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peachesofteal · 10 months

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Which Witch

Painting by Joseph Tomanek Thank you to the lovely anons who's beautiful brains helped create this story. Part 1 - Part 2 here John "Soap" MacTavish/witch!reader 13k words - AO3 You do not need to read Mermaids to enjoy this fic, but it exists in the same world and for the full experience, I do recommend it. Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Mature and dark themes. Fae!AU. Brief blink of smut. Blood Magic. Fae Magic. Violence. Killing. Human Sacrifice. Angst. Tenderness. Protective Johnny. "I'm not beat up by this yet, you can't tell me to regret, Been in the dark since the day we met, Fire, help me to forget." - F + TM

Johnny presses the heel of his boot into the cheek of the being on the ground, his eyes glazed with a vacancy he has seen more times than he cares to count, or remember, the bleakness of his irises meaning only one thing: the end of their life.

“Was it worth it to ye?” he spits, and the male shudders beneath his sole, twisting pathetically, a half attempt at getting away. Blood sputters and pools, lamely leaking from his body, drenching the air in an earth rich scent.

It does not matter, there is not where for him to go, nowhere for him to flee. He will be lost to the 141, just as almost every other being is this castle has.

The echo of his brother’s power, Gaz’s light magic, rips through the room and shudders down Johnny’s spine as he appears in the hall, his boots leaving red marks on the marble floor, remnants of lives spent squelching with each step.

“Where’s Ghost?” Kyle’s voice booms across the distance, and Johnny jerks his head northward, to where Simon is ransacking the library like a madman.

He is a madman, Johnny thinks, shaking his head, didn’t even stay to see the job through before he went tearing through those books.

He cannot fault him, his brother is a being possessed, tortured by his own heart, a heart that beats for a creature that does not even know he exists. He is miserable, and brutish, and half the time almost unbearable to be around, and Johnny really, really hopes it all comes to an end soon.

The being beneath Johnny’s heel gurgles, rubied ichor slipping down his face towards the floor before he spits and glares upwards at Gaz and himself.

“Mercenaries.” He snarls, and Johnny can feel him trying to pull a sliver of power, a desperate and feeble attempt that fails before he chokes again. “That’s all ya are. Mercenaries with no code, no honor.” Gaz rolls his eyes in a dramatic motion, rotating his neck before a dagger born from the shimmer of suns materializes in his hand, and the male on the floor whines in fear.

“Yes, yes.” Gaz sighs impatiently, and then in a blink has the point pressed to the being’s neck, right below where his pulse hammers. It sears his skin, burning away at the flesh slowly, filling the air between them with putrid smoke, the smell of incinerating sinew stinging in Johnny’s nostrils. “But how are we so different from you, then?”

“I don’t kill for money.”

“Just for sport.” Johnny follows up drily, and the male has no argument. His fighting rings are known throughout the realm. In the closest town over, one can make a fair amount of profit, or lose their freedom, if you knew where to look.

“As if you’re so appalled by it, MacTavish.” The being hisses, and Johnny stills. His power thrums in his blood, reacting to tense state of his body, churning in his mind, ready to strike. Chaos readies itself, pulsing deep, ready to blow this entire castle to the Netherworlds. “I know where ya’re from. I’ve heard rumor of what happens on the Isle, with it’s-“ Johnny’s magic bursts forward, twisting around Gaz to seek its target, tearing into the very essence of the male on the ground, ripping into the being’s own celestial connections and shredding them to pieces. The magic and rage combined electrifies Johnny, filling him with a heady power that pulses in every pore, every neuron existing in his body, and it’s a well fought effort to shove it down, to not give into the intoxicating feeling of the craze, the lust for battle and blood. He pulls and pulls the threads from the being’s crumpled form, draining him dry with each breath until there is no fight left, until he’s nothing but a carcass, an empty shell, eyes stuck wide in horror.

“Shite.” Johnny murmurs, finally releasing his heel. There’s not much left beneath it, just ropes of blood and bone, the body obliterated by the concentration of Johnny’s magic, dark red rivers seeping across the polished stone floor. Gaz chuckles darkly.

A ripple of power echoes towards them, and at the end of it, Price looms, arms crossed, mouth turned down in a huff of irritation.

“Job’s done then?” He motions to the pile of remains between them, Johnny nodding the obvious answer. Gaz’s dagger disappears, light seeping through his skin before it’s swallowed whole, tucked away for safekeeping.

“Simon’s finishing up the last bit.”

The three of them venture towards the library, a massive room with ceilings that stretch towards the moons, and shelves built from top to bottom. There are books of every kind here, books from every realm, even. Grimoires, from the witches in the mortal realm, and lost texts from its human inhabitants. Heavy volumes of history from the Netherworlds, sacred texts from a faraway realm that only Simon has been to. Books bound in human skin, books bound with being skin, books that only appear to those they choose. Books that possess their own spells, even if they’re not inherently magic. Books that contain the ability to give any being a gift, so long as they are willing to receive it. Johnny breathes deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of leather and paper, papyrus, and cloth, holding onto it for as long as possible before his lungs deflate with a whoosh. The taste settles on his tongue, and he tamps down the urge to start pulling volumes towards himself, eager to flick through them and devour what lies between their pages. He craves it, the knowledge, the magic that sits sleeping in this room. The bedlam that swirls in his bloodstream melds with his desire for new puzzles, new knowledge, and it creates a double-edged sword that only his brothers seem to understand. Maybe it’s because of his mum, and the deep, ravenous love of books that she had and instilled in him, the balance of his love for chaos and his love for puzzles lending well to learning, or maybe it’s because he’s lived too bloody long, walking the worlds with his brothers, seeking new truths like they were meals to feast on.

This is where they find Simon. He’s got a female sorceress of some kind, the one they were looking for in the first place, kneeling, in the middle of the room, arms pressed down to her sides, her eyes wild with fear. Johnny can smell it from here, the rank stench of her terror, the scent of her dread as the being in front of her walks in a tight circle, his eyes fixed on her quivering form.

“I cannot perform it.” She protests, and Simon makes a great show of sighing, like he’s tired, or exasperated. “That magic, it’s not of Faerie. We do not practice it here. Please-“ she sobs, and her desperation tugs at Johnny, just a bit, even though his sympathy is slim for this creature who cries pitifully in front of her soon to be executor.

“Simon.” Price intones from where he stands, a distance away, and her eyes flash to him, relief scrawling across her features as she mistakes John for one who may be kind to her, for a being who may help her.

She doesn’t know, that they know. That they’re fully aware, of the terrible things she’s done for the once ruler of this land, that they know the extent of her cruelty, her thirst for blood and pain.

Price crouches in front of where she sits on her knees, and cups her face between his palms, rubbing a placating thumb across her cheekbone.

“Tell us, love.” He encourages. “Tell us about the song. And perhaps, we’ll let you go.” It’s a lie, but she doesn’t know that, and it’s painfully obvious when she swallows, eyes darting between the four of them before settling back on Price.

“It’s blood magic.” She croaks. “The only way to capture the song is with the magic of blood and bone. I told him.” Price turns to Simon, who nods his affirmative. “There are few who still practice it.”

“Where?” Price urges, still soothing her with his touch, his words soft and reassuring.

“In the mortal realm.” Gaz rubs an exasperated palm over his face with a sigh, and Simon’s power pulses around the sorceress, tightening like a vice. She yelps in a panic, words rushing free like floodwaters. “There is a coven! There is a coven left, that still practices in the mortal realm, and they have a spinner, a blood spinner. She’s a witch, that-” She continues to babble, giving them everything, anything she had, where she believed they were located, what kind of witches they were, how long they’d been practicing. She gave and gave, until there was nothing left to say, and then she stared up at Price, with wistful hope on her face.

Hope, that dies, as she feels the slipknot of Simon’s power, twisting with torsion around her neck.

“No, no. You said… you said you’d let me go!” She cries, and Johnny feels his rage lash out inside him, distaste curdling his stomach. He can’t help but correct her.

“Is that what you told the mothers of the children ye slaughtered all those years? That you’d let them go? After ye sold them to fighting pits? After ye watched them die, and did nothing?”

“I wa-was only doing what I was told.” She sobs, flinging herself onto the floor in front of them. “Please!” Her fingers dig at her neck, clawing and scraping, but it’s pointless. The 141 has long had her in their sights. “Please… plea- please.” She moans, fragments of her life slipping through their fingers as it drains away, her body growing limp and her existence becoming futile by the moment. “I- ‘m sorry.” She tries, but it’s far too late now.

It's far too late.

The tavern is packed. Every one and thing inside gives them a wide berth, their eyes jumping from Simon, who walks in front, dark gaze glaring from behind the skull mask and hood he dons in public, to Price, who casually strolls behind him, hand in one pocket, the other swinging by his side, free and available, should quick intervention be needed. Gaz stands at the bar, flirting with a striking female who is leaning towards him, her lips parting to reveal shiny, sharp golden teeth.

That’s odd. What’s a Harpy doing all the way out ‘ere? If Gaz is taken aback, he hides it well, instead slipping her a note that more than covers the cost of a round, and then points at the table where they’ve settled.

“Bit out o’ place.” Price comments, and Simon grunts.

“It’s curious.” He agrees, and they all track Gaz on his way back, watching him until he plants himself on the bench, casual grimace lining his lips.

Simon shifts restlessly, and they all can feel the hot singe of his power, the frustration lurking in the air. Waiting as he hedges.

“If it’s true-“

“At what cost?” Price cuts him off. They hold a silent conversation with their eyes, arguments and counters flowing back and forth between them. Price is the natural voice of reason; he’ll convince him it’s a bad idea. The thought sticks in Johnny’s mind uneasily, souring as he turns it over. What if this is real? What if there is a chance? To end this madness?

Johnny was no fool, he’s seen the change in Simon, year after year. His fear and confusion, anger and dread starting to seep from his skin, coloring everything around them, affecting them all in different ways. His Nereid was at the end of her rope, and so was Simon.

“All I want, is a chance, Johnny. A chance to know her, without standing in the shadow, for her to know me. To hold her, to tell her she’s not alone.” He confessed, years ago, in the dark of an empty wing in his too big house. “I love her. I cannot give her up, I won’t allow her to die.”

He had returned to their realm frantic, distress wracking his body, seizing his power and twisting it until it nearly suffocated all of them where they stood. It took hours for Johnny to calm him, to get him to explain what had happened, for him to realize why Simon had been so distraught. His Nereid had nearly failed her task, botched her own hunt, and Simon almost stole her away in a moment of blind panic, without even stopping to consider that she might die as soon as steps foot in Faerie.

“What you’re asking, Simon, is a massive undertaking, it’s-“

“I’m not asking. I’d never ask this of you.” He snapped, magic fizzling through the air above Johnny’s head, explosions of grey and black lighting with power.

“Do ye truly believe we’d leave ye alone to face this? To spend a year in the mortal realm, as a merc, without us? Your brothers?”

“It is not merely a year, Johnny. It could be two, or three, or one hundred. I cannot take her until I know how to sustain her, and we’re still not closer to the answer.”

“I’m with ye Simon. Just as you’ve been with me through difficult times. I won’t turn my back now.”

“And neither will I.” Price booms from the doorway, the two of them whirling to where he stands with Gaz at his side.

“Sign me up. You know how I feel about mortal females. And their food.” Gaz gives them an impish grin, flourishing a set of light daggers and then lowering himself in a mock bow, an ode to his bloodline and ridiculous family. Johnny doesn’t say anything, but he watches how Simon’s shoulders ease, how he releases the breath he’s been holding, before giving them all a nod.

“I will go.” Johnny declares, and Simon’s eyes crinkle with relief. The sooner we get this all done, the sooner we can return home for good. Johnny was tired. They had been in the mortal realm for nearly a decade, coming back to Faerie now and then when something needed attending or when Simon had a lead. And now, with Simon desperately searching for the final piece of the puzzle, the end of all this finally felt close enough to taste. The only thing left outstanding was, how to get his blood to sing the Nereid’s song.

“I fancy a field trip myself.” Price relents, sigh expelling from his lungs with vexation. “Could use a change of scenery. Better than bloody Verdansk.”

“Or Las Almas.” Gaz mutters and Johnny protests.

“I liked Las Almas.”

“You just like Ale and Rudy.” Gaz ribs him, and Johnny laughs full throated. He did a soft spot for the two Vaqueros. They were smart, cunning humans who excelled in battle and cared for their community. Rare traits to find amongst the greedy, swamp like mortals that mostly roam their world. He respected them.

“Aye.” He agrees. The table goes quiet for a moment, words on the knifes edge, waiting, watching, until Simon clears his throat.

“Very well. We will go together then.” Price echoes him, while Gaz nods readily.

“Together.”

“It’s not optional anymore.” Your aunt’s voice vibrates through the speaker of the phone. “Your coven is your family.” She prattles on, unaware you’ve put the phone down and walked away from it to stack a few books together on the table.

“She’s nuts.” You mouth to Jet, who weaves between your legs before hopping up in front of you, rubbing her face against your fingers, seeking a scratch behind her ear.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” You sigh, and you swear you see Jet roll her eyes, right after you roll your own.

“You need to spend time with your coven. You can’t spend your entire life holed up in that shop with your familiar and your books.” Why not? You don’t say that, of course, lest she hex you through the phone, or worse. She doesn’t understand. You have a deep affection, a pure love for your connection to your power, for your magic, but that love did not extend to your coven, who were mostly still stuck in the darkest ages of time, who’s desire for power had pushed them to extremes. When you don’t respond, she bites out her directive before hanging up. “You must perform your duties. You’ll be expected on Samhain.”

And then the line goes dead.

You sigh, and Jet meows, like she sympathizes. Like she feels your pain. Maybe she does. You’re not sure. She is your familiar, but you don’t speak her language. You don’t know how she actually feels.

But you do know she dislikes your aunt, nearly as much as you do.

“I know, I know.” You give her another rub of your fingertips under her chin before pulling the stack of books towards you and carrying them through the back to the front of the shop.

Your day passes quietly. Mortals come and go, browsing the books in the front room, some choosing to stay and settle in the armchairs or the nooks with plush cushions, curled up with their selections for hours. There are places to tuck away here, corners between shelves where you could allow yourself to get lost in another world if you wanted, with no one to disturb or bother you, except maybe Jet. The black cat patrols the front room with high scrutiny, jumping to and from different heights while she ensures nothing is amiss in her domain.

You keep yourself busy with your daily tasks, organizing, counting, compiling, all while trying not think too much about the demand of your presence at Samhain.

You don’t want to go.

But you also don’t think you’ll be able to get out of it. You had already managed to dodge Lughnasa, and a fully body shudder rips through you when you recall the efforts of matchmaking that were done on your behalf before the festival had even started.

Not like anyone wanted to be matched with you to begin with. Not when there were effortless beauties by the dozen, witches and warlocks waiting with bated breath to be paired together.

Crazy, evil old hags. Crazier than the full moon herself.

By the end of your regular business hours, the store is empty, and you’ve settled yourself in the back room, the one that stays locked, the one where you keep all the things you don’t want the general public to see, ancient books bound with skin, grimoires with spells to summon demons, to kill lovers, to resurrect children. Books with magic of blood and bone, written by ancient witches from your own coven. Stories that come and go as they please. Stories of gods and monsters. Books that could open doors. Books that could trap you beyond those doors, forever. Banned books, by some’s standards.

Books you’re really not supposed to have but can’t help but collect. Your desire to absorb it all, learn it all unyielding, no matter how much information you consume, and it's become more than your livelihood now. The bookstore has become a place where others can come if they need something that their coven cannot provide, a place a witch can find a spell that’s long been forgotten, a place where answers can be found, if you knew where to look.

A safe place, for yourself, and for others.

A dangerous place, to some, and a dangerous place to you, at times. A place that made you known in magical communities, a place where you could be found.

And to your coven, nothing was worse.

Secret practitioners of blood magic, they were extremely closed off to outsiders. They stone walled others, refused friendships in magical society, kept to themselves as much as possible. It was their tradition, the only way they could survive and continue their practice, their devotion to blood, water and bone keeping them alive longer than others, keeping them young and fair when their counterparts aged and withered, kept them practicing for the entirety of their long lives.

And who would want to give that up?

You hadn’t been asked to be born into this complicated web of magic, hadn’t asked to become an orphan either, the loss of your parents forcing you into your aunt’s hands at a young age, where you learned all too quickly that your magic was different from other young witches, that you had been blessed with your coven’s ultimate gift.

Blood spinning.

Jet meows, leaping from the floor to the table to sit in front of you on her haunches, jet black fur shining under the dancing light of the candles. There are no lamps in this room, the bulbs too bright or too offensive for the books, some who’s pages don’t even show themselves unless they’re lit by magic.

You keep the flames in here lit by your power, day in and day out. Wax drips onto the mantle that sits over the fireplace, forming sand like castles on the wooden beam as the candles burn, staying in perfect stasis while the flames never go out.

You cast your magic out, just slightly, enough to straighten a shelf that was haphazardly arranged earlier, and then you wave a finger over a flame, just enough that it lightly heats your skin.

Fucking Samhain.

You can already feel the insistent pressure that will certainly be coming after today’s conversation, the demands of your participation in the Divination ritual and gods know what else.

Don’t these bats know you should stay home on Samhain? That’s when the Others get through.

You shiver.

You’re just about to ask Jet what she wants for dinner before you lock up when you hear a clattering smack, the sound of the broom that always stands so astute by the front door falling to floor, and your blood freezes in your veins.

Jet hisses.

Company’s coming.

“Hello?” A male voice calls, accent unusual to your ears, ricocheting past the shelves to where you sit in the back, hunched over a dusty tome. “Is anyone here?”

“I am!” You yell, standing up too fast, knocking into the heavy wooden table with your hip and letting out a hiss of air through your lips. Ow. Shit. That’s going to bruise. “I’m here, sorry.” You push away some hair from your face as you appear from the back room.

Oh.

Fuck.

There is a beautiful man standing in the front of the bookstore. A stunningly gorgeous, perfectly formed human being with crystalline blue eyes and a smile that practically beams. His hair is cut into a mohawk, a unique style that you don’t see too often, and his eyes glimmer with something mischievous, something wild. His bone structure reminiscent of the gods you grew up learning about, his face open, and handsome, watching you from where he stands, bolts of setting sunlight streaming in from the glass door behind him, framing him in the orange and pink goodness of dusk.

Just looking at him sets your body alight.

“H-hello.” Gods.. Get it together. It's just a guy. You've see plenty of mortal men before. His lips quirk, and you try not to look too closely at them, their sweet shape, perfectly pressed together while he cocks his head.

“Hello.” Jet meows by your feet, sharply, and you frown at her before looking back at the man.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a book.” He starts, stepping closer, eyes roving over the floor to ceiling shelves that line the front room.

“Well, this is a good place to do that.” Wow. You wish you could pull the words back into your mouth as soon as they slip out, but you can’t. All you can do is cringe and try not to melt into floor. Smooth. So smooth. He doesn’t seem bothered by your obvious statement, and he smiles at you, again, nodding his agreement.

“It’s well… it’s a rare book.”

“Oh?”

“And I’ve been told, you’re a purveyor of such rare and curious books.” Your skin feels warm under your sweater, and you try to beat back the feeling of the heat by taking a deep breath.

“I… have some books. That are considered rare. Or unusual, yes. It depends on what you’re looking for?”

“It’s a grimoire. Of the Ulster Cycle.” You cover your suspicion with a cheeky smile, before shaking your head. What could a man possibly want with that?

“I don’t have anything that old here.” The lie slips through your teeth with ease.

“Oh, my apologies. I was told ye were a collector of sorts. The bloke I spoke with said there was a rare books room an’ everything.” Something prickles along the back of your neck, and your magic flares to life, zinging through your veins like fire.

Magic. There’s magic in here with you, magic that is unlike yours. Magic that hovers above the surface, like it’s waiting for something, waiting to strike.

Is it his?

Like he can sense it, he tenses for a split second before relaxing, and offering you his hand.

“I’m Johnny.” You stare at his waiting gesture, poised on the edge of a decision, uncertainty hanging in the balance.

Something is different here.

Something is strange.

But the way he looks at you, like he’s really looking at you, seeing you, noticing you, soothes the wariness in your mind, the strong beating of your heart drowning out your more cautious nature.

Still, you’re not one to give your birth given name to anyone outside the coven, whether they be friend or foe.

You've seen someone learn that lesson first hand.

“My friends call me Fern.” It’s not a lie, your friends, what little you still had, do call you Fern. Have called you Fern ever since you were all children, when you were more interested in laying on your back in the woods and staring at the clouds through the trees, then you were learning basic spells at anyone’s house. Strange, they used to call you. Odd. Weird. Their parents, bless them, had instructed their children not to be cruel to you, but the nickname had persisted, and then stuck, until it was what you were calling yourself all through Uni and afterwards.

“Fern.” He echoes, a ripple of something you cannot name crossing his face before it smooths, and he releases your hand while giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s lovely to meet you.” The heat on your skin comes surging back, and your magic simmers inside your veins. You’re staring, up into his eyes, two perfect blue swirls of sea and sky, like you’re in a trance, unable to look way for a long moment before he’s clearing his throat and you’re blinking yourself free.

Odd. Your brain warns.

Enchanting. Your heart sings.

“Sorry, I uh. Don’t have your book.”

“It’s alright. Mind if I had a look around?”

“Sure!” you gush, over enthused, and then run your palms down the front of your skirt.

Calm down. He’s not here for you. He’s here for a book.

You try not to track his every move as he browses, instead staring at the blank computer screen at the front check out desk, clicking the mouse intermittently and shuffling some papers back and forth mindlessly while you sneak a look every now and then.

He’s fit, wide back snug in a t shirt and jacket that hangs loose over his hips, denim notched just right below his waist. You can’t help but stare when he reaches for a higher shelf, and his shirt rides up to expose a flash of his midriff, honey cream skin on full display that makes your mouth water, just a bit.

Jet meows loudly, and then makes an exaggerated point of licking her paw, pointing it in the direction of the clock that hangs over the door.

Welp.

“I’m actually closing up here, in a minute, is there anything-“

“Sorry to keep ye.” He turns, and you force your eyes away, the intensity of the eye contact too much, the pull of him practically overloading your senses.

“Oh, you’re not. I have other work to do, I just like to lock up.” You don’t know why exactly, but it feels like you’re stalling him. Like you don’t want him to leave. Jet jumps from the floor to the shelf behind you, and she growls as the man, Johnny, who takes a step away from the book he’s studying towards you. “Jet!” you admonish her. Johnny breathes a soft laugh.

“Smart, locking up, cannae be too sure about what’s lurking out there.” He jerks his head towards the door, and then flashes you another smile. It makes you dizzy.

“Uh, I do have some rarities, if that… if that’s something you’d like to come back and see.” What? What did you just say? Did you really just-

Johnny visibly brightens, like you’ve made his day. Like you’ve made him happy or given him a gift. The feeling warms you from the inside, trilling in your heart until it’s beating double time, and your magic is practically singing in your soul.

He tells you he’ll come back then, that he’d like to come back, and you nod numbly as you wave goodbye.

What the fuck was that?

Two days later, the bells that hang from the front door jangle and chime to announce his arrival, and the butterflies swirl in your stomach as you walk up front.

“Good evening.” He greets you, and you have to snap yourself to attention after nearly getting lost in the whirled sea glass of his eyes. “It’s Foxglove? Or… Sage?” Your eyes widen and then close to slits before glaring at him. “You’re named after a plant, right?”

“It’s Fern.” You deadpan, and he chuckles, lips splitting to reveal unnaturally white teeth.

“My apologies, Fern.” He does not hide the way his eyes trace you up and down, from your black boots to where your two times two big, button-down shirt is parted to reveal your clavicle. “Are ye well?” He asks, and you try to stutter out a response.

“Y-yes. Thanks. Yourself?”

“Aye, thanks. Excited to see what secrets you’re keeping.” He raises an eyebrow, and you gulp. Where has the air gone? Why does it feel so warm in here?

“I uh. Yeah, well. Let’s… it’s this way.” You punctuate the rambling sentence with deflated inflection, and his lips press together like you’ve amused him.

You pull your magic under the current of the atmosphere in the hallway to wrap around the lock and spring it free, allowing the door to open before the two of you and step inside. The room itself is a marvel, deep burgundy walls with more floor to ceiling bookshelves, and a giant table in the middle, it’s top carved from an ash tree far older than you. The candles dance in your presence, and you feed the wicks just a small sampling of magic, allowing them to gradually brighten so Johnny can see better. Mortal’s eyes were not known for being so sharp.

“And these are all…?”

“Varying. Some very old, storybooks about monsters and fairies and mermaids and such. You know, fairytales.” You laugh, but he doesn’t, only nods thoughtfully as he reads along the spines. “I’ve got some… old magic books. From when people thought witches were real. And some old religious texts. Nothing crazy, not museum worthy or anything.”

Definitely a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“When people thought witches were real?” He turns, voice laden with skepticism, and something heavy sinks in your belly.

“Yeah, you know. Old pagan beliefs, that kind of stuff.” You try to play it off but can’t escape his gaze, can’t escape the way it feels to have him staring at you, reading you like an open book.

“And you’re usually in the habit of lying to customers?” You stare him, bewildered, your mind racing to come up with something clever, something snappy to throw him. Nothing comes. “I can feel you.” He explains, like it’s normal, or natural. Like you’re both speaking the same language. “Can feel ye from across the street, actually. Didn’t know little plants could hold so much magic.” He teases, lighthearted and sweet, but your fingers tighten into fists.

“I-“ you start, but abruptly stop when words fail you, and your chest tightens with panic. You internally scream at yourself, the strange feelings from when he first stepped foot in the shop coming back to haunt you, to teach you a lesson.

“Hey, hey.” He croons, and you stare at him vacantly, mind scrambling a mile a minute. “It’s alright. I mean ye no harm, Fern.” The way he says your nickname feels like a bite, like a mark against your skin, the word singed with some sort of magic, something flavorless that you cannot taste, yet you know it’s there all the same. You realize he’s staring at your hands, which are open now, pushed out in front of you like a barrier.

“What are you?” you challenge, and his lips twist.

“I’m no threat to ye.”

“Sounds like what someone who is a threat would say.”

“I promise, 'm just a low-level Wielder. You have more power in your pinky finger than I have in my entire body.” A Wielder. That explains the weird feelings. It’s an old term, one used to describe those born into magical families without marginal power. Wielding witches or warlocks usually have enough magic in them to cast minimal impact spells, some charms and enchantments, things of little consequence. “I ah, work in the military. I don’t practice.” He admits, and that takes you by surprise.

“The military?”

“Aye.” An impish grin splits across his face. “I like blowing things up. Work with a special ops team, around the world. We’re on leave right now, but. That’s usually what I’m doing.” That’s different. Magical beings usually stay far away from things like government, or military. Easier to remain undetected that way, and it was fairly known that mortals were left to their own affairs, without magical interference. You find yourself asking the question before you can smack your lips shut.

“But, your family must-“ not like that? Shun you? Worry about you? must hate you for that? You’re not sure why you blurted it out, or even where you were going with it.

“My mum’s gone. Da too. Got a few siblings left but, we mostly keep to ourselves.” Oh.

“I’m sorry.” Shame curdles in your stomach, and you grimace. “I wasn’t trying to pry, I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright, happened a long time ago.”

“I shouldn’t have-“

“Fern.” He says quickly, your name laden with the same feeling from before, the richness of some unintelligible power, and you draw a sharp breath. “It’s alright, I promise.” You duck your head in silent apology, and the room stays quiet for a moment before he’s speaking again. “What is this?” He’s pointing to a black book, its spine cracked and writing illegible, to most.

“That’s a grimoire.”

“It looks… old. Like it’s seen better days.”

