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hauntedhowlett-writes · 11 months

Text

pairing: cult leader!joel miller x virgin!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 8.6k

summary:

You think you’re as good as dead when a band of raiders find you. In what you think are your final moments, an angel appears.

His name is Joel Miller, and he is here to deliver you from evil.

author's note: a huge thank you to my fellow cultist @atinylittlepain for listening to me scream about this. without them, we'd probably be on version 5 of this story. and to everyone who has been excited about this, i hope you enjoy!

warnings: DARK CONTENT - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dub-con: power dynamics, dub-con: cult mentality, age difference - 60M and 27F, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, post-outbreak, canon divergence, canon typical violence (knife wounds, gun shot wounds, numerous mentions of blood), minor character death(s), blood cult ceremonies, religious themes, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, loss of virginity, oral sex - f receiving, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, cum play, dirty talk, pet names, praise, joel really has a loose screw ok? if there are any tags missing, please let me know!

“I don’t think you should go out there by yourself,” you say, watching as your dad inspects his gun. He looks up at you with a pained expression.

“I gotta see where we should head next. I don’t want to lead you out in the wrong direction, accidentally get you in a bad spot,” he says. “I’ll be fine, buttercup.”

There’s a heaviness that settles in your stomach at his words. He sounds confident enough, but his eyes tell a different story, expose his fear. He stands with a sigh, a wince of pain washing over his face.

“Maybe I should—“

“No,” he interrupts. “I’m going. I won’t be gone long, okay? We can’t stay here forever. Who knows what’s out there in the forest.”

That’s exactly what you’re afraid of. At least inside the rotted cabin you stumbled across you could pretend you were safe. The forest is alive in a way you’ve never experienced growing up in a QZ surrounded with barbed wire and steel. You hear the snap of twigs and the howl of wolves, or the flutter of wings and the call of birds, and sometimes you think you feel the weight of eyes watching you if you venture out too far in your exploration.

“We’ve made it this far. We got out of Denver and that was half the battle,” your dad says. “You got your knife, right? And enough rations.”

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. He kisses your forehead, dry lips lingering on your skin. You have an aching feeling this is a goodbye, some sinking intuition that he’s making a mistake that you can’t correct.

“Be back soon. I love you.”

Joel’s been keeping an eye on the people in the woods for the last three days. There was chatter on one of the radio stations that the Denver QZ was facing an uprising and he knows that once those walls come down, the survivors that venture out are bound to stumble across his town.

The cabin door opens and the man steps out, venturing into the forest. Joel waits to see if his female companion follows, but the door remains shut. He longs to see you, the girl who’s image has been burned into his brain since his first glimpse, but he has a duty to fulfill first.

He walks quickly and quietly through the forest, sure feet catching up with the man less than a mile from where he’d started. Joel clears his throat.

The man turns, fumbling with a gun that he clearly has no experience using, pointing it at Joel with shaking hands and shouting, “Move and I’ll shoot!”

“You lost?” Joel asks, holding his hands up and keeping his face trained in a mask of concern. “Lookin’ for somethin’?”

After a pause, the man seeming to have concluded that Joel isn't a threat, he says, “My daughter and I…we escaped the Denver QZ."

"That must've been difficult."

"We....we're running out of food," he continues, dropping his arms, limbs hanging heavy at his sides. "I-I don't know what else to do, man."

Gun no longer pointed at his face, Joel approaches the man, stopping when he's within arms reach. Up close, he can see the dismal state the guy is in -- sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes, tattered clothing hanging on a thin frame. Joel places a hand on his bony shoulder.

"I can help you," he says. The man looks up, a brief glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes. Joel watches the slow realization, the way his brain catches up to what's just happened, a choked noise spilling from his dry lips.

Joel tugs his knife from the man's gut and steps back, watching as he collapses to the ground. Desperate hands smear the blooming red stain across his abdomen. Joel circles the man, positioning himself at his back, and pulls him close with a hand slapped over his mouth.

"I'll take good care of her," he whispers before dragging his knife across his neck in one clean slice. The man twitches once before growing limp and Joel releases him, body hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. Not one to waste, Joel gathers anything of use from his person.

Something catches the light against his neck. Curious, Joel tugs the bloodstained neck of his t-shirt to the side, finding a silver chain. He pulls, revealing the length of it.

A cross.

The clasp snaps with a sharp tug and Joel stuffs it in his pocket. Standing and shouldering his bag once more, he begins his walk back towards the cabin.

You're running as fast as your legs will carry you, lungs and limbs burning with the effort. You made the mistake of not listening to your dad when he'd told you stay where you were, to stay hidden, that he'd come back. Your nerves had gotten the best of you and you decided that you would catch up with him, but you didn't know which direction he'd gone. You figured you would travel a little ways and see if you could find him and if you didn't do so quickly, you'd rush back to the cabin and wait, just as he told you.

That's when the men saw you, two large figures with rifles that reminded you of FEDRA soldiers slung across their backs.

You duck behind a thick tree to catch your breath. You can hear voices calling out through the forest above the rush of blood in your ears, taunting tones carrying through the air.

"C'mon out, pretty girl!"

You chance a peek out from your hiding spot, only catching a brief glimpse of one man through the trees.

"Where ya hidin', sweet thing?"

His voice sounds far away and that gives you the courage to move forward, a tentative dash for another tree.

“I might be nicer to ya if you just come on out, but if I have to hunt ya down…well…you know what a hunter does to its prey, don’tcha?”

You press your hand over your mouth, muffling the cry that claws its way up your throat. You start to run again, faster, not caring if he can hear you so long as you're able to maintain that distance, hoping that if you can outrun them for long enough, he'll just give up and then maybe you can find your--

You crash into something, the world sliding out from under you and the breath rushing from your lungs as you land on your back with a pained shout. A hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you across the rough ground before you have the chance to recover.

"Gotcha," a man says, the voice different from the one that had been taunting you before. A figure stands over you, a foot on either side of your hips, looking down at you with a sinister smile. "Pretty little prize, huh?"

You twist your body, scrambling away from him. He laughs, following after you with unhurried strides.

“Now, don’t play hard to get,” he admonishes. A hand wraps around your ankle and he drags you toward him, kicking and screaming. Your foot connects with some fleshy part of him and he curses.

“You little fuckin’ cunt,” he hisses, dropping your foot. He kicks you, heavy boot colliding with soft flesh and bone, a sharp pain blossoming in your side, shooting down to your very marrow. You curl in on yourself, wounded prey trying to protect its most vulnerable parts.

A shot rings out, the sound startling in the relative quiet of the forest. You sit up, sudden movement making you light headed, and it takes you a long moment to register the scene before you.

The man that had been chasing you, the one that had caught you, the one that had hurt you on the surface but planned to do far worse, lies on the ground, eyes wide open but unseeing. Above him stands your savior, an older man with gray streaked dark curls and tan skin, broad shoulders and hard brown eyes. He reminds you of a painting you saw once in a book your dad owned, long before the outbreak.

“Death On A Pale Horse,” he explained when you showed him the painting that caught your eye. “Based on the Book of Revelations. You remember that one, right?”

“Yeah.”

