This Is So Good Oh My Gosh!! I Love The Sassy Main Character And Daredevils Reaction!! If You Ever Want

This is so good oh my gosh!! I love the sassy main character and Daredevils reaction!! If you ever want to write more for this, please feel free to tag me in it!!

THE DEVIL'S GAME

MATT MURDOCK X VIGILANTE!READER

Summary - Seeking retribution, you find yourself wandering into Hell's Kitchen, only to become ensnared by the Daredevil himself.

Warnings - 18+, broken bones, blood, flirty shit, vaguely suggestive

Word Count - 2.9k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t your neighborhood.  

But you hadn’t thought twice about it before leaving the comfort of your home, abandoning Queens to fulfill a dream of paltry retribution.  

Any other night and you might have considered the consequences of crossing into the Kitchen, but tonight your judgment had been clouded by an opportunity to finally lay your hands on the slippery brute that had gotten under your skin as of late.  

And, by the time you realized that you had willingly traipsed into the Devil’s Realm, it had been far too late.  

Farlin Costain was a particularly skilled pick-pocket, renowned amongst his fellow New York gutter rats—including petty thieves, drug dealers, and the likes—for his stealth and cunning. Typically, you wouldn’t have bothered with someone so low on the food chain, leaving him for some smaller vigilante to handle.  

Unfortunately for Costain, he made a costly mistake when he had made a target of your sweet, innocent roommate last week. And while you once wouldn’t have spared Costain so much as a second glance, you now had every intention of making him regret the very day he was born.  

“C’mon Farly! Already giving up?” You sang, patronizing him as you pressed your foot down harder against his breastbone. “I thought you wanted to play! Remember?”  

Word spread like wildfire that you were looking for Costain as every back-alley criminal in New York gossiped about what he must’ve done to catch your eye. Because of this, it only took a few days for Costain to catch wind that you were on his trail—and, being an absolute moron, he spent an entire drunken night in Scruffy Duffy’s Saloon bragging to friends and strangers alike that, should you find him, he could easily take you in a fight.  

Alas, the bartender at Duffy’s—an old informant of yours—was glad to send you a text detailing Costain’s visit. The pieces fell into place quickly after that, and soon you found out that the asshole was staying in a shitty mid-rise apartment just down the street from the bar.  

He hadn’t heard you when you skillfully leapt from the neighboring building, landing atop his apartment to spy him and a few of his cut-purse buddies passing a joint. As soon as you stepped into the light, his friends scurried like roaches, darting for the door to the stairwell.  

None of them were particularly recognizable, and since your vendetta wasn’t with them, you gladly let them escape.  

But not Costain.  

“Fucking cunt!” Costain wheezed beneath your weight, writhing on the gravel that lined the rooftop and spitting blood on your shiny black boots. You grimaced—disgusting.  

“Is that the best you’ve got? Blood can be cleaned up—but it’s gonna take weeks for your nose to heal. Do you really want your friends to find out that you couldn’t take me? That you couldn’t even get a hit in?” You continued to chastise him, head cocking to the side as you examined the blood still gushing from his now crooked nose.  

To Farlin’s credit, he had tried to fight back, having pulled a switchblade out as soon as you made a move for him. Unfortunately for him, the stealth needed to swipe wallets and watches was as far as his combat skills seemed to go, and it had taken you less than a few seconds to send the blade tumbling over the edge of the rooftop, clanking on the sidewalk below.  

But what Costain lacked in skill, he certainly made up for in spirit.  

“I can’t fucking breathe!” He rasped; his throat still raw from all the screaming he’d done after the nauseating crunch of his nasal bones. Thrashing beneath you, he lifted his hands to your ankle and began clawing and hitting and scratching, desperately trying to pry your foot off of his chest. “Get off!”  

You didn’t so much as flinch as his fists whirled at your calf, nor did you relieve any of the pressure you were applying to his breast. Instead, you pressed even harder, giving him a wicked grin.  

“You’re left-handed, aren’t you?” You mused, noting the slight weakness of the punches coming from his right. “Are you ambidextrous?”  

Gasping, Costain’s eyes lit with fury as a strangled sound ripped from his throat, growling at you.  

“I’ll take that as a no,” You hummed, your cheshire grin growing wider now. “They say that anyone can learn, y’know. How to use both hands.”  

Crouching down, you forced more of your weight onto him as you leaned over his face, your loose hair grazing his cheek. The fury in his eyes had already extinguished, replaced with an icy fear. His arms began to fall limp at his sides, his body too oxygen deprived to keep fighting you.  

“If you wanna learn,” you droned, tracing a single digit along the curve of his plump, blue lips, “then I’d be glad to give you some encouragement.”  

Faster than light, you slid your weight off his chest, rising above him. Farlin heaved at the loss of pressure, miserably trying to fill his aching lungs with air.  

Too delirious to fight back, he didn’t even notice when you lunged for his wrist, grabbing hold and hastily yanking him to his feet. You pressed your other hand right above his elbow, giving it all your force as you snapped his arm at the joint, the bones splintering and giving a deeply satisfying CRUNCH!  

Farlin had filled his greedy lungs with just enough oxygen to let out a gnarly scream as the pain washed over him like a tidal wave, sending him crumbling to his knees in front of you.  

“Damn, my bad,” you huffed, frowning at the sight of him, hot tears streaming down his cheeks as he clutched his right arm. “I was supposed to break the left one, wasn’t I? I can be such a ditz sometimes, huh? But no worries—I can fix this!”  

You went to reach for his left arm, taking far too much pleasure in the terror that ignited in his glossy eyes, but the adrenaline now pumping in his veins gave him an edge. Using his newfound chemical courage to try and scramble away from your assault, he managed to just barely evade the quick swipe of your hand, only to then fall backwards onto his ass.  

You snorted a laugh at him—useless.  

Too terrified to try and make a second attempt at escape, Costain only looked up at you with pleading eyes, silently begging you to leave him alone. You considered it for a second—just one—scrounging deep within yourself for even a trace of pity for the thief.  

Unfortunately, you came up empty-handed, as you often did when dealing with trash like Costain.  

You went for his left arm a second time, but as soon as you took a single step, something stopped you.  

No—scratch that—not something, but someone.  

A muscular arm wrapped around your middle, trapping your arms at your sides. You went to make your escape, but before you could tense even a single muscle, another arm wrapped around your throat—not applying pressure, not yet, but effectively trapping you and leaving you incredibly vulnerable.  

“I think he’s had enough for one night,” a luscious voice spoke in your ear, the warmth of their breath grazing along your neck, “Don’t you?”  

You were as still as a doe in headlights, carefully flicking your gaze down to the arms wrapping around you. Noticing the all-black sleeves that covered them, you sunk your teeth into your cheek. As far as you could tell from your current position, there was nothing discernable about the mystery man holding you hostage.  

“Not at all,” you admitted to him, cunning as ever. “I was just getting started.”  

The man gave a disapproving grunt. “You’ve already terrified him. He can hardly breathe,” he pointed out as if you weren’t aware of the heaving mess lying on the ground in front of you.  

“Even better,” you quipped, trying not to flinch when the arm around your waist suddenly tightened. “I like it when they’re afraid.”  

His breath caressed your skin again as he scoffed, shaking his head. “Look, I don’t care what kind of sadistic game you like to play with these men, but keep it your own borough, got it? I’ve heard about what you’ve done in Queens—and my neighborhood isn’t open to being your new playground.”  

The declaration gave you pause. Your breath caught in your throat as you suddenly remembered where you were and whose territory you had crossed into and made a mess in. His neighborhood– 

Fuck—you swallowed, only to find that your mouth had gone dry—he’s the fucking Daredevil.  