“It is, and it has.” You don’t elaborate, because you don’t know if you should, or even if you want to.

“Where’s it from?” He pushes.

“Here. It’s uh… from my coven. From a very long time ago.”

“You lot been around a long time?”

“You could say that.” You could say that’s an understatement. There were only a handful of old covens left in the world, ancient powers that slept beneath the skin of their witches, only growing stronger and stronger through their lengthy history and connection to the earth. Dangerous.

He continues on with his inquiries, and you give him as much information as you can, pulling books from their resting places and cracking them wide for his eyes, pointing out little things of interest here and there while he stands in awe, time ticking away until the clock in the hall is chiming for ten pm, and he’s apologizing for keeping you so late as you click the door shut.

“You’re not keeping me.” You assure him. “I live in the flat upstairs. Short commute.” You laugh.

“Well, thank ye. That was a delight. Old books like that, the ones that most do not get to see are… special. I’m grateful to ye, for sharing the collection with me.” He makes your head spin, with how earnest he is, how easy and honest he confesses such things to you. It makes your knees feel weak, makes your throat feel dry.

“Of course. Um, anytime you wanna, you know. Come by and look, I’m here.” You stand by awkwardly, while Jet scowls at you from her perch in the window. Your heart sinks when you realize he’s going to leave now, the knowledge that he’ll step out on the street and possibly never been seen by you again twisting in your soul like a sour edged blade.

“I ah… was going to go for a late dinner, would ye like to join me?” You don’t even process it right away, just nod, numbly, like a robot in front of him. Dinner? With him? You, and him?

“Yeah!” you blurt and then try not to cringe at your over eagerness. “Yes. Yes, I’m hungry so… dinner would be great.”

“Know any good spots around?”

“Uh, yeah there’s a place down the street a few blocks that has a great curry. We could walk?”

“Sure.” He agrees, and then steps outside to wait for you while you lock everything up.

Jet complains the entire time, loudly, and you try to shush her multiple times.

“Oh, stop!” you scold over her meows. “It’s just dinner. He’s nice.” She watches you with keen eyes, green spheres that probably know far more than you, before slinking off to the stairs in the back, taking herself up to the flat. “Goodnight then!” You yell after her, to which she responds with a frustrated growl.

Familiars. You sigh and roll your eyes. So dramatic.

“I lost my parents too.” You tell him one night, a week later. He’s met you after closing, in a park where you like to walk sometimes, and the two of you slowly stroll along the walking path as you trade questions and answers about one another’s lives. It’s somewhat dark, sun already set, but the orange light of a giant jack o lantern that sits in the green space’s center glows robustly and bathes the twilight in autumn hues. “I uh, didn’t want to say anything, because it felt like, not the right time but, yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” He says earnestly and you give him a tiny smile.

“Thanks, I was young. There’s not much I remember about it.” Mostly true. You really didn’t know much, even though you were there. You had the memories in pieces, the woods, the moon, the Fae that took your mother’s life. The spell that ended your father’s. All buried deep in your heart, untouched. Unvisited. You both lapse into silence, and you fight the awkwardness by posing a question, hoping to change the subject without being too obvious.

“How many siblings do you have?”

“I’ve got one sister, who I don’t get to see as often as I’d like. And then, my brothers, who aren’t mine by blood but by we’ve all been best friends for far too long now, living together, working together, traveling together. We’re… very bonded.”

“That’s sweet.” His head tips back with a laugh, before looking back to you.

“Sweet isn’t what I’d call them, but it’s something.”

“They’re like your family then?”

“Aye. Closest some of us ‘ll ever get.” There’s a pang of something in your heart at that, the idea that Johnny has both blood and love, people who have chosen him, who love him. You’ve never really had that, and the concept is practically foreign to you. “Look, there. It's you.” He points to a bush off to the left and you turn to him confused. “Little plant.” He explains, bemused, clearly pleased with himself and his terrible joke.

“Piss off.” You elbow him playfully, trying to push away, and he grabs you, pulling you into his side with a firm grip, half holding you to him in an embrace as he chuckles and rubs your shoulder affectionately.

“Sorry, little shrub.”

“What are ye doing for Samhain?” He asks the following day during his visit to the shop, a week before the dreaded night, and you gnaw on your lip.

“There’s a festival. We burn large pyres and dance in the moonlight.” You tease.

“Nude?” he smirks, and you laugh, nearly dropping the volume you’re shelving.

“No, gods no. Fully clothed, thank you.” You don’t mention the Divination, the ritual that is your own personal hell. “We drink, and dance, and those who have lost loved ones try to find their spirits. There’s also matchmaking, done by the elders. Which I painstakingly avoid.” He hands you another book, and you pop it into place. “Would you… would you like to come?” Why not? It’s not like anyone is going to tell you not to bring someone. Especially not when they need you so badly. He’s quiet, holding another book in his hand, staring down at the cover like he’s reading it. He’s silent for so long you start to worry, start to second guess yourself, start to think maybe, you read this wrong. Maybe, this isn’t what you thought it might be. Maybe he’s-

“I would be happy to.”

“Be watchful of the féth fíada.” The witch who stands beside a roiling cauldron warns, before pressing a mug into your waiting hands. “Something else is in these woods tonight.” You give your beverage to Johnny and then take the second mug from her, before leading him away, down the hill and closer to the fires.

“What’s the féth fíada?”

“It’s the mist. On Samhain, the veil is particularly thin between worlds, you know? Spirits are usually here with us, until the sun rises but…” You sip the cider, spice and warmth coating your tongue. “We, the coven, believe the Others come through at the same time, and use the mist to cloak themselves.” You gesture to the wispy white fog that rolls through the forest like smoke.

“The Others?” He asks, and you nod.

“Yes. That’s what we call them. The Fae.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Thought the Fae were a myth.” You laugh and turn to face him.

“I assure you, they’re very real.”

“Oh? Have ye encountered one then?” You shudder, like you’re cold, frightening memories pooling at the forefront of your mind until you shove them away.

“Once. When I was a child.” He frowns then, head cocked in consideration, faraway look in his eye as he casts his gaze over your shoulder. Like he’s looking for something. Like he’s seeing.

“Were ye hurt, Fern?” Hurt? No. Traumatized? The echo of your mother’s screams ring in between your ears.

“No.” Someone lights a new pyre a second after your denial, orange embers leaping into the night sky with grace, and it draws your attention enough to distract the both of you. “Come on.” You tug him towards where a group has gathered, bodies moving together in tandem with a chorus of strings that sing through the air. “Dance with me?” You ask him breathlessly, emboldened by the sniff of fire whiskey that sits in your cup and he smiles before draping an around your waist and pulling you close to his body.

“I’d like nothing more.”

Your feet are light, moving around one another with an elegance you didn’t know you possessed, effortlessly shifting with the rhythm and time of the music, fingers grazing along each other in tentative, desperately seeking touches.

“You’re beautiful, little witch.” He whispers against your ear, words soft and saccharine, floating on the warm air around you as you sway together in time to the music. His hand cups your jaw gently, tilting your chin upwards until you’re both looking at one another, his blue eyes alight with the reflection of the bonfire behind you, lovely and bright, burning down into your soul like a love spell. “I’d like to kiss ye, Fern.” He murmurs, voice strained and tinged with an accent you cannot place, and you blink while your heart rockets off at superspeed, sending blood buzzing with excited magic through your veins.

“Okay.” You murmur, and he smiles at you like you’re the most stunning creature he’s ever seen, before slowly lowering his lips to yours.

It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed it would be. You’ve kissed some men in your life, some women, but nothing compares to this. There’s an explosion inside of you when his mouth meets yours, the gentle coaxing of the way he holds you melting you into a boneless heap while you breathe him in, his scent practically transporting you to another world, a mossy, emerald-green wood with lush plant life and giant ferns that blanket the forest floor. The feel of him, of whatever this is, mixed with your magic and the magic in the air is a powerful elixir, one that seems to make the world tilt where you stand, gravity disappearing and your body pressing into his as a result. The closer you get, the more you can feel something in him, something strong, something powerful, lurking in the shadow of this moment, waiting. Watching. He tastes like oak and dew dropped grass, earthy and rich and magical, everything wrapping up into one as you practically go limp in his arms when he parts your lips with his tongue and sweeps inside.

When he pulls away he’s still holding you steady, while you stare at him wordlessly, smile tugging at your lips. The world feels quiet, like everything has all but died down, like mostly everyone has left except for you, and him. A second stretches on for a minute, for an hour, and you can’t bring yourself to tear your eyes away from his, your magic arcing wildly through the night sky, snapping and hissing with the overflow of your emotions. You never want this to end. You want this to last forever... you want him in more ways than you've ever known. You want-

"Fern! Fern!" Someone's calling you, over the noise of the night, and you reluctantly step back, realizing it’s your aunt’s voice carrying over the music and revelry.

“I… I have to…” You nod in her direction, where she stands beyond the pyre, at the seam of the forest, sealed mason jar of something in her hands.

“Of course.” He answers immediately, and takes your hand in his, folding his fingers between yours and petting his thumb over your knuckles. He brings them to his mouth, carding his lips over your skin with a gentle kiss, before giving your hand a squeeze and relaxing his grip. “I’ll see ye soon?”

“Y-yeah. Still want to do dinner, on Thursday?” Thursday should be fine, enough time to recover.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” He vows, strong and certain. You hear your name again, but don’t release him, and it’s not until he’s asking you if you’re alright that you realize you’re clutching to him too tightly. Like he’s a lifeline. Like he could save you from this. His free hand moves into your line of sight, and then he strokes a finger across your cheek, eyes worried, face creased with concern. “Fern? What is it?”

“Nothing. I… I have to go. I’ll see you Thursday.” He opens his mouth to speak but you’re already pulling away, releasing him and bringing the cowl of your hood up over your hair, slipping into the crowd without another word.

You stumble around the dancing and celebrating until you break through and reach the tree line, your aunt and another standing in their ceremonial black robes. You swallow a gasp when you see the jar, it’s clear liquid a tell-tale sign of what’s to come.

Divination.

Your aunt’s lips purse when she sees you.

“Are you ready?” No. No, no. Please don’t make me. You take a deep breath to try to steady yourself, clear your mind and settle your magic. No. No, you’re not ready. The forest cracks and chants around you, cacophony of voices screaming and singing at the same time. No, you don’t want this. You don’t want to do this. This is not what you were meant for, you know it in your heart. You do not want to hurt; you were not meant for harm. “Fern.” Her tone snaps like a whip against your skin.

“Yes.”

You lay still for days, after. Unable to sleep, your eyes never close, your mind never settles, the adrenaline crystalizing in your bones as you drag yourself back and forth from your bathroom to bed, over and over.

You wash hands hundreds of times, but you still see the blood stains on your palms, under your nails, splattered up to your elbows.

Your power burns throughout you, magic heating the air with fervor and thrall, chanting voices culminating around you as you seek the vessels in his body and pull, drawing each drop through him and into yourself, ruby ichor spouting from his mouth like a furious volcano, blood dripping from his lips like the hallowed tears of the old gods. It’s everywhere, on your hands, your arms, your face, your neck, the earth. You imbue it with power, pushing your connections with the roots beneath the soil upwards, into the blood while the breeze sizzles and shatters, mist gathering around your ankles like shackles meant to drag you below.

You close your eyes thousands of times, but you still see the face of the man, still see his fear, still hear his pleas, his screams, his cries for mercy as you bleed him dry, scrying for the future with the litres of his blood.

The visions come quickly, splintering through your head with a sharpness that hurts, and you cry out amidst the pain, your mind being ripped into pieces as you scream. There are hands on you, arms cloaked in dark robes, holding you up, holding you steady while your magic vibrates through the ground and into your bones, filling your sight with the future. Clips of death, birth, tragedy echo behind your closed lids, the mineral scent of blood filling your nostrils until you think it will be burned there permanently.

Tears stream down your cheeks, cutting a path through the spray of red that paints your face.

Your cries join the reprise of the man who sits dying at your feet, the force of his life draining through your magic, bending and weaving with the power from the earth and your own blood until he’s nothing but a husk, a desecrated corpse that lays silently as you collapse in front of it.

The visions do not stop. They will not stop for days.

The elders extract the ones that pertain to them from your mind through their own spell, the process nearly as painful as the Divining itself. They hold you down to the ground to get what they want, pinning your shoulders with a bruising grip, cutting your skin to smear their fingers in your blood, holding your head still as you thrash. Their hands hurt. You will wear their marks for weeks.

Your aunt deposits you on your back doorstep in a heap as the sun rises.

No one calls. No one comes.

You lay alone in your bed, eyes peeled wide, seeing into endless futures, broken stories of other worlds, other beings, other places that you’ll never know. Places you’ll only ever read about in books Places that you’ll only see through this horrid act, or your restless dreams.

Your brain fractures into tiny little pieces. Your own understanding becomes non sensical.

You become lost between planes. Lost in your own mind. Lost to the Divination.

Jet never leaves your side. The shop stays shuttered, as it does every year after Samhain, no one coming or going, your lone employee enjoying her annual week after Halloween vacation.

Eventually your eyes close. You sleep fitfully. You dream of the visions, the screams, the sacrifice.

Finally, you regain enough strength to weave a weak spell that helps quiet your mind, and then you truly rest, for the first time in days. You rest, and you sleep until Thursday afternoon, when there’s a rapping against your door.

Johnny.

“Hey little sprout, what’s-“ the words die on his lips when you peek around the door, and the color drains from his face. “Fern.” He whispers.

“Hi.” You know how you appear. Strung out, most likely. Battered. Exhausted. Bruised. You try to fix the top of the knit shawl that you have draped over your shoulders, but it’s far too late. He’s already seen.

“What… what’s happened?”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.” You try to play it off but it’s pointless now.

“Who did this?” The demand is harsh, and rage simmers in his eyes, fury crackling along his skin and into the air between you. He looks… different, something primordial reflecting in his gaze, something ominous etched in the lines of his face. The question holds a promise of violence, of punishment, and being so close to him in this moment makes your head spin. It makes you feel like the very fabric of this world is tearing apart, ripping to pieces around you as he stands there, an otherworldly feeling swirling in the air between your two bodies. It suffocates you, pushes you into the dark depths of waters that feel all too familiar, like the leftover scars on your mind from the Divination are being ripped wide open and plunging you back between celestial planes.

“Johnny," You manage to choke out, voice rough and trembling. "it’s fine, I- I’m okay. It’s just… the aftermath. Of Samhain.” Your voice breaks, the tenor of your sadness something that’s out of your control, tears caught in your throat. He stares at you, bewildered, a hand raised midair before it falls to his side in a fist, and he turns away. “Johnny?” He doesn’t respond, and you watch the smooth skin of his jaw flex and harden. He stares into the distance, across the street, into the sky.

Looking anywhere but you.

It’s because he can’t stand to see you.

You look awful.

You look monstrous.

You are monstrous.

“No one should ever touch ye like this.” He bites out, his knuckles tensing against the door frame. His eyes are angry, and wild, burning a hole into your clavicle, where your skin sits exposed, healing from a gash. You shift, a little uncomfortable under the scrutiny, and then he snaps his gaze up to yours, face immediately softening, lips parting, expression rife with unease. With worry. “Are ye… are ye okay?”

“Yes. Just a bit tired.”

“If it’s too much, to have dinner-“

“No! N-no, no. I want… to see you. I want to. Just not sure if I feel up to going out?” He understands, nodding sympathetically, brow furrowed with thought.

“I could go get a takeaway?” Your stomach chooses to rumble at that exact moment, and a small smile plays on his lips.

“That would be wonderful.”

“Alright.” He steps just a little closer, close enough for you to get a deep inhale of him, that woodsy, mossy, magical scent, and swoops down to land a gentle kiss to your cheek before pulling your hand into his and bringing it to his lips, eyes slipping closed with a shuddering breath when he presses a kiss to your palm. “I’ll be right back. You'll be alright?”

“Yeah, 'm fine.”

He feeds you until you cannot eat anymore. He plies you with noodles of too many kinds, different cartons that overflow spread out on the coffee table, in front of where you sit curled up on the couch. You’re still exhausted, eyes straining to stay open, and eventually, you’re sinking lower and lower into the cushions, legs sprawled across his lap, his hand smoothing up and down your calf. It’s warm, and comforting, and you swear you can feel little zings of magic moving inside you, lulling you into a peaceful rest, cocooning you in hazy feelings of softness and safety.

Hours later, in the dark, lips press to your forehead. Your body curls against something warm, face flush against the steady thump of a heartbeat. Someone whispers in your ear.

“Sleep well, little witch.”

“Tell me about your magic.” He asks one night, a few days after you fell asleep on the couch, when you’re finally back to your normal self, spending most of your time getting caught up on everything you let slip during your post Samhain recovery period.

Having Johnny around has seemed to help, somehow. He’s been here, every day since, like he’s unwilling to let you out of his sight, showing up in the mornings before you open the shop with a coffee and sweet, a baked treat that two of you usually split as you go about tidying things around the front room. He hovers, his fingers lightly tracing over your skin often, grasping your hand in his, pressing his lips to your palm reverently throughout the day. You’re not sure how, or why, but it seems your magic and mind have taken to having him around, and you feel better, more well than you normally would during the Divination healing process, your head clear and wounds mostly mended.

“What about it?”

“There were many witches, warlocks, magical beings at the festival, but I didn’t feel anyone quite like ye.” A keen observation. You hem and haw, debating how much to truly tell him, debating how to make it sound… less insane.

“There aren’t any witches like me anymore, really.” You say quietly, casting a mournful look to where he sits on the wicker sofa, legs spread wide. You’re both sitting on your flat’s back porch, enjoying the crisp weather that has a chill to it, the coolness of air refreshing against your skin. “I’m a blood spinner.” He gives you a confused look.

“What’s that?”

“It’s like… a special kind of witch, in my coven. We aren’t exactly… the most orthodox of our kind.”

“What do ye mean?” Ah, fuck. You chew on the inside of your cheek, hesitant to break your oath, to betray the promises you made to protect the secrets that rule your existence.

But it’s Johnny.

And you trust him.

“My coven… we’re blood witches. We deal in blood, water, bone. Living things and… such. We can craft spells that affect other forms of life. It’s generally taboo, now. There aren’t any covens left alive that practice blood magic, except us.”

“And what is a blood spinner?” At the same time as he poses his question, he taps his thigh meaningfully, and you rise from the chair that you were sitting in to lower yourself into his lap, edge of your dress sliding down your thigh when he tucks his arm under your knees. His palm skates up and down the back of your leg, and goosebumps raise the hair on the back of your neck.

“Every few decades, a witch like me is born. They call us blood spinners, which is really just a made-up name for someone who’s… connected.”

“Connected?”

“We rely heavily on our connection to the earth, and most of my coven cannot pull on those connections without casting some sort of spell. I can do it… naturally.” You take a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. “I feel connections to the earth, the elements, especially water, so intensely sometimes it feels like they’re a part of me. During our walk the other week? I could feel the trees, breathing. Could feel the grass growing. Could hear the rapid heartbeats of the ducks in the pond. All without using a single spell. Using my magic is not something I have to cast for, like most others. I can just… do it.”

“I’m still not following.” Of course he’s not. Because you sound insane.

“Right, sorry. Most witches perform magic by casting spells. It’s how they organize and harness their power, pushing the chaotic force of it into something that can contain it, regulate it, give it a purpose.”

“But not you.”

“No. If a witch in my coven wanted to, let’s say, cast a love spell, they’d need an incantation. They could do it, of course, because blood and bone are the primary targets of such a spell, but they’d still need one. They’d write it themselves or get it from someone else if they weren’t confident in their spell making. But I… could just do it. Could just manipulate the blood, enchant it with my own power. Straight from the source. No words. No chanting.”

“Just your power.”

“Yes.” You hesitate. Might as well, while you’re at it. “And, I can use blood to see the future.” He stiffens.

“Divination?” You nod, and he studies you before murmuring quietly, “I didn’t know mortal witches could practice Divination.” Mortal witches? What is that supposed to mean?

“They can’t. We’re not mortal.” His eyes narrow.

“What?”

“My coven has always used their gifts to prolong their lives. It is a blessing, and a curse.” He raises an eyebrow in surprise and you shake your head. “Not me, though. Not yet, anyway. I’m still my natural age.” You offer him a toothy grin, and while he nods thoughtfully, his brow furrows in contemplation.

“Well, aren't ye full of surprises, eh?” He hums, and then presses you closer, leaning forward until his mouth is waiting, just above yours.

“Kiss me.” You whisper, fingers clutched in his shirt, desperate for him, for his touch, for anything he could give you.

“Ye never have to ask.” He answers, and then seals his lips to yours, stealing your breath while his hand sinks into your hip, your body heating under his ministrations, your head dizzy with lust and affection for him. He shifts you in one movement, so you’re straddling him, and you can feel the outline of his cock in his jeans beneath you, can feel the heaviness that sits there. You sink down, just slightly, enough that your clothed cunt barely rubs over him, the contact sending little electric shocks through your body, and you whimper into his mouth. “Fern.” He murmurs, and you sneak your tongue past his teeth, lavishing him as much as you can, eager to soak up every piece he’s willing to give. He groans, and your hands drift to his waist, a thumb tucking beneath his skin and the button of his jeans, desperate to touch, to feel, to have him… when his fingers encircle your wrist and pull you away. “We canna’ dove. It’s late.” He says mournfully. Your heart sinks, soul cresting with sadness, and he strokes some strands of hair from your face gently.

Why doesn’t he want you? Were you reading things wrong? Have you done something?

He brings your palm to his lips, kissing you tenderly, and some of the bitterness leeches from your soul, your heart gentling it's disappointment, your dejection ebbing away on silken spun clouds.

“Right. Of course.”

He sighs, like he’s bearing the weight of the entire world, before knocking his forehead against yours gently.

“I’m sorry, sweet Fern. It’s not you, ah just… it’s late.”

“That’s alright, I understand.” You hoist yourself off his lap, and he scratches his head, more so in a way that seems to be a nervous tic than a necessary action, and you shrug. He stands, body held in stasis halfway to you, arm extended like he wants to touch you, grab you, but he’s holding back. You eye the porch door, and he frowns, something uneasy flickering across his gaze. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” you blurt before he can say anything, and he tenses.

“Of course.” He rushes to assure you, and you give him a nod before turning away.

“Goodnight.” You call over your shoulder, before slipping inside your flat and flicking off the porch light.

“You’ve mentioned… you ‘ave books about mermaids?” His fork digs through the container of noodles, lifting a perfect mouthful to his lips after the question, and you nod with your own mouth full of pad see ew.

“Sort of. They’re not really… mermaids in the sense like, Ariel and such.” You’re sitting opposite him upstairs, in the kitchen of your flat, with a window open, cool breeze flowing through your curtains. Your mind wanders to the ancient Greek text that sits on one of the shelves, it’s writing penned by the old gods themselves, words magicked by you to be hidden from most eyes. “They’re different.”

“The Nereids.” He says plainly, and you blink in surprise. “The ones who lure mortals to their deaths?”

“You know of the Nereids?” He nods, scooping another bite into his mouth, swallowing before he continues.

“My mum used to tell me stories about them. Said they were hunters, used blood spells to trap their victims.” You sigh into your wine glass. His fingers snake across the table and then up your forearm, tracing featherlight touches on the inside of your wrist.

“They don’t use blood spells.”

“No?”

“No.” You scoff. “Their magic is much more complex than that. The blood songs are not spelled. They’re naturally occurring. The Nereids do not choose who sings to them.”

“So, it could be anyone.” He muses, and you shrug.

“Yeah. I’m sure it’s pre-determined by something, somewhere. Some magical force but, the mortals… they’ve no idea. It’s not like they choose, to have their hearts ripped from their chest during sex.” Johnny startles on the stool, body shifting in a rapid movement, so quick your eyes almost don’t catch it. “You didn’t know?” It wouldn’t surprise you. Not much is known about the Nereids. You only hold this knowledge because your coven is well informed, due to the length of their lives, and because you possess one of the few texts left that references them in such detail. Both you and your coven hold the truth of what lurks in the sea close to your hearts. Another secret to keep, another truth never to be borne.

But the wine has made your tongue loose and well, you can’t help but give him everything he wants, anything he’s asked. His eyes flash, and he cradles your hand in his, stroking across your palm with his thumb.

Your words flow so easily, so uninhabited.

It feels so free, so right.

“No. Had no idea.” He watches you carefully, dancing candlelight spinning shadows along the walls and across his face. He looks handsome as usual, but something in the way he regards you now feels different. Dangerous. Thrilling. Your thighs press together almost subconsciously, low whirring of need humming inside your body, and your fingers tighten on the stem of you glass as you continue.

“Yeah, they need them… to live. It’s very… complex. The song creates a pull of sorts, I think.” You drain your glass before motioning to the wine bottle, tugging its contents into your glass with a little flick of magic. “It’s pretty sad. They fall in love with their victims for a night, and then harvest the organ and eat it before the sun comes up. It’s what sustains them. The love, the blood, the magic.” You gesture to the bottle and then to him, and he encourages you with a nod. “It all comes from the heart, you know?” You tap your own for reference, finger padding at the skin over your breastbone, over top where your heart beats just a little faster than normal.

“Aye, I guess it does.” He murmurs, fingertips light against your skin. His attention is focused on you, unwaveringly so, and you fidget under the scrutiny. He looks so… ethereal, in the dim candlelight, so otherworldly that you have to blink a few times to make sure you’re not seeing things.

You’re not.

He’s just really so, so beautiful.

It’s late when Johnny poses another question, clearing his throat over the low volume of a movie playing in the background. He lays behind you on the couch, the curve of your ass pressed into his hips, his arm slung over your belly, palm pressed to space above your navel. His breath fawns over your cheek, and he presses soft kisses to your temple in quick succession before you feel the vibration in his chest.

“I was thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“What if… it was someone you knew? The mortal, who had the Nereid’s song. Could you save them somehow?” It’s an interesting question, and you pause for a moment. His fingers stroke the back of your hand, before wrapping around your wrist and bringing your palm towards his mouth, lips pressing a gentle kiss to your skin before pulling you tighter into his embrace.

“I don’t know. I suppose you could, extract the song. You’d have to call it forth because it’s naturally occurring. You couldn’t just… cast a spell. You’d have to summon it, bind it to something, probably yourself, and then pull it from the mortal that way, but then you’d be dooming the Nereid to die. They need the heart, to live. I don’t think I could make that choice.” His hand skates along your ribs, under your t shirt, stroking up and down your skin slowly. Soothingly.

“I don’t think I could either.”

“That’s not what I meant!” You shriek with laughter, chest expanding as you rock backwards, leaning away from him and his devilish smile. His arm wraps firmly around your waist, keeping you close to him, fingers playing across your clavicle while you giggle.

“Aye but it’s what ye said.” He’s been taunting you relentlessly about last night, when you fell asleep on the couch and then proceeded to talk for a few hours, all while you were blissfully tucked away in a dream somewhere.

“Nooo Johnny.” You moan, mortified, and bury your face in his chest. You peek up at him, and your eyes betray you, even though it’s the last thing you want. You cannot hide it, the giddiness, the happiness you feel when you’re around him. It swamps you in glee, exuberance oozing from every one of your pores. Your power feels sweeter, feels lighter, feels more peaceful now than it ever has before.

You know it’s because of him.

You dread that it’s because of him.

Four days later, you’re cataloguing some new arrivals when the front door of the shop bangs open, smacking against the wall, nearly shaking the building, the sound alone bringing you to your feet in a panic.

Your aunt stands in the doorframe, body thrumming with spells just barely contained, anger flooding the space between the two of you.

“What have you done?” She screeches, eyes mad with rage, and you stare at her horror while Jet hides behind your legs.

