thirties. “I’ve caught up on everything I missed last year,” I say, trying to keep the nerves from taking me over at the thought of setting foot in the same school as the football team. “Maybe you can go in and talk to them about my sponsorship?” “That again.” He shakes his head and takes the plates to the sink. “I think I’ve earned it.” “You know I never leave this place,” he says without looking at me, turning on the water to rinse the plates. “You left to get me every time I came over this summer,” I point out, crossing my arms, some little seed of stubbornness sprouting inside me, sinking its roots into the ground. “And when I lived here, I heard you leave at least a dozen times in the evenings.” “I won't get out of my truck.” “I’d rather have that than all the clothes and shoes and jewelry.” He doesn’t say anything. I want to be angry, but I can’t summon that much emotion. So I turn and go to his room. While he washes up, I get the designer bag he bought to keep my new phone and keys in, and I put on the red-soled shoes he slid on my feet one day. He’s spent so much, I feel guilty asking for more. But that’s the only gift I’ve ever wanted. I didn’t ask for fancy things. I return to the island that separates the kitchen and main room of the loft. “I’m leaving the things you brought me here. I’ll bring back the shoes and clothes I’m wearing.” “I don’t need them,” he says, coming around the end of the island. “I have a phone. I’m not into women’s clothes, and even if I were, I couldn’t wear your size.” “I don’t feel right taking them. You’ve done so much.” “Then let me do this,” he says, his familiar, entitled hands falling to my hips. “Let me at least pretend I did something good for you these last five months.” “Okay,” I say, swallowing hard. I search his eyes, my gaze moving from his blind, unseeing eye to the one that’s so sharp and alive, but just as guarded as the mask makes him.

Is it unfair to ask for my sponsorship back? He’s done more than buy me things. Things I can never repay him for. But all he’ll remember is that I accused him of treating me like a whore after accepting every gift he gave. I can’t ask for more. He runs his finger down the chain of the necklace, looping it through the bottom, where the ballerina charm hangs. “Don’t take this off, okay? I like knowing that wherever you are, you’re wearing it. That I’m with you.” “I should get to school.” He hands me his truck keys and steps back, his lips tightening. “I’ll be down in a minute.” I watch him disappear into the bedroom, and heaviness settles in my belly. He wouldn’t even fight the Walkers after what they did to him and his family, even when I gave him all the ammunition he needed to take them down. There’s no chance he’s going to fight for me. I’m going to have to remember how to fight for myself. So, I take the keys, ready to face the admin at Georgia State on my own. Taking a deep breath, I pull open the door. Colt Darling is standing on the other side.

“Colt?” I say, as if making sure this is real, that he’s the same person he was before. “Harper?” He looks me up and down the same way. I guess I’m not the same girl he knew, either. My body has changed in ways he can see, but he doesn’t know the rest of me has changed, too. At least, I don’t think he does. “What are you doing here?” I ask, glancing back over my shoulder. “What are you doing here?” Colt asks, his voice sharp. “Why are you dressed like that?” I recover from my surprise quickly. Mr. D is a Darling, and Colt is a Darling, so it’s hardly a shock. Colt, however, seems a bit more shaken. His eyes narrow, and I take in his face.

I haven’t seen him since last year, when the Walkers beat him almost to death. He looks nearly the same, but everything is just a bit off, which is all the more disconcerting. It’s like looking at a life-sized doll version of Colt. His nose is just a little straighter, his jaw a little squarer, his teeth a little whiter. I’m not sure how to answer him, and before I can even try, he grabs me and drags me back into the apartment. “Preston!” he bellows, his voice booming through the sleek loft. Preston Darling. “Preston,” I whisper to myself, saying his name for the first time, trying it on. It fits. I’m less surprised than I was to find Colt here. I’ve had no indication that they’re still close, the way they were when they ran this town. For all I know, Colt’s the one on the receiving end of the videos, though. In truth, I don’t know much about Mr. D beyond what I can see. I’ve never really tried to figure out who my rescuer is. It didn’t matter. Maybe I always knew, I just didn’t think about it. Or maybe I only knew this morning, when he told me he was nineteen, but I hadn’t had a chance to think about it. I try to fit the name and what I know about it into my conception of Mr. D. I guess I don’t have to call him that anymore, just as he stopped being the Phantom when he became Mr. D. He was I needed him to be each step of the way, until I needed something else. He’s no longer a man behind a mask or a shadow behind a keyboard. Now he’s more real than ever, a man with a scarred face and a name and wounds that aren’t for me to know. The Phantom—Mr. D—Preston—steps out of the bedroom. “This is your girlfriend?” Colt demands, fury snapping his words through the space between them. “This is who you’re moving on with? Are you fucking suicidal?” Preston shrugs and strolls over to lean on the island, seemingly unaffected by Colt’s fury. “Could you really blame me, cuz?” I glance from one of them to the other, sensing the rage shimmering in the air between them like a mirage.