Costain seemed to put the pieces together at the same time as you. And, while still weeping over his shattered nose and broken arm, decided to crawl towards the infamous Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, hiding behind him and deciding to take his chances with him over you.  

Fucking coward.  

“I didn’t realize the Devil kept tabs on the rest of us,” you teased, trying to settle the pounding of your heart as you grappled with the dangerous fact that the Daredevil knew who you were. “You never bother coming to the annual vigilante sleepovers.”  

He hummed, but there was no hint of amusement. “I only keep tabs on the one's worth knowing about—and you have been making quite a mess. Last I heard, you were leaving innocent men mangled and bloody on every street corner from Queens to Brooklyn.”  

Irritation warmed your veins, blood thrumming in your ears as you howled, “Innocent?!” You gave a dry laugh, “The men I deal with are far from innocent, Devil-boy! The man you just saved is a fucking thief! And last I checked, you and I are supposed to be on the same team!”  

“We aren’t even playing the same game, sweetheart.” Daredevil corrected, the endearment slipping from his tongue sounding more like an insult than anything else. “He’s a petty thief. If your only interest was in keeping the streets clean, then you could’ve easily taken him down and left him on the doorstep of the nearest police station.”  

You cut your eyes, slumping in his hold. “And where’s the fun in that?”  

“You really are hopeless,” He snorted, unimpressed. “One broken arm is more than enough retribution for a pick-pocket. Swear you won’t touch him, and I’ll let you go.”  

“Or I could break your arm instead,” you suggested coyly, either in an attempt to flirt with or distract him.  

You tried to wiggle your arms at your sides, assessing just how much you were able to move. His own muscled arm rested just above your elbows, leaving some limited motion in your wrists and forearms. You wouldn’t be able to do much with it—nothing spectacular—but maybe…  

“If you thought you were strong enough to do that then you would’ve tried it already.” He countered.  

“Well, physical strength isn’t the only way out of a sticky situation, Devil-boy,” you reminded him. “But I’m more than confident that I could kick your ass.”  

The hold around your neck suddenly grew taut, his forearm lightly pressing against your windpipe in a subtle reminder that he was much stronger than you. “With a single move,” he purred, “I could snap your neck. Your life is in my hands.”  

Your pulse throbbed, but you didn’t panic, even as every instinct you had was screaming at you to give in—to stop antagonizing him and vow to never lay another hand on Costain again.  

But you were never very good at listening to that little voice in your head that told you what to do.  

Taking a hefty bet on your life, you used what limited motion you had in your arms to wiggle them back and slide them around his hips. You felt his muscles tense, readying himself to fight you or choke you or something, but juvenile laughter was already spilling from your lips as you brazenly cupped his backside in your palms.  

“My life might be in your hands,” you declared through a fit of giggles, “but your ass is in mine!”  

Your confidence grew when you realized that he hadn’t yet choked you out for your insolence—too stunned to react at all—and so you took full advantage of his inability to move without releasing you. Using your newfound grip on him, you shoved his crotch against your ass, grinding back against him just enough to catch him further off-guard.  

An involuntary groan slipped his lips at the rough contact, his voice gloriously low and hoarse and absolutely to die for.  

Daredevil figured you would try to fight back, but he had been expecting something along the lines of hand-to-hand combat—and not once had he considered that your preferred method of fighting would be grinding your ass against his dick.  

Shocked, unprepared, and a little horny, Daredevil took a step back to try and put space between your body’s, his grip turning lax as his blood rushed south. You took advantage of his single moment of weakness, managing to slip from his grasp with some ease now.  

“See?” You boasted, holding your arms out dramatically as you stood in front of him, finally face to face. “I told you physical strength wasn’t the only way out.”  

Daredevil was quick to regain his composure, and when you noticed a muscle feather in his jaw, you had the good sense to move swiftly into a ready position—just in case the Devil wanted to dance.  

But he made no move towards you, even as your fists lifted in his direction. He stayed where he was, clicking his tongue as he said, “You fight dirty.”  

A smirk played on your lips. “You don’t know the half of it. But don’t worry, I’m just as much a masochist as I am a sadist,” you teased, blatantly admiring the appearance of his toned muscles beneath the tight-fitting black shirt he wore, “so we can take turns, if you want.”  

He laughed, actually laughed. “Never gonna happen.”  

You stuck your bottom lip out, pouting at him, but he didn’t react.  

“Why not? Looks to me like you enjoyed having me touch you,” you spared a glance to the now sizable bulge in his dark jeans. “Tell you what, Devil-boy, let me break his other arm and I’ll consider taking care of that for you.”  

Costain gave a pathetic whimper at that, as if he too could sense the growing tension in the air and worried that Daredevil might be willing to sell-out in favor of getting off.  

Ignoring his whining, Daredevil took a step closer to you, and then another. Your body reacted, muscles growing taut as you prepared yourself to strike him. But, when he halted less than a couple of inches from you, you felt as if your bones had all but turned to jelly.  

He smelled of expensive cologne and cheap coffee, and even with the black mask covering the entire upper half of his face, you had no doubt that he was impossibly handsome. Your heart thrummed wildly in your chest, and as if he could hear it, he gave you a satisfied grin.  

“Your mouth is as filthy as your techniques,” he rebuked, though a hint of amusement and intrigue laced his tone. “Tell you what,” Daredevil mimicked you, “you’re gonna get out of my neighborhood—now. And, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stick to your side of the city from now on.” His breath fanned against your cheeks, and a warmth suddenly crept up your neck. “Got it?”  

“And if I don’t?” You felt incredibly small beneath his impressive height, having bent your neck to look up at him.  

The Devil seemed to stare down at you—no, he seemed to stare through you, though his eyes remained entirely hidden beneath the mask. You wondered what color they were, if they were as pretty as the rest of him, and how they might look rolling into the back of his head as you straddled his waist—but your fantasies were cut short as he stretched an arm towards you and roughly caught your jaw in his hand.  

You grunted at the unexpected contact, the sound making his grin grow wider. His nails scraped lightly against your cheek as you tried to jerk away from the touch, but it was a futile attempt. “If you don’t,” he muttered, leaning in closer as his tongue glided across his lips, enticing you further, “then I’ll make sure that you regret it.”  

A bit breathless, you tried your best to sound unaffected, only for the slight wobble in your voice to give you away, “Sounds like a challenge.”  

His head tilted to the side, as if he were watching you, listening to the erratic pounding in your chest and the sound of blood rushing your veins. For a heartbeat you let your gaze fall to his chiseled jaw, to his mouth, calculating the risk of leaning in and catching his pouty bottom lip between your teeth.  

“It’s not,” he assured you, his voice thick and gruff. “It’s a promise.”  

You stifled a hiss as he released your jaw from his grip. He didn’t spare another word before turning away, the gravel crunching beneath his clunky combat boots as he went straight to Costain, heaving the thief off the ground by his non-broken arm.  

If it were anyone else stealing away your target, you likely would’ve cut them down right alongside Costain. 

But it hadn’t been just anyone—it was the Devil.  

Dumbstruck and more than mildly infatuated with the alluring Daredevil, you knew that tonight would be the first of many visits to Hell’s Kitchen. 

my brain is rotting because i've written 44+k words in a single month because i decided to rewrite infinitely you and while taking a small break from working on it i created this garbage fire of a matt murdock one shot.

thanks for reading

DONT STOP TALKING ABOUT PALESTINE! DONT STOP TAKING ABOUT GAZA!

DONT LET THEM MAKE YOU FORGET!!

Gosh this is so good 😭😭

I love the way you write the both self deprecating yet also cocky and confident Ghoul, it comes off really well in this fic!