“I don’t... what’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” She jeers with an acidity that taints the air. “You’ve always been such a foolish child.”

“I don’t understand…”

That male you brought to Samhain wasn’t a mortal, you stupid girl. He was Fae.”

“Johnny? No, he’s… he’s not. He’s-“ He’s not. He couldn’t be. He wouldn’t lie to you.

“Have you not heard? What’s happened?” she spits. She's confused. She must be. This can't be right.

“Heard what?”

“A Nereid has been taken, to Faerie. By one of them.” You laugh nervously in her face, the absurdity of her statement unsettling.

“No, that’s not possible.” Why would a Nereid leave their home? How would they leave their home? They need human hearts to survive, after all. How would that even…

The room spins. Your Aunt continues to scream, going on and on about how stupid you are, how foolish and naïve, how you’re lucky you’re the blood spinner because otherwise, the coven would have already burnt you at the stake. Alive.

But you cannot focus on any of it.

All you can hear, all you can picture, is the horrid replays of those conversations with Johnny.

All you can think about, is how easily your lips spilled those secrets. How free it all felt. How right.

“You know of the Nereids?”

“I didn’t know mortal witches could practice Divination.”

“I suppose you could, extract the song…”

“They don’t use blood spells.”

“You’d have to summon it, bind it to something, probably yourself…”

“It all comes from the heart, you know?”

“Oh, gods.” You whisper, mouth dropping open in shock. Your aunt finally goes silent, the whole room falling quiet as the blood rushes in your ears.

“You’re dead to us. You’ll perform your duties for Divination, when necessary, but outside of that, you’re to be shunned. No one is to speak to you, of you, ever again.” She pauses, glaring at you with contempt. “The jury’s still out, on whether you’ll be tried and burned.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t know… I didn’t do it intentionally.” You don’t even know why you’re trying to explain yourself, why you’re bothering. She won’t listen. No one will care. You broke your oath. You betrayed the thing you were supposed to protect. Your chest heaves, lungs fighting for air as the walls narrow in on where you stand.

All for some stupid attention. All because some guy, someone you thought was just a harmless mortal with a tinge of power, smiled at you and kissed you sweetly. Because he told you were beautiful, and held your hand, and went on walks with you in the park. Because he kissed you like you meant something, like you mattered.

Your aunt stops at the door, casting a parting remark over her shoulder as she leaves.

“Your poor mother, Fern. I hope her spirit never discovers what you’ve done.”

It doesn’t take long, to find him. You thread your power through the city, scrying your magic through every drop on blood on every street, every corner, ever floor of every building until you locate him, sitting at a two top table outside of a pub, a handsome male across from him. They’re speaking in hushed tones as you turn the corner, and you stop for a moment to take them in.

How could you not have seen this?

Those strange feelings, his scent, the shadow of something primordial in those eyes were all trying to tell you the same thing.

This male is not a man at all, but Fae.

You stomp down the rest of the block, urging mortals away, using your magic to push them, to send them scurrying in other directions, just as the one sitting opposite Johnny spots you, mouth dropping into an o of surprise before he’s speaking, lips moving rapidly.

Johnny swivels in his chair, but it’s too late. You’re already upon them.

Your rage, your shame overshadows your hurt, the fear that threatens to drown you, as you stand in front of him spitting mad, your magic swirling around you in violent hues of red and purple while he stares, dumbfounded.

“You tricked me, you Fae bastard.” He stands, hand outstretched in a cautionary gesture.

“Fern-“ He tries, but you steamroll him. He’s Fae. Don’t listen to a word he says.

“You used me!” You hiss, fist unclenching, raising in front of your body like a weapon.

“No, listen-“ The other one, like him, is standing off to his left, watching you warily while you yell, tears wet on your cheeks. He steps closer, coming to stand nearly behind Johnny’s shoulder before Johnny waves him off with a concerned look on his face.

“No! You listen! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Your power throbs through you, biting and gnawing to get out, to strike him down and hurt him, hurt him as he’s hurt you, betray him as he’s betrayed you. Your feelings and thoughts and magic all swirl together, weaving and bending into a chaotic mass of pain and sorrow and anger, surging forward, and then your finger extends, pointing right at him.

In the blink of an eye the air shifts and he drops his glamour, exposing the true strength of his power, the tips of his ears, the mighty weight of the magic he carries in his veins.

Your words die on your tongue.

His hand darts forward, strong fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you close, close enough that he can incline his head above your ear, voice razor sharp, lethal and cold when he whispers in an accent you've never heard before:

“Did ye just point at me, little witch?” You’re stunned for a moment, terror galloping through your heart before your sense of self-preservation kicks in and you wrench your arm away, stepping back as quickly as you can.

“Stay away from me.” You hiss. Johnny hasn’t reverted back to how you know him, with the soft angles and rounded ears, his glamoured state, you now realize, and staring him down is a feat in its own. It hurts, to look at him, and you know it’s intentional, you know it’s the way they operate. They aim to sow fear. To scare. Their blinding beauty is just another means to an end, just another tool for them to use.

Something shifts, and Johnny’s eyes move, the intensity of their gaze wavering as he regards you.

He looks… upset.

No. No he doesn’t. He’s not remorseful. He doesn’t care. He used you. He lied to you. He tricked you.

You step away slowly, afraid to show your back to him, and he takes a half lunge towards your retreating form but it’s too late, you’re too far away from him now, and when you finally turn to run, you hear his voice on the wind.

“Fern, wait!”

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thehorrorsoftheblackbunnymask · 2 months

Text

Paid Internship (Part 1)(Prison AU)

Author's Note: This is a Prison AU that the viewers of my blog seem to be pretty fond of. The main focuses for the romance parts will differ depending on the part, but for part 1, it's Liu, Jeff, and Toby. The reader is gender neutral and uses She/He stuff, but sometimes depending on what's going on I'll use stuff like Tits. Also, Sully will be in the fic, but I won't use his name. Pay attention to how Liu talks, they will be major differences between his first meeting and his interview.

Author's Note 2: This is definitely one of my longest and most plot heavy fics on my account. I do plan for this to be multi parter, so this part will be heavy on introducing the characters. This part will have some yandere moments, but they will be mostly prominent in part two. If you wanna be tagged for part two, leave a comment, or reblog.

Summary: Welcome to your paid internship at Roosevelt Federal Prison. After being seen for your potential and skills by your instructor at the Academy, he decided to give you opportunity of working in the US' most dangerous prison despite the disapproval and rejection from the higher ups. However, due to miscommunication and faulty paperwork, you're gonna up working with some of America's most danger serial killers for the semester.

Warnings: Descriptions of crimes, Rape Mentioned, Perversion, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Gore, Sadism, Violence, Implied Nudity, Kidnapping, Implied Abuse, Hostages, Death, Murder, Threats, Mood Swings, Sexual Abuse Implied, PTSD, Mental Illness, Dealings, Attempted Murder, Survivor's Guilt,Cursing, Sleep Deprived Workers, Stress, Agression, and More. This AU is not fo the faint of heart.

Word count: 13.5k

Links: {Masterlist} {Prison AU Introduction}

"Hey kid, you ready?"

You were taken out of your train of thought by your instructor and mentor, Officer Joseph Gibbons. Joseph was a man in his 50's, his once hazelnut hair now started to fade into a light grey, he was a man on the heavier side, plump like a mall santa clause, and despite his uniform being quite clean, it was covered in the smell of cigarettes and men's colone.

"...Not really. Are you sure I'm ready for this?" You asked, fiddling with the sleeves of your uniform.

"Ready? Out of the students at the Academy your the most ready for this. Any other Prison just wouldn't do you any good."

"Any go-"

"And we're here!" Joseph exclaimed, cutting you off mid sentence as he walked out.

You took a deep breath before walking out of the car. When you stepped out, you were greeted with heavy rain and loud thunder. As you looked up at the Prison, you felt a sense of fear hit you. It was like something straight out of a horror movie. The Prison was massive, you could probably see it from miles away if not further. Various plants were taking over the brick and metal walls, you could see officers walking around with flashlights, making sure nobody was trying to get in or out, two large guard outpost stood high on each side of the building, each of them blasting a bright light, and a large metal barbwired gate keeping whatever was inside from getting out.

"Joseph!" A voice yelled from the distance, causing the two of you to shoot your heads in the direction of the noise.

Whoever the voice belonged to, they were running towards the two of you pretty fast, waving their arms around like a lunatic.

"Esther, my dear friend. How the kids?" Joseph asked with a smile as he hugged the man.

Now that the man was closer, you got a better look at him. He had short red hair, a face full of a freckles, a small beard slowly starting grow in, and he was definitely younger than your mentor. He was maybe in his late 30's, early to mid 40's. He was in well shape too, his biceps peeking through the gaurd uniform he wore. He had a pistol, taser, and handcuffs strapped to his waist band on the right side of his body, meaning he was most likely right handed.

During your first year at the Academy, you were taught to see every single detail in a suspect or in a scene, no matter how small or big it was, and now you found yourself doing it like it was second nature at this point.

"They're good, they're good. Havent seen them for a while though, I've been stuck here all week! Now, where's this prodigy you've been pushing for?"

"Esther, meet Y/N L/N. Y/N, this is Officer Esther Wibbsy, I met when I first worked here. He's gonna be watching over you during this whole thing."

"Nice to meet ya, L/N," Esther said, sticking his hand out.

You shook his hand with a nervous smile, unconsciously gripping his hand hard in an attempt of letting out your nervousness.

"Dang, nice grip," He said, pulling his hand back.

"Thanks..."

As you pulled your hand back and wipped your sweat on the pants of your uniform, Joseph started to slowly walk back to the car.

"Your shift ends at 10AM tomorrow, you got this, kid! Remember everything I taught you and you'll be fine."

And as Joseph closed the door of the car and drove off, your only hope of backing out left with him.

"Don't worry, you're not going to be working with the actual dangerous ones."

"I'm not?"

"Walk and talk with me, I'll explain everything on the way."

You let out the biggest sigh of relief before following Esther.

"Roosevelt is divided into two sections. The section you're going to be working in is the normal prisoners. They're still extremely dangerous, but they're a lot more manageable then the others."

"The others?"

"The other section is what give Roosevelt it's reputation. You see, Roosevelt doesn't hold only people, we hold monsters, demons, supernatural beings that we didn't even know existed until we caught them. They're in the other section. The goverment put them here because they don't know what to do with them."

"Woah, so, how do you know I won't run into them?"

"That's the thing, I don't really know. To be honest with you, I think the only reason most of them are still here is by their own choice. Most of them are on death row, and if they really wanted to they can leave, especially Ben."

"Ben?"

"Huh? No I was just rambling..."

As the two got closer to the main gate, something caught Esther’s eyes.

"You see that random brick wall," Esther said, pointing to a wall that stood in the middle of the courtyard, starting from the building all the way until it hit the gate. From the angle you were at, you could just barely see a roof.

"Mhm."

"They're behind that wall. That entire half is their section. Most of the officers who work in that part have been trained specifically to work there and nowhere else."

You felt chills go down your spine as you stared at the wall. Something about it gave off a terrible aura.

"Who's staying in that part..."

"Have you heard of Jeffery Woods?"

"Yeah, Jeff the Killer? Slit mouth?"

"Yeah. That guy, is in that part."

"He's real? I thought he was just some urban legend from when I was a kid. His face was everywhere."

"Nope, he's real, and he's in there. Those pictures aren't what he actually looks like though, he's not that ugly. However, people like him are the reason why you're working in my part, it's a lot safer."

And as those words left his mouth, the two of you stood at the gate entrance. You and Esther walked up to the booth where a lady stood there with a tired, blank expression.

"Who's that?" She asked.

"The intern from Gullermary Academy. Joseph's student."

"Oh... Proceed."

Esther nodded as he opened the metal door and allowed you to walk in first. As you walked in, you were greeted with loud screams and banging from all directions.

"You'll get used to that," Esther said as he walked past you. "Wait in my office, I gotta go get your file from the boss." He then pointed to the door that had Officer Wibbsy written on a metal plate. "You can take any of the snacks, get comfortable because this might take a while."

"OK, thank you," You said, smiling.

Esther merely gave you a soft smile before walking off. Once he was out of view, you opened the door to his office and looked around. On his desk, you saw a picture of a woman smiling. She had freckles with long blonde hair. When you picked up the picture, you saw a date at the bottom.

"September 17, 2017," You read.

Was the woman dead? Or was it the date the photo was taken? Either way, it really wasn't your business. As you sat the picture back down, next to it was a picture of Esther with the woman in the photo next to him. The woman was wearing a white gown while Esther wore a suit, and in his arms was a baby girl wearing a little white dress and next to him was a little boy in a suit as well. Looking up, you saw his diploma in Criminal Justice and next to it was his certificate from the academy.

After taking a look, you plopped down on the chair and stared up at the ceiling. You weren't exactly sure what this internship had in store for you. When Joseph brought it up to you last semester, he kept it very vague. He'd often dismiss your questions and cut you off when you pushed it. You weren't suspicious however, since he was always like this when he tought you during your first year.

You wondered on what kind of prisoners you'll meet. Will you meet someone who was falsely accused and now is paying the price? Maybe you'll meet someone who has been in and out of jail and now is here. Due to your young curiosity, your mind just kept on racing with ideas. But suddenly, your phone began to ring.

Looking down, you saw the words "Mom's calling..." on your phone.

"Hello?" You asked.

"Hi sweetie, how are you?'

"I'm alright. I'm just waiting for my observer to come back with my stuff."

"Oh honey, I'm so proud of you! But, be careful, alright? I don't want anything happening to you."

"I will, mom, I will. You know how good I am."

"I know, I just don't want anything happening to my little girl/boy."

"I know. But, how are you doing mom?"

"I'm doing alright. Me and your father plan on taking a trip to Florida in the spring."

"That's great! Enjoying retirement I see," You said in a teasing tone, earning a giggle from your mother.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN?! THIS IS NOT WHAT HE SIGNED!" A voice suddenly yelled, overpowering the screams of the inmates.

"What was that?" Your mother asked, worried.

You stayed silent as you tried to listen to what was going on.

"I'll call you back, mom," You said, before hanging up.

You slowly walked out the room and looked down the narrow hallway, holding onto your gun tightly as you did.

"I'm telling you for the last time, this is what Joseph signed, his signature is right here."

"That is not what he fucking told me. I know damn well he's not stupid enough to put some barley experienced 24 year old in a room with this country's most dangerous criminals. As their observer, I can't allow this!"

You felt your heart stop when you heard those words come out from Esther's mouth. Despite your wonky confidence in your abilities, you were far from naive. You were not ready for this.

"Look, I'm just as unhappy about this as you are, Joseph is fucking stupid for signing this, but legally there's nothing we can do."

"I already told them that they were going to be fine, I won't even be able to observe them! Who's going to even teach them shit?!"

"I don't know, Wibbsy, I don't know. I can call Joseph and ask him what he wants up to do, but for tonight, they're working in the Creeps section, whether you like it or not."

Esther pulled at his hair and he looked at his boss with rage.

"If that kid dies because of this, I'm fucking done with this place, you hear me?"

"I hear."

When Esther walked out of the room, he was greeted by your shocked, frozen figure at the end of the hallway.

"You heard it, didn't you?"

"Y-Yeah..."

"Just... Shit... Take this and just, go straight down that hallway, and they'll take you from there."

"Uh...Ok. I'll see you later," You said nervously as you took your file and walked off.

Esther stared at you as you walked off, feeling a sense of guilt and responsibility consume him like water.

"Please don't die..."

The hallway to the other side was extremely narrow and costraphobic, you could feel the walls press up on you as your walked. One thing about the entire journey that disturbed you wasn't the leaking walls or the filthy floors, but it was the silence. Compared to the other section that was booming with noise, the closer you got to the second half, the quieter it got. You could only hear little whispers from behind the walls, but they were so quiet that you couldn't make out a word. The hallway was dark, dirty, and wet. You assumed that the rain from the storm has leaked through the walls and onto you. You could see roaches and even saw a rat run past you. You wanted to throw up. It was as if this place was abandoned.

When you got to the end of the hall, there was large metal door. There was no card scanner, or even a person standing in a booth.

"Hello? Hello?" You said, knocking on the door.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and a short lady started at you with wide eyes.

You could only see the woman's head, but she looked as if she was held hostage for years. Her eyes were wide, as if she had been traumatized, her hair was a mess, her officer cap was barely covering her head, and her face seemed to be bruised.

"...Name..." The woman said, staring into your eyes.

"Y/N L/N. I'm the intern."

And before you could blink, you were grabbed and forced into the horrors that awaited you.

The lobby section was bright and white, similar to a hospital. However, there was no cameras, or an officer sitting behind the glass with a computer.

There was a metal door that stood in front of you, keeping from whatever was on the other side from getting out. Ingraved into the door were the words "Inmate Quaters."

"Let me see your file," The woman said shakily, taking the file from your hands.

"Um, are you OK, ma'am?"

"Me? Oh...I'm alright, I didn't get the worse of it."

"WE NEED SECURITY PERSONAL IN SOLITARY CONFINEMENT, BEN'S CELL 001 IMMEDIATELY, I REPEAT, WE NEED SECURITY PERSONAL IN SOLITARY CONFINEMENT, BEN'S CELL 001 IMMEDIATELY!" The woman's walkie blasted as she read your file.

Suddenly, a large group of men ran past the two of you, carrying guns and covered in riot gear.

"Um...Ma'am?"

"Hm?" The woman responded, not taking her eyes off your file.

"Who's Ben?"

"If you're not working on his case I can't tell you anything, sorry."

"Oh...Ok."

"Huh...The Woods... Rogers... Otis... Wright... Thomas... This... no, this can't be right. Are they fucking stupid?" The woman asked, looking up at you.

"I don't know, maybe?"

"OK, It's fine, it's fine! Who's on the roster for today... Rogers... Jeffery... Liu... At least you got Liu... Ok, follow me."

The woman walked towards the door that had "Inmate Quaters" written on it, beckoning you to follow her.

"Have you gone through your file?"

"No, I've only been for forty minutes..."

"Here, read it. Read the first three for now, the others you'll be working on at a later date."

Once the lady handed you your file, you started to read through it as the two of you made your way to the cells.

The file was the one of a picture of a man with pale skin, greasy black hair, a slitted mouth, and a crazed smile. He was a picture of his mugshot, eyes bloodshot with a large shit eating grin.

"Jeffery Woods. A man in his early 30s, arrested for multiple accounts of serial Murder, Mutilation, Kidnapping, Torture, Stalking, Vandalism, Arson, Breaking and entering, Parricide, Drug use and rape. He has the reputation of assaulting, mocking, teasing and harassing guards. Jeff is often in solitary confinement, but that doesn't stop him from his usual actions. Has to be kept away from Jane Elizabeth Arkensaw due to them activity starting fights. He is deemed one of the deadliest prisoners in our institution. During your internship, he will be one of the prisoners you'll be interacting to help sharpen your skills. He will by far be one of if not the hardest to interrogate. His case is still under investigation..."

You read the words on the paper with disgust. His smile, so deranged, so sadistic, as if he was talking a school picture, ignoring the lives of those he's ruined or taken.

"Be careful with Jeff, he likes pretty ones," The woman commented as you read.

"Wait, I have a question."

"Ask it."

"Will be looking into their case? Like, will I be doing interviews and looking at evidence?"

"Well, I'm not sure about evidence, their cases are gruesome, and the transcripts of victims' families interviews and the interviews of victims who survived are not pretty... However, I know you will be interviewing some of them, like The Woods and Rogers. Now keep reading, we're most there."

You nodded as you moved Jeff's paper to end and looked at the next one. The image was the one of a man with stitches. He had a blank tired expression in his mugshot, not sad or sadistic, but one of bordem. He had brown hair with bright green eyes, and just like Jeffery, he was pretty pale.

"Liu Woods, also known as Homicidal Liu. A man in early to mid 20s, arrested for Serial murder, stalking, kidnapping, robbery, breaking and entering, assault, and vandalism. Currently serving a a sentence of 50 years but has a chance of parole once he serves 20. Liu is the little brother of Jeffery Woods, and after Jeffery almost murdered him, he developed an alter ego named Sully. Lui is is relatively quiet, observant, possessive and violent. But his violence gets worse when he's Sully. Lui normally doesn't harm guards or prisoners unless provocted, but he has attacked them with no apparent reason on multiple accounts. Liu is one of the prisoners you will be seeing often due to you working mostly in his section of the prison, where most of the pastas are such of Eyeless Jack and Toby. Warning when dealing with Liu, watch your words and actions, DO NOT touch anything of his unless it's a danger to him or others, and don't ask him too much about his past due to it being his biggest trigger in becoming Sully. If you're dealing Sully, be extremely careful, don't make sudden moves and don't anger him. Sully is extremely violent, sadistic but oddly childish. Sully is supposedly a seven year old according to both himself and Liu, so treat him as an extremely dangerous child."

You stared at Liu's image for a few moments after reading the report. Him and Jeff barely looked the related besides in the eye shape and skin color. With mugshots alone, you felt as if your experience with the two brothers will be drastically different.

"Do you have any advice on Liu?" You asked to woman.

"No. He isn't too bad, just really, really quiet. But when he does talk, he's very charming. He's a man of few words."

You nodded in response as you placed Liu's file in the back and looked down at the last one. It was a picture of a man, messy brown hair, the right side of his cheek was missing, revealing his teeth and gums, his eyes held heavy bags as if he hadn't sleep for days, and his neck and hands were covered in bandages. His expression was a pretty tired one, his eyes were droopy as he stared into the camera, some of his hair covering his face as he looked.

"Tobias Erin Rogers. A man in his late 20s arrested for Serial murder, Torture, Vandalism, Arson, Stalking, Patricide, Breaking and Entering, Kidnapping, and suspected of multiple accounts of sexual assault but is yet to be confirmed. Currently sentenced to life in jail with possibility of parole after serving a minimum of 30 years. He suffers a handful of disorders and quite often causes trouble for both staff and other inmates. He struggled with controlling his emotions and his impulsive behavior which often leads to himself, inmates and staff to be harmed. Despite this, you will be interacting with him during your internship due to him being able to get a long with staff for a short period of time if he finds them "hot." Warnings, don't get too attached, don't believe most of the things he says, don't give or take anything from him, and don't let his suffering fool you. He has a history of using his suffering against others and actually led to him escaping when he was first sent here when he was 19, and they didn't capture him again until last year when he turned 27."

"WE still don't know much about Rogers," The woman said as she stopped walking, causing you to bump into her.

"Oh, sorry," You said, backing away to give her some space. "But, why is that?"

"He hasn't told us jack shit. He hasn't told us about his motives or his past, the only things we know is the murders he's rambled about in past interviews. Since you two are pretty close in age, maybe you got a better shot then we do," The woman responded, opening the door that led to the door of the inmates quarters.

When the woman opened the metal door, there was a massive wall of metal and glass. It was a look in to see the inmates, and luckily it was a one way mirror.

"This is where the inmates sleep and spend most of their time. They don't leave this area unless they're sent to solitary confinement."

As you looked through the glass, you saw two men sitting next to each other against the wall, and above them on the second floor were two women talking.

"The two men on the bottom are Timothy Wright and Brian Thomas. You won't be meeting them for a while, but they're on your roster."

"How bad are they?"

"Depends on who you're asking."

"And above them is Jane Elizabeth Arkensaw and Natalie Outlette. Jane is definitely one of the most well behaved inmates we have here, hell, she shouldn't even be here..."

The woman continued to explain the operations and how things functioned in the Prison.

"Inmates eat breakfast at 4AM, and they don't eat again until 11:30 for lunch. After breakfast, they have freetime to do whatever they please, they don't get jobs or specialties like the other inmates. We tend to leave them to their devices under close observation."

You took a look into the inmate quarters and noticed that the man with short black hair was staring directly at you. He held a blank expression as he stared through your soul. You felt your blood run cold as he stared you down with his cold, emotionless eyes. You saw the man next to him look at him with amusement before telling him something, which cause the man to take his eyes off you and look at the other man with rage. You watched as the man yelled at him, but due to the noise canceling effects the room you were in had, you only saw the movements and gestures, no actual words.

"Ma'am, are you sure they can't see us?" You asked as you slowly turned your head away from the scene.

"Positive. Why must you ask?" The woman asked as she walked towards a door that read Officer Sarah Mandel.

"The man with the sideburns was just staring at me," You said, pointing to the man.

"Oh...Wright. he does that from time to time, ignore it."

"Uhhh, ok," You responded as you slowly turned your head away from the man named Wright.

"What time is it?" The woman asked.

"6:30 PM, why?"

"In 15 minutes you'll be interviewing Jeffery Woods," The woman said as she began to walk into a room.

When you were about to follow her, she walked back out with a piece of paper in her hands. She then rubbed her eyed tiredly before handing you the paper with a yawn.

"You ok, ma'am?"

"Yeah...Just tired, I've been working 18 hours and I don't go home till 10. Now, ask Jeff the questions on this paper, don't go off script. If he tries, redirect him, don’t give him a chance to get off topic. Now, he says some pretty perverted and weird things, ignore it and you'll be fine. An officer will be waiting outside the door, and there's a button under the table to notify him to come in. There will also be another officer with you in the room since this is your first time. Got all that?"

"Yep! So uh, where the place I'll be interviewing him?"

"Follow."

You and the woman then walked deeper into the area you in, going past the inmates quarters and going through a door that read 'Interigation Roon, Level 4 and up.'

As the two of you walked, you decided to read some of the questions on the paper. Most of the questions were ones you've seen at the Academy. Stuff like, 'Why did you do what you did?' And 'Did you know your victims?' And so on and so forth. Some of the questions were more detailed though. One in particular asked 'At the scene of one of your crimes, we found a dog next to a door that was locked. When we tried going through the door, it killed two of our best officers. What was behind that door, and who was that dog?'

You remember when you were younger, this image of a dog with a crazed smile was circling around. Some said it was cursed, others said it was some urban legend. But, you picture the image in your head, and you look down at Jeffrey's wanted photo, you couldn't feel like that was connected to him somehow.

"Alright, you'll be in room 899 for all of your interviews, keep that in mind. Now, they'll be here in 5 minutes with Jeffery, you ready?"

"Yeah, I think so," You said as your hands and legs shook with nervousness.

The woman let out a light chuckle before putting her hand on your shoulder with a smile.

"You're gonna be ok, kid. It's you first day, and you're already working with some dangerous people, but it comes with the job. You'll get it no time."

"Thanks, I appreciate it," You said as you took a deep breath and walked into the room.

The room was small with bright lights, two cameras on each side of the room, clean white walls, and a table with a chair on each side in the middle.

You sat down on the chair facing the door and pulled at your uniform to fix any wrinkles or badges that were out of place. You opened the folder and took out Jeffery's paper before placing the folder under your chair.

"It's ok, Y/N. He isn't going to do anything," You said to yourself as you looked down at the papers.

Suddenly, you began to hear footsteps and the sound of chains walking towards you.

And then, the door opened, and you were greeted with a sight that gave you chills.

A man, so tall that could barely fit through the doorway. His hair was long and greasy, covering his face as he looked down lifeless. He was pretty skinny too, that inmate uniform he wore being quite baggy on him. Covering him were chains, his hands were cuff and his ankles were chains together as well. You couldn't see his face, but you could see his eyes. His eyes were bloodshot and wide, staring at you with insanity and rage.

You did your best to keep your stone cold expression, but you couldn't hide the deed of sweat that rolled down your brow as he got closer to you.

The two officers that brought him forced him down of the seat before tying him to the chair tightly.

"That's a bit much, don't you think?" Jeffery said, turning his head to look at the male officer. He had a massive grin on his face as he asked the question in a joking manner.

"No," The male officer said coldly before walking in the corner.