For the first time in months, my curiosity is piqued. I stopped trying to figure people out, stopped even caring. Nothing mattered. I don’t know if this matters. But I’m interested, if only in a detached way, in where it leads. Colt stands there breathing hard, glaring at his cousin. “I don’t blame you, I blame them,” he says. “I blame them for everything, and you should too. When are you going to stop—this? Whatever this is. Self-destruction, suicidal tendencies, punishing yourself?” When I said he saved me, he said ditto. But I didn’t save him. I endangered him. Preston smirks, stretching out his arm and beginning to slowly roll up one sleeve. I’m captivated by his every movement, his every word. This man came inside me every Tuesday and Thursday night, every Wednesday and Friday morning, for months, and I never gave a single fuck. Now, it’s as if my brain is going into overdrive to compensate. He’s not the same man who sat on the barstools beside me and served me steak and asparagus, the one who dressed and undressed me like a ritual, the one who never took off his mask and was therefore a blank cutout of a person to me. He’s the Phantom, a man with a mask and a safe place for my body to rest while my soul is gone. He’s Mr. D, a man with a keyboard and a sick mind, digging for secrets and hoarding them like a dragon. He’s Preston Darling, a man whose house I destroyed, whose bed I destroyed when August made me cum so hard I drenched the mattress, whose leather jacket I stole.

He’s alive and utterly fascinating. He has a family. A name. A face. He smirks and rages. Maybe, he even laughs. I want to devour his soul, dissect his brain, and study it under a microscope. “Trust me when I say that fucking Harper is the furthest thing from a punishment,” he says when he’s finished rolling his sleeve with painstaking care. “You know August claimed her,” Colt says, his voice low and fierce. Preston’s tone hardens. “He threw her away.” For a minute, there’s no sound, nothing but the inaudible crackle of tension in the air. “It doesn’t matter,” Colt says. “When they claim someone, it’s forever. There’s no way out.” “He said I was dead to him,” I say. I want to believe August’s done, that he’ll never speak to me again, that he’ll look right through me like I’m a ghost. But after he saw me outside my house, I’m not sure I believe that, no matter how hard I try. He followed me here, which means he wants something. If the torture isn’t over, what then? I’m not a Darling, a girl who can afford to check herself into a swanky resort-style mental facility to hide or blow out of town and legally change her name.

There’s nowhere to hide for a girl like me. “You think I don’t know how they operate?” Preston asks, ignoring me. Colt glares. “He’ll take more than your eye if he finds out you messed with her.” His eye that never sees. It clicks into place then. It’s not blind. It’s prosthetic. “I didn’t mess with her,” Preston says, jerking his other sleeve straight. “I fucked her. Four times a week for months, and every day before that. I came inside her every delicious little hole, and I fucking loved it. What have you done this summer?” “You know what I did,” Colt growls, his hands balling into fists. Preston starts rolling that sleeve, his movements jerky and sharp now. “You gave them exactly what they wanted. You bent over. You play nice, but for what? They’ll kill us all, anyway.” “Not if you play along.” Preston scoffs. “How many nights did you spend in the hospital, getting how many surgeries, because of those assholes? How much time did you lose? Maybe it would’ve been worth it if you’d been lying there knowing what their girl’s cunt feels like from the inside, with nothing between you but cum. That they could never undo what you got to do to her.” “You’re going to get yourself killed,” Colt says quietly. “I can’t watch you do this shit anymore.” “And what would you have me do?” Preston asks. “Get on my knees and suck their dicks like you? I’d rather fucking die.” “Those aren’t the only options.” “Aren’t they?” Preston finishes his sleeve and measures that they both stop at the thickest part of his forearm, golden tan with golden hairs glistening on them.

“You could leave,” Colt says. “No fucking way,” Preston says, yanking the mask off his face and throwing it down on the counter. “This is our town, not theirs. Enough people in this family have run like dogs.” Colt sighs. “How long are you going to hold onto that delusion? Devlin didn’t run, and he’s not coming back to save us all. If he was coming back, he would have done it by now. He’s fucking dead. Accept it.” “Bullshit,” Preston snaps. “No one takes millions of dollars from their trust fund right before they commit suicide.” I perk up automatically because this is something I didn’t know. “He didn’t commit suicide,” Colt says, rubbing his forehead with his thumb, like this conversation gives him a headache. From the weariness in his voice, I get the feeling they’ve had this fight before, so many times they both know all their lines. “It was an accident. A tragic, shitty accident with bad timing. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, no matter how many guys you pay off to keep quiet.