I can't wait to see more, and also the way you write Reader is so cool, the way she's dealing with her trauma in the fic is captivating and realistic.

Awesome writing!!

From A Previous Life (Pt 2)

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Preg!Reader

Summary: You find comfort in your routine with the Ghoul, but an evening of bonding turns into harsh realizations.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, pregnancy, non-detailed talk about experimentations, angst, grief, more flirting (less squinting),

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: The second part to what was a one-shot but the responses were so overwhelmingly lovely about it that I just had to write more! I have more ideas for these two because they break my heart, so part 3 will be happening next week :) I'd love to know what you think 💌

Part 1

A routine had solidified between you both, born out of necessity in this unforgiving landscape. Each day, you travelled further through the barren wasteland, seeking refuge in abandoned structures come evening. As the sun dipped below the horizon, you gathered around the crude fire, its flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the worn walls of whatever shelter you'd found. It was a skill your companion had imparted through countless arduous nights, a beacon of warmth and security in the darkness.

With the day's journey behind you, you would compare your spoils. Tins of pork and beans, salvaged copper, and screws—valuable commodities in the market of survival. Occasionally, luck would smile upon you, offering a giant mole rat to add to the evening stew. It wasn't gourmet by any means, but a welcomed reprieve from the Ghoul's ever-present jerky stowed away in his saddlebag like a grim reminder of the world you now inhabited.

Few words had been exchanged between you. You'd come to understand that the Ghoul valued silence, speaking only when necessary, and expected the same from his companion. He had provided a brief summary of the world's changes over the past two centuries, yet remained guarded when pressed for further details about his own involvement. Despite your efforts, he remained as enigmatic as when he first found you.

Despite the grim reality surrounding you, you found comfort in the routine. Far removed from the life you once knew before the war, you still managed to extract a glimmer of joy from the simple act of preparing the evening meal. With meagre resources at your disposal—a small iron pot, a battered ladle, and two cracked but serviceable dishes—you endeavoured to create sustenance that mimicked the warmth of a homecooked meal, even in these bleak times.

The Ghoul stood as your protector, his watchful presence having undoubtedly spared you from peril on numerous occasions during your brief time together. Cooking was a way to prove your  significance in your partnership, no matter how seemingly insignificant it may appear.

The heavy thud of boots and clink of spurs against wood jolted you from your thoughts, the ladle in your hand halting its rhythmic stirring of the broth as you cast a wary glance towards the doorway. It wasn't the first time he had left you alone, deeming it safer to venture into the bustling towns without the added complication of a young woman in tow. He had armed you with a revolver and a combat knife, imparting what little training he could in their use, but you couldn't shake the feeling that his trust in your abilities extended only as far as your loyalty not to run in his absence.

"Well, that smell's delicious," drawled the Ghoul, his figure framed in the doorway, hat tipped low over his scarred features. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and you couldn't help but return it, the warmth of his presence a rare comfort after just an hour alone.

"Did you get them?"

"You doubted me?" He teased, stepping towards you and offering out a small cloth bag. You accepted it eagerly, peeking inside at the plump, juicy tomatoes nestled within.

You wasted no time in incorporating the fresh produce into your cooking, the aroma of the simmering fruit mingling with the savoury scent of the meat in the broth. Seated together by the fire, the weathered dining chairs offering a semblance of normalcy, you couldn't help but inquire about his expedition.

"Did everything go alright?" you asked, eyeing him cautiously as he slumped back in his chair, a groan escaping his cracked lips as he stretched out.

"Hunky dory," he sighed, his voice tinged with sarcasm, head back and fingers entwined over his stomach. You could tell he was lying, noticing the slight clench of his jaw and his reluctance to meet your gaze. 

It was a tell that you had picked up on in your short time together, one that betrayed his otherwise stoic resolve. For some reason, the Ghoul had taken to concealing parts of the truth from you. Maybe he thought you were too weak, too naïve, or perhaps he simply didn't want to subject himself to further questioning. Regardless, it had begun to grate on your nerves. While you appreciated his protection, you couldn't afford to remain in the dark about so much in this dangerous world.

"I'm coming with you next time," you declared, your gaze unwavering as you stirred the pot, the clinks of metal against metal punctuating your determination. "Two guns are better than one."

A playful glint danced in his eyes as he countered, "Not when you're the one holding it." Yet, the lightness in his tone ebbed away, leaving a hard undercurrent. "Already told you no."

There was a flicker of frustration that passed across your features, but you held his gaze firmly, refusing to back down. "And I've already told you not to underestimate me," you retorted, the fire of conviction burning in your words.

His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees, bringing his face closer to yours. A furrow creased his brow, his gaze intense as he pointed a finger towards your growing belly.

"And you underestimate everyone else," he admonished, his voice edged with concern. "You think those vultures would take one look at you, at that cargo you're carryin', and let you walk on by? It's every man for himself out here, sweetheart, and the wasteland makes a man do terrible things. You're a commodity, and it's best you not forget it."

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of the truth settling upon you like a leaden cloak. Despite your defiance, his words struck a chord of fear within you, a reminder of the harsh realities of the world beyond the safety of the little sanctuary you have cultivated together.

The ladle slipped from your grasp, forgotten, as your trembling hands instinctively hugged your pregnant belly. Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over, as the weight of his words settled heavily upon your shoulders. A commodity. That's what you and your unborn child had been reduced to in this unforgiving world, one that felt alien and hostile, yet one you were forced to confront day in and day out.

Anger simmered within you, a fierce blaze fuelled by resentment towards those who had stripped you of your former life, of the safety and belonging you had once taken for granted. And though you knew it was irrational, a pang of ungratefulness gnawed at your conscience, directed towards your reluctant protector for the loss of the freedom you so desperately yearned for.

In that moment, amidst the swirling emotions and the harsh reality of your circumstances, you felt an overwhelming sense of isolation, as if you were adrift in a sea of uncertainty with no safe harbour in sight. Perhaps even the promised haven would prove to be a deception, like the vault you had been a prisoner in for so many years. Yet, for the sake of your child, you couldn't afford to surrender to despair. Hope would become your anchor, however fragile.

With a firm resolve, you brushed away the tears before they could show your vulnerability, steeling yourself against the torrent of emotions threatening to engulf you. Turning your attention back to the bubbling broth, you scooped two large servings into the worn bowls, the aroma of simmering spices mingling with the heaviness in the air.

Handing one bowl to your companion, you found him slumped back in his chair, his weathered face illuminated by the flickering glow of the fire. His fingers traced the jagged contours of scars etched deep into his weathered face. A palpable aura of silent desperation hung around him like a shroud, casting a shadow over the dimly lit room.

Tucking into your meals in silence, the rhythmic clinking of spoons against bowls filled the room, a familiar melody that spoke volumes without the need for words. Each bite was a small reprieve from the harsh reality that surrounded you, a momentary escape from the relentless cruelty that had become all too familiar.

His voice, barely a whisper, cut through the quietude of the room, laden with a heavy weight of remorse. "I've upset you," he confessed, the words hanging in the air.

You looked up from your meal, meeting his gaze with a mixture of exhaustion and resignation. Despite the turmoil within you, there was a flicker of understanding in your eyes as you acknowledged his veiled apology. 

"It's not just you," you replied, your voice tinged with weariness. 'I just feel so useless. I can't protect myself or by baby, can't help you without being a burden. I feel like I have no control.'

He nodded, his expression grave as he processed your raw admission of vulnerability and contemplated what to do next. Setting both bowls aside, he reached into a sack he had brought back from the town, his movements deliberate and methodical. From within the depths of the bag, he withdrew a familiar metal gadget, its sleek design reminiscent of the cuffs you had seen the scientists wear during your captivity.