The female officer looked at you with a nod before walking out and closing the door behind her.

Now, in the first semester of your second year at the Academy, it was mostly focused on interagation and the art of the mind. You were told to remain calm and composed at all times, but don't be too serious as well.

Joseph said people are less likely to comfortable and truthful when you make yourself appear as stone cold serious or far too casual. He said to find a balance, make them feel comfortable, maybe joke once or twice, but make them aware that this is serious.

"So, how are you doing, Jeffery?"

Jeff then shot up and slowly turned his head to look at you. His face was neutral, but the nasty scarred smile on his face did give you goosebumps.

"Jeffery... I haven't been called that in a while."

"What are you called then?"

"Jeff."

"Well, Jeff, how are you doing?"

"Shitty. I've been stuck in solitary all fucking month!"

"I'm sorry to hear that."

When you going the ask why, you remembered that the woman told you not to go off script. You took a glance at the officer in the corner before peeping down at the paper.

"So, Jeff, you've been charged with a books worth of crimes, and you've been on death row since December 25, 2014. We've had you in this place for a few years now, but you still haven't told us why you did it."

Jeff stared at you before scoffing and rolling his eyes.

"Same old question! How many times do I have to tell you fucking people. It was fun! Stalked a few people, kidnapped some, fucked the pretty ones, and at the end of the day all of them would be fucking dead," Jeff said with a grin, his eyes slowly starting to move down to your tits.

"Hey! Eyes up here," You demanded, snapping your fingers to get his attention to your face. "I'm here for answers, Jeff, not to be your eye candy."

"Awwww," Jeff moaned, giving you a pout.

"So..." You said, looking through his file. Jeff looked at you boredly as he yawned and leaned back into his chair. In the corner of your eye, you saw the police officer in the corner give Jeff a glare.

"A girl...oh. A girl went missing right before your arrest, her name was Abbie Grace, 21 year old college student. We haven't found her since and evidence is pointing towards you. Does the name ring any bells?"

"Abbie...? Nope! Not at all," Jeff answered, a strange optimistic tone laying in his voice.

After those words left his mouth, you pulled out a picture of Abbie. She had long pink and blue hair with pale skin and bright blue eyes. Her face was covered in freckles and her eyes had a shine to them. She seemed friendly and kind, her bright smile showing off her dimples and crooked teeth.

"Does she look familiar?"

Jeff leaned forward and looked at the photo. He paused for a few moments before realization hit him.

"Oh! Candy Head."

"So you do recognize her?"

"Yeah."

"What happened to her?"

"Heh, I don't know. I was told to kidnap her, not kill her."

The word told caught your attention immediately, and it seemed to catch the other officer's attention too. Nothing in his file said anything about a boss, it was said that he worked alone, a solo act.

"Told? By who?"

"Eh, I don't feel like telling."

"Jeff."

"What? Suck my dick first and maybe I'd tell you."

"You're not getting anything out of him, rookie," The other officer said, letting out a sigh.

"Well, what'd you do with her while she was with you?"

"Hmmm, well, She was definitely an ugly crier. She would always cry and cry, the bitch even tried to kill me with a butter knife," Jeff answered before laughing at the girl's attempts to escape.

"Hm. Do you remember you remember the last thing you did to her?"

"She did have a pretty face, and a fat ass," Jeff said before his eyes glazed over with lust as he reminisced. An errie smile continued to grow on his face as he contiued his thought. "She was the whole package, and I wasn't going to ler a girl like that go out easy."

You knew what he meant, his file didn't lie one bit, the guy was a fucking sadist.

"After fucking the bitches brains out, I gave the her to Toby."

"...Toby? Is he your partner?"

"Partner? You're funny! As if I'd work with that retard. if you wanna know what happened to her, ask him."

"You are aware that makes you an accomplice?"

"Like I care."

"And you do know that can make your stay here a lot longer, post poning your death sentence to look into your case further."

"If looking at your body means staying here, I'll stay."

"Well, I guess that's where our talk ends for today."

You then stood up and walked out of the room, leaving the officer with Jeff. As you walked off, Jeff stared at your ass, feeling a grin creep onto his face before the officer pulled him out from his seat.

As you walked out, you saw the lady from earlier waiting for you, drinking a red bull as she leaned against the wall.

"How'd it go?"

"Better than I thought... But he's, weird."

"Weird as in perverted? Yeah, we know. What'd he tell?"

"Well, I asked him about Abbie Grace, the 21 year old, and apparently he didn't kill her."

"Really? What did he do?"

"Well... He kidnapped her, raped her, not sure how many times though, and then gave her to a guy named Toby."

"Has to be our Toby," The woman mumbled before taking another sip of her red bull. "Did you ask him anything else?"

"No, just getting those answers were difficult."

"Pity."

RING!

"ALL PERSONNEL, PLEASE REPORT TO THE CAFETERIA FOR DINNER!"

"Welp that's us, let me tell you how this is gonna go," The woman said as she pushed herself off the wall and began to walk.

"The most dangerous and chaotic parts of the day is Lunch, Breakfast, and Dinner. All the pastas normally stick to their groups or by themselves, but during these parts of the day they're all trapped together like sardines. Fights breakout, stealing, and just too much shit goes on. When you're assigned your spot, stay there. If any of them try to get a reaction out of you or try to bother you, don't react. They're not your average criminals, and since they've never seen you before, that's definitely gonna happen today. Stand strong, stay quiet, and observe. Cops like us are merely meang to supervise them, not stop them, that's what Security is for."

"So, is that all I gotta worry about mainly?"

"For right now, yes. And don't leave the cafeteria until lunch is over. Some of them like to sneak out, and let's just say cops who wondered off, weren't found the same way they left. May that be mentally, or physically."

"Oh... So, stay in post, stay quiet, and don't leave."

"Yep, you pick up fast."

"Thank you, Officer...?"

"Mandel. I guess I never told you name, my apologies," Officer Mandel said before taking a another sip of her red bull, "Its been a long day."

‐---------‐-------------------------------------------------------

The moment the two of you walked into the cafeteria, you were met with a loud wave of noise.

"Shit, is it always this loud?" You asked Officer Mandel, who nodded her head in response.

The two of you then walked over to one of the security guards.

"Jesus! You look like awful, Sarah," The guard said with concern.

"I know right. Newbie needs their post."

"Oh, you see that guy over there," The guard said, pointing to a guy with stitches in the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah."

"You're posted in the front of the door behind him."

Looking at the man closer, your eyes widened with realization.

"Is that-"

"Liu Woods? Yeah, good luck," The guard responded before Officer Mandel slapped the back of his head.

"He's not that bad, don't listen to him."

Nodding in response, you took a deep breath as you walked towards the door.

All the inmates were divided into their respective groups. The two men you saw from earlier were sitting at their own table, but a man with part of his cheek removed was sitting with them as well, arguing with the one known as Tim.

"For the hundredth time, it's not my fault the bitch ran away!"

"You sure? Cause last time I checked, she was you last."

"*FUCK YOU* Whatever, Tim. The bitch most likely dead anyway."

You made sure to note that in your head for later. Tobias Erin Rogers, he was listed on your roster, and based on Jeff's info, you'll be meeting him very soon.

When you passed Liu to get to the door, you felt the atmosphere shift. It hit you like a truck, your heart raced as you took at glance at him.

His skin was so pale that he could've been considered sick. Since Jeff was paler than him, you just though it was family trait. But, the stitches on his face and hands made you think otherwise. In his file, it did mention that Jeff tried to kill him. An injury from the incident was mostly likely the cause for his apperance, but you kept your theories to yourself.

Much to you surprise, dinner went by pretty smoothly. But, you couldn't help but grow curious on why so many guards were coming in and out of the cafeteria. You knew better than to let your curiosity take over, but through dinner it became harder to fight.

"Something bothering you?"

Flinching at the voice, you looked down towards Liu, he was looking at you with a tilted head.

"What? Of course not."

"You sure? I ain't telling nobody," Liu persisted as he fully turned his body towards you.

You knew better than to respond, much to Liu's dissapointment.

"You interviewed my brother eariler, right?"

"Who's asking?'' You asked saracastically as you avoided eye contact.

"Me, who else?" Liu answered bluntly, a slight bit of attitude hidden in his tone.

"I don't know."

There was a moment of silence as Liu followed your eyes, realizing that you were looking at the cafeteria doors.

"The doors, huh?" Liu whispered to himself as a grin grew on his face. "You know, past those cafeteria doors is Solitary."

"Ok, why would I care?"

"Why would I care," Liu mocked.

"Jesus, just like his brother..." You thought as you rolled your eyes in annoyance.

"Hey, can you do me a favor?"

"No."

"It might benefit you," Liu said in teasing manner.

You didn't say a word, but you did raise an eyebrow with interest.

"Jeff stole shit from my cell before he got sent to solitary. You convince him to give me my shit back, and I tell you what I know about Candy Head."

"Candy Head?" You asked confused before realization hit you. "You have something to do with Abbie Grace's case?"

"Nah uh, uh, uh, get me my stuff back first," Liu answered bluntly, sending you a glare.

Something wasn't adding up. Jeff told you that he gave Abbie to Toby, but how did Liu fit into any of this? Maybe her disappearance isn't as cut and dry as you thought.

Looking around, you let out a sigh.

"I'll think about it."

Liu nodded his head in understanding before turning back around.

"Wait. How'd you know I'm on her case?"

"Stuff. First."

Letting out a groan, you lightly flinched as a loud ring echoed across the room.

"DINNER'S OVER! BACK TO YOUR CELLS!"

As the inmates got rallied up, Officer Mandel walked up next to you.

"So, how'd it go?"

"I don't know what that file said, but Liu is anything but charming. It was like I was dealing with Jeff all over again, just without the pervsion."

"You sure it was Liu?"

"Hm? What you mean?"

"You'll see. Now, the inmates are getting brought back to their cells, but our job isn't over just yet," Mandel said before beckoning you to follow her. "You'll be interviewing Toby in an hour or two, until then, I need you to look over the testimonals of their previous victims who survived."

"Their?"

"You said Jeff didn't kill her, right?"

"Right."

"So, there's the chance that Toby did. Toby didn't work alone, he worked with those two guys we saw earlier. I want you to get familar with their methods, and I want you to understand this very clearly," Mandel said before stopping in her tracks. "These people are dangerous, they will hurt you if given the chance. After today, you're not gonna have another officer in the room with you. I best not find out that you got hurt because you wanted to be fucking stupid."

Placing a hand on your shoulder, Mandel looked at you with a look you couldn't decscribe. "You're young, and you got so many years ahead of you, so listen to my advice. Listen to the files, and don't ever, I mean ever, go into solitary. I saw you looking at it earlier so I'm shutting the idea down now."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Wonderful. Now, while you were interviewing Jeff, I decided to hand pick the evidence and testimonials that mostly involved Toby. You're not going to meet Brian and Tim for a while, so don't worry about them."

Nodding your head, you looked at the door labeled "Intern 1."

"Oh, and heads up. The voice recordings are really dark, so, good luck," Mandel whispered to you before patting your back. "I'll get you when Toby's ready."

"Ok."

As Mandel left you alone, you took a deep breath as you opened the door.

The room was bright and clean, a decently sized desk placed in front of you with a computer on it, but it was also covered in various files. In the corner was an old box TV with a VHS and CD player, with a chair placed in front of it.

The room wasn't bad by any means, but it gave you an odd vibe.

Taking a seat at the desk, you decided to look at the different files.

Most of them were detailed descriptions of various crimes scenes related to Toby or the proxies in general, but under all the files was a VHS labeled "Elizabeth Todd's Testimony."

Since you didn't want to spend lord knows how long reading papers, you stood up from your seat and made your way to the TV, placing the VHS into the player before taking a seat infront of the TV. The TV took a while to process the cassete, but once it did, a woman appeared on the screen, the date April 26th, 2008 resting in the top right hand corner.

The girl looked about 19, dark skinned with big curls rounding around her face, fairly skinny but you weren't exactly sure due to her hoodie covering most of her frame, but the thing that you took notice of the most was her eyes. They lacked any sort of life, giving you an uneasy feel as she stared past the camera, implying that someone was in front of her.

"Your testimony will be recorded and kept for evidence, would you like to remain anonymous? If not, please state your name," A light voice said behind the camera.

Pausing for a few moments, the girl looked down to her hands before looking back up to the officer infront of her.

"My name is Elizabeth Todd," The girl started, her voice meek and low as she spoke.

"Would you mind telling us what happened on the day of the incident?"

"...It was my freshman year of college. I didn't know anyone, but I made some friends within the first semester."

Leaning back into your chair, you took notice of Elizabeth's body language. She fidgeted with her hands as she spoke, and always kept her gaze down, rarely looking up at the officers. She appeared nervous. You decided to keep note of that as she continued to speak.

"When spring break came around, me, Lilian, Austin, and Kevin decided to take a camping trip in tye woods near our campus. We took a bunch during the fall so we were pretty familiar with the area. But, when it came to us planning the trip, I always felt like something was going to go wrong..."

Elizabeth's voice cracked as she spoke, causing her to swallow her spit as she shook her hands, trying to keep her composure.

"Nobody listened though, saying I was paranoid even though we went there countless times before. So, we went anyway. Kev and Lilian were setting up a fire while me and Austin were setting up tents. Austin and I were dating at the time, so when Lilian and Kev weren't looking, we wondered off."

Snapping her fingers, Elizabeth continued.

"Austin and I were making out against a tree not too far from our campsite, fucking in the woods was on our spring break bucket list after all. But, before we could do anything I felt my heart drop. You know that feeling when you know something is wrong but you just don't know what?"

"Yes, I've felt it countless times while on patrols," The officer responded, which helped in calming Elizabeth's nerves.

"Well, I got that feeling. We stopped and looked around but nothing was there. But, it was really quiet, no crickets, no owls, just silence..."

Elizabeth paused, pulling at her sleeves as spoke, her eyes starting to water. "It all happened so fast..."

"It's ok, your words will help us in bring your friends justice," The officer said softly, placing a hand on Elizabeth's.

"Next thing I knew I was running. Austi's blood was all over me, but I don't remember what happened. Once I got back to the campsite, Kev and Lilian were roasting marshmallows at the fire..."

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

"Done fucking, yet?" Lilian teased as she placed her marshmallow on her cracker, turning around with a cheeky grin.

But, that grin quickly fell as her eyes fell on Elizabeth, wearing only a T shirt as blood stained her body.

"What happened...?" Kevin asked, eyes wide.

"He's gone...," Elizabeth responded, looking down at her blood stained hands before looking back up at the two. "We gotta leave. Now."

Without asking anymore questions, Kevin grabbed the keys to the car as Lilian helped Elizabeth stand.

"Are you hurt?" Lilian asked as she walked with Elizabeth.

"He's gone, Lily...He's gone."

"I know, I know."

"Lily, call the cops, tell them what's happening!" Kevin said as he led the group, flashing his flashlight at any sudden noise.

"Once we get to the car," Lily said.

But, Lilian and Elizabeth watched as Kevin's flashlight fell to the floor, being followed with the sound of a loud thump.

Lying infront of them was Kevin's body, a hatchet cutting through the middle of his head as he stared at the two.

"No no no no no no no," Lilian mumbled as she gripped on Elizabeth, backing up slowly as she did.

"BULLSEYE!" A cheerful voice yelled.

Stepping out from the bushes, a man with bright orange goggles appeared in the light, taking the hatchet out of Kevin's skull as he admired his work.

"Big guy aren't *KOO KOO* ya? No *SUCKY* wonder you were so easy to hit," The man stuttered out, his head twitching from side to side as he joked, the loud cracking of his neck echoing throughout the forest.

Frozen in shock, Elizabeth looked towards Lilian, who was just as frozen as she was.

"Damn... You two sure *WOW* are pretty," The man spoke, turning his attention towards the two girls. "I've never *SHOO* had a girlfriend before," The man continued before his gaze darkened, his body language becoming more hostile as he took out his other hatchet. "Mind giving me a chance?~"

Without wasting a moment, Lilian grabbed Elizabeth's hand before running off, causing the man to chase after them.

"We gonna split up," Lilian said.

"Huh?"

"It's better if at least one of us survives. You go left, I go right. We're going to have to get Kev's keys and phone."

"No, no please."

"It's fine, if I don't come back, leave without me. Now go!"

Lilian quickly ran to the right, jumping over a few bushes in the process. Hesitating, Elizabeth stumbled over a few branches as she ran the left, separating the two.

"Jeez, are they *KOO KOO* really that stupid?" Toby mumbled, tapping his chin with his hatchet as he looked both ways. "Tits or thighs...tits or thighs... Tits," Toby declared, looking to the right.

Running through the woods, Elizabeth saw the light from Kevin's flashlight in the distance. Picking up speed, Elizabeth felt her heart drop as Lilian's screams echoed throughout the woods, causing bird to fly up from their nest as it echoed.

"Lily," Elizabeth mumbled, staring in the direction of where Lily ran. "No. Get the keys, get the keys."

Standing over Kevin's body, Elizabeth felt nausea fill up her body as she examined his features. His once bright brown eyes now laid dull, staring at Elizabeth as his mouth laid open. Searching his pockets, Elizabeth felt a chill go down her spine as she caught a feel of his skin, painfully cold.

"I'm sorry Kev, I'm sorry," Elizabeth repeated as she pulled Kevin's keys and phone from his pocket. "I'm so sorry."

Standing up, Elizabeth decided not to take the flashlight, not wanting to risk being seen by the man who was chasing them.

Saying one last goodbye to her friend, Elizabeth ran in the direction of where their car was parked. But, as she ran, she could hear the sound of twigs being snapped.

The sounds came in short but consistent burst. He was following her, mocking her.

"I can see you~" Toby teased, letting out a chuckle as he watched Elizabeth stop for a moment.

Brian would always scold Toby for wasting time on victims, saying that too much time on one could lead to another escaping. But, Toby never listened. Having been a proxy for only a few months, the bosses were starting to grow quite fond of him, much to Tim's dismay.

But, this task was different. This was his first solo mission, and a surprisingly easy one too. Stalk the campers, kill them, dispose of their bodies, and go back to the cabin, easy, right? Well, maybe he should've listened to Brian's advice.

The moment Toby spoke, Elizabeth booked it, running much faster than she normally did.

"Fuck, *LOOKIE* she's fast,"Toby mumbled, chasing after her.

Reaching the car Elizabeth shakily pulled the keys out from her pocket, attempting to open the car door as Toby gained on her.

"Please-please-please, God please!" Elizabeth begged.

As the door opened, Elizabeth quickly jumped in, slamming the key into the holder as the car started up.

But, just before she could slam on the gas, a hatchet was flown as her window, causing glass to shatter on her. Luckily, the hatchet didn't touch her, her dodging just in time for it to land on the seat next to her.

Looking up in horror, Elizabeth watched as Toby appeared from the woods, out of breath as he came into frame. But, in his hand was Lilian, blood dripping from her body as Toby held her by her hair.

"Lilian...," Elizabeth mumbled.

Toby then tilted his head as he lifted Lilian's arm, waving it side to side with a sadistic grin.

She wasn't dead, not yet at least. Her chest was rising and falling slowly as Toby forced her to wave. But, blood was covering her face and neck, coming from the top of her head where Toby banged the handle of his hatchet into.

Staring at the two, Elizabeth came back to reality as quickly as she fazed out of it, slamming on the gas.

As she drove, in the corner of her eye she saw a piece of paper tied to the hatchet. Taking a look, she felt her blood run cold.

"If you survive, don't tell anyone what you saw. You'll see what happens if you :)"

She should tell the police? Lilian was still alive when she left, sure there was blood all over her, but maybe if she called the cops she could make it. Or was it too late?

Looking at Kev's phone, Elizabeth made her choice.

"911, what's your emergency?"

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

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth? Fuck, fuck," The officer said as Elizabeth's head slammed into the table, not responding for five minutes before her head fell.

"JOHN, GET A MEDIC!"

The interview stopped there, but the tape continued.

"Elizabeth experienced a seizure during her interview, dying shortly after. But, evidence at the crime scene helped is in determining a series of events," You read as words appeared on the TV. "The bodies of Kevin Howard and Austin Brown were found. Kevin was found with a gash in his head while Austin was found with his head cut clean off. Lilian Smith's body has yet to be found at the time of this recording."

Then, the video finished.

The interview didn't tell you much about Toby's personality, but it did give you a glimce into his cruelty. You decided to use this case as a baseline for the other files you would be looking into, wanting to find common patterns in his crimes and how he picked his victims.

Standing up, you took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the deep dive you were about the take.

After an hour and thirty minutes, you were able to figure out common themes in Toby's crimes, and in two, you were able to get a solid idea on his behavior and personality.

You filled up three pages in your notebook with notes on Toby.

It seems that the proxies in general were very diverse in their victims, some of them being normal civilians while others could be big shot politicians or businesses owners. Toby in particular seemed to mostly target people in their early to late 20s, and most of them were normal civilians or low profiled criminals.

When it came to his behavior, a common theme was that many of Toby's male victims had much more brutal deaths than the women. Women's bodies were often found with a hatchet in the back of the head, or a gash in the side, but their deaths were often simple and quick. The men on the other hand were always found in almost unrecognizable ways. One body was found with his chest completely torn open, his intestines wrapped around his throat and blood smothered all over his face, a truly horrifying site.

The deaths in which his victims would have slowly started to give you ideas. It seems that Toby has some sort of vendetta against men, or more specifically, men with blonde hair. Men with blonde hair were often the ones found in unrecognizable ways. This was something that you would definitely do more digging on and try to get an answer when you're interviewing Toby. Now, you wouldn't say Toby has a soft spot for women, that clearly wasn't the case the more you looked into his behavior, but he did appear to be a lot more merciful and playful when it came to their deaths. Well, maybe not all of them.

You recall that in Toby's file that he would be more complient with people he found hot. Well, in a few cases, there had been women found days or even weeks after incidents. All of which were found dead and in horrible condition, implying that they were kept with him for a while. Maybe that was the case with Lilian.

Now, when it comes to Toby's personality, it's obvious he's mentally unstable. And his mood swings seem to be very self destructive. Often thrown into periods of mental exhaustion where he becomes a blank slate, too mentally out of it to bother with reality.

Despite being in his late 20's, it's been reported that he can be surprisingly teen like when it comes to his interest and some of his behaviors. In past interviews, he's expressed his love for sappy rom coms, and interest often seen in teenagers. It was something that you took interest in, and you decided to figure out if it was just how he is, or if there was a deeper issue at play here.

"Y/N," Mandel said as she opened the door, cutting you out of your train of thought.

"Yes Ma'am?" You responded, looking up from your notes.

"Toby's ready."

Nodding your head, you stood up from your seat and followed Mandel as she led you to the interview room.

"Figure anything out?" Mandel asked.

"A lot, actually. Figured out common patterns in crimes, and some stuff I would like ask hin about."

"Like what?"

"He seems to be much more aggressive men, blonde men to be more specific."

"Hmmm."

"May I ask you something?"

"Ask away," Mandel responded, opening another can of red bull.

"Do you know what happened to Lilian Smith?"

Mandel froze in place, causing you stop with her.

"Ma'am?" You said shakily, looking at Mandel with worry.

"I was on that case... Remember it well..."

"What happen?"

"A week after Elizabeth died, we found her body in a cabin nine miles into the forest... Her head was split in two, going into her neck," Mandel said, her voice shaking as she took another sip of her red bull. "She's the reason why we're trying to charge Toby with sexual assault, the way she was found..."

"Oh... I'm sorry for bringing it up, Ma'am..."

"No, no. It's alright, it's been nearly a decade. If we can officially charge him with it, the judge will be more willing to put him on death row."

Sighing in relief, you watched as Mandel stood up straight and continued to walk.

"I want to remind you, these guys are monsters. Be careful with Toby, he's a lot more unpredictable than Jeff. He might meek today, but tomorrow he could be wild."

"Advice taken."

"Anything else you figure out?"

"He doesn't seem to have a specific preference for victims, only a preference in death styles. I do find his treatment of women kind of interesting though."

"Why you say that?"

"Oftenly, his killings with them tend be more merciful, but, there's multiple times where they've been on the more gruesome side of things. You think I should ask him about it."

"I don't see why not, but don't ask him up front, a lot of the inmates are stubborn and aren't going to give you any favors."

Next thing you knew, you were in the hallway meant for interrogations. You weren't sure why, but the vibe was completely different than last time you were in the area.

"Room 111 is Toby's. Remember what I told you."

"Yes ma'am."

"Oh, also. After Toby, you're gonna be on your own for the rest of your shift. I'll check up on your every now and again, but that's about it."

"What? What am I supposed to do?"

"Look into your other inmates cases. You still Tim, Brian, Ben, Jeff, and Liu to look into. If you stay in your office, you'll be fine."

"...Ok."

Nodding your head, Mandel turned the corner, leaving you alone in the silent hallway.

"111...111...there."

Opening the door, the room was no different than the last one you were in. Table in the middle, a chair on each side, bright lights, nothing new. One thing you did notice was that this part of the prison didn't have any cameras, or computers. You thought it was just the hallways, but it didn't make sense on why they wouldn't be present in an interrogation room.

Taking a seat, you pull out your notebook, looking over the various notes you made. You considered asking questions, but then you remembered what Mandel said.

"Ask them the questions on the paper, nothing else."

You couldn't deny the sketchiness of it all. Yes, you understood why they'd be so strict with who they let in and what they'd ask, they are harboring America's most notorious serial killers after all, but some of the questions didn't even matter. Trying to gain trust is one thing, but asking complete bullshit is something completely different.

"Why did you do it? Stubborn my ass, he would never answer that," You mumbled, reading each question on the paper. "What do you like to do? What does that have to do with anything?"

But, you quickly fell silent as the sound of footsteps echoes in the hallways.

CLICK! CRACK!

The sound of various cracks and clicks could be heard. The cracking of bones made your neck ich, and the sounds of the clicks caused you to grind your teeth together. It didn't help that the sound chains could be heard as well, moving side to side with every click and crack.

Taking a deep breath, your back straightened as the door opened.

Stabding in the door was three figures, two police officers holding onto the man in the middle. The man held a bored expression, his head angled downward as he looked around with his eyes. Much to your suprise, he was much shorter than you thought, maybe around 5'5, 5'6 if you wanted to push it. However, you couldn't help but stare at the injury on his left cheek. Pieces of skin were ripped out, showing his gums and teeth to the world. Not to be rude, but you were kind of glad he wore a muzzle like mask.

When his gaze met up to yours, the two of you made eye contact for a few seconds. Within those seconds, you saw his eyes widen, his eyes softening for just a moment before switching back.

"Cute...," He whispered, tilting his head to the side as a grin slowly formed on his face.

"Quiet," One of the guards said as they sat Toby down, bringing his arms up in order to chain them to the table.

"I wasn't *WOWIE* talking to you," Toby snapped back, rolling his eyes.

"Thank you, I got it from here," You said, earning a nod from the officers as one of them left the room, the other one quickly prompting themselves into the corner. "Hello Toby, I'm sure you know why I'm speaking with you today."

"*CLICK* Yeah."

"So, how have you been feeling recently?"

"Terrible!" Toby exclaimed, an irrated look on his face as he mumbled under his breath.

"Why is that?"

"Hmmm, let me *KOO KOO* think. Oh, maybe because I'm fucking here! Would you be happy and shit if you got caught?"

"I'm not exactly sure."

"Liar."

"I'm no liar, Toby. Now, may I be able to ask you a few questions about your cases?"

"Does it matter?"

"...Uh."

You quickly turned your head to the officer in the corner, who nodded their head in response.

"Uh yes! Yes, it does matter."

"...Fine."

"So. Before you were arrested, did you ever know someone named Abbie Grace?"