“This one,” — he pointed to the central figure, a dark creature on a white horse — “is Death. And this one” — he pointed to a figure on the right that rides a dark brown horse, the dark colors making him blend among the horrors breaking from the sky behind him — “would be famine. You can see the emaciated man below him.”

“What about the other two?” You asked.

“The one of the red horse would be war.”

You pointed to the remaining figure, a man with dark curls and a determined expression. “And the white horse?”

Your dad paused. “Conquest. Pestilence. The Antichrist. The first horseman of the apocalypse.”

The man before you today looks like that figure on the white horse and despite his choice to rescue you from one horror, you fear he may be something far worse.

The man kneels and you flinch away from him. He sighs and says, “I ain’t goin’ to hurt you.”

“Who are you?” You ask, voice weak, throat on fire.

“My name is Joel,” he says. “I want to help you.”

“How do I know you weren’t with those other guys?” Your eyes grow wide and you rush to stand on shaky legs. “Wait, there’s another—“

“He won’t be an issue,” Joel assures you, wrapping a steadying arm around your waist. “C’mon.”

“I can’t—“

“Men like those two ain’t the only things in the forest to worry about, and I’m afraid we can’t sit around and find out. That gun shot could send a horde runnin’.”

“Wait!” You snap, pulling out of his grasp. He holds his hands up, as if in surrender, or maybe like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not sure which. “My dad is out there. H-he went to figure out where to go from here. We were in a cabin…” Your voice trails off. “I told him I would wait for him.”

Joel’s eyes are soft as he says, “We need to get ourselves to safety. I can send someone out to look for your dad first thing in the mornin’.”

“Send someone?”

“There’s a group of us, down in the valley. Survivors, like you.”

“Really?” Relief washes over you, eclipsing even the ache in your belly and the burn in your throat and the pain in your muscles. “How far?”

“With the state you’re in, probably about a two hour hike.”

You don’t have much choice but to go with him, do you?

“Okay.”

“Where’re you comin’ from?” Joel asks, glancing over his shoulder at you. You’ve been following quietly behind him, head down and eyes fixed on the ground.

“Denver,” is all you offer in response. He knew that much already. He wants to know more.

Maybe he has to give more first.

“‘M from Texas, originally. Was in a QZ in Boston for a while before makin’ my way out here.”

“Why’d you come out here?” You ask.

“Had a friend once tell me, ‘Save who you can save’,” he says.

“What does that mean?” You ask.

“You’ll see.”

Joel had mentioned survivors, but you're shocked to discover that just past a wooden sign proclaiming WELCOME TO CRESTONE in chipped yellow paint, a whole town is tucked away, surrounded by a wooden gate that opens for you as you approach. You feel the weight of curious eyes as you walk through a town square, Joel's palm between your shoulder blades steering you towards a more residential area until you reach a two story adobe home.

Once inside, you’re led upstairs to a sparsely decorated bedroom, a large bed in the center with a faded quilt tucked around the mattress with precision and a dresser against one wall covered in yellowed wallpaper. Joel gestures for you to sit, kneeling on the wood floor in front of you to work on the laces of your sneakers.

“What—“

“You need rest,” he says, removing your shoes. He looks up at you, brown eyes full of concern. Your stomach flips.

“But—“

“No,” he says sternly. He stands and walks to the side of the bed, tugging the quilt free and folding it down. “I have duties to return to, but you’ll be safe here.”

You don’t have it in you to continue arguing. You haven’t seen a comfortable bed in more than two days and the exhaustion catches up to you in one fell swoop, eyes halfway to shut as you crawl into the space Joel’s made for you between the sheets. He pulls the covers over you, the warmth of a hand smoothing across your cheek the last thing you feel before falling asleep.

You wake to the sun high in the sky, streaming through the open window of a room that you don't recognize. You push yourself to sitting, your ribs protesting the movement and your head pulsing just behind your eyes. Your mouth is unbearably dry, so much so that you start coughing, further aggravating your bruised ribs.

"There's water on the nightstand," a voice says, startling you.

You look to your left, finding a young girl sitting in a wooden chair by your bed. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, wayward pieces falling across pale skin. Her sharp brown eyes watch you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl.

“I’m Ellie,” she says. You mumble your own name.

“Did Joel save you?” Ellie asks.

“Uh—“

“He must have. That’s what he does,” she continues, cutting you off.

“Ellie!” A familiar deep voice calls out. Her eyes go wide and she scrambles from her seat, rushing for the door. Heavy footsteps climb the stairs, Joel appearing in the open doorway. He looks at her with a stern expression, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Thought I told you not to come up here.”

The look on her face isn’t fear, like her reaction would have led you to believe. No, she looks up at Joel with reverence as she says, “Sorry. Wanted to see her.”

Joel nods. “Head to the mess hall. I’ll bring her down shortly.”

Ellie casts a lingering look in your direction before disappearing through the doorway.

“Sorry about her,” Joel says. He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Could be better,” you say honestly. “How long was I asleep for?”

“A little more than a day.”

Your eyes go wide. “My dad—“

“We’ve sent out a search party. No luck yet, I’m afraid,” he says. You curl into yourself a bit at the news, shoulders tight with worry. He reaches forward and places a hand on top of your own where it rests on the sheets. “You should get some food. I brought you some new clothes, too. I’ll let you get dressed and we can go down to the mess hall.“

He leaves the room before you respond and you drag the pile of clothes closer to you, finding a neatly folded t-shirt, jeans, underwear, and socks. It takes you a long moment to work your way out of your dirty clothes, your movements slow to not aggravate your injuries. You keep your bra on, pulling the clean shirt over your head, followed by the jeans. You're thrilled to be wearing something that's not caked with dirt and sweat.

You're working on putting your socks on when there's a knock at the door, Joel entering when you call out for him to come in. He smiles at you.

"There, that's better," he says. "C'mon. Let's get down to dinner."

You follow him out of the room and down the stairs. The first floor of the home has a kitchen that opens up to a living and dining area, the space filled with worn mismatched furniture. The walls are wood paneled and there's a massive stone fireplace with elk antlers mounted above it.

The sun is setting as you step outside and get your first real look at the town as its bathed in gold. Narrow residential streets give way to wider roads once you reach the town center, where commercial buildings are pressed together advertising long forgotten businesses, their windows dark.

"That's the butcher up there," Joel says, pointing to one of the wooden buildings. "He gets the meat from the traps prepped for us." He points to another building with a sign that says RESTAURANT. "That's the bakery."

"A butcher and a bakery?" You ask. "Do you have electricity here?"

"Sure do. Solar panels, just outside the gate."

You continue walking through the town until you come up on a large white building, people entering and exiting through a set of thick double doors. The shadow of a cross remains above the door, perhaps scorched by the sun where a crucifix once sat. People welcome Joel as he enters, heads turning in their curiosity. You press a little closer to Joel's side.

The large room is bursting with noise and activity -- a flurry of conversations, the clink of cutlery, and laughter. You've not seen anything like it before, the mentality in the QZ not conducive to camaraderie. You can count on one hand the number of people you would have considered friends within those walls, and even that was a stretch. You and Joel join a line of people retrieving plates of food from a single window.

"How long has all of this been here?" You ask, gesturing to the room. He looks around proudly.