Your breath caught in your throat as memories of your ordeal flooded back, the sensation of cold surgical equipment against your skin sending shivers down your spine. They had treated you like nothing more than a lab rat, subjecting you to experiments and tests that had left scars, both physical and emotional, that may never fully heal.

As he held the device in his hands, his gaze softened, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and trauma you had endured. "I know what this represents," he murmured, his voice heavy with remorse and a tinge of anger. "But it can give you the control you've been denied for so long."

His words hung in the air, laden with the weight of possibility and hope. And as he extended the cuff towards you, offering you a chance to reclaim a measure of agency in a world that had sought to strip it away, you knew that this was more than just a piece of technology—it was a gift, a symbol of resilience. With trembling hands, you reached out to accept it, a silent vow echoing in the depths of your soul: never again would you allow yourself to be reduced to nothing more than a pawn in someone else's game.

As the cuff clicked shut around your wrist, its surprisingly light weight belied the bulk of its appearance. You found yourself staring down at the blank screen, uncertainty knotting your stomach as you grappled with the unfamiliarity of the device. The Ghoul, ever the steady presence beside you, reached over and deftly twisted a knob at the side of the device.

In an instant, the screen came alive with vibrant green text, welcoming you to Vault Tec. An animated image of the grinning mascot of the vaults, a sight you had come to loathe, greeted you with a cheery thumbs-up. You couldn't help but sneer at the sight, the irony not lost on you as the Ghoul swiftly navigated through the interface, replacing the obnoxious Vault Boy with a menu that offered a dizzying array of options.

"It'll take some understanding, but you'll get it in time," the Ghoul reassured you, his voice a steady anchor amidst the chaos of information overload. "The important part is the Geiger counter—it'll keep you out of trouble you didn't even know was there."

Your attention was drawn to the right of the device where a dosimeter's needle bobbed with the steady wave of radiation through the air. Another twist of the knob and on the screen appeared a walking depiction of Vault Boy, displayed percentages accompanying each limb. Below him, a nearly empty bar filled only with a small green block indicated the radiation count of the user. After weeks spent on the unforgiving surface, it came as no surprise that you had been touched by the poison that tainted it.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the hum of the device on your wrist. Looking up, you met the Ghoul's gaze, gratitude shining in your eyes.

Those words didn't do justice to the gift that he'd given you — it was a lifeline, a tool that held the power to protect not only yourself but also your unborn child. It wasn't a weapon meant for moments of attack, as the revolver he demanded you carry on your hip was, but it was equally essential in its own right. The significance of being able to monitor and mitigate the dangers that lurked in the new world was not lost on you. It wasn't just about surviving anymore; it was about thriving, about carving out a future for your child in a world that had become a battleground for survival. One day, the Ghoul would not be there to protect either of you.

"It must have cost so much," you continued, a note of wonder in your voice, and he simply shrugged in response.

"Always something to be bartered in the wasteland," he replied nonchalantly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he cleared his throat. "Don't go crying again, now. You'll give me a bad name."

You chuckled softly. Wiping at your wet eyes with the back of your hand, you couldn't help but shake your head in amusement. "It's the hormones, I swear," you joked, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

He seemed amused by your explanation, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he gave you a knowing look. Instead of arguing, he simply winked at you, and you felt a flutter in your belly—you brushed it off as a small, subtle reminder of the life growing within you.

"Got any more of that stew?" he asked, his tone light and teasing as he reached for his bowl, a twinkle of mischief dancing in his blue eyes.

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension of the moment dissipating like smoke in the wind. "Of course," you replied, ladling some more stew into his bowl. "I'm glad you like it."

"Oh, it's been many years since I've had a homecooked meal," he told you, his tone tinged with nostalgia as he tucked into his food with relish.

You smiled warmly at his words, a sense of pride swelling within you despite the simplicity of the meal you had managed to put together. It may not have been a lavish feast, but the fact that you could provide him with a taste of home filled you with a quiet sense of satisfaction.

"Maybe we could get some vegetables next time. Carrots maybe," you suggested, a hint of excitement in your voice.

He hummed approvingly through his mouthful, nodding in agreement. "Saw some fine-lookin' turnips on my way out of town too. Reckon you can do anything with those?"

Your eyes lit up with inspiration. "Turnip and carrot mash. We could get some milk from a Brahmin, make it nice and creamy."

He licked his lips, a spark of anticipation igniting in his eyes as he set down his empty bowl. "Well now, that's just given me something to look forward to."

The two of you talked well into the night, the crackling of the fire providing a comforting backdrop to your conversation. You noticed a shift in the Ghoul's demeanour as the topic veered towards plans for future meals and the road ahead, his tense posture easing as time went on.

Determined to keep his attention and the mood still light, you regaled him with tales of your life before, weaving together anecdotes from your childhood and high school years with a touch of self-deprecating humour. He listened with genuine interest, his deep laughter ringing out like a balm to soothe the ache of your weary soul.

You found yourself deliberately steering the conversation away from his own past, choosing to focus instead on the light hearted memories of your own. You spoke of your best friend Patti, with whom you had been inseparable, recounting the antics and adventures that had filled your days. You mentioned how close you had become, so much so that you had even moved into houses next door to each other and planned out each meticulous part of your lives..

However, you made a conscious decision not to mention your husband, feeling a pang of uncertainty as to why. Perhaps it was a desire to keep Glenn and your companion separate in your mind, two distinct chapters of your life that you were reluctant to intertwine for some unbeknownst reason. Or maybe it was a subconscious attempt to shield yourself from the painful memories that lingered just beneath the surface. 

Regardless of the reason, you found solace in the simplicity of the moment, in the shared laughter and camaraderie that felt like a bond forging between you both. This was the most that the Ghoul had spoken to you in the weeks since you'd started traveling with him, and you relished the comfort that it brought you. Despite the superficial nature of the conversation, there was a sense of intimacy in the shared laughter and you felt giddy at the prospect of you both becoming more than strangers to each other.

When a yawn escaped you, the Ghoul smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he nodded towards the makeshift beds you had prepared earlier that afternoon. Two tattered twin mattresses salvaged from the wreckage of a long-forgotten room, a decent width apart and covered with old, vermin-chewed sheets. It wasn't glamorous by any means, but it was a far cry better than some of the makeshift sleeping arrangements you had been resigned to during your journey through the wasteland.

"Go get. That's enough jaw flappin' for one night," he teased, a playful glint in his eye. Despite his jest, there was affection in his smile, a silent reassurance that you were safe and perhaps even cared for in his company.

With a chuckle, you nodded in agreement, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling over you like a heavy blanket. Rising from your seat by the fire, you made your way towards the makeshift beds, the promise of a few hours of rest beckoning you like a siren's call.

The unwelcome pest of a thought nagged at you, persistent until you found yourself unable to ignore it any longer. With a determined resolve, you moved back towards the Ghoul, your steps fuelled by a sense of urgency you couldn't quite explain. Ignoring the look of alarm that flickered across his face, you leaned over awkwardly as he sat in his chair, and wrapped your arms around him in a brief but heartfelt embrace.

For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to stand still as you felt the surprising warmth of his strong arms around you, the comforting weight of your pregnant belly nestled between you serving as a tangible reminder of the life growing within you. You wanted to thank him, to tell him that this simple gesture meant more to you than words could express—that it was the most human you had felt since thawing from that cryo-chamber all those weeks ago.

But before you could find the words, your thoughts were shattered by the rapid clicking of the dosimeter. Startled, you pulled back, confusion clouding your features as you looked down at the device on your wrist, its needle flitting erratically with each click.