"Abbie Grace... Colored hair?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, why?"

"We were informed that you were involved with her disappearance."

"...Snitch. *FUCK* He owes me big time," Toby groaned, leaning back into his chair as he looked up at the ceiling.

"Hey, focus. Can you tell me what happened to her?"

"What if I don't wanna?"

"It's not up for negotiation."

"Aw, look at you toughening up."

"He isn't gonna tell me anything, isn't he?" You thought, doing your best to hide your irration. "Well, Toby. If you don't tell us anything, we can't charge you, but, if, or when, we get evidence on you, you're punishment will be more severe."

As you talked, you noticed a shift in Toby's mood.

"And I'm talking death row, Toby. Death. Row."

"I could get death row right now if I felt like it. Do you honestly think these chains can stop me from bashing your head in? Or from taking his gun and shooting you in that pretty head of yours?"

That was the first time he didn't stutter on a single word. No sudden words, no sudden tics, clear cut.

"You're alive because I'm letting you live," Toby said coldly, his eyes lacking any emotion as he stared into your soul. "Isn't that fun!" Toby suddenly cheered, leaning over as he stared at you wide eyes, a strange amount of joy written on his face.

"...I don't think we have the same definition of fun."

"You're so boring..."

"OK. How about this then."

"Hm?"

"Talk about yourself. What do look for when choosing your victims? How do you treat your weapons? Go crazy."

Both Toby and the officer looked at you in suprise.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Uh... What about *FLOWER* me exactly?"

"What did you like to do when you were a kid?"

"...I was in and *CRACK* out of hospitals a lot... Whenever I was out, I would *LOOKIE LOOKIE* go play in the woods with my sister," Toby said. "I hated being home..."

There were two things you took note of. The fact that Toby has a sister, and that he didn't like being home.

"You have a sister?"

"Had."

"Oh... What was she like?"

"She was the best. *BIRDIE* She'd always take care of me, stop kids from picking *CLICK* on me...and always made sure I was ok."

"She seemed nice."

"The nicest," Toby said, his eyes softening as he dazed off. "What else?"

"How do see this...hobby of yours?"

"It's a job, not a hobby."

"Hm. What do you hate most about it?"

"My *CLICK* co-workers."

"Why's that?"

"Tim is always yelling at me about something. *COOKIE* You fucked up on this mission! You never shut up! Mehmehmehemehmeh! And *SHOOT* Brian is just there! Sometimes he gets on me too, and other times he's on Tim! *TICK TOK* Like hello, pick a side!"

To be honest, you were surprised by Toby's words. Back at the Academy, Gibbons would always remind you that every criminal was human, so they would and behave as one. Even though you were considered very skilled, sometimes you forget this simple fact, that even the smartest or most dangerous of criminals, can crack.

The way Toby described them sounded like a worker talking shit about their boss in an office. Now you couldn't help but wonder how Brian and Tim would describe each other.

"That seems annoying."

"Finally someone gets it!" Toby exclaimed. But, after he spoke those words, you watched as he slowky looked at you, a faint blush forming on his face as he sent you a smile. "You know what, I like you."

You felt a chill go down your spine as you stared at him. Yes he called you cute, but the way he was looking at you, you couldn't help but feel concern.

"Um. OK, anyways... Did you have any favorites?"

"Favorites?"

"Yeah. Whenever you did your job, did you have a set preference that you could follow or no?"

"Hmmmm... I hate open spaces. *WOWIE* The noise, the people, the attention... *FUCK* I hate it."

"That explains the locations. Maybe I can figure out a pattern in Toby's preferences that can give me more clues to Abbie's case."

"I've always liked the woods, especially the campers. They're always to unaware. *CHICKEN* I once killed a guy who was half way through fucking *FUCK* his girlfriend, oh you *CAN'T *should've seen her face when I bashed his brains in!" Toby exclaimed before moving his up into the air and quickly slamming them down into the table, looking you dead in the eyes with a manic expression, "Just like that! She had your exact face!"

Least to say, you were dumbfounded. This guy was energetic, loud, and manic, the way he talked about his murders held so much life, so much passion, so much pride. The joy in his voice almost made you forget that you were talking to a criminal, and a manipulative one too. Despite his tone, you couldn't tell if he was being genuine, or at least what everything he was saying was true. If he fell for your trick, maybe he wasn't as aware as Mandel said.

"Oh...um. Is that all?"

"Maybe, maybe not. I don't wanna talk anymore."

"Wait, we're not done yet, we still have to talk about Abbie."

Toby sent you glare as his body tense up, his once playful energy gone.

"I know you don't care about death row, but, if Jeff gives us more evidence against you, the judge may consider lightening his sentence, while you, will get a more severe one. Maybe not death row, but still worse than Jeff's."

"So you want me to snitch."

"I wouldn't say that. I don't really care who tells me what happened to Abbie, I just wanna know."

Toby stared off to the side, assumingly in thought.

"Getting Candyhead was an order from the boss...She's *OW* the daughter of a powerful business *CRACK* owner that didn't keep his end of the deal with the boss. So, he had Jeff capture her, and then Jeff *POW* gave her to me to keep her *WOW* hostage."

"Wait... She's?" You mumbled. "Toby, is Abbie dead?"

"I don't know who told you she was."

"Wait. If she's alive, then we have to look over everything!"

You turned around the officer in the corner, who was just as surprised as you were.

"Miss, who's the head of the Abbie Grace case?"

"Detective Adrea Banklin."

"Can I meet with her after this?"

"I'll have to see if she's right now."

"Ok. Toby, our interview ends here."

"Ok~"

Standing up from your seat, you quickly made your way out of the room, keeping the door open as another officer ran in.

"Abbie's alive. But, how? She's been missing for over a year, how can she survive that long," You spoke to yourself as you rushed to your office.

As you opened the door to your office, you rushed to your desk, pulling out the Abbie Grace file from your cabinet.

"OK, ok. Calm down, Y/N, calm down. I understand it's your first real case, but stuff like this happens, so calm down," You said softly as you took some deep breaths. "OK, OK. I don't even have all the files on Abbie yet, so what should I do now..."

Then, it hit you.

"Liu."

Looking into the hallways, you, quickly made you way towards the inmates quarters, making sure to hide from other officers.

"Oh my God, what am I doing, what am I doing? Mandel is going to kill me, Gibbons is going to kill me. But, if it's solve the case, it's fine."

The inmate quarters were dark. You could see figures moving around, but since it lights out, the power in the quarters was out.

"How am I even going to get in?"

"Intern."

"AH!"

Turning around, the officer from earlier was behind you, giving you a suspicious look.

"Oh, you scared me."

"What are you doing over here?"

"...Just wanted to look around."

"...mhm. Well, Banklin is here at the moment, but she's preparing to go home. She's willing to speak now, but she won't wait long."

"That's great! Can you take me to her, please?"

The officer merely nodded her head before walking off.

"Liu can wait," You whispered to yourself before following after her.

"She's at the end of the hallway."

"OK, Thank you, officer..."

"Cherry, Officer Cherry."

"Y/N L/N."

"Pleasure. Also, if you're gonna meet with inmates, be more discrete."

"...How did you-"

"Been there, done that. Got caught up in a deal with Ben, was his bitch for months...You learn a thing or two," Officer Cherry said before walking off, leaving you alone.

You quickly made your way to Banklin's office. Opening the door, you saw Banklin placing various files into a bag.

Banklin was a tall woman with long brown hair, she seemed quite put together despite the stressful work environment.

"Detective Banklin?"

"Hm? Oh, you must be the intern."

"Yes, um. I've gotten some important information about the Abbie Grace case."

"From?"

"Toby, ma'am."

"Rogers? That man is a bipolar punk, I don't trust a word that leaves his mouth."

"I cam see why, but he implied that Abbie is still alive."

Banklin froze as she looked up at you, dropping the file in hand.

"Alive?"

"Yes, when he was talking about her, he talked in a present tense, and when I asked if she was actualky dead, Toby said that he never said she was."

"...It does make sense, we never did find her body, " Banklin said, rubbing her chin as she looked at the floor? "But, we've never had a case where one of their victims survived for more than a month."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but Toby has a pattern of keeping women for long periods of time before killing them."

"I've noticed, but in each of those cases, they didn't live past a month on average when we conducted their autopsy."

"So we're just going go let this info go?"

"I'm not saying that, I'm saying it's unreliable. Toby is far from stupid, and he tends to withhold info. He claims that he'll 'never be a snitch'."

"This claim can change this entire case, Miss. Banklin. Even if Toby is lying, what if he isn't? He sounded genuine when he spoke, and if she's alive out there, why should we just wait and see?"

"Listen here. This is your first time working with these Motherfuckers, you don't know anything about them. We asssigned this case to you because it's still on going. If you fuck this up and put this case in jeopardy, you're internship is done. I don't care what Joesph says."

All you could do is stare at Banklin, frozen in place as she closed her bag. You couldn't deny the fact that you often get way over your head, maybe being labeled the best officer in the academy made you a little over confident, but you didn't want to just throw this possibility out of the way. You didn't have a solid conclusion to Toby's true behavior, you still needed a bit more time on that bit, but until then, you were going to trust a few of his words.

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Don't bother. Abbie's case is the last case we have regarding Jeffery. Listen to Jeffery's words before Toby's, Jeffery rarely lies to us."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good, now if you excuse me, I have a family to go home to," Banklin said, pushing past you so she opened the door. "Oh, also. Stick to what we assign you. We don't only want you to not fuck anything up, but it's also to protect you. Some of these cases are extremely classified and cannot get released to the public. I hope you understand."

"No, no I do."

"Good, see you in the morning."

Then, she was gone. You didn't even realize that you were holding your breath.

After meeting Banklin, you had come to the conclusion that no one was going to take your theories seriously. But, maybe there was someone who would.

Checking the hallways, you quickly dashed back to the inmate quarters. As you ran, you remembered a lesson that you had with Gibbons.

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

"Wrong!" Gibbons said for the hundredth time.

"What?! How is that wrong? The suspect obviously lied!" You yelled, pointing down at the paper, "Look, you see the inconsistencies in her statements."

"Y/N, in this field, not everything is simple."

"Yeah, I know that."

"So... Let's look over this paper one last time," Gibbons said as he sat in front of you. "The detective is pushing the suspect. When under stress, people will either do two things. They'll either confess, or make someone hear what they want to hear. With this in mind, what do you think is going on here?"

Looking down at the paper, you did your best to come up with an answer. Before being put under stress, the suspect's story was adding up, but, the moment the detective put them under pressure, their claims fell apart.

"They're telling the detective what they wanna hear?"

"Nope!"

"What?! What do you mean no?"

"Before the suspect was put under pressure, their story was adding up perfectly with the crime, but, the moment they were put under pressure, everything fell apart. This tells you two things. 1, they're not alone. They're most likely being used to take the fall, explaining the perfect line up. And 2, they indirectly confessed that they were innocent."

"You got that from this alone?"

"When you're in this job for as long as I have been, you pick up on things quickly. But, this, situations like this is what makes solving cases so difficult. When you do your internship, I want you to keep this in mind."

"Keep what in mind?"

"If someone is willing to tell you info about a case, take it, especially if it's from a snitch. A snitch is more willing to throw their friends under the bus for than own gain, making them more reliable than a direct source. "

"What if I can't talk to them?"

"Find a way. Roosevelt is Big, many places to hide. Be smart, not crazy."

"So you want me to break the law?"

"If you can make look legal, than yes."

"...You're the worst cop ever."

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

"Guess I'm the worse cop ever," You muttered, taking a deep breath as you stood infront of the door separating you from the inmates.

Looking to the right, you noticed a key pad with various numbers and letters.

"Shit... uh, how about, 1 2 3 4 5?"

"WRONG, 6 DIGIT CODE" was written in bold letters.

"Six digits?" You questioned, clenching your eyebrows togethers as you thought. "It can't be something simple, but what if it's so simple that people wouldn't even consider using it?"

Then, it came to you.

"Wait...Roosevelt Federal Prison, Creepypasta Ward? R F P C P W."

CLICK!

"Oh thank god."

Openng the door, you felt the atmosphere shift as you took a step into the room. Due to it being curfew, it was pitch black in the ward, leaving you to rely on the sounds of various voices.

"Shit, why did I do this, why did I do this? If I'm caught in here my internship is done. Can I get arrested for this? Probably. Well, too late now..."

You weren't exactly sure where to look for Liu. You weren't sure if he was on the bottom or top bit, or if he even had a roommate. You knew better than to turn on your flashlight, but, you started to feel the consequences of you actions. Maybe you should get you impulse under control.

Caught up in your thoughts, you failed to notice the figure creeping up behind you. However, you were able to hear the sound of faint breathing.

Whipping your head around, your gun was already in hand, but, the figure grabbed your wrist and covered your mouth, immobilized you.

Adjusting to the dark, you were able to make out a pair of green eyes. You weren't exactly sure if it was Liu, but, the feeling of stitches rubbing against your hand confirmed your suspicions.

"Liu?" You whispered, tightening your grip on your gun.

Liu remained silent as he stared at you.

"What do you want."

It wasn't a question, it was a demand.

"I'm accepting your deal. If I get whatever it is Jeff took from you, you'll tell me what you know about Abbie."

You couldn't see his face, but Liu looked down at you confused. What deal? He did recall slipping in and out of conciouness during lunch, sharing a few words with you before blanking out once more. But, his face quickly turned into annoyance as he imagined Sully interacting with you. The little bastard had to have made a deal with you.

"...Ok," Liu answered blankly, letting go of your wrist.

"What does Jeff have that you want me to get. "

Liu stayed silent for a few moments. What was it that Jeff took this time? One of his guns? Nah, he hates the noise. His bandages? Maybe. So, Liu only shrugged, much to your disappointment.

"If I get you whatever Jeff has, you'll tell me about Abbie, right?"

"...Yeah, yeah, sure."

"Promise?"

"I'm not saying it again," Liu said, sending you a glare.

You quickly shrieked back, nodding your head in understanding before sliding past him.

Feeling around for another key pad, you quickly entered the pass code. Squeezing through the door, you let out the biggest sigh of relief, but you quickly felt that relief be replaced with regret.

"I just made a deal with a fucking inmate," You said, your eyes wide in shock. "What kind of cop am I? Best at the Academy my ass..."

Little did you know, this was only the beginning. The start of your fall from grace.

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x y/n #yandere creepypasta #creepypasta x you #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x y/n #yandere jeff the killer #jeff the killer x you #jeff the killer x reader #yandere ticci toby #ticci toby x you #jeff the killer x y/n #yandere creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x female reader #creepypasta au #.Prison AU #homicidal liu x y/n #homicidal liu x reader #Yandere homicidal liu

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jamespotterismydaddy · 2 months

Text

Behind Closed Doors

joseph descamps x reader

A/N: for anyone who cares

WARNINGS: smut!, light dubcon maybe, mean and jealous descamps

WORD COUNT: 1,082 words

You needed space. The party was getting rowdy and you were getting tipsy. You also couldn’t get the sight of Descamps shooting daggers into the side of your head out of your mind so you now find yourself an empty room, where you can kick off your heels and sit down. You still can’t figure out why he was glaring so harshly at you when all you were doing was dancing with some third year boy. He might hate you but you would have thought he would’ve been preoccupied with enjoying the party or at least, chatting up some girl.

“You shouldn’t wander off alone when there’s so many guys around.” You jump when you hear his voice.

“Screw off Descamps. I don’t understand why you can’t just leave me alone.”

“Who was that guy you were dancing with?” He grumbles, changing the subject.

“Why do you care?” You ask with a scoff.

“He was just a shit dancer.” You sense it in his voice… jealousy.

“Really? That’s all it is? Or are you jealous, Joseph?”

He looks pissed off at your insinuation but quickly pivots to careless amusement. “I didn’t realize we were on a first name basis.”

“And I didn’t realize you had a crush on me.” You tease, looking him right in the eye quite intensely.

“Why would I have a crush on an irritating brat like you?” He says defensively.

You ignore the insult. “You know, if you didn’t want me to dance with other boys, then you should’ve asked me to dance first. I might’ve said yes.”

“Of course you would’ve said yes, i’m the best looking guy in our class.” He puffs out his chest a bit as he says the pompous remark.

“The boy I was dancing with is also the handsomest in his class… and he’s a third year.”

He walks closer to where you sit. You try to look relaxed but he gets so close. His two fingers tilt your head up. “You’ve got such a mouth on you.”

The heat rises to your cheeks and you press your thighs together at the remark.

“I can think of a much better use for it.” His hand grips your shoulder as he coaxes you to your knees. “You know what I want?” He asks, palming at himself through his trousers. You nod, looking up at him through your lashes. “Of course you do. Bet a girl like you spends a lot of time on her knees.”

He fumbles with his belt buckle as you glare up at him. “If you want me to do this for you then you should stop being such a prick. You’re lucky I decided to do this.”

His cheeks go a little red but your scolding doesn’t make him any less hard. “Whatever.”

“Knew you had a crush on me.” You tease again.

“God, just suck already.” He pushes your head, fed up with your teasing. You wrap your lips around him slowly. You haven’t really done this before but you at least get the idea.

He whimpers when you start to suck him off gently. It’s clear that he hasn’t had this done for him before either. You think you’ll keep the fact that he whimpers in the back of your mind in case he decides to be an asshole at school again.

Descamps cums… fast with flushed cheeks and a groan. He’s clearly a little embarrassed about it too as you part your mouth from him.

“You would think that a guy who wanks as much as you do wouldn’t have this problem.” You say a little cruelly as payback for his light slut-shaming.

“The girl who just swallowed my cum should probably get down from her high horse.” He uses his hand to pull you up to your feet and then the same hand slips to your waist so he can keep you close.

“Tastes like shit.” You mumble.

“Hmm, does it?” He asks in an amused voice before he brings you in for a harsh kiss. “Tastes fine to me.”

He starts kissing your neck and before you know it, you’re pushed against a desk in the room. His hands roam freely over your body and one squeezes and gropes at your breast like he may never have the chance to do this again. Everything about his movement is inexperienced but very wanting.

“Ahh.” You gasp a bit as he nibbles at your neck, a distraction so he can slide his hand up your dress without you thinking twice. You then feel his fingertips against your panties. “Joseph!” You scold.

“C’mon just let me make you feel good. I just wanna return the favour.” He murmurs against your neck and you can’t refuse him.

His long fingers shove your panties to the side and he rubs them through your arousal.

“I didn’t think girls being this wet was a real thing.” He teases.

“Shut up.”

He rubs around haphazardly for a few moments before you guide him to your clit. Then it starts to feel good as he rubs around it in tight circles. He feels like a man as you moan into his mouth from pleasure he’s giving you. And when his fingers slip into you… you can barely keep yourself quiet.

“Yeah, you like that?” He eggs you on as he curls his fingers roughly against your sweet spot.

“Mmm, Joseph.” You whine and squirm from his rapid movements as you are used to a much slower pace from yourself. “It’s too much.”

“Really? Because with how your pussy is soaking my fingers, I would say it’s just the right amount.” He says, not slowing his pace even slightly.

He isn’t evil though, at least not completely, so when he sees how overstimulated you get after another thirty seconds, he goes back to rubbing your clit.

“See isn’t this just so much better than you being a brat all the time?” He smirks, not caring for your answer as he kisses you again.

“Oh, God. I think i’m gonna…” You spill yourself on his fingers, soaking his already damp digits even more.

“I knew you wanted it bad but I didn’t think you’d like it that much, doll.” He teases, pulling his fingers from you and licking them clean right in front of you. “Tastes delicious.” He murmurs. “Now, how about we fix you up and get back to the dance floor? I think it’s time we show everyone that you’re my girl.”

taglist (comment to be added):General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi @ravenclawprincess33

#mixte #mixte1963 #voltaire high #voltaire high x reader #mixte x reader #joseph descamps #joseph descamps smut #descamps smut #joseph descamps x reader

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user2772636 · 3 months

Text

Douzième Fille

12th girl

××《☆》××

Having to be in pairs for a group project, two people with mixed feelings work together to create a presentation. Going into eachothers houses is easy until a certain cat wants to play cupid. Feelings erupt, and miscommunication has to be endured. A soccer game in the rain might prove that Descamps listens more than he should.

===

Joseph Descamps x Reader

Warnings: bullying (poor pichon), boys being boys, very confusing feelings, angst bcs of achilles and patroclus (maybe even joseph and reader???), miscommunication in the enemies to lovers department, swearing

This chapter has references to The Song of Achilles book (ik its not the right timeline, but we have to do this for the angst so bare w me)

===

Chapter three: He is half my soul, as the poets say

===

The scores of our exams are being published. I sit in my seat, eyes scanning the numbers and fingertips smoothing out the paper. Most of them are in the ranges of 12-16, which is good enough for me.

"As you know, this is a school where we like to experiment with new methods. Next week, we are going to try a new approach." I look up from my papers, interested in the proposal of something new.

"You're going to prepare a presentation, working in pairs. You'll be working with the classmate sitting next to you, and then you'll present your work in class together. And for a sense of free will, you can present about any subject. How does that sound?"

I look to the girl next to me. Her name was Louise. She's quiet most of the time and keeps to herself. I smile softly. She smiles back.

The teacher clears his throat, eyes on Descamps and Dupin. "You two, of which I already expect a chaotic presentation, will be paired with someone else." His eyes land on me and Louise. Please, no.

"Descamps and Pardine, Louise and Dupin. Please remember your partner." I internally groan, placing my head into my hands. I look to my side, already seeing Louise and Dupin waving to each other, Louise giggling. I groan again. I don't look at Descamps. He doesn't, either.

Pichon raises his hand. "What if we're sitting alone?" The class laughs. I look at Pichon in pity.

"Well, you can work with Ms. Sabiani." The teacher says in response.

"Look. Pichon is blushing. He's turned pink like a pig." Dupin says, and the class laughs again. Even Louise giggles. She likes him, it's obvious, but what is there to like? I roll my eyes.

"That's enough, Dupin." The teacher shouts at him, the smile on his face gone. Annick raises her hand.

"Do we really have to work in pairs?" She asks.

"That's the whole point." He answers. "And I'm warning you, half a pair's work will result in half the grade."

××《☆》××

As I walk down the stairs, I look up when I hear pigs oinking. I wasn't wrong. Descamps' group of friends are pigs.

When I spot Simone and Michèle in the bench under the tree, our usual spot, I make my way to them.

"Help me gain some decency to go up to Descamps and not punch him in the face." I groan as I sit on the bench with them.

"It's unfortunate for you. Our teacher could've picked anyone else." Michèle says, pity in her voice.

"Should I go talk to him now or later?" They don't answer because they see Descamps make his way towards us.

I fight the urge to start an argument with him. About anything, really. Just to get him to stay a bit longer. I clear my throat at the thought.

"Your place?" He says, now standing infront of us, hands in his pockets. I nod once, and he walks away.

"Thank god that was over quick." Something deep inside me knew I didn't mean that.

Jean Pierre walks towards us with a book in hand. I look at Simone with a teasing smile, but there's something in her eyes I can't really tell. Like she knows something.

"Here, this is yours." He hands Michèle the book. "I put it in my bag by mistake." Michèle thanks him. He walks away with a 'see you later'.

Michèle continues to complain to us about her grades. Simone sighs, mind floating away. I look at her confused. I'll ask her about it later.

I look towards Applebaum. We make eye contact, and I smile. He looks away, fear in his eyes. What's up with everyone today?

××《☆》××

In one of those rare moments, my parents are home for dinner. We sit in the dining table, enjoying our food.

"Someone's coming over tomorrow. I know you won't be here, but I thought it'd be better if you knew." I tell them, handing small bits of food to George.

"Oh? What will you be doing?" My father asks, cutting his food into smaller pieces.

"Group project. We'll probably just stay in my room." I pet George as he eats his food.

"Are we going to meet her even after the project?" My mother says, looking up from her food.

"He, actually. And no." This makes them pause, silence surronding the room. My father clears his throat.

"A boy? And both of you will be in your room?" He says, placing his elbows on the table.

I take time to process this. "Papa, no. It's not like that." I turn red in my seat. "Trust me, it's just a project. Nothing else."

"Of course we trust you. It's just, you know. You're a teen, and teens go through... stuff." My mother says, stuttering a bit. I cover my face with my hands.

"Mama, please don't make it weird." I groan.

"No, it's perfectly normal for your age. If you want, we can forget about it-" I cut her off.

"Yes, please. Forget about it." I cut my food aggressively, face as warm as my plate.

We stay quiet as we finish the rest of our dinner.

××《☆》××

"The league of nations, L.O.N..." I fade the rest of the discussion out, watching the way the sun rests on the trees leaves, the birds tending to themselves. Last nights conversation clouds my mind, and I catch myself smiling for no reason.

I sigh every time, biting my lip in my own embarrassment. I glance at Descamps. He's focusing on the lesson for once. Nothing will happen at my place, right?

He feels my gaze on him and gently turns his head. His eye meets mine, and there's a small quirk on the corner of his lip.

"Quiet at the back." Ms. Giraud calls out suddenly.

Descamps looks away. I purse my lips, something stirring in my chest. My breathing is faster, and I feel warmer. Have I gotten sick already?

Annick walks into the room, hair tousled and frizzy. Ms. Giraud shouts at her, and my ear drums are about to explode.

Ms. Giraud gives Annick detention, and with every word Annick said back, an hour or two more.

Ms. Giraud continues to piss me off every second of the day with her strictness and very clear jealousy towards Annick. She finally continues the discussion, and I (annoyingly) decide to finally listen.

××《☆》××

I wait right outside the gate for Descamps. He comes running to the gate but slows down when he sees me, acting like he wasn't just leaping to get here.

"Hey." He says, acting nonchalant. He even has his hand in his pocket.

"Hi. Let's get going." I keep my face blank as I lead the way to my place. We walk in silence, listening to our footsteps next to each other.

Once we make it to my flat's building, I go up the steps, stopping in front of my door and unlocking it.

We step inside, the flat looking warm with the sunlight entering through the windows. I lock my door and drop the keys on my kitchen counter.

"Your coat?" I reach my hands out. He throws his coat to me, the heaviness of it making me stumble. I scowl but hang it anyway.

"Head to my room. Down the hallway to the right." I say as I grab a few supplies from my father's office.

"Want me in your bed already?" He calls out once he's inside. I hear a yelp.

I run to my room. "Descamps, are you okay?" I ask worriedly. He stares at George.

"What is that?" He points to George, who's currently walking toward me. I bend down and pet him, planting a kiss on his head.

"This is George." I carry George and craddle him like a baby. I walk towards Descamps with the furball in my arms. I rock him slowly.

"You can touch him if you want. He doesn't bite." I smile at the orange cat, then look up at Descamps. He's staring at me with the most soft look I've seen him wear. My heart thumps in my chest.

He clears his throat, hand going up shakily to pet George. George purrs when Descamps pets him. There's now a smile on Descamps face, as warm as his stare.

I bite my lip at the proximity. I memorise as much as I can about him.

The way he was breathing, like he was on a bed so soft he could sink into it. The way he smelt like faded cigarette smoke and expensive cologne. The way his bones moved under his skin as he bent over to take a closer look at George. The number of times he's blinked, the number of times he's laughed under his breath.

I dive deeper into my trance as he looks up at me. The way he stared now is so different from the way he did all those times before. Like we knew something that we haven't acknowledged yet. Or chose not to.

Something falls in the kitchen, and we snap back to reality. My face warms up, the lighting from the windows making it clearer.

Descamps walks away from me, clearing his throat again. "The cat's ugly." This makes me snap my head to his direction.

"What did you just say?" My brows furrow, defensive of the cat sleeping in my arms.