"Ellie and I came across this town on accident after we went through hell leavin' Boston. The folks here set up their own quarantine zone and with bigger fish to fry, FEDRA sort of left ‘em alone. They were kind enough to take us in," he says. "After that, more people started showin' up lookin' for safety. Lots of people who escaped the QZs or had been on their own for a while and were tired of runnin'."

"Ellie says you save people," you comment, taking a step forward as the line moves. "What's that mean?"

"Every flock needs a shepherd."

You’re at the front of the line now, standing in front of the window. A woman appears, her face lighting up when she sees Joel.

“Joel! How are you?” She asks, leaning onto the ledge. Behind her you can see people moving quickly and efficiently around a stainless steel kitchen, large pots of food simmering on the stovetop.

“Well enough,” he says. He places a hand on your shoulder. “We have a new guest. Make her plate nice and full for me?”

“Of course.”

She gathers a plate from a precarious stack, loading it with a heaping pile of food ranging from mashed potatoes and stew to colorful vegetables that you haven’t seen in ages, not since before the outbreak when you were seven and your dad would make dinner rather than pass you a ration package. You’re speechless as she hands you the plate with a kind smile, a mumbled thank you the best you can manage to show your gratitude.

Joel is handed a plate as well and you follow him to a table where Ellie sits next to a man with white hair, her plate already empty in front of her. The man looks up at Joel as you approach, his expression closed off and wary.

“Michael,” Joel says in greeting, jaw ticking. You take a seat beside Ellie, who to your surprise moves closer to you, arm brushing yours. “You botherin’ Ellie?”

The man, Michael, shakes his head. “No, sir. We were just having a little talk.”

“What about?” Joel sits on the opposite side of the table. He rips his bread roll in half.

“Just some concerns I was having.”

“You bring your concerns to me. Not to her.”

The two men stare at each other, the tension thick and impossible to ignore. Finally, Michael gets up, leaving the table without another word. Ellie’s shoulder’s lose their tension and Joel catches her eye, the two of them seeming to have an entire conversation in just a look.

The moment passes and Joel’s features relax, a smile tilting the corners of his lips as he returns his attention to you and gestures to your plate.

“Dig in,” he says.

Joel walks you back to his home after dinner, the sky now dark. Ellie’s already closed herself in her room by the time the two of you return, having left the mess hall before you had finished eating.

“Tired again?” Joel asks when you yawn, mouth open wide as you stretch your arms above your head.

Your expression is sheepish as you say, “A little bit.”

“That’s to be expected,” he assures you. “You fought a hard fight. It’s okay to relax now. I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.” Your fingers tangle in the hem of the t-shirt he’d given you earlier. “I don’t know if I’ve said that already.”

“You’re welcome. Come on, let’s get you back upstairs. You can use the shower and get to bed.”

“Oh my god, a shower sounds amazing.”

He shows you the bathroom and helps you get the water running. Once he shows you where to find a towel, you smile gratefully before shutting the door on him.

Dismissed, Joel makes his way to Ellie’s room, knocking on the door. She answers quickly, opening up only enough for him to see her face.

“Yeah?” She asks.

“Can I come in?”

She rolls her eyes but opens the door further, allowing him inside. Her room is smaller than his but far more decorated, pages ripped out of old magazines and comic books tacked to the wall. She takes a seat on her single bed, folding her legs beneath her.

“What did Michael talk to you about?” He asks. She shrugs her shoulders. Joel bites back a sigh. Sometimes he forgets what it was like to reason with a teenage girl. “Ellie.”

“He said” — she pauses, scratching at her wrist in the way that she will when she’s anxious — “he said that you were full of shit. That your fucked up ceremony isn’t helping any of them.”

Joel’s teeth grind together. “That all?”

“Called me a stupid kid for following what you say,” she mumbles. “Said everyone in town was stupid for believing you.”

“Thank you for tellin’ me,” he says. Rage burns in his veins as he turns to leave.

“What are you gonna do?” Ellie asks as he reaches the door.

“I’m goin’ to teach him a lesson.”

He pulls the door shut behind him, tilting his head against the wood with a sigh. The click of a latch down the hall precedes your quiet, “Joel?”

Joel turns to face you, surprised to find you standing just outside the bathroom door with a towel tucked around your body. Water glistens on your skin in the low light, drawing his eyes down your neck and across your chest. He clears his throat.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks.

“Yeah, everything is fine,” you murmur. “I…could I get some new clothes?”

“Of course, should’a given you some before you showered. Sorry about that.”

Joel walks past you, entering his bedroom and approaching the dresser. He tugs the top drawer open, full of clothing he’d gathered while you’d been asleep for more than a day. He piles together another t-shirt, sleep pants, and underwear, setting them on the bed for you.

You’re standing in the doorway when he finishes and he fights the urge to go to you, to pull you close, to run his wretched hands over your body like he’s wanted to since he first saw you in the forest.

He doesn’t, though. Not yet. You still have much to learn.

“Here you go,” he says. “Some more stuff in the drawers for you if you need it.”

Joel leaves you to get ready for bed, shutting the door behind him. He heads downstairs to grab what he’ll need, essentials shoved in a bag thrown over his shoulder before venturing off into the night.

Only a few lights continue to illuminate windows as Joel walks through the residential area. The house he approaches at the end of a street is already dark, quiet beyond the wood door that he knocks on three times. The door opens slowly, Michael appearing in the small space.

“What?” He grunts.

“Come take a walk,” Joel says. Michael rolls his eyes, moving to shut the door but Joel’s boot blocks his effort. “I ain’t askin’, Michael.”

“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do?” He challenges. Joel throws his weight against the door, catching Michael by surprise enough for him to step into the house.

Joel throws an elbow into the man’s gut, making him double over with a groan. He circles behind him, kicking the back of his knee to send him to the ground. He pulls a length of chain from his pocket, looping it around Michael’s neck and pulling the ends.

Michael struggles, clawing at the garotte and thrashing wildly, but Joel holds strong. He tightens his grip further until Michael’s fight becomes sluggish, lack of oxygen finally causing him to go limp.

Joel releases the chain and Michael’s body slumps to the ground. He removes his backpack, digging through the contents until he finds a rusted pair of handcuffs that he uses to bind Michael’s arms behind his back. Next, he places a strip of duct tape over his mouth.

When he wakes, Joel will lead him out past the gate. He will find an unassuming home that rests outside the boundary of Crestone. He will open the hidden doors of the cellar, the ones covered in a layer of leaves and grass. From the darkness he will hear the echo of desperate groans and the rattle of chains and the angry attempts to break free from bindings. He will lead Michael down the dirt steps, the smell of rot and fear and death clawing at his olfactory nerves.

He will place a burlap bag over a struggling Michael’s head and the man will beg and plead in words muffled by tape. Then, Joel will offer him for judgment.

A hand on you shoulder shakes you awake, the room still mostly dark when you manage to open your eyes. You groan, pulling the quilt up over your head.

“C’mon, we gotta get to breakfast,” Ellie says. The cover gets yanked down and she gives you a mischievous grin.

“Where’s Joel?” You ask, sitting up slowly. She shrugs.

“Probably there already.”

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, stretching your arms up. You grab the same jeans and socks from the day before, changing into them quickly and sitting down on the floor to pull your sneakers on. Ellie watches you, her foot tapping impatiently.