As you glanced between the dosimeter and the Ghoul, a sense of realization began to dawn on you. His eyes remained downcast, his expression unreadable, but the sudden silence of the dosimeter spoke volumes.

In that moment, the pieces began to click into place, like a puzzle slowly revealing its hidden picture. You knew that everything on the surface was a danger, that radiation flooded every inch of land and contaminated everything it touched. Every mouthful of food you took, every swig of water, every wash of your body—each was a necessary risk in the struggle for survival.

But naively, you hadn't stopped to consider the threat that the Ghoul posed—not beyond the immediate danger of him putting a gun to your head or the possibility of him selling you to the highest bidder.

As the suffocating realization settled over you, you felt the overwhelming sense of isolation creep back in, wrapping around you like a vice. Your protector was also your potential killer, and he had wanted to ensure you had a Pip-Boy—to keep you out of trouble you didn't even know existed.

He had given you the knowledge, the control, to make your own findings and decisions, all for the sake of your unborn child. And yet, despite his intentions, you couldn't help but feel a hint of betrayal. You almost wished you could have remained blissfully ignorant about this particular aspect of life on the surface. It was as if you had lost a friend you hadn't really ever had.

"You keep that thing on," he said with a hint of sadness, pointing to your wrist. The only acknowledgement of what just happened. You nodded silently, your hand instinctively running over the cool metal of the Pip-Boy before you turned away.

"Goodnight," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you retreated to your bed. With each step, the weight of the truth bore down on you, a heavy burden you would carry with you as you drifted into a troubled sleep, haunted by the knowledge that even in this new world, friendship was a luxury you could ill afford.

Taglist: @cheshirecat484

This is super interesting, I never thought about the way etiquette changes depending on past or current situations in certain regions.

Natalie Portman being confused by the fact that you have to say “hi” to someone before starting a conversation in France got me like ?????

I absolutely adore the way you write Emmett!! You represent his character very well while giving him (in my opinion) more dimension than he was ever given in the original books. He's meat headed but is almost always well intentioned and trying to have fun. I don't know if he has the capacity to hate anyone lol.

This story is one of my favorites to read, and every post is a treat, thank you Author!

Also your new cat is super cute <3

Bound | Chapter 6

Word Count: 4.5K

Summary: Rosalie always carried the resentment of not being able to fulfill the image of the perfect family she had in her head. But the universe had set out to grant her everything she could’ve hoped for in the most unconventional way and in the form of a witch. Can their love withstand the promise of forever or will Rosalie and (Y/N) succumb to the grapples of time?

A/N: I have had 0 inspiration to write, but I've been working on a couple of new things, especially an avatar request that came in last year 👀👀

<- Previous

Two years had passed since the night that should have been her last, and Rosalie had felt it. Now that she truly had forever to look forward to, it should have felt like the blink of an eye. But she couldn’t help but feel like life had decided just to drag her along. 

It had been two years, and she still didn’t feel quite part of the family. She enjoyed Esme’s company and valued Carlisle’s mind, but Edward was worse than a weed that wouldn’t stop growing. No matter how many times you plucked it, it simply grew back. He was irritating and insufferable, and it made Rosalie’s just that much irksome. 

They hadn’t been able to remain in Rochester for too long due to the girl’s victims, and he never failed to mention it. It was as though he would find any moment he could to bother her. And his mind-reading powers didn’t help to subside his already massive ego, believing that just because could listen to the thoughts of others that he knew everything. 

But he didn’t know the true pain and sadness that lived deep inside Rosalie. If he had, she was sure he’d beg for a way to shut her mind off. There was dread and despair like no other, carried from years long before she had died. It was a darkness that she carried all by herself. 

More often than not, Rosalie kept to herself. Other than her sporadic afternoon chats with Esme or Carlisle—often both—she truly didn’t do much else. School didn’t interest her yet, especially not when her only company would be Edward. She’d rather stay home and read. Morning, noon, and night, she was found with a book in her hands. There was nothing else that interested her, not even the Cadillac that had traveled with them all the way from New York. 

It had lain untouched in the garage of their Tennessee home, a thick layer of dust covering the baby blue of its lacquer. As much as it tempted her to get her hands dirty and fix it up until it came roaring back to life, Rosalie found that there was no point to it. She would never need another set of wheels in her life—at least, not really. 

Even when it came time to feed, Rosalie would prefer her own company. When the other three would go out together to hunt as a family, the blonde remained at the house, waiting for their return. Once they had eaten, then and only then would she go out herself. There were times when Edward would extend the hunting trips just to see how far she would push things, how long she would go while she was hungry. But if he thought she’d ever give in, he was dumber than he looked. No matter how long she had to wait, she would go on her own terms. Clearly, the boy had yet to grasp how stubborn she could be. 

 Much like she had done before, that morning, Rosalie had escaped into the mountains of Tennessee to find an animal to feed on. The family had just come back from a weekend-long trip that the girl had refused to join once more. Unfortunately, she still had to feed, and the moment they were back, she was gone. 

It was a rather cloudy morning in the state, and the mist from the morning felt heavenly on her skin. She breathed in the smell of dew, pine, and soil, reveling in the senses she still had available to her. But as she walked deeper into the woods, the scent transformed and set off the dangerous hunger that she had. 

She knew the smell well but had stayed away from its taste since her turning. Iron filled her nostrils, making her stomach rumble with a dizzying need. It blinded her to all reason, and all she desired was the crimson liquid. Rosalie had never taken a drop of blood, but she could imagine how the warm fluid would feel going down her throat, coating her mouth in a flavor unlike anything she had tasted before. She could feel her fangs sinking into soft flesh, her mouth filling with the venom that coursed through her veins. It was a feeling like no other, and it terrified her to how quickly her mind turned to a primal state. 

Until she saw where the smell was coming from. 

As she came upon the scene before her, all need for the taste of blood vanished, replaced by the need to save the boy she had come upon. There, in the middle of the woods, a man who looked shockingly similar to Henry, Vera’s son, was losing a fight with a black bear. He was on the ground, covered in slashes and bites, blood clinging onto his skin like it was meant to be there. And even as the bear towered over him, claiming his life as its own, the boy kept laughing and taunting it. It seemed if he was going to go down, he’d be doing it on his own terms. 

Rosalie knew there was no possible way that the boy being attacked could ever be Henry. The babe had all but celebrated his second birthday, and there was no reason he’d be fully grown and in Tennessee. But she couldn’t help the protective instinct that took over her when she saw the man being attacked. Where she would normally allow life to take on its course, she could not stop herself from getting involved. That boy deserved to live; something deep inside told her so. 

Without another thought, she sped out of her hiding place and pounced on the bear, breaking its neck in one swift move before sinking her teeth into its neck. The smell of blood had already made her stomach turn, her mouth salivating like it had never before. Yet, her resolve was stronger than her hunger. She allowed the bear’s warm blood to coat her mouth, satiating the desire for feeding before turning to the battered man. 

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” he questioned with a smile on his face. “There’s no way I’d meet an angel on Earth.” 

“You’re not dead yet,” she said. “And you won’t really be if I have anything to do with it.” 

“An angel in real life,” he muttered. “How great my luck?” 

Rosalie took the boy in her arms like he weighed nothing. She sped through the woods with a newfound resilience. He wasn’t Henry, of course not, she kept telling herself. But she had stumbled across him for some reason, and something told her she had to save him. 

The smell of his blood taunted her as she sped through the woods to where the Cullens resided. She could feel the warmth seeping through her fingers, coating her skin and her clothes. And though she had satiated her hunger with the bear, she couldn’t help her new nature. But, the look on the boy’s face stopped any urge she may have had. 