He rolls his eye. "Nothing. Let's get the project started, I guess." I glare at him for a couple more seconds, then I gently place George down on the bed, excusing myself to get more stuff from my father's office.

When I'm halfway to my room, I hear whispering. I peek at the slit on my door, wondering what was happening behind it.

Descamps is petting George, whispering words as if he's hushing a baby to sleep.

My aura softens, and my heart bursts with admiration. I accidentally drop something and curse to myself. Descamps hears the thud on the floor and pushes himself away from George. George continues to sleep.

I open the door then close it gently. "Let's get started."

××《☆》××

"Do you have suggestions?" I ask Descamps. He doesn't answer, his head turned to the side. I sigh.

Before I could say anything, he talks. "What's that?" He nods to the book on my shelf. It was a copy of the story of Achilles and Patroclus, with a notebook strapped on the front.

"It's nothing important." I shake my head. He purses his lips in thought.

"Can I see it?" His question catches me off guard, his head finally turning to look at me. No one's ever showed interest in my books or notes. I stay quiet, then after a while, I nod.

He gets up from the bed and grabs the book. He takes the string that attaches the notebook to the copy off. He scans the back of the book and hums.

"We can base the project off of this, if you don't mind." He holds up the paperback and the notebook. I'm stunned in my place.

"It's really not that interesting-"

"It must be if you had a whole notebook dedicated to it." There isn't even a teasing tone when he said that. He meant it genuinely.

"Fine." I sigh, grabbing the notebook from his grasp.

"Good." "Great." "Amazing." "Piss off." "Whatever."

"Mind if you read it to me?" He says. "I have a feeling I'll understand better when you say it, since it's your work."

I nod, hesitantly. I opened the first page of my notebook. Most of the stuff I've written in it is a summary and a review of the book.

He leans back on my pillows. I let him. I started to read.

"Patroclus was a young prince, exiled from his kingdom for accidentally killing a boy, and was taken in by their neighbouring king, King Peleus."

George purrs as I pet him. I shift to a more comfortable sitting position. Descamps' eyes are on me.

"When Patroclus first saw Achilles, it was in a competition run by Patroclus' father. He described Achilles as if he was looking at a painting made with precision and grace." I flip the page. George walks over to Descamps' lap. I huff, ignoring it.

"When they met and officially talked, Patroclus thought he'd hated Achilles. Achilles and his beauty, his speed, his perfection. In the years that pass, they grow to be attached to the other." George meows. The meow that indicates he wants petting.

I pause my reading, and Descamps looks at me confused. "Why'd you stop?"

"George wants pets." Descamps makes an 'oh' sound and pets George. He meows again.

"Maybe he wants you." Descamps says, petting the fur baby on his lap. I sigh and lean in close to pet George. With the uncomfortable position, I shift to sit beside Descamps on the bed. I clear my throat and pet George. I continue to read.

"They knew everything about each other. What they'd prefer, like how I like the rain too much to cover it with an umbrella, but know I'll get sick without it. That's how the two worked. They knew every detail, every routine, every habit, every movement. A love you'd have to fight the gods for."

A page is flipped, smoothing out of paper echoes in the room.

"Achilles and Patroclus loved each other with every inch of their heart and soul. Quoting the book, Patroclus states, 'He is half my soul, as the poets say'. Along with the famous paragraph." My eyes switch to the next page.

Descamps shifts in his place, leaning back on the pillows, looking at the pages where I'm reading off of. I start to relax, leaning back, too. George purrs.

"I could recognise him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world."

I take a glance at Descamps, and he's already looking at me. George snores in his sleep, making the aura of the room warmer. More comfortable.

His eye dropped to my lips, and I could've sworn I was hearing a heartbeat as fast as the wind at fall. I glance at his, pink and soft, like a cushion ready for rest.

When we lean in, slowly, too slow, my heart drops as he pulls away and stretches. I furrow my eyebrows, a dread of realisation. He's been toying with me. I close my notebook and gather my things.

"Where are you off to?" He asks. I don't answer him.

"Hey," He grabs my arm. I take it back from him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing." I say coldly. "I'll finish this project myself."

"What? No. This is a group project remember?"

"I can't keep doing this. You're too hard to work with." I stack the books and materials in my arms.

"We haven't even gotten anything done yet." He flops his hands in the air.

"Exactly. You're too distracting."

"What did I do? I've been quiet the whole time."

"Yeah, well, that's the problem. You're too quiet. You aren't suggesting things."

"What does that have to do with anything?" He raises his voice.

"Just shut up, okay? Just leave. I told you I'll finish the project by myself." I get up from the bed, heading to my father's office.

"But I don't get why you're suddenly mad!" He stands up, following me.

"You don't have to know. Just leave me alone, okay?"

"Fucking fine. You're being too stubborn anyways. Do all the work. Getting pissed off for no fucking reason." He grabs his coat from the rack, putting it on. He doesn't even glance at me, opening and shutting the door with a loud slam.

I even out my breathing. It was going fine. Then I think to myself, what was? Me and Descamps, going fine? I laugh at the thought. I hated that boy. I hated him with my whole heart. My mind travels to the notes I was just reading.

Patroclus had thought he hated Achilles in the start, too. I shake the thought out of my head, slipping against the wall to sit on the floor, knees to my chest.

I hear tapping on the floor boards. I look to my side to see George, meowing softly. I take a deep breath in, then reach my hand out to pet him.

I hate him. And I know I do. He lingers in my mind like a fog in the mountains. The way his aura had softened, his smile, his warmth. I hated the thought of him, but then he smiled, and like Achilles, his face was like the sun.

××《☆》××

Night comes, and I lay in my bed, windows slightly open for the wind to come through. I'm restless, not getting a blink of sleep. I'm halfway through the project already. If Descamps had helped, it'd take longer, I think to myself, trying to still feel angry.

I don't feel angry at all anymore. There's a sort of regret in me for pushing him away. But at the same time, it's what he deserved. We had leaned in, and I didn't even know what I was expecting. I should've expected him to pull away, but what was he going to do in the first place?

Was he going to whisper in my ear? If so, what would he whisper to me? Was he going to say something about how I write, how I speak? A thought so blurry pops up in my head, and I brush it off. But it felt warm, so safe, so soft. There was a scent stuck in my head as I reminisced on the thought, trying to figure out what I was thinking.

I fall asleep in the process, dreaming about the thought instead. Limbs touching, bending, adjusting. I taste cigarettes and strawberries. I smell smoke and expensive perfume. I feel something soft against my lips, hands cupping my face, my neck, my head, and my waist.

He felt warm, tall, and heavy against me. I hold onto the dream, relaxing.

××《☆》××

I wake up, sweat coating my skin. George sits on the window sill, the sun making him shine like gold. I sit up and stretch. I get off my bed and head to my bathroom.

My hair is messy, and I have a bit of dried drool on the corner of my mouth. I wash my face to give myself some energy. I take my clothes off lazily, tying my hair up and getting inside my shower.

Once I finish, I comb and fix my hair, head to the kitchen for a quick breakfast, grab my things for school, including the unfinished project, and head to the front door.

A stack of paper tied with string greets me. I furrow my eyebrows. There's no note. I squat down and pick it up. I instantly know who it's from.

It's an essay about Achilles and Patroclus, detailed and opinionated. Written on the last piece of paper, sitting at the bottom of the stack, it reads, "I bought a copy. Finished it for you."

I stood still, processing the words, flipping through the papers to double check if they're authentic. I let out a scoff of surprise. My head snaps to a nearby clock. I'm going to be late if I don't start walking now.

My feet carry me to the front gates of Voltaire, the familiar faces and light chatter calming me. I spot Simone and Michèle, and I make my way to them.

××《☆》××

Rain starts to fall. The rain always brought me comfort. The different sounds it made when hitting different objects, the way it sways with the wind, the smell it gives the grass after.

I lag behind Simone and Michèle as they make their way to the field. I look for my satchel, then remember I'd forgotten my umbrella. I curse to myself, finding the satchel. It felt heavier than usual. I look inside, then see a clear umbrella. I open it and twist it around, gaping in awe. There's a note in the bag. I open to read it.

"Don't get sick from what you love." The note said.

There's only one person I've told about my love for rain.

I head outside, hiding my red face once I see a drenched one-eyed boy. I smile to Simone and Michèle, spotting them seated on a bench. I glance behind me as I sit down, finding an eye already looking at me with a small smile. His smile drops, and he looks away when I catch him. I purse my lips.

We watch the match, getting my mind off of the boy with ash brown hair. Once the match finishes, we all make our way home. I look up, seeing the rain pattering against the clear umbrella. I smile, watching the water droplets slip off the plastic, hearing the pattering of rain.

××《☆》××

The next day, I repeat my routine. I thoroughly read through Descamps' essay, rewritting it to fit in with mine. I should be thankful, and I am, but Descamps is making my head hurt with the way he acts. I walked to school, going subject after subject, until our presentation finally came.

Earlier, I'd slipped him the script, tucking it in his bag. I hope silently that he's memorised it.

Annick and Pichon are presenting in front of the class. I smiled softly, impressed by the presentation, and refreshed with the dynamic of the two. If only things had gone differently with Descamps, we could've been good friends. But we aren't. I don't think we ever will.

Once they finish, our teacher calls me and Descamps to the front. My anxiousness radiates off my body. Simone and Michèle give me a reassuring look. I nod at them slightly.

My eyes meet Descamps, and we're standing at the front of the class. They're quiet, and my eyes scan all of them. Surprisingly, Descamps starts.

"Me and Pardine are going to present the story of Achilles and Patroclus and the debate of their relationship; romantic or platonic?" Descamps looks at me, his hand hovering at the small of my back for support.

I start, and faster than I thought, I finish the presentation. The room claps, as they do with the others. I glance at Descamps but see him already walking back to his seat. My smile dropped slowly, remembering I was still on his bad side, and vice versa.

I walk back to my seat quietly. I don't even hear the score because my mind is too occupied with the thought of him. Would we stay angry at eachother always? At the same time, it shouldn't matter. I hate him. Right?

I shake my head. I hate him, surely. I should. I dig deep in my head for a reason. Bullying Pichon and Michèle, toying with my feelings (feelings I'm not aware whether it's good or bad), the way he acts, and smells, and feels when he's near.

I fucking hate him. I really do. I hate him, I repeat in my head. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

Then, like earlier, something inside me knows I don't mean it.

At the end of the day, I make peace with solitude. My mind wanders, and I notice that every time it does, they always end up with the face of a one-eyed boy.

Sure, Descamps gave me a finished essay for our project, and sure, he gave me an umbrella that was clear so I could see the rain. So what? I still hate him. Maybe just a little less now.

××《☆》××

End- Chapter three: He is half my soul, as the poets say.

Next- Chapter four: Flashy Magazines

××《☆》××

End of chapter three. Rollercoaster of emotions this one. It's a bit shorter than usual because i took out a bunch of the scenes in the series to focus on the emotions of reader and hopefully u guys get what im trying to give. Thanks for reading, requests r open, and see u next chapter!!!

#joseph descamps x reader #joseph descamps #mixte1963 #michèle magnan #simone palladino #jean pierre magnan #alain laubrac #enemies to lovers #fanfic #reader insert #slow burn #x reader

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atinylittlepain · 1 year

Note

SAWEEET BABY JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH! THE DBF!JOEL WEILURHWLEIRHWEIRWE! That was incredible! Could we have oneshot of the lead up to them fucking in Joel's truck? 👀👀👀👀😍😍😍😍😍

hahahahahah wooh! i'm glad you asked - here is the ooey gooey middle of the Ride It oreo cookie, enjoy :)

Let's Take a Ride

No-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

warnings | 18+ smutty language, dbf!Joel, age gap

.............................

“Aren’t you cold, honey?” Truthfully, she is, barefoot in the gravel of the highway shoulder, her heels tossed into the backseat a while ago, in nothing but the short dress she had gone out in. But Joel’s gaze is warming her up just fine.

“I’m ok, Joel. Thank you for coming to get me.” He sighs, stepping closer to inspect the flat on her back tire, letting out a low whistle as he kneels down to take a closer look.

“More than a flat tire. The whole rim is busted. Just how fast were you going?” She flushes hard under his pointed look. So maybe she had been speeding when she accidentally hit a curb. But mistakes happen, right?

“Um, I don’t know?” He huffs, getting up from his kneeling position with a groan and wiping his hands off on his jeans. He cocks his head at her, crossing his broad arms over his chest. She swallows hard at the flex of his biceps.

“You been drinking tonight, honey?” When all she offers him in response is an anxious smile, he clicks his tongue, shaking his head.

“I’m not drunk. I had a drink with some friends. It’s not like that’s a crime. I am of age, y’know.”

“Oh, believe me, I know.” Her brow furrows at his sighed out words. What’s that supposed to mean?

“Are you telling me you got all dressed up like that just for some friends, honey?” That question shocks her silent, and he chuckles at her slack expression, stepping closer until she can feel the heat radiating off him. He lets a single finger skate along the neckline of her dress before hooking it under one of the straps, tugging her in until she’s pressing her palms against his solid chest to stop herself from stumbling.

“Tell me this, honey. Why’d you call me, of all people, to come help you?” She can smell lingering whiskey on his breath. He’s been around her dad’s house enough times for her to know he likes a nightcap, a little hit of warmth to end the day. That mixed with the scent of him - cedar and sweat, and smoke from the cigarette habit he swears he’s trying to break - is sending her mind into a haze, and she’s finding it hard to answer his question.

“Because, um– because you– um–” He chuckles again, cutting off her mumbling with a wicked crook of a grin on his face.

“It’s alright, honey. You can just say it, huh? I know what you want.” Is this really happening?

“You– you do?” He nods, bringing his other hand to tilt her chin up, keeping her gaze on his.

“You think I haven’t noticed? Can practically feel you burning a hole through my back with the way you look at me, honey. What a sweet little thing like you wants with an old man like me is beyond me.” The finger he kept hooked in the strap of her dress is running the arc of it, back and forth, back and forth, the graze of his skin against hers making her shiver.

“You’re not that old.” That makes him laugh, his eyes crinkling up and his smile broadening at her.

“Don’t think I’m too old for you?” Albeit hesitantly, she shakes her head no.

“Think you can handle me, honey? Bet I ride a little different than them college boys of yours.” Her stomach twists at the implication of his words, and she thinks she’d melt on the spot if he wasn’t still firmly holding her chin in place.

“I can handle it.” She tries to sound as confident as possible, but her voice still ends up coming out a bit meek, almost a whine. Joel just grins, dipping his head down to nose along her cheek, his lips finding the shell of her ear. The low drawl of his words goes straight through her, pooling heat in her core.

“We’ll see about that, honey. Why don’t you be a dear and open that car door for me. We’re gonna take a little ride together.”

#joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller blurb #joel miller au

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billthedrake · 2 months

Text

LITTLE BRO'S HOMECOMING

Joseph Murphy didn't even have to knock on the hotel door. He'd texted Kyle to get the room number and as he strode up to 1139 in the downtown Boston hotel, the door opened right up.

Kyle was dressed in his Marines cammies - either he hadn't had time to change since checking in or else he wanted to be in uniform for the older man. A big smile formed on the 21 year old's face. "Hey," he muttered as he stepped aside to let the beefy cop enter.

"Hey yeuself," Joe hissed in his thick New England accent as he stepped right up to the young Marine and placed his hands around the stud's waist, drawing him in.

Their kiss was hot. A tongue heavy, facing sucking kind of kiss. Officer Murphy didn't do finesse, and it turns out Kyle Smith was A-OK with that. It had been TOO long since they'd been together, or even seen each other. They'd had a conversation before Kyle's deployment about whether they were dating. The cop didn't feel comfortable with that, and Joe hadn't even reached out to the Marine over the last few months. It was only an instant reply that Kyle received when he said he was coming home that made him realize there was still a spark there.

More than a spark. Officer Murphy was pawing at the ridge of hard military cock in the camo pants. And Kyle was feeling up all the cop beef through the man's long-sleeve Pats T-shirt. THIS was the young man's type to a T. Some heft on his bones, thick muscle, a beer belly. It had been the body Kyle had been into since he first started jacking off. Joe reminded him of his middle school wrestling coach - and even, if he was honest, of his own father.

Officer Murphy was even a dyed-in-the-wool working class New Englander like Kyle's father, only more brash even.

Indeed, the booming voice came as he backed off. "How's my fuckin' parn stah doin?" the cop bellowed, fingers tracing the long ridge of Marine meat sticking up in the uniform.

"Holy fuck, I missed you, man," Kyle said with a big grin. Maybe that was too much to say, but he felt it.

"I bet ya did," Joe said as he crouched down, fingers already fumbling with the uniform. "I know how to take care of this bad boy."

The cop's fingers felt good as they undid the trousers. "Are we gonna wait?" Kyle asked. "I mean, we said..."

Already the cop's big mitt was on the young stud's boner, pulling it out and gently stroking it. "You got a couple in ya, Corporal," he growled. "Come on, Jesus, four months and ya gonna fuckin' blue ball me?"

Officer Murphy didn't give Kyle a chance to answer. The question was rhetorical anyway. Because already he was taking the thick, long tool into his mouth.

"Oh fuck... fuck yes," Kyle hissed as he felt the police officer's hot wet mouth go down on him. The cop sucked dick like he kissed. No finesse. But it was amazing, especially after no sex for the last four months.

The Marine didn't realize he was carrying around so much tension in his body, but as Joe blew him, he felt himself relax, his stance widening just a little and his hand placed gently on top of the man's medium-short hair. He'd experienced a Joe Murphy BJ in full Boston Police uniform. THAT had been incredible, but even now he loved looking down on the man's thick-set daddy bod, face getting redder as he bobbed up and down more quickly. Kyle was still in full uniform, for his part, and he suspected that was driving Joe wild.

"It's not gonna take me long," Kyle warned.

The cop spit out his cock. "Dont ya dare, buddy." He wiped the spit off his chin with the back of his hand and leaned back. Kyle loved that view of him, the way it showed off Officer Murphy's broad rounded shoulders and massive chest.

Kyle knew what the man meant. He actually didn't have a lot of experience with other men. He'd met Joe Murphy when he was still 18, still a senior in high school. But the sex was electric between them. Joe was such a deeply sexual man, and the cop's hunger for a younger top, a much younger top, fueled Kyle's own lust.

"On the bed, Officer," he hissed.

Joe broke into a huge grin. Standing up, he started undoing his jeans and kicking off his sneakers.

"Keep that fuckin' unifo'm on buddy," he growled.

Kyle nodded. "That's 'Corporal Smith' to you, Officer."

"All right, Corporal," Joe chuckled. "Don't hold back. Just go for it, OK?"

Kyle was getting lightheaded now, he was so horny. Especially seeing Murphy pull off that T and reveal that beefy daddy bod. His big brother had teased him once when he showed him a picture of his cop lover. "You a chaser, Kyle?" Brandon had laughed. Kyle stood his ground those. The beer belly on such a meaty frame did something for him. He liked having a lot of daddy to hold onto.

That lot of daddy was naked now and crawling onto one of the queen beds on all fours. Kyle got in place.

"Aw yeah, eat my hole, Corporal. Aw, fuck yeah... root around with that tongue buddy. Get up in daddy's ass. Oh, fucking nasty, buddy."

Kyle remembered the first time he rimmed Joe Murphy he was worried the man would get freaked out. But it was one of Kyle's favorite things to watch in porn, so he just went for it. As they say, history was made. He and Joe rarely had sex without some ass eating.

Still, both knew it wasn't going to be a long rim session. Their absence had been too long. Kyle leaned back up on his haunches and gave a light slap to the cop's surprisingly smooth rump. Leaning over, he pumped out a couple of squirts of lube, which he applied to his boner, and then to Joe's hole.

The cop wasn't exactly slutty, but he was wanton in taking taking cock. Spreading his legs and wiggling his ass some as Kyle fingered him. Then, as Joe felt that thick piece of Marine cock bore in, he hissed and did his best to relax.

"Easy, buddy... easy... I'm fuckin' tight... ya gotta open daddy back up for business OK?"

"Yeah," Kyle hissed. He didn't want to cum yet. He knew if he could get through the penetration he'd be good for a bit.

Joe's verbal streak quieted down as Kyle slowly penetrated the older man. Murphy had lied about his age when they first met on the app, but the cop was 50. Squarely middle aged. The young man sometimes wondered why he was wired for older men, men like Murphy. But now that he was boning Joe, he didn't feel the need to question, his heart and mind and cock knew this is what he wanted.

Finally his balls pressed against the man's ass.

"God, yes," the Marine hissed. THIS was what a homecoming should be.

"I can feel your uniform against me, Corporal," Joe said in a surprisingly quiet tone. "So very hot."

Kyle held the man's waist. The skin was hot to the touch. "I dreamed about doing this in the barracks," he hissed. "Even fantasized about banging the Master Sergeant."

That got a chuckle from Joe beneath him. "I bet ya did, buddy. Just as I've had the hots for the new rookie on the force. Fresh faced fucker."

Kyle pulled back and pushed back in. Not fast, not yet. But he could feel the cop's insides open up for him, some.

"Anyone else fucking you, Joe?" he asked, an edge to his voice.

The reply was quiet. "A couple, Kyle," the cop answered. "It gets lonely, you know."

"Yeah," Kyle said, sadly. He wished he was the only one. But they'd never had that conversation. This was probably not the time to have it. "Man, I wish we didn't live so far apart."

The next thrust was hard, real hard. It knocked the wind out of Joe a little, and if Kyle hadn't fucked the cop like this before he would have been concerned.

"Give me a sec," Joe finally hissed.

Kyle slowed his roll and watched as the man reached over for his own squirt of lube.

The Marine didn't need to be told to resume fucking. That's how it was between him and Joe. Perfect synchronization of needs. The minute he saw the man reach down to jerk his cock, Kyle started fucking hard. Jack hammer thrusts in and out of the man's now relaxed hole.

"That's it, stud... horse hung Marine gonna fuck my cop ass..."

"Fuckin' take it, Officer," he hissed. Getting into it.

With other men Kyle had fucked it wasn't like this. It was usually fucking for his own pleasure or for the bottom's. But he and Joe Murphy were on the same wavelength, the older man rapidly jerking while Kyle threw his strength into hard fucking the beefy daddy.

Just the sight of the man's bare back, strong and full, and the love handles and the way Joe's face turned redder when he was getting close to cumming. Kyle felt that light headed feeling again and knew the cum was already traveling up his piss tube, pumping out from his balls.

"Oh FUCK!" he whimpered.

"SHIT!" Joe grunted.

Their orgasm was simultaneous. Kyle's body clenched and held still as his dick continued to unload inside the man. It had actually taken a few times to talk Officer Murphy into barebacking, but now he couldn't imagine sex between the two any other way. This was just sex, and it was just the hormones talking, but Kyle was in love with the man.

He started to pull back, but he saw Joe's hand reach back, as if to stop him. "Don't, Kyle... stay in me for a while longer, OK?"

The Marine nodded and placed his hand softly on Joe's lower back, feeling up the clammy sweaty muscle. He wondered if his dick was going to go soft. It usually did after a cum like that, but being connected with the police officer meant it still felt rock hard.

***

Brandon Smith waited in the hotel bar, sipping his beer. He was always a little nervous waiting for Preston, but he was getting that pit-in-his-stomach now. Maybe this was a bad idea.

But it only took the sight of his sorta boyfriend in the mirror to brighten up. Preston Weldman cut the vision of a real executive, as tall as Brandon, and his figure looking fit in slacks and a sport coat. The gray temples were the icing on the cake, so to speak. Brandon felt an instant chub in his jeans.

"Hope you haven't been waiting long," the business exec said as he sidled up to the hunky 32-year-old. He placed a hand on Brandon's shoulder. Not obvious but the touch felt electric between the two men.

"No," Brandon shook his head. "Anyway, it's good people watching here," he said.

Preston smiled. "Scoping out the business daddies?" he whispered. He knew Brandon's type. It was how they'd met each other on an app when Brandon was back home visiting family. Leaning in more, he growled. "You're looking really good, Sergeant Smith."

Brandon's heart pounded. "SO good to see you, Press." That had been his nickname for the man. Then, his eyes sweeping up and down, something clicked. "You're not wearing your wedding ring?"

Preston shrugged. "You disappointed?" he joked. "The divorce isn't final but it feels like it, you know?"

Brandon nodded and with concern asked, "How you doing?"

"We'll talk about it later, OK? We have the whole weekend, right?"

Brandon smiled. Long distance was tough, and there was military life on top of that. But maybe that's what worked for this divorced hunk. He had his own busy career to deal with, and his kids, too. "Yeah. I have some stuff I wanna talk about too."

"Yeah?" Preston replied. "You wanna talk about it now, kiddo?"

Brandon shook his head. "I think the guys are up in the room waiting for us."

Preston's lust was visible on his face, even if he normally had that WASPy repressed thing going on. "Sure you're OK with this?"

Brandon laughed. "I was gonna ask you the same thing, Press." He stood up and set down some cash to pay for his beer. "It'll be way hot."

"You're bringing out my naughty side for sure." Preston was definitely in a good mood.

Brandon leaned in and whispered. "How do you think I feel? He's my brother." Then he pulled back and gave a wink to the man before grabbing his overnight bag. "Come on, let's go up."

Even on the elevator ride up, the two couldn't keep their eyes off each other. Preston still couldn't believe he'd scored a young man as hot as Brandon Smith. 6'3" ex-football jock, his body honed by years in the US Marine Corps. The 26-year-old was like a porn character come to life. The superstitious, or realist, part of Preston knew this affair was on borrowed time, that Brandon would move on. But he'd sure as hell enjoy the ride.

***

Joe had dozed off but the knock on the hotel room woke him up. He was naked in the damp, disheveled hotel bed. The kid had gone for seconds, all right, and the middle-aged cop felt well and truly fucked. Like, a sleepy, tired and satisfied level of truly fucked.

The man felt bad for telling Kyle about the hookups he'd had. But he didn't want to hold back from the young man. Besides, there had just been two men over the last few month. They hadn't meant a thing and certainly couldn't hold a candle to Kyle fuckin' Smith.

Another knock came. Louder.

"All right," Joe called out. "Coming!"

He jumped out of the bed and sauntered over to the door. He could hear the shower running, and realized Kyle was in there.

Brandon and Preston were surprised to see the door fling open to reveal the full nakedness of a thick-set 50-ish man they'd never met. Lightly furred front, soft dick dangling beneath.

"Come in, fellas," Joe said. "Kyle's in the shower." Unceremoniously he turned and let the men indoors.

It took a second for Joe to pick up on their reaction. "Why be shy, right?" he said in his thick accent. He flashed an impish smile. "I can cover up if it bothers you though."

"Guess you're right," Brandon said. He held out his hand. "I'm Brandon."

Joe took the hand in his own strong mitt and shook it. "Definitely see the family ressemblance."

"Joe," the cop said.

"Preston," the businessman said as he greeted the cop.

"Jesus what the fuck kind of name is Preston?" Joe quipped.

Brandon got angry. Protective and angry. "We can call this off," he said through gritted teeth.

"Call what off?" came Kyle's voice as he stepped out, towel wrapped around his waist.

Preston's eyes noticeably showed excitement. If he had to pick, he'd choose Brandon's body, but Kyle had a shorter, more compact build that was scrlpted with tight, rounded young muscle.

Kyle immediately picked up on the vibe. "Jesus, Joe. Did you shoot off your mouth again?"

The cop looked genuinely contrite. "Sorry fellas. Guess I'm shitty at first impressions. Preston," he said, turning to the other daddy in the group. "I'm sorry man. Really. That was a shitty thing to say."

"All right," he said in a clipped Yankee accent. "I guess we're not here on a date or anything," he joked.

Joe nodded. "Yeah, the Smith brothers are the stars of the weekend, right?"