“You can go without me if you’re in a rush,” you offer. She shakes her head.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. “You ready?”

“Sure.”

You follow her out of the house, her clipped pace difficult to keep up with due to your lingering pain. As the sun starts to rise and you pass by more of the houses, you notice something peculiar about some of them.

“What’s that?” You ask, pausing in front of one the houses. There’s a streak of what looks like dark red paint across the top of the door. Ellie doubles back and stands beside you.

“Protection,” she says.

“From what?”

She shifts her weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable with your line of questioning. Rather than answer, she walks away, leaving you to catch up to her or be left behind.

As the two of you start to walk through the square, there’s a rush of people around you. Shouting can be heard up ahead as a crowd comes into view, gathered around the front of the mess hall building. People press in close together, craning their necks to see over each other and catch a glimpse of whatever spectacle has their attention.

Ellie pushes through the crowd and you follow close on her heels until she manages to break through the other side of the wall of people. You catch glimpses of something writhing on the ground, something animal but not quite, something failed and fetid and foul. Another peek affords you a view of an arm littered with bite marks shaped by blunt teeth, deep gouges into their skin that shine red with blood and fester with disease.

Joel appears, stepping around the side of the building. The whispers cease, the crunch of Joel’s boots and pained groans the only noise to be heard in the stale air.

His dark eyes scan the crowd. People shrink back from his gaze, pressing closer to each other for relief. He reaches down, curling his fingers into the burlap material and yanking it off to reveal a man, familiar and yet not recognizable. Unseeing eyes, ashen skin, and dark red veins now the hallmark characteristics of the man you now remember as the one who had been talking to Ellie in the dining hall.

Joel draws a gun from his back, aiming it at Michael’s head. “Let this be a lesson,” he says, pulling the trigger.

The shot rings out, making you jump. The agonized sounds come to abrupt halt and his body goes limp, eyes still open as blood blooms on the ground around him.

“No blood spilled. No blood saved,” Joel says. You look up from the horrible scene and meet his hard gaze. You step back, turning and shoving your way through the crowd.

Then, you run.

You’re frantically shoving clothing into your bag when a door slams downstairs and heavy footsteps climb the stairs at a quick pace. You can feel the burn of Joel's eyes on your back, his presence in the room thick and cloying as you refuse to turn around, even when he murmurs your name.

He moves closer, a hand on your shoulder prompting you to turn to break the connection. He holds his hands up in surrender, taking a step back as he says, "Let me explain."

"Explain? Explain?! How the fuck do you explain that?!" You snap.

"If you'll just listen--"

"There's nothing you could possibly say that will--"

"Ellie is immune!" He shouts. Your words die on the tip of your tongue, lost to ether as you stare at Joel.

"W-what do you mean? Immune?" You ask.

He takes a deep breath. "I told you what my friend said. 'Save who you can save'. The first person I saved was Ellie."

"I helped her out of Boston, kept her safe, nearly lost my life if it meant keepin' her alive," He continues. "That's what I offer here."

"So you think you're....what? Some kind of god? That you can grant immunity?"

He huffs a laugh, the noise devoid of any humor. "God abandoned his worst experiment in their time of need. There is no god anymore, just the poor creatures he left behind. Someone had to take up the mantle."

"But how?"

"The ceremony," he says.

"That’s not a fucking answer, Joel!” You shout. “What fucking ceremony?!”

“Blood spilled for blood saved. You can’t make it in this world without givin’ your everythin’ first.” He lifts the bottom of his shirt, just enough to reveal a jagged scar to the right of his belly button, shiny scar tissue disrupting smooth tan skin. “I did this for Ellie. Now everyone else has to do it for themselves.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” You take a small step closer to inspect the wound, raising your hand and reaching out with a tentative touch. Joel inhales sharply as you run your fingers across the puckered flesh.

His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your hand up and holding it against his chest. “It’ll be easier to show you, okay? There’s a ceremony in a couple days.”

“I don’t—“

“You’re just afraid because this is somethin’ new, but I promise you that you got nothin’ to be scared of. I’ll take care of you.” He lifts a hand to your face, tilting your chin with his thumb. “I just need you to trust me.”

His eyes are honest, earnest, pleading with you to believe him and the longer you search them, the more truth you seem to find. He will take care of you. You just know it.

“Okay.”

Dinner is served early on the day of the ceremony, the room buzzing with excited conversation. You haven’t seen Joel much the last few days, just passing glimpses, and Ellie says it’s because he has a lot to prepare for. Tonight there’s a woman at his side wearing a white dress that flows to the floor, black hair braided down her back. She smiles at Joel, hanging on every word you can’t hear. It makes your stomach clench in a weird way when her hand curls around his bicep and her head leans against his shoulder.

“That’s Marcy. She’s volunteered for the ceremony,” Ellie says. She’s sitting across from you, a smirk on her lips. “S’why she’s been hanging around Joel the last few days. Joel’s gotta prepare her.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to reply, picking at the vegetables on your plate. “What does…what does he do? To prepare her.”

She shrugs. “Dunno.”

You glance at the pair. Joel leans in close to the woman, whispering into her ear. Your fingernails dig into the meat of your palm, your hands curled into tight fists beneath the table. He stands, a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he calls the people to attention, voices fading until silence envelops the room.

“Tonight,” Joel says, “another is to be saved. And we will all bear witness to the gift of deliverance that only self-sacrifice can grant.”

It’s only a few words, but the power in them is palpable as you glance around the room at the entire town watching him with rapt attention. His eyes meet yours.

“Save who you can save,” he intones. A chill runs down your spine.

“Save who you can save,” the town echoes back.

The sun is already low on the horizon, twilight casting a soft glow on the scene. You stand at the back of the crowd, watching as Joel leads Marcy onto a raised wooden platform. Another man joins them, passing something wrapped in cloth into Joel’s outstretched hands.

“The thing about the world today,” Joel says, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a large knife, “is that there ain’t a single guarantee.” He looks out over the crowd. “Except here, within these walls. Why? Because here you’ll make the greatest sacrifice and earn the greatest reward.”

He begins to pace the length of the platform, knife in hand. “Givin’ your blood in exchange for your safety? That doesn’t sound so bad, right?” The people around you nod their heads in agreement. “You’ve seen what that sacrifice can do. I did it for Ellie. I did it for myself. And tonight—“ he places a hand on Marcy’s shoulder “—another has made the choice to earn that gift of protection.”

A cheer erupts, spreading through the crowd through shouts and applause. You find yourself joining them, clapping your hands together as you continue to watch Joel.

“Marcy,” Joel says. “What brings you here today?”

“No blood spilled, no blood saved,” she recites dutifully.

“Are you afraid?” He asks.

“No,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because I trust in your protection.”

Joel smiles at her, beaming with pride, and that knot in your stomach from earlier returns with a vengeance. You want him to look at you like that.

He stands in front of her, blocking her from view with his body. A hush falls over the crowd and from the silence erupts an anguished scream. You flinch, the sound piercing and painful and petrifying, though it seems to have taken nobody else by surprise.