The brunette had fallen asleep in her arms, possibly due to his blood loss. Still, his heart beat in his chest, and in only a few minutes, she’d be in Carlisle’s office, begging him to save him. Her legs carried her forward until she finally arrived at her destination. 

It was Esme who saw her first. She had been tending to the garden when the metallic smell of the boy’s blood hit her nostrils.  “What happened?” the woman questioned. “Who is he?”

“I have no idea,” Rosalie responded as they walked toward Carlisle. “I found him trying to fight a bear. Clearly, we know who was winning.”

“Oh, his pulse is very weak,” Esme said. “You’ve brought him to Carlisle.”

“Yes,” the girl stated. “Something tells me he’d want to live.”

There was no other moment than that when Rosalie understood why Carlisle had decided to change her. Minus the belief that she could be someone’s partner, she could finally comprehend his inability to let a life go to waste right in front of him. She knew she could have left the boy to perish at his own stupidity and face the consequences of his actions. But he was right there, and he looked so much like Henry. The girl knew she’d spend her eternity regretting not saving him. 

Once Carlisle had agreed, noting the desperation in Rosalie’s eyes, she remained by the door of the room they had put the boy in. For three days and two nights, there was groaning and screaming as the pain from the transition took over his body, freezing every inch of his youth and fixing anything that had dared damage his skin. 

Then, on the third night, a perfect-skinned, red-eyed Emmett McCarty—she had finally learned his name— emerged from the room. Rosalie and Carlisle then explained to him about his new existence. He’d taken a second to process the information, but he didn’t grow mad or even think they were mad. Instead, he smiled. He called Rosalie and angel and Carlisle a god. Such a hellish existence could be bearable with people like that on his side. Unlike Rosalie, he didn’t quite mind the vampire life. 

Edward took him hunting first, making it a boys’ trip. He’d been reluctant at first, questioning why Ros wouldn’t go with them. But the second he stepped outside and felt the freedom and power of his new abilities, all was forgotten. 

Rosalie didn’t mind the rest, though. In the first few days of his new life, Emmett had grown rather doting on the blonde. He’d follow her everywhere, filled with questions and gratitude. At first, she didn’t mind the adoration–she was accustomed to being doted upon. But after the 30th hour of his pleasantries, she couldn’t help but remember all the nice words people in her short life had gifted her. All the compliments and accolades she had acquired from them, and how she had believed every single one. She had believed every single one of them until it drove her to her death. So, the second there was a window of silence, she welcomed it. 

In the quiet, the girl felt a surge of inspiration. She headed to the home’s garage and uncovered the beautiful Cadillac that had been buried under a layer of dust for months. It was as perfect as the day Carlisle had brought it home for her. The blue was just as vibrant, the metal perfect and smooth—truly the car of her dreams. The best part? She would be able to bring it back to life with her own two hands. 

Once she opened the hood, she was transported to a time when she was happy. She could hear her father telling her which were the parts that made up the car, hear her little brothers running rampant through the yard as her mother ran behind them. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel like she was there. 

Suddenly, an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia took her hostage. Though it was impossible, her lungs felt devoid of air, and her heart felt as though it hammered inside her chest. She slammed the hood closed and covered the vehicle once more. She needed to leave. She needed an escape. 

“Is everything alright, Rosalie?” Esme questioned as she came to check the commotion. “What was that noise?”  

“Everything is fine,” Rosalie tried to smile. “I just need to take a walk. Empty my mind.”  

“Do you want some company? I could…”  

“It’s quite alright, Esme. I think I just need some time to myself.”  

Before the woman could add anything else, Rosalie was on the move. Even if she spent most of the time alone, she needed to be by herself. It had only been two years since she had last seen her family, and still, their memory was seared into her brain. 

She wondered if they had given up on their search and declared her dead. Or maybe they were still putting up posters, hoping one day there would be new information on her whereabouts. She wondered if her brothers had begun dating and if they told those girls about the sister they used to have—maybe they hadn’t even cared to talk about it with their friends. But she held onto the hope that they held her memory fondly, that they missed the girl who would oftentimes tuck them into bed and read them a bedtime story or the girl who quietly taught them about cars when they were much too young to be fiddling with the machines. And how she wished she could still be able to do that. 

Now, she could only hope that her parents held them just a little bit closer and didn’t raise them like they had her. They were just as beautiful as her, and they were sure to be able to marry well. But she prayed they were able to simply live and enjoy the fleeting moments that made up their existence. She pleaded for them to grow up to be kind and decent men who held her memory alive. 

Knowing her family would one day grow old and pass made her heart hurt. She couldn’t withstand the thought that they’d live an entire life and simply disappear–not that she’d wish for them her immortality. They would be on earth for a moment, and the next, they’d be gone. And she would never know when or from what. That was the curse of her existence. Everyone she knew and loved would one day be gone, and she was meant to live on and on and on and on….

Not seeing her family was the worst part of it all. And that’s all she could think of as she walked back to the house. Night had come and gone, and the sun was starting to peek over the horizon. She hadn’t meant to stay out too late, but time had slipped away as she daydreamed of her past and her family’s future. The girl couldn’t help that her mind had trailed on and on, punishing her with memory after memory of the life she was forced to leave behind.

But one thing kept her afloat: the thought of Vera and Henry living a happy life with a man who truly seemed to adore her. She’d get to live everything they had both dreamed of, even if she wasn’t there to see it. And that was all she could have asked for. If Rosalie wasn’t able to have what she wanted, she was glad Vera did. 

The men had returned from their hunt. Carlisle was with Esme in the garden, telling her how it had been a success, but it would take Emmett some time to fully acclimate to their lifestyle. It was to be expected that the newborn vampire would struggle with blood lust–not that Rosalie faced much of that problem. 

 “Are you feeling better, Rosalie?” Esme asked as the girl neared the house. “You had me quite worried.” 

“Much better,” she said. “It’s just what I needed.” 

“I saw that you uncovered the Cadillac,” Carlisle mused. “Were you able to work on it?” 

“Not this time,” she responded. “I don’t think I’m ready yet to do so.” 

“Well, maybe one day.” 

“Yes,” she smiled softly. “Maybe one day.” 

She walked into the house, crossing a smug-looking Edward but giving him no mind as she headed toward her bedroom. He was the last person she wanted to interact with after the night she’d had–or anytime truly. So, she ignored his wisenheimer gaze and disappeared down the hall. 

It didn’t take long to figure out why he wore such a sly expression. Right on her dresser, a crystal vase rested, filled with blooming red roses and dazzling violets. At any given time, she would have swooned at the beautiful bouquet. But that specific arrangement made her blood boil in a way it hadn’t for two years. Anger surged from deep within her core, bubbling to the surface as destructive rage. 

Her hands wrapped around the vase as though it weighed no more than a piece of paper and smashed it to the ground, watching it explode into a million glimmering pieces. The crash resounded through the house like clapping thunder, alerting all of the vampires about her ire. 

Those flowers represented the worst part of her life and the person who had taken everything from her. Royce had showered her with them the whole time they were courting, and she had grown to despise those otherwise beautiful stems. They brought back every single memory that had soured with time, festering anger and disappointment in her heart. The last thing she wanted was to be gifted another bouquet of roses and violets that reminded someone of her eyes. And the only person who could have ever known how much she hated them was Edward. 

But she did not want to give him the satisfaction of a bigger reaction. The smashed antique vase was enough answer to his callous idea of a prank. Instead of chewing his ear off with another loud, angry rant, she remained in her room, sitting by her balcony and dreaming of a time when she was still happy. 

Rosalie couldn’t have known how much time had passed before she heard crunching behind her as someone dared to enter her room, and she knew exactly who it was.