Brandon looked at Kyle. "You guys already get started?" he asked his brother.

Kyle nodded. "Yeah, couldn't wait, sorry."

Brandon turned to look at his lover. "I wouldn't mind a little one-on-one time with Press first."

"Yeah, babe?" Preston asked. He wasn't sure how this scene would play out. But as much as he wanted to see Kyle in action, he was drawn to Brandon first and foremost.

The hunky marine pulled Preston closer to him, then guided his arms around the man's waist to draw him into a kiss. It was soft and sensual. Brandon Smith was SUCH an amazing kisser, and inspired Preston to give his best in return.

"We can give ya guys some space," Joe spoke up. Amused to see a version of what he and Kyle had just experienced.

"Yah," Brandon almost said. Only Press' hand gripped his arm.

"It's OK if they watch babe," he said. The older man had a playful look on his face. "I kind of want 'em to."

Brandon looked at Preston in amusement. This buttoned-down divorced dad had a way of surprising him. "OK, he said.

Kyle was still in his towel as he sat on the bed, feeling Joe settle in behind him. The cop's mitts felt good feeling up his ripped Marine muscles. If Kyle hadn't just fucked the man, twice, he'd be boning up fast.

"You OK with this, Kyle?" Brandon asked.

Kyle nodded. "Go for it, bro. It'll be hot to see you guys."

That was all the green light it took for Brandon and Preston. It was like it was just them, alone in the room, even as they were also aware of putting on a show. They slowly stripped each other and made out.

About the only thing to break the spell was the cop's outburst when Brandon removed Press's button-down shirt, revealing a DILF-y gym-toned body.

"Holy fucking shit, he's a frickin' magazine model."

The cop's loudmouth approach had rubbed him the wrong way, but now he enjoyed having Preston's amazing body recognized.

The lovers were soon naked and Brandon was reclining them down on the other bed. Kissing softly even as their bodies humped more urgently. They were matched in height, but Brandon had some more muscle on him, and Preston was feeling up every inch with his hands.

Soon the older man was parting his legs, letting Brandon's body find that spot between them. Their kissing grew more impassioned, until Brandon leaned up.

"Fuck you feel so good, Press," he sighed. "I love ya, man."

"Love you, too, Big B." This was the only thing that made Preston self conscious about having an audience. But he knew this was part of sex between him and Brandon. The emotional openness.

"I need to be inside you, Dad," Brandon hissed.

"Please," Preston said. "I need you, Son."

Joe felt Kyle's body tense in his arms. The cop was a pervy enough man that the dad-son play didn't phase him. But he sensed it hit differently for Kyle. This was his brother, talking about "Dad." Joe just held the 21-year-old tight against him and kissed the side of his neck.

"OK?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Kyle whispered back.

Then Joe felt Kyle's hand grip his forearm, pulling it down. Joe thought the kid was rejecting his embrace but instead Kyle guided Joe's hand lower, right to the towel, where there was a ridge of hard dick. The kid was turned on.

"Jesus, it's a like a Lifetime movie," Joe almost said, but restrained himself. Everything was so frickin sensuous between the other couple. Even the lubing of cocks and the fingering of Preston's hole. The man was glas Kyle was into more animalistic fucking. The kid always had been, even at 18.

At last the divorced exec lifted his toned legs, and Brandon gingerly positioned the ankles on his meaty shoulders. The two locked eyes, silently, lovingly.

And Brandon entered his daddy lover.

Preston winced at entry but after a second, his hands were on Brandon's muscle ass, coaxing him to push in further.

"Not gonna last long today, Dad," Brandon hissed. "You feel so fucking good."

"We got all weekend, Son," Press countered. Before Brandon he didn't enjoy bottoming. Hell, the times he fooled around with men he usually preferred getting head. But this Marine had a way of rocking his world, turning it upside down. Of making him want cock like this. "Fuck me. Fuck your father."

Brandon let out a low deep grunt and powered in. Slowly, sensually at first. God he was SO turned on. Being with Press, hearing that roleplay talk. But also know his little bro was watching. "I'm gonna go a little harder, sir," he hissed.

"Do it!" Press urged.

And like that came a serious of slow, rough thrusts.

"Yes!" the exec grunted. Only Brandon could make him love it like this, too. Hard, with a roughness to each inward push of that meaty cock. "Attaboy."

Brandon had a few trigger words and that was one of them. He knew orgasm was coming now. So he humped more excitedly, hard stokes working to get himself off with this perfect man's ass.

"Yeah, Dad," he hissed. "Gonna cum!"

He felt Press's hands caress his sides, encouraging him to give it up.

"UNNGH!" Brandon grunted and unloaded.

"Yes!" Press said excitedly. He loved watching his Big B cum, loved seeing that mix of youthful masculinity and almost childish need. Already he was stroking his dick to get his own nut.

Brandon took a second to come down from the high but when he did he started working his dick in and out of Press's warm hole. Fucking slowly but hard, the way Press liked it.

The older man wasn't a loud cummer, but Brandon knew how to read the signs. Sure enough. the middle-aged man's body clenched and white hot sperm flew out. Preston Weldman came a lot when he orgasmed.

Brandon pulled out and only then was self conscious that his brother and his brother's lover were looking on.

Kyle had a look that was clearly horny and maybe a little embarrassed. "Why don't we give you some space, Bro?" he said quietly.

The older brother rolled off Preston's body. "We freak you out, Kyle? I guess I should have warned you that we do the roleplay thing."

Joe spoke up. "Don't let the kid fool ya, he loved that shit."

"Jesus, Joe," Kyle objected. But the man was right.

Preston leaned up. He felt a strange fondness for Kyle, a dude he'd never met. "Kyle, it took me a while to get into it." He ran his hand up and down Brandon's strong back. "I don't know... your brother's a persuasive man."

"Eight inches is a lot of persuasion," Joe quipped. He'd just witness the other brother's endowment, and Brandon was as hung as Kyle, for sure.

"Joe, what the fuck?" Kyle pestered. But Brandon and Preston were smirking.

"Fuckin' Christ. What the fuck are we for? It's supposed to be a fun weekend, right?" He patted Kyle's chest affectionately and gave a soft, contrite kiss. "Come on, let's go get a pint and we can talk more at the pub." The cop pulled his meaty body back from his younger lovers and stepped off the bed. "Apparently we need to talk about 'ground rules' or some bullshit," he bellowed.

Brandon had to admit the policeman was growing on him.

#drakestories

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blingblong55 · 4 months

Text

Can't catch me now- Simon "Ghost" Riley

Photo credits: @ave661 ---- No mentions of reader, angst, comfort? fluff? death of character ----

"GHOST!"

It was too late, the body hit the ground. Simon Joseph Riley was pronounced dead. Gunshot to the head, his heart penetrated by the bullet and the ones to witness this are his mates from the team. His blood ran down the rocky mountain. The team witnesses something. During this whole mission, they only experienced rain and thunder, to their surprise, the second Simon dies, the sun shines through the clouds. A rainbow was born over the horizon. "Enjoy your new home, soldier," Captain Price nods at his own words as with glee he knows his comrade is finally home. "Take it easy," Gaz takes his cap on and looks at the sun that pours from the clouds. "Tell Soap we'll meet him for drinks someday," Price adds and fights back tears.

It's the end of an era but the beginning of a good life for the two past comrades.

Three days later, there he is, his body in that casket, a proper military funeral given to him and he is laid to rest with the rest of his family.

Simon opens the door to his childhood home, the sun rays casting through the window, the walls grey and white "Welcome home, son," his mum greets him. There is confusion in Simon. Why was he here? is this a dream? Before he can even gather his thoughts, his brother, nephew and even his sister-in-law walk into the entryway and hug him. "Welcome home, brother," Tommy whispers as he hugs a confused Simon.

Why is his dead family here? Welcome home! what does this mean?

Oh...

Oh by all luck, he's dead.

"Mum?"

"Yes, Simon?" the woman's sweet voice rings in his ears.

All of a sudden, he is excited and happy. A smile creeps into his lips and there it was, that good feeling. He is home. His body doesn't ache, the scars are gone and all that is left with him is a smile and an afterlife where in this one, he finally has it all.

"The girls are in the kitchen," his mum whispers.

His wife and girls? There it is, that smile. He hasn't seen them since their funeral, this must mean he truly is in heaven.

He walks past his mother and goes into the kitchen. The sight is too much to not just stop and idolise. His wife, his three daughters and those smiles and giggles. "Girls?" His voice is raspy. There is a knot in his throat. He is home with them too. "Daddy!" His youngest smiles and runs to him with her small arms open, his two other daughters follow suit.

"Oh, my loves," his big arms wrapping over all of his daughters. Tears run down, happy ones. It's been two years since he last held them this way. "My lovie," Simon holds his arm out so his sweet wife can join this moment. That gentle and soft hand of hers, god it's like the heavens finally gave him peace. He sobs, it's uncontrollable and how can a man like him control such tears when after so long of losing his family...families to his job he finally has both?

He gives kisses to all their foreheads. "Daddy, what took so long?" His eldest little princess asks. "I don't know princess, but I'm finally home," he reassures and hugs her again. Those tears run down yet again and he won't stop them.

This is his heaven. The walls, the giggles, the hugs, and that familiar scent. Heaven is not clouds and a pearly gate for him, no, but it is this. A kitchen, his four loves, his mum, Tommy, Joseph and even Beth, everyone that has ever mattered to him is here and for once, he is in heaven.

"Uncle Soap!" Joseph smiles.

Soap?...Johnny?

"About time you came to the party, LT," Soap pats Simon's back.

"Great to see you, mate."

"Likewise. I held onto a good bottle for ya, yer girl won't let me open it though," Soap sends a teasing annoyed look at Simons's wife and a small chuckle escapes Simon.

"She's a stubborn one, like yer, Lt." Soap teases. "I married her for a reason, isn't it right, love?" Simon can't help but smile as he gets to finally say that nickname again. "Very, Si." What a sweet delight, to have his pretty girl call him that again.

"Price and Gaz joining?"

"Not yet, give them a few good years."

"Daddy, let's go play outside!"

This is what he missed. The demands from his princess, the giggles, the big eyes and that pout when he would say no. "Okay, but only before your mum wipes that chocolate stain from your nose." He chuckles. "Deal," the little girl runs back to Simons's wife.

From a corner, Simon sees Tommy. He's playing catch with his son, laughing at some dumb joke.

It's beautiful. It's painfully beautiful how one can die on Earth but live in their heaven.

One soldier dreams of this, they yearn for it and that is what Simon did for nearly 28 years. Now, all he has is this. No more war, no more aches, no one to chase. He can grow in this home again. He will live the life he always dreamed and right now, that is all he wants and needs.

Yeah, you thought that this was the end

A/N: I honestly don't know where this was heading so....im sorry if it's shit

Tags:

@joyfulmarvelofavengers @ghostnna22 @hermizery @liyanahelena @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @krinoid24 @iruzias @idklols @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @willowaftxn83-87 @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @pbcartii @Llelannie @macnches2 @bbyfimmie @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @Nyx_Flower @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @kaoyamamegami @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @asianbutnotjapanese @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @anonxasian @born4biriyani @thegreyjoyed

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keeponquinning · 11 months

Note

Imagine being Joseph's girlfriend and feeling awkward and insecure about all the attention he's getting. now imagine the sweet nothings he'd whisper in her ear, the endearing 'I love you's while buried between her legs and little marks left on her skin so she always knows...

Guys, never stop sending me stuff like this.

Good lord. Here we go. 18+ adult rpf stuff ahead, scram kiddos

It'd be difficult not to feel insecure, the attention he gets is so constant, and part of you can't blame them. You've always known how amazing and talented he was. And he cares so much of his fans, part of it being of pure amazement and never expecting this attention. You're proud of him, so proud of him... and yet...

He just seems to shine so much brighter than he used to, brighter than you. He's being cast in these major productions, getting more in the spotlight and rising higher and higher and part of you can't help but think you're holding him back. That one day he'll leave you behind, in the dust of what you two used to be. There's models, actresses that would fit better with Joseph and you can't help but feel you don't measure up. Soon, he'll see you as an anchor that's keeping him in one place and not sail towards the sun.

But Joseph doesn't see that. When he looks at you, he sees the one person keeping him afloat in the storm of this madness he found himself in. Oh, it's fun, it's exciting, and he's getting opportunities he was sure he'd never had a chance to get before Eddie Munson, but it's so mad sometimes. He'd lose himself if it weren't for you. The calm in the storm. He cherishes every moment with you, something as simple as holding his hand is like a lifeline to him. Your smile brightens his day, your laugh makes his heart feel full. You're everything to him. He wouldn't know what to do with himself without you.

The night before he has to leave you for a shoot, he tells you as such, his cock filling you deep. Every thrust of his hips is hard, quick, his hand curled around your throat as his body presses against you, in his bed. One of your legs curled high on his waist, making you look at him in his eyes. He felt a man possessed, wanting every second of this burned into his memory. The sound of your panting moans and desperate cries, making his cock twitch, pulse as the walls of your cunt clench around him so tight it drives him absolutely mad with desire.

Towering over you, his whole body covers you, his hands moving the grasp your hair and pull your head back. His lips dancing along the curve of your neck, his own little grunts and groans beating down on you with heated breath. His body moves on his own, chasing the pleasure you give him, his hips pounding into you harder and harder — yet with every quickened breath, every desperate "Oh, god, oh yes, god, right there, please, please..." he forces himself not to follow through, to ease off, though it makes his body shudder, driving him absolutely fucking mad. His teeth biting into your neck, hard and unforgiving. He knows his cock is leaking, so desperate to cum, but the sounds of your desperate cries is too cute for him.

"...do you know how much I love you?" he asked, stilling inside you, cock pulsing, desperate. But he keeps still, tongue licking where he just bit you, imagining the bruise it'll bring. "Do you?"

You're dazed, but even in such a state, the doubts, the insecurity comes out. "...you say that..."

"Because I mean it. I love you. I love you so... So fucking much..." Starting to move his hips again, slow and deep as he lets out a groan. "I'm going to be — so mad — without you. Absolutely useless, just fucking... I'm gonna miss you..." his voice deep, whispering into your ear with each thrust quickening each time. "Going to miss — going to miss every part of you. Like a fucking — a fucking phantom limb I'll feel — but know isn't there... Fuck," he let out, feeling your pussy clench his cock at that. "Oh, you wanna get praised, do you? Mmm. Easily done, love, my fucking love of my life..."

And he tells you, over and over into your ear. Words of praise mingled with breathy moans and pants from his lips. Accompanied with love bites along your neck, jaw, shoulder as his hips thrust in and out of you with wild abandon. He isn't holding back anymore. His words becoming feverish, mixes of I love you, my fuckin' darling and cunt was made for me, y o u were made for me. Heated utterances of how beautiful you are. Your laugh, your smile, the sound of your voice a bright light in any dull instance his new found fame gave him. Because you weren't part of the fame monster, you were real, technicolor in a grey scale industry and he needed you like he needed air. To feel like himself, the old Joseph Quinn and he needed that, he needed you, so desperately did you have any idea of how much he needs you?

You both cum the hardest and most intense you've both ever felt. You drench his cock in your release and Joseph? He cums inside you, deep and plentiful, thick ropes of his cum painting your walls, coating, drenching them with his cum. He moves, still, body jerking into your body, milking the orgasm out of you both. You could feel him, how much he filled you with his cum, filling you to the brim and more than you two had before. His body feels limp as the last spills inside you.

You both feel light, heavenly, and you feel the rumble of his chuckle as he kisses the flesh of your neck, up to your cheek. "I won't be here," he says, a cheeky grin on his face as he traced his lips along your jaw, toward your lips, "But fuck, you'll be dripping of me for weeks... I hope that'll do until I come back to you." He furrowed his brow, "I hope you know... There's only you. There will always be you."

The sincerity of his words, the way his brown eyes are soft, how sweet his lips feels against yours, the feel of his cock pulsing so deep inside you... Yes... You know. Wrapping your arms around him and you taste his love off his tongue and to your own, the insecurities, the jealousy, the fears melt away and you smile so helplessly, in love with this man.

And he was so helplessly in love with you.

And nothing else mattered.

#👀👀#is this what you wanted anon i mean #i need to sleep but UM i also needed to write this #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn rpf #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn smut #writing — joseph quinn #joseph quinn x you

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bjtch-craft · 5 months

Text

"I'm a Rockstar Babe"

Todd Ingram X Bottom Male! Reader

☆ Summary: [Name] reunites with an old high-school friend turned rockstar things take a turn when they restart their old high-school ways.

☆ NSFW

☆Request: Yes or No

☆ Word count: 2,836

☆Genre: Angst to Smut (Kinda)

☆Warnings: Smut, degradation, manipulation (kinda, tbh I just tried making him cocky but rereading it it sounds like bro is manipulating), Bl♡wjobs, slapping, just douchy rockstar things, spitting (he's one of those ppl)

☆Authors note: Dude, I rewatched the movie and reread the novels, and why is Todd so mf fine like WHAT? And why are there no stories about this man? Anyways enjoy!! (P.s this has been in my drafts for like 2 months now and I've never finished editing it for some reason...)

Also look at the comic version of him like WHAT A CUTIE like yeah sure he's arrogant, narcissistic, uncaring, and may or may not be a pathological liar, and a walking red flag but like that red looking a little orange so??? PRAYING SOME OF YALL READ THIS!!

Did this count as being a groupie? No. It's not like I'm some obsessed super fan like Joseph I mean for fucks sake I knew Todd in high school [Name] thought as he lay on the mattress of the cheap motel room waiting for Todd to get out of the shower.

10:15 P.M. - some time earlier

[Name] was shoved and pushed around by the hundreds of thousands of fans who had gathered to watch the band play. The band in question was none other than The Clash at Demonhead. [Name] new one of the members (while technically two if you count Envy but they didn’t know each other. They were more of acquaintances really.) Todd Ingram who he was close friends with. Really close.

He'd given him head a couple of times (and slept with him too) but that didn't mean anything to them (yes it did.) it was what Todd considered a "bro-job" whatever the fuck that was. But that's not important (yes it is) what is important is how quickly their friendship ended after he got with Envy. They tried to keep in touch but after the band blew the absolute fuck up he cut ties with him.

Did it hurt? Yes. A lot. But [Name] didn't let it get to him he still supported Todd even if Todd himself didn't know it. [Name] bought every CD, vinyl, and cassette tape, and got tickets to most shows. He even tried to get backstage passes to rekindle his relationship with Todd but the prices were far out of his price range.

There have been times when for a quick second he'd seen Todd after a show or two and waved to him or said a quick word but he didn't recognize him. Which also hurt. How can you not recognize someone you spent almost TEN YEARS of your life with? But [Name] was determined to catch up with his best friend so after pulling a couple of night shifts and saving up some money he... still didn’t have enough.

10: 50 P.M.

"Todd's so hot!"

"Jesus Envys even hotter in person!"

"Why's that chick got a robotic arm?"

These are just some of the things [Name] heard throughout the event which was on the verge of ending.

12:10 A.M. - Later

The concert was over and [Name] pushed and shoved his way out of the venue and quickly rushed towards the back of the building looking for the band.

"Come on please don't tell me I missed them!"

His shoes thudded against the gravel, and as he rounded the corner a gate came into view.

"No. No, no, no, no!"

The gate door was slid open. How safe right?

"Envy? Do you wanna get a bite to eat or something?"

[Name] stopped for a moment as he saw Todd standing there his guitar case in hand talking to Envy. He took a deep breath and stepped through the gates. Fuck?

"T-todd?"

Todd turned to look at him a look of shock and anger upon his face.

"Who the hell let you in" Todd asked as he stepped closer to [Name] his voice coming off as aggressive as his eyes and hair started to glow.

"N-no one the gate was open."

"So you just snuck in?"

"I'm [Name], [First name], [Last name] we went to high school together. Remember?"

Todd's eyes and hair stopped glowing as his hair drifted back down in front of his face.

"You're kidding?!"

Todd dropped his guitar case and ran up to [Name] his tough guy rockstar persona shedding completely. He threw his arms around [Name] and pulled him into his chest. [Name] could feel the heat rising to two places as his face was smushed into Todd's rather large pecs.

"Todd you're squishing me..." [Name] said his voice muffled.

"Sorry!" He pulled away. "Jesus it's been a long time since we've seen each other... I'm a Rockstar!"

"I can see that!"

"Todd, what the fuck is going on," Envy asked?

Todd turned to look at them wrapping his arm around [Name's] waist. "This is [Name] from high school! He's my best friend remember?"

"While to me he looks like a fucking groupie! Let's go" Envy replied.

"I'm not a groupie..."

"Do you think he can come back to the motel with us?"

"No."

"Find some other cheap motel to fuck in," The Bionic arm bitch said.

"He's not a groupie and we're not gonna fuck! He's my friend and I wanna catch up with him!"

"Find. Another. Motel." Envy said the tone of her voice showed her annoyance more than anything.

12:30 A.M.

And they did find a cheap motel in an extremely unsafe part of town. Fits the stereotype, huh? A rockstar takes one of his fans to a cheap rundown-looking motel just to get it in.

[Name] once again was hugging Todd but this time was looking up at him.

"I'm so sorry for ghosting you [Name]."

"It's fine."

Todd's hands traveled down [Name's] back and reached his ass and groped it firmly, making [Name] let out an involuntary yelp. He pushed Todd off of him, causing the blonde boy to let out a laugh.

"What's the matter [Name] just like old times!"

"Todd aren't you dating Envy or something?"

He shifted his weight on his feet annoyingly.

"I'm a Rockstar babe we don't date," Todd said cockily.

"Oh?"

"I'm gonna hop in the shower. I know I reek of sweat... care to join me?"

"Smooth Todd.... real smooth."

He winked at [Name] and waltzed into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. After a minute or two he heard the shower go on.

"Do I wanna do this... again?"

The first time [Name] and Todd ever did anything together was on his eighteenth birthday. They were both unbelievably drunk, and both were bored lying on Todd's bed in silence. One of them now and then would say something, and they would have a short conversation.

"H-heyyy~ [Name] can I ask you for a favor," Todd asked his words coming out slurred.

"Yeah- hic! What'sss ~'s up?"

"Do you think you could um... s-suck me off?"

"Why?"

"Well, I'm one drunk! And two horny as fuck~! So can you?"

"You know what fuck it! You are my best friend!"

[Name] slid his basketball shorts off and then his boxers and grabbed at his length.

"I've never done this before so um... bear with me~."

Todd nodded his head a goofy grin on his face. "Do it as if someone's doing yours."

[Name] took him into his mouth slowly going down inch by inch the girth was almost too much to handle. Almost.

But that was years ago. They were two dumb eighteen-year-olds who were just helping each other out. But [Name] didn't feel that way anymore... but reminiscing on their old days made [Name] slowly begin to get hard in the shorts Todd had given him.

[Name] rubbed himself through the fabric and pushed down on it, making him release a soft moan. He needed Todd he didn't realize how badly he did until right then and there. The door opened to the bathroom, and [Name] quickly through the blanket over his lap.

Todd walked out with just a towel around his waist, his bulge catching [Names] eye as well as his body, which was still wet and glistened in the light.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting another pair of boxers, I forgot to bring them into the shower..." Todd looked at [Name] and noticed the tent that was forming underneath the blanket. "Aw, are you happy to see me like this again, baby?"

"What! No!"

"Come on..." He said huskily. The cockiness was back. "I heard you moan... were you thinking of the times I fucked you? The times you begged me to fill you up? The times I came on that pretty face of yours?"

[Name] could feel his cock growing harder with each question.

"N-no" [Name] whimpered out.

Todd walked to the side of the bed grabbed [Name's] hand and placed it on his groin.

"You miss my fat cock don't you," He asked his voice sounding oddly humiliating.

"I don't have to say anything."

Todd started to move his hips grinding his bulge against the palm of [Names] hand.

"Todd we can't... you have a girlfriend."

"I told you we rockstars don't really - truly date, and if anything, it's just another bro-job, remember?"

[Name] pulled his hand away and sat up and using both hands opened Todd's towel up causing his cock to pop out and slap against his happy trail.

"Fuck~," [Name] whispered out.

[Name] reached out and pumped his cock twice.

"Yeah that's it~ I know you fucking missed it haven't you?"

[Name] let go of Todd's cock and adjusted his position so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Todd backed up a little.

"Please don't like- hurt me that much. Please?"

Todd chuckled and ran his hand through his wet hair.

"You sweet dumb thing, you know I can't promise that."

[Name] grabbed Todd's cock once more and spat on it and stroked him off spreading the saliva over his cock.

"I haven't done this in a long time... so I'm a little rusty."

Todd smiled down at him. The grin was a mixture of amusement and humiliation.

[Name] placed the tip on his tongue and licked it gently before wrapping his lips around it and slowly going down on it.

[Name] couldn't lie he truly did miss this. Not only did he enjoy it, but it honestly made them closer as friends.

[Name] gagged on the base as he looked up at Todd with tearful eyes.

"Aww you look so cute with my big cock in your mouth," Todd said softly his voice coated in lust as he gently patted [Name's] cheek.

[Name] began to slowly come off his cock before Todd placed a hand on the back of his skull and slammed him back down causing him to gag and for drool to pour out of the sides of his mouth.

"Mmm-hmm-agh." [Name] groaned out.

Todd pulled his cock out of the boy's mouth and slapped it on either side of the guy's cheek.

"You took it so well [Name]~."

[Name] looked up at Todd with innocent eyes, his tongue sticking out a little as he gasped for air.

"Jesus you look so fucking gorgeous."

"I-I think you bruised the back of my throat!"

Todd grabs [Names] chin as he angles his head straight aligning his cock with [Names] lips.

Todd spat on his cock (and on [Names] face) and slammed it down [Names] throat before pulling out. [Name] stuck out his tongue and licked a stripe down his cock.

"You're such a fucking slut baby. I bet you've been craving my cock since you heard about our band haven't you?"

[Name] nodded his head embarrassingly. Todd placed a hand on the back of [Names] head and leaned in, planting a kiss on his lips as his hands traveled down his body. His hands reached the bottom of the boy's shirt and began to pull it up over his head, breaking the kiss in the process.

Todd pushes [Name] down onto the bed by his chest and crawls on top of him, attacking his neck, causing [name] to let out a soft moan. Todd kisses down his neck while unbuckling [Names] belt and gently pulls them off along with his boxers.

"I don't reckon you have a condom do you?"

"I have one in my wallet in my left pocket," [Name] says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Todd grabs [Names] jeans off the floor and pulls out the condom from the wallet before discarding them back onto the floor.

Todd rips the wrapping of the condom off with his teeth and slides the rubber on. He places [Bames] legs on his shoulders and lines himself up at his entrance.

[Name] squeezes his eyes shut as Todd pushes himself into him. A sudden wave of pain and pleasure washes over him, causing him to grab onto the sheets, twisting them in his hands. A soft whimper escapes his lips as Todd continues to push deeper into him.

"Shit- Todd, you're so fucking- ngh~ big!" [Name] whimpered out, causing Todd to look down at him with a cocky grin.

Todd had pushed himself into the other boy and slowly began to pull back out, only to slam back into him, which earned him a low groan.

"Does that feel good?"

[Name] nodded his head and let out a whimper. Todd began to rock his hips in and out of him, the tip occasionally brushing against his prostate. His thirst got faster and quicker he reached down and grabbed [Name's] hands and placed them above his head.

Todd began pounding into [Name]. The sound of skin against skin filled the room as well as screams of pleasure from both boys.

"Ugh~ F-fuck! You're going to har-!" [Name] wasn't able to finish his sentence as Todd delivered a gentle (but still hard) slap across his face.

"Don't tell me what the fuck to do!" Todd growled out.