Another scream as he jerks his arm back, the knife in his hand now stained with red that slides down the blade, dripping to the wood beneath his feet. He steps to the side and you can see the woman now, her hands pressed to her belly. Crimson blooms beneath her hands, marring her pretty white dress and leaching the color and vitality from her face. She drops to her knees and so does Joel, who wraps an arm around her shoulders and gently guides her until she’s lying on her back. He holds her hand and smooths her hair from her face as she just repeats, “Thank you.”

Slowly, the strength in her voice fades. Her arm goes limp in his grasp, dropping to the floor with a dull thud as her eyes flutter shut. Joel whistles sharply, three men rushing up the platform and lifting the girl into their arms, careful not to jostle her too much. Joel remains kneeling, his head turning to scan the crowd.

“We are born covered in blood,” he says. “It gives you protection from the outside world when you’re wrenched from the womb. And it will protect you now as it is wrenched from you.”

He steps off the platform and walks past the crowd, heading for the residential street. Everyone shuffles forward, moving en masse like sheep following their shepherd or cattle to the slaughter. You’re led to one of the smaller homes and you watch as Joel smooths the flat of the blade across his hand, gathering blood in his palm.

He places his palm on the door, smearing the blood across the faded blue paint. When he’s done, he turns to face the crowd.

“Marcy has earned her protection. Those of you among us that have not yet made your sacrifice, may you return home this evenin’ and realize that each passin’ day is a wasted opportunity for your salvation.” His serious expression softens as he smiles. “No blood spilled.”

“No blood saved,” the crowd says.

To your surprise, the words fall easily from your lips.

Joel shuts the door quietly behind him. He’s just finished checking on Marcy and was pleased to find that her wound has been dressed and she’s recovering well. At the kitchen sink he runs the water as hot as he can tolerate and scrubs his hands clean.

He can hear faint footsteps upstairs, the sound of your pacing back and forth in his bedroom. He’s pleased that you stayed through the entire ceremony, didn’t run away filled with fear or disgust like you had watching him make an example out of Michael.

There’s hope for you yet.

Joel dries his hands on a towel and heads upstairs. He glances at Ellie’s room out of habit, though he knows it’s empty. She likes to help out after the ceremony, usually sticking beside the town nurse, Shelly, as she monitors the person who participated in the ceremony over night.

The door to his bedroom is shut but he can see that the light is on, the glow of it seeping out from the gap beneath the door. He knocks, three sharp raps of his knuckles, and waits.

You pull the door open, and Joel is once again struck by how much he wants you, how much he’s craved you since the first time he saw you. You look up at him with wide eyes but he doesn’t sense any fear as you pull the door open further and step back to let him enter.

“You doin’ okay?” He asks, shutting the door quietly behind him. You’re standing with your arms wrapped around yourself, nodding quietly. Joel moves closer, tentatively reaching out to tilt your chin up so that he’s looking into your eyes. “Talk to me.”

“I….,” your voice trails off. You take a breath. “I want that protection.”

He was hoping you would say that. Relief floods through him.

“I can’t do that,” he says. Your brows pinch together, hurt flashing across your features. “I won’t have your blood on my hands.”

“But—“

“Listen to me—“ his hands frame your face, thumbs smoothing over the high points of your cheeks “—you’re meant for somethin’ different here.”

“Something different?” You repeat. You shake your head slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“From the moment I saw you, I knew I couldn’t let you lose a drop,” he whispers. “You don’t need to bleed, sweetheart. Not like them. I’ll protect you myself.”

Your mouth drops open the slightest bit, drawing Joel’s gaze. He slides his thumb across your bottom lip, mesmerized by the softness of it. There’s not much about his life the last twenty or so years that he would call soft.

There was his brother, Tommy, even though they couldn’t see eye to eye and had to part ways. His daughter, Sarah, before the outbreak. She took care of him, made sure he took his vitamins and packed his lunch and didn’t miss a parent-teacher conference. She was light and joy, his heart outside of his body, and she was ripped from his grasp.

There was Tess, who was not a soft person but was a soft place to land among the carnage. Bill, ornery though he was, and Frank, arguably his better half. They were a breath of normalcy, even when Bill had a gun trained on him. Ellie, once she quit being a pain in the ass and wormed her way into his heart with her promise to follow him wherever he went.

And now there was you.

“Will you let me do that?” Joel asks. “Protect you?”

You lift your hands, delicate fingers wrapping around his wrists. He wonders if you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse pounding beneath your grip. Finally, after a long moment, you whisper, “Yes.”

Joel captures your lips with his, swallowing your gasp of surprise. You’re tentative, a bit clumsy with your movements as you kiss back and he pulls away, leaning his forehead to yours.

“I-I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I’ve never—“

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

While his words don’t stop your pulse from racing, they do calm your nerves the slightest bit. It’s not that you’ve never been interested in sex, there was just never a good opportunity. Going through puberty in an apocalypse where a militant government faction monitors your every move in exchange for basic necessities wasn’t exactly conducive to forming intimate relationships.

While you’re lost in your thoughts, Joel moves you backwards until your legs hit the mattress and he urges you to sit down. He kneels in front of you, working on the laces of your sneakers, removing them and setting them to the side. He looks up at you as he removes your socks and you’re not sure if you're supposed to find the sight of him kneeling at your feet as sexy as you do, but a rush of warmth rolls through you all the same.

He runs his palms up your legs, across your thighs, until his fingertips find the waist of your jeans, popping the button of the fly and pulling the zipper down.

“Lift your hips a bit, sweetheart,” he says, working the denim down and off your legs, tossing them aside. His hands return to your thighs, goosebumps erupting along their path to your hips.

“No one’s touched you here?” He asks, here being the soft skin of your inner thigh that his thumbs sweep across. You shake your head. He moves higher, a featherlight touch over the elastic of your underwear that makes you gasp. “What about here?”

“N-no,” you manage to whisper. He smiles at you, the same proud smile he’d given Marcy that you were so desperate to have for yourself.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. He kisses the inside of your knee quickly before sitting up higher, reaching up to lift your shirt up, tugging it over your head and dropping it onto the growing pile of your clothing.

“Lie back for me,” Joel commands. You shift up the mattress and follow his instruction, bringing your arms up to cover your exposed breasts. He makes a dissatisfied click with his tongue, pulling your arms away as he crawls up the mattress to settle between your legs.

“None of that,” he admonishes, planting your hands by your head. He kisses your lips again, butterflies erupting in your stomach when his tongue tangles with yours, hot and demanding. He palms one of your breasts, hands rough on the delicate skin. “This is mine, do you understand?”

Joel brings his mouth to your breast, tongue swirling over your stiff nipple. You cry out, the foreign sensation making more heat rush through you, leaving you throbbing between your thighs. He looks up at you through his lashes as he sucks your nipple between his lips, releasing it with a lewd pop.

“Mine to touch,” he says, leaning on one arm to trail his fingers down your stomach. “Mine to kiss.” His lips trace the same heated path. “Mine to protect.”

When he reaches your underwear, he pulls back. “Look at that,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing across the gusset, making you whimper and squirm. “You’ve soaked your panties, sweetheart.”

Your face feels hot with embarrassment. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry? Ain’t nothin’ you need to be sorry about,” he says with a chuckle. He sits up, working your only remaining barrier between you down your legs. He spreads your legs with his hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you look so pretty, baby.”