You’re not letting them live a happy life. You’re wasting our money.” “I didn’t pay them off,” Preston says evenly. “I’m not the only one who thinks they’re alive.” “You control the money,” Colt says. “And enough with the conspiracy theories already. Yeah, out of the hundreds of people in our family, three of you think he’s alive. That doesn’t make it true. That makes y’all delusional.” “He said goodbye to us,” Preston says, looking incredulously at his cousin. “Dolly saw him, goddamn it. How can you honestly believe he’s dead?” “Because it doesn’t fucking matter,” Colt says, throwing up his hands. “Whether he’s dead or not, it doesn’t change anything. He’s not here. We’re here.” “And I’m not leaving,” Preston says. “They may have beaten us, but we’re not dead yet. We can still fight, if you’d stop being such a pussy.” “And you’re planning to fight them… How? By putting trackers on their cars and following them around? Fucking their girlfriends in secret? Or do you have some new plan you think is brilliant, but in the end, will amount to nothing more than a spiteful little prank?” Preston works his jaw back and forth. “I would have fucked their sister, but Devlin took off with her. So that leaves their girlfriends. Isn’t that what they did to us? It’s called revenge, cousin. Look it up sometime.” “Which of the things you’ve done is going to bring our family back?” They glare at each other for a second before Colt answers his own question. “None of them, that’s what. They’re not playing the same game we did, and they never were. It’s over, Preston. Accept that before it costs you your life.” Preston straightens, staring down his cousin until I stand from where I sank onto the arm of the grey sectional. “As enlightening as this has been,” I say. “I have to get to school.” They both ignore me. “If petty-ass revenges are all I get, I’ll fucking take ‘em,” Preston says. “I’ll take everything I can from them at every opportunity, whether they know it or not. I’ll know. And I’ll never stop.”

I picture him sitting up here on his fancy computer, reading my salacious tales, collecting them into a file he will never use. He has so much on the Walkers, but he can’t do anything with it. He can’t go to the cops because they’re in the Walkers’ pockets. He won’t show his face in town, so he can’t get anyone else to follow or join him. He was never going to help me. He just has to feel like he hasn’t given up. I can respect that. The man’s got his pride, if nothing else. “I really do need to go,” I say again. “Take my truck,” Preston says, barely glancing at me. “Bring it back this time. And don’t leave it running in the garage.” I take the keys and head for the door. Somehow, it still surprises me when he does shit like this, like it’s nothing to let me borrow his fancy truck or pay my rent for six months. The last thing I hear before closing the door is Colt answering something Preston said with, “Fuck you. You don’t get to bring my sister into this. Your sister is still here.�� So, I guess it wasn’t all for nothing. I saved Magnolia last spring, even if I couldn’t save myself.

August’s POV

I watch her from her windows, the shadow of this broken girl. The girl i loved, the girl I’ll always want, the same girl i let my brothers tear to shreds in that swamp and i just left her there, broken and crying, screaming and begging me to stop them, in truth i wanted to but the monster in me disagreed. He saw her as a plaything to dispose of once he was done.

So why was it that I found myself outside her windows every night watching her shadow and silhouette dance in the light of her home till she had long since fallen asleep after her nightly ritual. Why did I let myself in her home to watch her sleep, her breathing soft and shallow.

The rational part of me tells me that this is wrong and that I should let her go, but the monster in me is unwilling to do so. He changed his mind after he saw her alive.. She wasnt that fiery version of herself that she used to be but she will be one day, i'll make sure of it.

Stamping the butt of my cigarette into the cold wet earth beneath my polished shoe, I watched her sit on the couch with a book in her hand, and that chubby tiger cat she curled in her lap. I watched her, reading and scratching the cat's head, resting her head on her hand, she flipped the pages of her book, slowly dozing but waking herself each time. Till the final time when her head dropped, and the book fell from her lap. The cat sprinted away with the thud of the book on the floor.

With a soft chuckle, I made my way to her front door and opened it slowly. Walking into the living room, to see her sleeping. The cat hissed at me from her spot on the stairs, I growled back and she ran up the stairs. I prowled into the living room watching her chest rise and fall at a steady pace. I tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and placed a soft kiss on her temple. She shudders softly, before murmuring in her sleep. “August” I paused and held my breath waiting to see if she would wake and she didn't. Grabbing her ankles I untucked them from underneath her and stretched her out on the couch. Pulling her down gently and placing a pillow behind her head. I picked her book up off the ground and placed it on the coffee table and. I sat across from her and watched her sleep.

She was so peaceful. Guilt gnawed at my heart, with the thought the only time she has peace now is when she is sleeping. I stood from my spot and ran a knuckle down the side of her face before walking around the house and turning off all the lights except one in the kitchen. I sank back into darkness, hunkering down in my chair. Just waiting and watching for the other monsters that may come next.

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