[Names] cock twitched as pre-cum drizzled down his cock causing a moan to escape from his lips.

"Don't tell me you're into this shit you slut?"

"S-s-shut up Todd~"

Todd smirked and began rocking his hips.

"How bad do you want it?"

"W-what?" [Name] stuttered.

"I can pull out right now and leave and not let you finish you."

"Please don't~ I'll do anything!"

"Then admit it.'

"What?"

"Admit you're a filthy whore" Todd said his voice thick with lust.

"I'm not going to- ah~!"

Todd pulled out of [Name] leaving him feeling empty and somehow even more fucking desperate.

"Todd please" [Name] begged.

"Then say it."

"I-I’m a whore okay? Is that what you want to hear from me? I'm a fucking slut for you okay?!"

Todd looked down at [Name] with a cocky grin.

"Good boy."

Todd leaned back over [Name] and placed a soft kiss on his lips before pushing himself back into him. He wrapped his hand around [Name's] throat and began pounding into him. The sounds of skin against skin filled the room once again.

Todd raised his hand and brought it across [Names] face with enough power to cause a sting of pain leading [Name] to let out a dry moan.

"I can't believe your into this shit!" Todd said with a cheesy grin.

"Shut up!" The boy underneath him whined out.

Todd smirked and removed his hand from [Names] neck and grabbed him by the waist and slowed his thrusts.

"What are you- agh~!"

Todd pulled [Name] into him driving his cock deeper into him pushing past his prostate. [Names] jaw dropped as the sudden feeling causing a high pitched moan to erupt from his throat. Todd took this opportunity and grabbed his jaw holding it open and dipped his thumb into his mouth.

"Don't close your mouth got that?"

[Name] replied with a whimper as Todd's thurst became annoyingly slow as a string of spit slowly began to fall from his lips and landed in [Names] mouth.

[Named] closed his mouth after Todd gave him a look that practically yelled at him, too. Todd's slow thrust became faster and faster. Todd wrapped his hand around [Name's] dick and began jerking him off as [Name] placed his palm at the back of Todd's head.

"I'm so close!" Todd groaned out as his rhythm began to go out of sync.

His movements became harder and harder as he felt himself getting closer and closer to finishing.

"W-where- fuck~ where do you want it?" He moaned out.

"On me..."

Todd placed a hand behind [Names] head as his thurst became sloppy he spat once again at [Name] the salvia covering his face before pulling out and jerking himself off.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

With one final moan ropes of cum erupted from his cock covering [Names] body in white ropes. Todd pumped [Name's] cock for a minute before he came their cum mixing on his stomach. Todd scooped up some of his cum off of the boy's body with his index finger and popped it into [Names] mouth.

"How's it taste?"

"Salty... can you get me a towel?"

1:35 AM

[Name] lay on the cheap hotel's mattress, his head on Todd's chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"Hey, have you ever thought of being a roadie?'

"A what?"

"A roadie helps the band set up... you could be one for us so we could keep in touch and..." He wrapped his hand around [Names] body and groped his ass "Have some more time to ourselves."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THIS MAN IS SO FINE ARGH. I NEED HIM SO BAD LIKE I WANT HIM TO FULLY REARRANGE MY INSIDES.

Authors note!!

Again, sorry for the break. School is still once again kicking my ass :) I do plan on writing more over Christmas break, but I do have like half-written stories in my drafts, so here are some of them. (Some of them have titles, but they are to be determined, so kill me or wtv) .

Darry Jenner x Male reader (Fluff)

Miguel Ohara x Male reader (Smut)

Chad Meeks x Male reader (TBD)

Simon Kalivoda x Male reader (Fluff)

#Spotify #scott pilgrim #todd ingram x male reader #brandon routh #i need this man so bad #scott pilgram vs the world #lgbtq #gay #todd ingram #todd ingram x reader

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kissesfrombangtanatnight · 5 months

Text

Roman Reigns: Don't Forget the Strawberries and Whipped Cream.🍓

Warnings: vulgar language

"So when are you gonna tell your wife about us? I’m sick of playing the waiting game Joe. I wanna be with you." She says watching as Joe slowly puts his boxers back on.

He inwardly rolled his eyes. This bitch didn’t get the memo, did she? A part of him always felt like she wouldn’t hold her part of the deal but another thought the 10K he’d so generously deposit into her bank account every month was kindhearted enough for her to know her responsibilities and duties as a side piece. But apparently not. It seems that over the course of a couple of months into their little affair, if you want to be judgmental and call it that, she’s grown feelings for him, something he so diligently instructed her not to do. She was nothing more than a fuck and duck to him. Something to do when there was nothing to do. Free p*ssy for whenever his wife pissed him off. And yet, here it is, she’s requiring more than just his dick. She wanted his heart. Something he locked up in his body's own jail cell with other women that wasn't the one that was currently at home, carrying his last name and his child. What a fool.

“Raven…..you know your place…..stay in it,” Joe says with bitterness in his voice.

“You know what? Fuck you, Joseph! I don’t even know why I thought you’d ever love me! What’s so special about that bitch you got at home, huh? If you really loved her, you wouldn’t be fucking around with me for damn near a year!” Raven retorts, feeling tears daring to pour from her hazel eyes.

Joe sighs deeply as he pulls up his Nike sweatpants, the ones that you brought him one day for his birthday. He turns to look at the distraught woman, lying naked on his California king.

“We’ve discussed this numerous times. It’s even written perfectly in your NDA. You mean nothing to me. Understand that? Now you’re either going to hold your end of the deal or I-" Raven stands to her feet, angrily grabbing her robe and wrapping it securely around her body. She's had enough of this.

“I love you, Joseph! I’m in love with you! How can you do this to me? To us?! Fine! You know what! How 'bout I just grab your phone and call that little wife of yours huh? Tell her that her man’s been fucking a streetwalker.” Raven threatens as she quickly snatches up Joe's cell phone to dial your number.

It only takes her seconds to find you as your number is on the recent calls list, being that Joe spoke with you two hours ago. He rolls his eyes, somewhat annoyed and intrigued by this situation.

He calmly and patiently puts on his shirt, hoodie, and Jordan 1's, whistling to himself. He then walks to the dresser to put on his Rolex, also a previous birthday gift from you.

Raven touches your name on Joe's phone, and it begins to dial you. Joe grins to himself as he knows you take time before you answer the phone. Plus, it's 9 p.m., and he knows by now you're doing your nightly cleaning routine and won't pick up the phone as quickly.

"She answer yet?" Joe chuckles, leaning against the wooden dresser that was placed near the bedroom door. For Raven's sake, she better hope you don't answer the phone.

She was now on the third ring but your husband knew you like the back of your hand, you weren't gonna pick up until the fifth ring. Hell, you were probably staring at your phone right now, annoyed that he'd interrupted one of your sacred cleaning sessions.

The phone is now on the fifth ring before you finally answer the phone to which Joseph is already on his feet, having made strides over to his accuser. He immediately grabs her by the throat. Just who the hell did she think she was to threaten him? Threaten his marriage. His reputation. His authority. Surely, he didn't want his business out in the streets. He was a very private man. Many didn't know much about his personal life and his escapades, and he'd love to keep it that way.

His grip around her neck is firm as she tries to fight him off, his phone dropping to the bed as you pick up.

“Hello? Babe?” You greet as you can barely hear on the other side of the phone.

“Y/n? Ah yes….sorry. I didn’t mean to call you….I’m at the gym….working on some reps.” Joe huffs as he takes both his hands and wraps them firmly around Raven’s neck. She can barely breathe and the shakiness of her hands trying to pry his away was telling him that she was going into panic mode.

“You sound out of breath.” You giggle on the phone as you pick up the freshly cleaned laundry, wobbling out of the kitchen and upstairs to fold the clothes.

“Hahaha you know working out gets……hard.” He says as he applies more pressure to Raven's neck, feeling her strength begin to deplete as she slowly stops fighting.

“Careful now, Joe. I don’t want you breaking your foot like you did last time when you dropped a weight on it. Whew….that took too much energy.” You say as you toss the clothes onto your bed, placing a hand on your back to rub it.

“Talking about me….you better be careful. I don’t want you stressing out my little hump dumpling.” He jokes as finally, Raven takes her last breath before her hands drop next to her and her body goes limp.

He inwardly sighs in relief before he carefully takes her body and tosses her on the bed. He picks up his phone and puts it to his ear.

“First off, don't call our unborn child a hump dumpling. Second, if anything she’s stressing me out. This girl is having a pillow fight with my damn bladder. I had to race to the bathroom two times already. I wish she would realize my bladder is not her personal pillow and is a very vital organ.” You giggle as you rub your belly, feeling your little girl kick.

“Hahaha Well I’m sorry you have to go through that honey but you’re gonna have to deal with it for at least another two months.” Joe grins as he stands over Raven’s body wondering what in the hell he was gonna do now.

Of course, he’s done this before, but this is the part that he tries to avoid for the most part; getting rid of the body. His mind begins to wonder as he hears you rambling about something in his ear, but his thoughts are on where he could possibly discard this mess he just made.

A dumpster? No, she’d be found pretty easily, especially on a Friday in which the local garbage men make their rounds. Maybe burn her in a metal bin? Naaaaah that was too dramatic. Possibly toss her in the depths of the ocean. Hmm maybe but then she could wash up on shore and he could only imagine the headlines in the news.

“Joe?….did you hear me?” You say as he quickly snaps out of his intrusive thoughts.

“What was that, dear?” he asks as he paces slowly.

“I said on your way home could you stop by the store and grab a box of trash bags, we’re out.” You say folding one of his favorite shirts you loved to sleep in.

“Of course. But baby, don’t exhaust yourself. Don’t worry about the trash………..I’ll take it out when I get home, okay.”

"Oooh oooh and don't forget the strawberries and whipped cream. I'm craving that again," you say, your mouth watering at the thought of your favorite dessert you've craved since the beginning of your pregnancy.

"Oh trust, I won't forget that. But I think I'd put it to a different use than what you're thinking." Your husband smirks, feeling himself stiffen at the thought of having you lying on your back, using those strawberries and whipped cream in the most sinful ways possible.

"Boy....get your mind out the gutter and hurry home. I'm ready to see you," you whine as he chuckles lowly.

"Alright babe...I'll be home soon."

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns one shot #roman reigns smut #roman reigns x reader #wwe smut #roman reigns imagines #roman reigns x black reader

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bloodstainedsaint · 6 months

Text

the sniper (joseph liebgott x sniper! reader)

summary: when you transferred from dog company to easy company following the battle of bloody gulch, you thought you knew what to expect of men in the military— though you really wanted joe liebgott to prove you wrong

word count: just over 3500

warnings: period-typical sexism & misogyny (big part of the story), very minor violence, denying feelings, mutual pining, reader lowkey has trust issues, full of other characters but hopefully no one's ooc?? also this fic is kinda messy 😭

notes: happy thanksgiving! enjoy this fic for the holidays 💞 also your favs AREN'T sexist, just confused

Gossip, you realized, was an easy way to kill time for the men of the military, especially with the recent news that there would be a transfer to Easy Company— the transfer being you, of course. You had no idea you were such a hot topic until you walked down a street of Aldbourne in search of the man currently in charge of your new company, Lieutenant Winters, and overheard a trio of soldiers discussing rumors as they sat around awaiting orders.

“Hey, have you heard that there’s a transfer coming from D-Company?” one said, lighting a cigarette.

“Whew, he must’ve not taken any smokes from Lieutenant Sparky, huh, Don?” another chuckled, stealing the cigarette out of who you guessed was Don’s fingers and puffing for emphasis, much to Don’s displeasure.

Huffing, Don continued, “He’s a sniper, apparently! Better than Shifty!”

“Nah, no one’s better than Shifty,” the third butted in. “Shifty can shoot you right between the eyes blindfolded.”

“Shifty would deny that ‘til he died, Penk,” said the second with a smile.

“It’s true, Skip! Apparently he tracked a target from 1,000 yards away and still got him in the head! Bang! Just like that,” Don said while he mimicked holding a rifle and firing.

“Psh, our boy Shifty could do that, or better: 2,000 yards, right?” Skip nudged Penk with his shoulder.

Penk shrugged. “Length don’t matter, anyway. It’s what you do with the gun, not how far it shoots.”

Skip and Don shared a look and grinned, the latter joking, “Don’t you mean distance, Alex? What, you insecure about something?”

The trio devolved into laughter and banter, but was suddenly quieted as Don patted the others and pointed at you approaching. Several other men standing nearby swiveled their heads to watch as well.

A woman dressed in fatigues, the shoulder of her uniform emblazoned with the Screaming Eagles patch, a M1 Garand slung around her back— they couldn't seem to get their mind around it. Disregarding their curious stares (you’d gotten a lot of them for the past two years or so that you've been enlisted), you walked past the group of spectators.

A couple of men whistled lowly, and a murmur spread through the small crowd. You stopped in your tracks for a moment, eyes downward in thought. Surely one of these men knows where Lieutenant Winters is. You turned on your heel toward the group.

“Afternoon,” you addressed the onlookers, who were now either standing up or gathering around in interest. Your eyes went from man to man, meeting inquisitive and suspicious stares alike, unfazed. “Anyone know where I can find Lieutenant Winters?”

“You, uh, you lost?” a diminutive man — Perconte, his name tag read — asked.

One with a strict face and a glower already etched into it — Martin — stepped into the scattered group. “Who’s asking?”

“Private (Y/N), sir,” you said with a quick salute that was returned. “I’m transferring from Dog Company to Easy Company. I was told to look for a Lieutenant Winters.”

The men exchanged a look amongst each other.

The man from earlier, Don, spoke up with awe apparent in his voice. “You’re a sniper?”

You turned to him with a curt nod. “Yes, I’m a sharpshooter.”

Then a lanky, scrappy-looking guy, Liebgott, entered with a smirk tugging upon his lips. Just by looking at his crooked smile and raised eyebrows, you knew he was going to cause you trouble. Just another man ogling at you like you're nothing but a pretty face. What else is new? “You need help getting around base?”

“No thank you, that won’t be necessary,” you swiftly rebuffed, turning your attention back to the rest of the men. You set them with an expectant look.

“You can find Lieutenant Winters over there at CP,” Randleman, a large red-headed man, said around a hefty cigar in his mouth, nodding his head in the tent’s direction. “If he’s not there, try the mess cabin.”

With a small smile, grateful that someone finally answered your question instead of asking more of them, you thanked him, saluted, and walked off.

As you started towards CP, you heard behind your back, “Did Roosevelt change something while we were overseas? ‘Cause I just saw a lady wearing paratrooper clothing with a rifle ‘round her back.”

“Very astute, George,” someone replied.

You could almost hear the smirk in Liebgott’s voice as he declared, “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

“Yeah, come back alive,” another voice — Skip, maybe — chimed in. “Speirs might’ve rubbed off on her.”

You only had a few seconds to mentally prepare yourself before you heard footsteps catching up behind you. Liebgott was now walking side by side with you, matching your brisk pace.

“Hey, (Y/N), right?”

You took a sidelong glance at him. “That’s right.”

“Joseph D. Liebgott. Technician 5th-Grade.”

“And is there a reason why you’re following me to CP, Liebgott?”

“Thought I’d show you around base, get to know you a little.”

“And I thought I declined your assistance,” you said firmly. “I was part of Dog Company; I'm not new around here.”

“Alright, how about introducing you to Easy men when you’re finished?” He threw a smile your way. “They’re curious about you.”

You slightly grimaced at the thought of being at the center of attention for so many strangers. “I’d rather not.”

“Why? They’re great guys. I don’t know about Dog Company men and their Lieutenant Speirs, but Easy men, especially Toccoa men, are different.”

They don’t seem all that different to me. You gripped the strap of your gun a little tighter. “Once again, I’ll pass.”

He shrugged. “You’ll warm up to us.”

A tense silence ensued. You did your best to not seem bothered by it. Usually by this point people gave up and stopped talking to you entirely.

“So, uh,” he began, running his hands through his hair. Of course you weren’t getting rid of him that easily. Your intuition earlier was right. “Why’re you transferring over to Easy? No offense, but we've got a helluva marksman already.”

“I wasn’t given a reason, just an order.”

“That so? Well, maybe you’ll take his place as our resident sniper, huh?”

“Looking forward to it,” you responded drily.

He chuckled. “You’ll fit right into Easy with the rest of the snarkers. Where you from, (Y/N)?”

You eyed him cautiously. “Lansing, Michigan.”

“Get outta here, you serious? I'm from there too!” Liebgott cracked a smile and gazed at you. “Man, I might’ve seen you around and just haven’t realized it. Could've been talking to you years ago.”

You pursed your lips. “It wouldn't have helped your chances, Liebgott.”

Grinning, he said, undaunted, “What chances? We're just talking. I wanna know the lady I’ll be fighting with.”

“You just want to know if I’m single or not. That’s all,” you icily said as the two of you neared the tent.

Apparently found out, Liebgott smiled broadly and stopped a few feet from CP while you continued walking. “Well, are you?”

You turned to face him. “Yes, I’m single, and no, I’m not interested in sleeping with you.”

You couldn’t see the smile melt off his face as you entered the tent, eyes searching amongst all the men and equipment for the tall soldier you’ve seen conversing with Lieutenant Speirs before.

“Private (Y/N),” a voice called. You looked in its direction and finally found Winters.

“Lieutenant Winters.” You saluted.

“You’re the new transfer, right?” he asked, beckoning you further into the tent for some privacy. You were thankful that most of the men here were too occupied with their own duties to notice you.

You followed him to a quiet corner. “Yes, sir.”

“Met the men yet?”

“Some of them.”

“Anyone give you trouble?” he asked gently. “You can tell me.”

You paused, thinking. Nothing past some inquisitive stares and a couple of questions. “No, sir.”

Winters perceived your hesitation. “If that changes, tell me. They're good men, but they might be a bit eager to meet you.”

You nodded. Liebgott certainly was. He analyzed your face for a second before continuing, “Try to get yourself acquainted at dinner before you go into combat with them. That’ll be all, Private.”

You saluted, knowing full well that you’ll most likely try to get a seat by yourself, away from the clamor of the men.

“Thank you, sir.”

It turned out that no seat was good enough to escape the onslaught of questions.

You had gotten there early and took a seat at the far end of one of the tables with a book in hand and not much of an appetite. Unfortunately for you, being one of the first ones there instead of a head in a crowd of people singled you out, and eventually you were surrounded by men wanting to know more.

“Hey, this is the new replacement I’ve been hearing so much about, yeah?” Bill Guarnere, or Wild Bill, as they called him, questioned, shoving himself into one of the seats at your table.

“Transfer, Gonorrhea, not a replacement,” Liebgott said from your side. When he had entered the mess cabin, you had attempted to hide yourself with your book, but to no avail. He had beelined toward you, beaming ear to ear as he slid into the seat next to you.

“You into books?” he said, eyes going from you to the book in your hands.

You thought that he might actually surprise you.“Yeah, are you?”

He scoffed lightheartedly. “What, you kidding? I love to read!”

A ghost of a smile graced your face. “What kind?”

“Oh, you know, Dick Tracy, Flash Gordon, mostly!” he said, seemingly proud of himself, and your smile disappeared.

Soon after that, people swarmed your table. If you were being fair, though, Liebgott had spoken for you for most of the night, making sure you could read in relative peace. If you didn't know any better, you’d say that he was just enjoying you being by his side, but you were still wary of any underlying intentions (let’s say, getting into your pants) he might have.

Yet, out of the corner of your eyes, you saw the way he looked at you from time to time with a small smile upturning his lips, and you wanted to believe he didn't have any.

“Transfer, replacement, whatever,” Bill brushed it off with a wave of his hand. “What I wanna know is—”

“—why she’s a girl?” Liebgott finished. “Jeez, I dunno, she’s only been asked this twelve times tonight.”

“If you’d let me finish,” Bill said with a pointed look at Liebgott as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, “I was gonna ask if she did shoot a Kraut from 1,000 yards away.”

“You’d be giving ole Shifty a real run for his money, ain't that right, Shift?” Joe — the other one, Joe Toye — said from beside Bill, reaching over to another table and shaking one of the guys there.

Shifty, you assumed, looked over and met your eyes with a kind smile. “No, no, I’m sure she's a better shot than me. Y'all give me too much credit.”

“That’s what being humble will get ya.” Bill chuckled and puffed from his cigarette. “Your spot as Easy’s best shot out from under ya.”

The table laughed, and you steeled yourself before uttering in a quiet, yet steady voice, “It was two men.”

A hush descended over the table. Liebgott turned to look at you. “What?”

“Two men. I dropped the first. The other one heard and started running. I dropped him next. Both in the head,” you relayed, without the humor of a storyteller but the gravity of a historian. You didn't know it, but you had a stony look in your eye.

Luckily, you were saved from the stunned silence by a man getting up and reciting a poem, but you could feel Liebgott’s eyes burning into you. With fear? Admiration? You weren’t sure, but you didn't dare look over.

Joe Liebgott was nothing if not persistent. For months now, he'd been lingering around you, flirting and striking up conversations with you. To be honest, you never outright said for him to stop (besides that one time in the very beginning when you said you weren’t interested), so you guessed he wasn't overstepping any boundaries.

Still, he seemed determined to get you into his bed.

“C’mon, I think we’d look cute together!”

“That’s what you think, Joe,” George said, squatting next to his friend, “Giving her heart eyes and all. Meanwhile, she looks at you like you're her next target.”

Brushing his teeth, Frank followed the other two’s gaze across the road, where you were happily talking with Bull and Shifty. He spat out the toothpaste residue on the ground beside him and said, counting on his fingers, “Seems like the only people she gives the time of day to are Shifty, Bull, Doc Roe, even Webster.”

“Who, if you'll notice,” George said, gesturing with a cigarette between his fingers, “are all quiet, reserved, well-mannered people. You, on the other hand, got a loud mouth and, uh, what’s it called, Frank?”

“A short fuse,” Frank supplied.

“Yeah, a short fuse. She probably thinks you’re trying to get into bed with her, in which case, you're shit outta luck.”

Frank said, shaking his head, “Scary, that girl. With her rifle and that look in her eyes.”

Liebgott exhaled. “But I’m not tryna just sleep with her! I even gave her some of my favorite comics ‘cause I knew she likes to read.”

“Yeah, real books, Joe— that's why she gets along with Webster!” Frank exclaimed. “You sure you didn't give her the pornos?”

George laughed. “That'd give her the wrong impression.”

Liebgott narrowed his eyes as you giggled at something Shifty said. “You’re right, maybe she doesn't like me.”

Standing up, George sighed and snuffed out his cigarette. “That’s not the point, Joe. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

“Yeah, like I’m her next target? You told me already.”

“No,” George said with an exaggerated eye roll, “like she wants more outta you. ‘Cause all she's getting is the impression that you wanna fuck her.”

Liebgott stood up as well, still watching as you laughed with Bull and Shifty. George and Frank patted him on the back.

“She’s all yours, buddy,” Frank assured with a sympathetic smile. “She makes heart eyes at you too.”

There were only a handful of women selected to serve outside of something like a nurse’s position; you just so happened to be one of them, most likely because of your experience with a rifle. So, you’d gotten used to the lustful ways some men would watch you, or the demeaning ways they would taunt you. You guessed almost all of them had never seen a woman with a combat position in the military before (or by the way some of them acted, ever spoken to a woman at all).

But such men only assumed that you had earned your jump wings by sleeping around with officers. They assumed that they should be able to get in on it too, or that they should condemn you for something you didn't even do, for being unworthy and unskilled all because you were a woman.

It had always been a difficult pill to swallow: your military career would be littered with scathing remarks and crude comments, and you’d have to be strictly professional or closed-off with most men lest you’d be seen as a whore rather than just “scary”. But the hardest fact to accept was the fact that Liebgott, for all the kindness he had shown you, all the times he talked to you like you were a human being— that he most likely had the same intentions as everyone else.

As much as you relished his company, his crooked smile, his jokes, his lingering touches (and as much as you had to pretend you didn't), you had to accept his end goal was for you to warm his bed. And sure, maybe he was more dogged with his efforts than other men were, and maybe your friends in the company had told you that he was a genuine guy, but you just couldn't believe that he had anything else in mind when it came to you.

Maybe all the criticisms thrown your way had affected you more than you thought.

With the success of Operation Pegasus, Bull had dragged you (not literally, though you’re sure he could've) into a pub in the Netherlands for some celebratory drinking.

You didn't drink, and you disliked pubs; the smell of booze and drunken people was often overpowering, but at least you found quiet company with Bull. Across the room from your table, you saw Liebgott staring at you with a smile and a drink in his hand. It seemed as though he had noticed you the second you entered.

“It’s alright if I leave you alone for a second, little lady?” Bull said, chewing on a cigar like usual. “You'll be fine?”

“Sure, Bull. Go enjoy yourself.”

The large man smiled and patted you on the back before leaving to talk to some of the other men in the company.

Not one to mingle, you were only a few pages into your book when you caught the attention of an intoxicated soldier.

“Look who it is,” Cobb said to himself, hardly standing upright. You recognized his voice, seeing as this wasn’t the first time he’s derided you. “Ms. 1,000 Yards, huh. Bet the officers over at Dog Company only made up that story so it looks like you had some use.”

You ground your teeth. Typically, if you didn't give someone like him the satisfaction of an answer, they’d leave you alone. Why defend yourself and give people another word to call you: bitchy?

“What's a woman got to do in the military anyway?” Bottle in hand, he shambled towards you. “Besides suck the dicks of the men who are actually fighting.”

Steadying your uneven breath, you tried to look behind him to find Liebgott, but his body blocked your view.

Taking another swig, he spat, “That why they transferred you over from Dog Company? Those boys got their fill of you and passed you onto us, huh? Fuckin’ good for nothing slut.”

“What the fuck did you just say to her?” You heard Liebgott’s voice and felt relief wash over you.

Cobb turned around, and you caught a glimpse of an incensed Liebgott, a fierce glint to his eyes.

“Tell me what you just said to her.”

“Oh, please, Joe, you trying to get her to suck your cock faster—”

He was interrupted by a fist flying his way, toppling the inebriated man. Liebgott got on top of him and began trading punches before the surrounding men, drawn by the commotion, tried to pull him off of Cobb.

Your eyes were blown wide as you stood there, speechless. Bull found you and pulled you by the arm out of the pub.

“But what about Liebgott?” you said, peering behind you.

Bull shrugged and did the same. “Seems like he was winning anyway.”

That night in your billet, all you could think about was the fury that twisted Liebgott’s face into one you only saw on the battlefield.

And it was all for you.

The next day, you searched for Liebgott at breakfast, the table feeling a bit more empty without him taking up his normal spot beside you, but he had found you first, as he usually did.

“Hey, (Y/N), can I talk to you for a sec?” he said, his hand on your shoulder. You turned around in your seat and were met with a slightly bruised Liebgott, a small cut across his nose. Concern filling your chest, you nodded, and his hand held your wrist as he led you out of the mess hall.

“So, uh, about last night,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes searched yours for how you felt about him bringing it up, but he found no hints in your unreadable expression. “I’m sorry for fighting Cobb for you. You're a strong woman, you could handle him yourself—”

Smiling at his uncharacteristic hesitance, you cut his apology short with a peck on the cheek. You pulled away and saw his temporary surprise.

“Thank you, Joe. I appreciated you standing up for me. It means a lot.”

His face broke into the widest beam you've ever seen.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked eagerly, the words spilling out of his mouth before he could even process what they were. “Shit, sorry, that was too soon—”

You answered his question by tenderly holding his bruised face with your hands and bringing his lips to yours. You could feel him grin into the kiss as he pulled you closer, and your heart just about melted.

Maybe you had gotten Joe Liebgott all wrong from the start.

“Great, he’s never gonna wash that cheek again!”

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