“Really?” You ask. His answering grin is wolfish.

“So pretty,” he repeats. He settles on his belly, face so close to your pussy you can feel the warmth of his breath against your heated flesh. “Gotta get you ready.”

Your response to the question is cut off with a high pitched moan as Joel runs his tongue through your folds, circling your clit with broad strokes. You try to close your legs against the sensation but his strong hands keep your thighs pinned down near the mattress.

He groans as he sets a slow and measured pace, alternating attention to your clit with dipping his tongue inside of you, dragging your essence from the source. Your hands clench in the sheets, chasing and retreating from the overwhelming sensation in equal measure.

There’s a blunt pressure that turns into a slight pinch as Joel slips a finger into your tight heat. Your head tilts back with a high keening noise and you’re panting, desperate for breath as he moves his hand in tandem with his tongue.

One finger becomes two that thrust and curl and part inside of you, stretching you in unfamiliar ways. It feels good, and all you want is more, more, more.

Joel’s hand moves quickly and he sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves until that flood of relief that you’ve only accomplished a handful of times on your own washes over you, your back arching sharply off the mattress as you shout his name like a prayer to the heavens.

His motions slow to a stop and he leaves the bed. You hear the clink of a belt and the rustle of clothing being removed before his weight returns between your legs, a new heat to be felt against your flushed skin with his clothes no longer in the way. With shaky hands you reach up to touch him, starting at his shoulders.

You trail your hands across his warm tan skin, down his hard chest and softer belly. That scar, the one that frightened you before, leaves you breathless as you run your fingers over it now. He’s so strong, so powerful, and he wants you. Wants to protect you so that you don’t know that same pain.

“Joel,” you whisper. He leans forward, hands on the mattress beside your head. He kisses you, slow and all encompassing. You can feel the hard length of his sliding through the mess he’s made of you and you gasp.

“Let me make one thing clear,” he says, face serious, “there ain’t any goin’ back from this. You’re mine. You got that?”

“I trust you,” you reply. Your response earns you a deep groan from the man, a kiss to your forehead that precedes the blunt head of his cock pressing to your soaked entrance.

His cock is thicker, much thicker, than his fingers were and you whine at the intrusion. His shushes you, peppering your face with soothing kisses.

“I don’t think—“

“You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart, I know you can handle it,” Joel says. “Take a deep breath, just a little more.”

Tension gives way, a sharp pinch that turns into an ache as Joel presses his hips firmly against yours. He kisses your neck and trails his nose across your sweat damp skin, holding still as you adjust to his girth.

You shift your hips the slightest bit and Joel’s moan echoes your gasp. “Tell me I can move,” he begs, another desperate kiss pressed to your lips. “Please, baby.”

There’s something heady about the power you have in this brief moment, a man like Joel begging you for something when he’s used to having everything. You nod and that’s all the encouragement he needs to draw back slowly, that fullness leaving you inch by inch, before thrusting sharply.

It’s unlike any experience you’ve had before — the way his body moves with yours, the flex of his muscles above you, the intense look in his eyes each time he presses inside of you.

“Made for me,” he murmurs. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you agree, moaning as each drag of his cock presses against a tender spot inside of you that has your stomach tightening rapidly.

His effort doubles, hips slamming hard enough to make the headboard bang against the wall. You dig your nails into his back, watch the clench of his jaw against the sting, and moan his name as you succumb to the feeling of free falling into bliss, clenching around his cock.

“That’s it, sweetheart, fuck,” he growls, hips stilling against yours as warmth pulses inside of you, his mouth dropped open on a groan of your name.

Joel takes a moment to catch his breath before withdrawing from you. He reaches his hand between your legs, pressing his fingers into your swollen pussy as you gasp.

He holds those fingers up, the light catching on the red staining them.

Perhaps you’d spilled blood for your safety after all.

You wake to the early morning light filtering through the window, a noticeable ache between your legs as you begin to stir. You’re naked, having fallen asleep in Joel’s arms last night, his lips caressing your neck until you’d drifted off and dreamt of blood and wolves. You stretch your limbs, encountering only cold sheets as you do.

As you sit up, you realize the sound of rushing water is the shower and surmise that Joel must be in there. With stiff movements you leave the warmth of the bed and approach the dresser, tugging open the top drawer to find clothing for the day.

You’re reaching for underwear when your fingers catch on something cold, metal in a sea of fabric. You pull on the object, unearthing it from its hiding spot and holding it up for inspection.

A cross, hanging from a silver chain. A chain you would tangle your fingers in as a child, a cross that a thumb would rub across as a deep, familiar voice muttered prayers.

The shower turns off and you take one last look at the crucifix before setting it back into the dark corner you’d unearthed it from.

Then, you shut the drawer.

Joel Miller masterlist

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #dark content #cult leader!joel miller #cw age gap #cw dubcon #cw age difference #dark!joel miller #dark!joel x reader #dark joel miller

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withleeknow · 9 months

Text

six minutes.

pairing: seungmin x reader genre/warnings: friends to ??, fluff; a couple of swear words here and there bc who am i if i don't swear, mentions of hurling but it doesn't actually happen, not really unedited lol word count: 0.8k note: HELLO FELLOW WIFEU (you know who you are), number 13 was "things you said at the kitchen table" lol. anywhomst people, my first seungmin piece!!

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

when blinding sunlight playfully slips through the curtains, you wake up with an ache inside your head, then instant confusion as you take in your surroundings.

this isn't your bedroom.

the clothes you're wearing aren't the ones you put on before you went out last night.

there's someone on the other side of the bedroom door, and the rummaging of cabinets, the clanging of pots and pans.

you sit up fully, clutching the duvet cover close to your chest, evidently disoriented. there's not much for you to go on - the room is clean, tidy, barely any decorations except for what seems to be a few baseball mementos displayed neatly on the credenza sitting opposite from the bed, surrounded by empty cream-colored walls.

a dumb, possibly-still-drunken thought pops up.

oh my god, i've been kidnapped.

you blink, feeling fatigue in every limb, slightly alarmed but not scared even though you probably should be. (you've been told that your survival instincts aren't very sharp.) the brain fog must also be a contributing factor, but even in spite of the thought of being kidnapped, you don't register any sense of imminent danger. just a growing perplexity because not everything has clicked into place yet.

your eyes notice a framed photo on the bedside table when the light catches on the glass. upon closer examination, you gasp sharply, because why the fuck is there a photo of your dog in this strange bedroom?!

oh wait.

okay.

thank fuck. you've been here before.

it's just kim seungmin's bedroom that you're in, and it's just kim seungmin's favorite baseball t-shirt that you're wearing.

after a moment of sitting by yourself in total dumbfounded silence, you venture out of the bedroom on unsteady legs - not even the good kind of wobbly legs that you wished you'd experienced as a result of a freaky night tangled up in the sheets - to find your friend in the kitchen with his back turned to you, hunched over something you can't see on the counter next to the sink.

you take a seat at the kitchen island, making sure to scrape the chair across the floor loudly to alert him of your presence. he turns around at the sound, a bit startled - cute - then throws a smile your way when he realizes who the intruder is.