“I take it you didn’t like the flowers,” Emmett said, chuckling with every ounce of his boyish charm. “Edward said they were your favorites. I can see now he was just wanting to get a rise out of you.” 

“I swear that boy’s only reason for existing is to try my patience,” she scoffed. “But I understand it wasn’t your fault. The flowers are beautiful, truly. They just remind me of some horrible things in my past that I would much rather leave there.” 

“Well, then, what flowers could I ever get you?” he mused. “You know if I ever wanted to make you another gift of gratitude that won’t end up shattered on the ground.” 

“Any other flower is fine,” she smiled softly. “Except for sunflowers.” 

“Another bad memory?”

“No,” she said as she wrapped her arms around herself. “They remind me of the best times in my life. But it’s a flower that can only belong to one person.” 

“Can I ask who?” 

“You will look at me differently,” she sighed. “It’s not something I’ve truly shared with anyone. And it’s not something I want someone like Edward to know.”

 “Well, it’s a good thing we can get away from him really fast,” the boy grinned. “And I promise you there is nothing you can tell me that will ever change what I think about you.”

Rosalie battled with herself. She could feel it in her gut that Emmett was true to his word and that she could trust him. But she had trusted before, and it had ended with her life. Although there was nothing more she could lose, not anymore. 

“Alright,” she said as she dug through her bedside table and pulled out a leather journal. “Let’s go.” 

The two of them left through the back door of the house and ran into the neighboring woods, getting as far away from Edward’s peering ears as they could. They made sure he had not followed before stopping by a nearby creek and sitting on a boulder. Their ears could only hear a soft stream of water and the chirping of some nearby birds, and they weren’t going to spill her most close-kept secret. 

“I’m sure you already know what happened to me and why I ended up a vampire,” she said. Her fingers ran through the notebook's cover, her eyes trained on the carved details rather than the red of Emmett’s eyes. “I trusted the wrong people back then, thinking they were the ones who could give me what I wanted out of life. I never thought I would ever lose any of it. “Royce, my ex-fiancée, used to always bring me roses because of my name. Then, he started giving me violets as well because he said my human eyes reminded him of them,” the blonde explained. “I can’t look or even smell those flowers without remembering what he did to me, Emmett. And, I guess I let that thought slip by with Edward present. That’s why he told you I liked those flowers—to get a reaction out of me.” 

“It sounds to me like you don’t really like Edward,” he chuckled. “Am I right?”

“I already spent enough of my life having to stand an egotistical man who thinks he’s better than everyone just because he has some kind of upper hand,” she scoffed. “I’m done pretending I can stand that kind of behavior. Now, I put up with him for Carlisle and Esme’s sake, but I can only take so much of him. He also said I wasn’t his type. And I’m everyone’s type.”  

“You certainly are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on,” the boy smirked. “But what about sunflowers? Why are those special?”

“That’s what might change your opinion of me,” she said meekly, her voice breaking slightly as she gripped the notebook tighter in her hands. “I need you to promise me, Emmett, that even if you hate me after I tell you this, you won’t even let the thought of it slip. I want to trust you with this because I do feel that you’re different. But I need you to promise me that no matter what, you will keep this secret to yourself.” 

“I promise, Rosalie,” he stated. “Whatever you tell me right now, I will take to my grave… or, well, my mental grave.” 

Rosalie opened her notebook with shaking hands and pulled out two pictures and the scrap of paper she had pulled from her missing poster flyer. She placed them in Emmett’s hands with a soft smile and explained. “That’s Vera,” she said as she pointed at the first paper. “She was my best friend since we were little. Grew up very differently, but we were inseparable. She got married young. Just seventeen. And then she had little Henry,” she smiled as she pointed at the second picture. “They were the closest thing I ever got to the family I had always wanted for myself.” 

“And this?” Emmett questioned as he palmed the scrap paper. “There are people here who love her more than sunflowers love the sun. Who wrote that?”

“Vera did,” she smiled sadly. “She published that on my missing person flyer without signing her name. It was the only way we found that we could tell each other we loved one another in public. Does a sunflower love the sun? That’s what we’d say every time we said goodbye to each other.” 

“But why wouldn’t you be able to tell her…?” his voice droned on as realization donned on him. “Oh.” 

“Yes, Emmett. Oh,” she sighed. “The world has never been kind to us, and we had to find a way to live our lives without people knowing.”

“So, that means you…” 

“Yes, Emmett, I like girls,” she confessed. “And you’re the first person I’ve ever said this out loud to. Now, if you look at me differently, if you think I’m just an abomination and you want to be as far away from me as possible, I understand.”  

Rosalie was ready for the rejection, the anger, the disgust. It was how others had always reacted when spoken about the topic, and she knew it was always coming. She had come to think those things of herself at some point. She believed she was an abomination, she believed she was sin incarnate. But she was not prepared for a smile and a comforting hand. “That explains why none of my flirting has worked,” he chuckled. “Good to know it wasn’t me.” 

“W-what?” she stammered. “You don’t… you don’t mind?” 

“Why would I?” the boy responded softly. “I just recently found out that vampires exist, and I turned into one. I think there are stranger things out there, and love ain’t one of them.” 

“So, you don’t think there’s something wrong with me? That I’m perverse or that I’m crazy?” 

“I could never, Rosalie. I’ve seen girls,” he smirked. “I can understand why you’d like them. I know I do.” 

“The only person that has ever reacted that way was Vera, and that’s because she liked girls too,” she smiled. “I never thought I’d meet anyone else like that.” 

“Well, now you have someone else who will love you no matter what, Rose,” he smiled. “Obviously, I will only be a friend. But you’ll always have me by your side. You saved my life and gave me a chance to experience life in a completely different way. The least I can do is give you my love and understanding.” 

“You know, the only other person that ever knew this thought I was an abomination,” she recalled. “He told me he had taken pity on me when he’d seen us kiss once. I didn’t even know he had seen. We were always so careful. Maybe that’s what got me killed in the end. If it hadn’t…” 

“It is not up to you who you love, Rosalie,” Emmett comforted, squeezing her hand softly. “And there is absolutely nothing wrong with who you love. What that man did has no words, and if he wasn’t already dead, I’d have gone up to Rochester and killed him myself. You should be allowed to be with whoever you want.” 

“But it’s not the world we live in,” she sighed. “And now I have to go through eternity hiding who I am.” 

“Maybe not. Maybe we’ll see a world where you’ll be able to love who you love,” he said. “Isn’t that the beauty of immortality? We’ll be able to see the world around us change.”  

“It could get worse.” 

“But what if it gets so much better?”  

“You’re so optimistic,” she chuckled. “How did you end up this way?” 

“I thought I could fight a bear,” he laughed. “But, really, we won’t know about the future until it happens. So, why would we think up the worst?” 

“I guess that’s one way of looking at it.” 

“It’s better to think that things can get better rather than believing they’ll be worse,” he shrugged. “Now, come here and tell me about Vera and this handsome Henry. He kinda looks like me.” 

With a bright smile, she turned to the picture, “Well, she was the person who taught me what love could be.” 

And at that moment, by that creek, as she told Emmett all about the girl that had stolen her heart, Rosalie felt herself grow light. If someone else could accept her as she was, then maybe she could do the same for herself. And someday, maybe one day, she’d meet the girl who could love her too.

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This was so cute, and hilarious at the end!!!

I LOVE the symbolism and meanings behind Reader's dreams, and the vulnerability shown in Cooper's!!