"morning, sunshine," he chuckles upon seeing the disgruntled look on your face, courtesy of your stubborn headache. "sleep well?"

"i don't even remember what happened," you grumble, bypassing his question entirely. "why am i here? why didn't you take me home?"

"you wouldn't let me. you made me take you back to my place, then you practically demanded to sleep in my bed too," he tells you, filling a glass with water and handing it to you before turning back again to continue working on whatever task he was occupied with before you interrupted him. "thank god you didn't hurl."

you scoff, but you take a grateful sip of the water anyway. "you would've made me sleep on the couch?"

"yes." zero hesitation. motherfucker.

"and they say chivalry is dead."

"you'd be dead too if you had puked on my bed."

"i almost did. i woke up thinking i was kidnapped."

seungmin laughs, extending a hand to his right to grab a container of salt. you recognize it because it's part of the spice container set that you got him as a housewarming gift when he first moved into this apartment.

"would a kidnapper let you wear his favorite shirt and drool on his pillows?" he asks.

"i was practically blacked out. you could've thrown me a potato sack and i wouldn't have noticed."

"yeah, well, you wanted the shirt, so..."

for some reason, it makes you warm all over. though you still feel icky as hell from the night out, the soft material of his tee covering your body becomes more welcoming, makes you want to wrap yourself in the fabric even more.

you clear your throat, trying to dissolve the lump that forms in your throat upon hearing his words. the mischievous sun makes an appearance again, tiptoeing from the bedroom window to the kitchen window, sneaking through the cracks to saturate seungmin in a generous dose of golden light.

he turns around to face you once again, before you can think of anything else to say. he places a plate in front of you, and the sight leaves you a little taken aback. soft boiled eggs, already peeled and halved, sprinkled with your favorite sea salt.

"i don't think a kidnapper would get up early and google how to soft boil eggs either," he says with a casual shrug, but there's a hint of a smile there, tugging at his the corner of his lips.

"you had to google how to boil eggs?"

"soft boil eggs," he tuts, mildly offended that you'd think he's that incompetent in the kitchen. "because you like them."

he lets the smile take over completely now, the very second you feel heat rush to your cheeks.

"google said it takes six minutes, by the way."

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #seungmin fluff #seungmin scenarios #seungmin x reader #seungmin imagines #seungmin x you #stray kids #kim seungmin #seungmin

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fantasticsandwich · 1 month

Text

yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 1)

Don't you know you're the apple of his eye?

The dull hum of the museum’s air conditioning blended with the soft shuffle of footsteps, hardly alleviating the stifling heat that clung to your skin. You trailed behind Cillian, gaze lingering on a serene landscape that seemed worlds away from the cramped gallery you occupied. However, instead of succumbing to the immense discomfort of being perceived, Cillian was in his element, angling his body to capture the perfect selfie, his phone held aloft.

“Stand over there,” he directed without looking your way, focused on capturing his reflection in the glass protecting a centuries-old portrait. “I need more light.”

Yielding an ungodly ring light, you shuffled into place, feeling the tight pull of your blouse as you dangled it over your head. Struggling to hold it in one hand, you fidgeted, tugging at the fabric, wishing you could blend into the walls and disappear. Your oversized glasses slid down the bridge of your nose as you glanced at Cillian, who paused to wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead before flashing another practiced smile at his phone. Or rather, yours, because he thought pictures always looked better through your lens despite the inferior quality.

A couple cast a glare in your direction, clearly annoyed by the disruption. You watched Cillian wave dismissively at the glaring onlookers, his attention never straying from the image on his screen.

“Can’t have them ruining the shot,” he murmured.

As Cillian lined up another photo, your thoughts churned. The museum had become a stage, and Cillian, its sole performer. Every sculpture, every painting—they were merely props for his endless stream of portraits. You wondered if he saw anything beyond the likes and comments each picture might garner.

“Isn’t it hot in here?” you ventured, seeking some acknowledgment of the discomfort you felt. “The light isn’t helping. Maybe we could enjoy the art without—”

“Comfort doesn’t get followers, Y/N,” he interjected, his tone light but firm. “You know how it is. Image is everything.”

“Right, of course,” you answered, your cheerful facade slipping into place as easily as your sleeves slipping down your arms. “Image is everything.”

In the silence that followed, punctuated only by the sound of Cillian’s camera shutter, the art around you—a tapestry of colors and emotions—seemed to fade into the background, overshadowed by the one-sided performance playing out before it.

His silhouette morphed with the statue beside him, his body language shifting from casual to statuesque in a heartbeat.

“Y/N,” he called over his shoulder. “Stand next to that one. I want a photo. It looks like you.”

You hesitated, your eyes tracing the contours of the marble goddess before her: poised, serene, and eternally graceful. You glanced down at your own trendy and curated, yet slightly mismatched attire.

“Um, sure,” you replied, stepping forward with a forced smile. Your limbs felt awkward as you raised an arm, trying to emulate the statue's elegant gesture. The solid chill of the museum air wrapped around your exposed skin, making you acutely aware of how out of place you looked.

“Just like that,” Cillian encouraged from behind the camera, his voice smooth as silk. The device made a soft click sound as it captured the moment.

“Did it turn out okay?” You asked, hoping your performance had been convincing enough to meet his standards.

“Let me see,” Cillian murmured, tapping on the screen with slender fingers. A pause stretched between the pair, filled with the hum of distant conversation and the subtle clicks of camera shutters from other visitors. “Perfect,” he declared, the word dropping from his lips like a verdict. He switched off the camera, his eyes not meeting yours. “Just perfect.”

Your heart fluttered with a mixture of relief and unease. His approval was something you couldn’t help but crave, despite the cost. His hand brushed against yours as he handed back the device, leaving a trail of cold uncertainty in its wake.

“Thanks for helping,” he said with a smile. “Let me treat you to something.”

Exiting the viewing hall, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the muted whispers of other patrons as you and Cillian found your way to a secluded bench in the museum's on-site cafe. A sigh escaped you, your shoulders slumping slightly as you settled onto the cool metal seat, Cillian taking the booth. Already, he held his phone. His thumbs flicked across the screen, dredging forth a gallery of images.

“Look,” Cillian said, holding the phone between them. On the screen was a photo of him standing confidently next to a marble statue, both strikingly handsome, distant and untouchable, cold in their own regard. “Which is prettier?”

You hesitated, your gaze flitting between his expectant eyes and the image of the two figures frozen in time. You zoomed in to inspect their expressions. The statue’s face was one of great speculation, perhaps even sorrow. Cillian, though undeniably attractive, seemed haughty, almost too aware of his beauty. You experienced a surge of jealousy when you realized his skin was as pale as marble and his eyes were as clear as the glass protecting it from view. Adorned by a light blush, his cheeks were not untouched by the heat. Still, not a single hair was out of place. Not a single blemish or dark spot on that noble farce. His skin was smoother than porcelain.

Meanwhile, spotting your bespeckled reflection on the screen nearly caused your heart to stop. Little flyaway strands plastered against your forehead and splay out across your flushed cheeks. Sighing, you turned your head away, pressing against your shoulder to push your glasses up the bridge of your nose. You felt a dull ache as your lips parted to answer, only for the words to tangle in your throat.