Chapter Six: Chem Induced Dreams

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: The chems and alcohol fuel some strange dreams for the two of you.... Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, SOME smut (FINALLYYYY), eventually more smut, language, canon-typical violence, chem/alcohol use, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 1.6k

A smoothie and a ghoul lay side by side, their bodies intertwined and in a peaceful slumber, the effects of the alcohol and chems they consumed begin to take hold. Through the night, their minds are transported to a realm of vivid dreams, where reality bends and twists to the whims of their subconscious.

Smoothie

“Please, sir. Please, sir, please.” The man's desperate pleas for mercy echo in the tense silence that hangs in the air as The Sheriff, who is quite obviously Cooper Howard, stands unwavering with his gun trained on him.

“There’s an old Mexican eulogy.” The Sheriff begins, his gaze unwavering. “Feo fuerte y formal. Means he was ugly, strong, and had dignity. Well, Joey, I’ll give you two out of three on that front.”

The sharp crack of a gunshot splits the air, the deafening sound echoing through the stillness as the bullet finds its mark, piercing the man's forehead. He crumples to the ground, lifeless and motionless. Your heart races as you rush over to the Sheriff, the hem of your dress trailing slightly behind you, collecting dust from the barren ground.

His gaze meets yours, weariness in his eyes, hinting at the burdens he carries and the lines he's crossed in the name of justice.

"Oh, Sheriff!" you exclaim as you rush into his arms, "Thank you for saving the town! For saving me!"

"It was no trouble, ma'am," The Sheriff replies, his voice reassuring while he protectively embraces you. "Plenty of folks wanna make life hard for people just tryin' to survive. I'm not willing to stand for that kinda shit."

The familiar words spoken by him resonate deeply within you, stirring memories of the ghoul from your past who uttered the same words. As you stand in his embrace, the echo of that long-ago conversation plays in your mind. You slowly gaze up at the Sheriff, his touch gentle yet firm as he places one hand around your waist, drawing you closer. Leaning in close, your noses brush against each other in a tender, intimate moment. You close the remaining minuscule gap between you and press your lips to his in a soft, heartfelt kiss.

“How can I ever repay you, sir?” you whisper.

“I believe you already know, ma’am,” he smirks. Firmly guiding you toward a small worktable close by, he lifts you onto it, a rush of emotions and sensations coursing through you. His touch is commanding, his gaze intense as he looks into your eyes.

You can feel his growing bulge press against you, sending a shiver down your spine. His hands move with purpose, exploring every curve and contour of your body. The Sheriff's lips brush against your neck, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. Your heart races as desire flares within you, a primal need building with each passing moment. His fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls you closer, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.

He pulls your dress up with a certain abruptness, allowing it to slide over your legs and hips, fully revealing you to him. "No undergarments, miss? You’re brave." He murmurs into your neck, his hands firmly cradling your hips as he pulls you closer. His breath on your skin is a tease, his whisper a command.

"Don't move," the Sheriff orders, his thumb beginning a gradual exploration of your intimate folds. The soft moan you emit in response elicits a deep groan from him, your reactions spurring him on. He carefully slips a finger inside you, the sensation sparking a shiver that courses through your body. Simultaneously, a nuclear detonation erupts in the distance. The ground vibrates ominously as the shockwave from the explosion begins to barrel towards you.

As he continues his ministrations, an undercurrent of urgency begins to build. The sheriff's breath hitches as he feels you respond to him. In the distance, the nuclear explosion casts an eerie glow, the rumbling shockwave growing ever closer. Your heart pounds, the adrenaline surging through your veins adding an unexpected intensity to the already charged moment.

"Stay with me," he commands, his voice a beacon of stability in the face of the looming chaos. The blast wave engulfs both of you, yet you remain unscathed. However, the Sheriff's appearance starts to morph grotesquely under the radiation's influence. His clothes fray and tear, his skin blisters and heals into severe scars, and every strand of hair on his body apart from those beautiful lashes you’ve come to know evaporates. His nose starts to deteriorate, the transformation continuing until he becomes The Ghoul.

Despite the monstrous changes overtaking him, the Sheriff's eyes remain the same - dark, intense, and focused on you. "I'm still me," he rasps, his voice now a hoarse whisper. One hand, now roughened and scarred from the ghoulification, reaches out to you as his other hand continues the rhythmic movement of his fingers within you.

“Cooper…” you moan, a mixture of longing and desperation in your voice.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he urges, the command driving you towards euphoria. But just as the waves of ecstasy are about to wash over you... you suddenly wake up, the dream fading into the harsh reality of two men holding weapons. You glance over at The Ghoul, who remains undisturbed, sound asleep with a noticeable tent in his pants.

"Seriously?" you mutter in disbelief.

The Ghoul

The movie hums softly in the background, a mere backdrop to the unfolding scene between the two of you. As he leans in closer, the effects of the chems begin to show, his tough exterior slipping away to reveal a vulnerability beneath the surface. The quiet understanding in your eyes is a cruel sting, a reminder of the man he once was before becoming the grotesque parody of one of his film characters. Your gaze, strangely enough, holds a blend of intrigue, fear, and something akin to... desire?

His lips meet yours in an achingly tender kiss, an act so human. The moment they touch, it feels like a minor nuclear reaction, sparks fissioning through both your bodies in a wave of warmth and despair. Your lips are softer than he expected, the whisper of them against his own triggering a barrage of nearly forgotten memories - laughter, love, loss, all rolled into this one desperately intimate act. He pours his years of solitude and longing into the kiss, the taste of you intermingled with the bitter taste of whiskey.

He pulls away, his eyes meeting yours once more, searching for signs of repulsion or fear. Instead, he finds a silent understanding, a quiet acceptance that fills him with a strange sense of relief. He reaches up to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. He can feel the heat of your skin, the pulse of your life beneath his touch, grounding him in a reality he thought he had lost long ago.

You move to straddle his lap, looking into his eyes for any sign of hesitation. "Is this okay?" He nods, his gaze never leaving yours. You lean in for another kiss, this one more intense than the one before. His hands move to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. His lips move against yours with a newfound urgency, the taste of liquor on his tongue now mixed with something else - a raw, burning desire.

Your touch sends a shiver down his spine, the warmth of your body seeping into his, your heartbeat pounding in sync with his. The heat between you builds, each kiss stoking the fire within. Feeling the urgency of the moment, you start to move against him, the friction sending a shockwave of pleasure coursing through both of you. His breath hitches, a low groan escaping his lips as he surrenders to the intoxicating sensation.

You eagerly start undoing his belt and pants, your movements hurried and desperate as he trails his tongue and bites along your neck. A soft giggle escapes you, a mix of nervous excitement and desire. A groan rumbles deep from within him as you slip your hand down his pants, feeling the heat and hardness beneath your touch. Your hand envelops him, stroking him with a firm grip, igniting a fire within him.

Despite the intense pleasure coursing through him, a fleeting thought crosses his mind - does the texture of his skin unsettle you? Has the touch of a ghoul ever crossed your path? The curiosity lingers momentarily before being overtaken by pleasure once more.

You slide your hand over the head, getting your palm slick, then back down his shaft, making him sigh against your neck. The sound of your moan catches him off guard, stirring something within him that he thought had long been buried. For a fleeting moment, he questions whether you matter to him in a way he hadn't anticipated - he barely knows you, after all. He can’t help but thrust a little into your hand in response.

"If you don't slow down, darlin'," he begins, his voice husky with a mix of warning and desire. But your response is to move faster, the urgency between you driving you to press your lips to his in a fervent kiss. His hands move lower to grab your ass, pulling you closer as your tongues entwine in a heated dance of desire. He's on the edge of ecstasy, lost in the whirlwind of passion, but the moment fractures abruptly as his eyes flicker open. The sight that meets his eyes - two armed men and you, with a look of disbelief on your face as he becomes aware of his painfully obvious erection.

“Well shit.”

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