“Hard to choose, right?”

“Both are remarkable,” you managed to say, your words carefully neutral. You hoped your voice didn't betray the unease that coiled within, the sense of being tested. His smile widened, but there was a sharpness to it that didn't quite reach his eyes, and you wondered if your response had been enough to satisfy.

“Of course,” Cillian replied, the word drawn out like a soft purr. “But I’d prefer you say I’m living art.”

Your gaze lingered on the screen as Cillian flicked to another photograph, this one a close-up of his profile silhouetted against a canvas of Renaissance art. His nose stood out. Roman, straight, and perfect, casting a shadow that seemed sculpted by the same hands that had carved the figures they admired all afternoon.

“You are. You look like a statue,” you murmured, voice laced with an involuntary admiration that made your stomach clench. Why weren’t you as pretty as him? Was some cosmic force punishing you for a misdeed in a past life?

“Yeah?” Cillian reveled in your praise, leaning closer. “And what about my other features? Do you think they’re just as perfect?”

You glanced at the high curve of his cheekbones, the arch of well-groomed brows, and how his smile never appeared to belong to you.

“More so. It could’ve been modeled off of you, but you’re still incomparable.”

Abruptly popping out his seat, Cillian muttered an excuse and bolted to the counter. He swiped your desserts up and returned in three long strides. Carefully, he placed them onto the table. Humming cheerfully, you swiped a spoon off the table and guided its tapered head to the dessert.

“Wait,” he said, hand blocking the spoon’s path. “Take some pictures.”

Sighing, you yielded and accepted his phone. The parfait was already melting into a puddle of unappealing, inedible goo, but you slid it across the table. When you pulled back from the lukewarm glass, sugary residue clung to your fingers. The strawberry syrup was congealing, slowly sinking to the bottom to mingle with the yogurt, bleeding pink.

Staring at the mess, you licked your lips. You longed to steal a spoonful, but you couldn’t even consider eating until Cillian decided they had enough pictures. Already, you had snapped fifteen at every angle possible. Upon request, you even shimmied out of your seat to take more.

To think, you could’ve been at home, studying, doing anything else instead of practicing your still-life portrait skills. You shouldn’t have been so excited to be invited out by Cillian. Excitement only brought disappointment.

Popping upright, your knee nearly knocked against the underside of the table. At the last second, Cillian reached out, slotting his hand between to lessen the impact. His skin was warm and soft against yours. His palm enveloped the entirety of your knee. You winced and nervously laughed at the contact, swatting him away.

“Tell me what you think about them,” you said, passing the phone back into the hands of its owner.

Your beaded keychain snagged on a strand of hair that had fallen loose from your ponytail. Wincing, you halted to allow Cillian to detangle it. Once free, you moved to stand at his side, peering over his shoulder as he flicked through every photo. One by one, Cillian kept zooming in on his face, only to pinch his fingers back out to focus on a minuscule detail. Not a single pixel was free from scrutiny.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, he sighed. His hands snuck out across the table, then his gangly arms followed. Elbows resting on the table, he cradled his face in his palms. His gaze rose, narrowed onto you, startlingly innocent.

Although it enhanced his features during photoshoots, you loathed his opaque expressions. Even after several years of knowing him, it was impossible to gauge his response, to anticipate his next word. Fortunately, most of his requests were only minimally irritating to fulfill.

“Can you take a few more pics on your phone? Maybe they’ll turn out different.” He requested, peering up from his device. Neck craned back to view you, his hair flopped over, billowing out into disarray.

A stray strand brushed against your nose, tickling. His roots were growing in, stark against his bleached strands. You pursed your lips, urging your attention elsewhere. Otherwise, he’d ask what you were looking at, and you’d have no choice but to answer. Since that apparently wasn’t a solitary task, you could expect to dedicate an additional hour to helping him pick a shade then dye his hair.

Self-conscious at the proximity, you stabbed your fingers through your hair, tugging the thick mop back. Prodding through knots, you felt the sweat of your scalp melting through your fingertips, boiling into your skin. Mournfully, you realized you would have to take another shower. And to think, you finished your favorite shampoo the morning prior. You’d ask him to buy more and call it a photography fee.

Feeling more coerced than inspired into the act, you sighed and snatched your bag off the back of the chair. Rummaging through the contents, you plucked your phone out. Cillian eyed the keychain with a small grin.

You inhaled for the sake of your patience. Lowering into another awkward position, you guided the camera around, searching for the perfect angle as he posed, arms thrown over the back of the plush seat.

He was rather opinionated about composition; he liked either having his face centered in images or leaning more to the right-hand side. Rule of thirds, symmetry, and whatnot. A simple photo became a portrait, something meant to rival baroque image. You clicked another picture when he scooped a glob of the parfait onto the spoon. Another, when he took a bite, then another when he pressed the spoon to his lips, and another when his eyes fluttered shut.

At some point during the ten-minute extension, a drop of the watery yogurt slipped past your trained eye, dribbling onto his chin. You set the phone down and moved to grab a tissue off of the table when he prompted you to continue. You complied. At last, Cillian decided to grant your wobbly arms mercy as he finally picked his final pose. To end it, he winked and blew a kiss.

You grumbled, plotting back onto your seat. You winced when the cold metal touched your thighs. “Pay me.”

“An air kiss isn’t enough? Want a real one?”

“Pass. I’d rather gut myself.” You swiped your hair over your shoulder and grabbed a stack of napkins to fan yourself with. Hoping to experience a reprieve from the heat, you reached for your dessert and was sorely disappointed to discover that it had liquified. Only the precipitation clinging to the cup was cold. You grabbed the cup and sloshed its contents around, watching globs spill over the edge. You looked over at Cillian’s dessert and sighed upon discovering that it was in an even worse state. His big, warm hands had cradled it for too long.

Opening up Instagram, you slumped over, assassinated by a surge of jealousy. Posts about vacations in Granada, California, and Rome filled your recommended feed. These broke college students shouldn’t have been partying abroad, living it up. And why were they on vacation when there were still two weeks of spring semester left? Did they take their finals early? How? Could you still get in on the action? Oh well; it wasn’t as if you had money for plans anyway.

When you were done imposing misery upon yourself, you handed your phone to Cillian. He accepted it with the grace of a dog snagging meat.

“I appreciate it,” he said, attention glued to the screen. You saw the images flash across his eyes, his own face superimposed on his retinas as he zoomed in, pinching and frowning. After browsing and sending the photos, he placed your phone down on his lap. Ignoring your sudden anxiety, he rested his hands on the table and smiled. “I mean it. No one else does this for me. Thank you.”

You observed the rings on his knuckles. Glinting like teeth in subdued laughter, he tapped against the table. So pretty and shiny, gleaming with sunlight… And that face… If you became rich enough, you would consider asking him for fashion and skincare advice. He’d taken to giving you gifts at random, and all the products were from expensive brands you couldn’t pronounce.

The perks of having a trust fund, you supposed.

“You’re leaving the country soon, right?” You leaned back against the chair and splayed out your legs, recoiling when your foot made contact with his shim.

A trickle of sweat ran past your neck, seeping down to the plunge of your shirt. Contrarily, Cillian was dressed to attract the sun; he wore a dark dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows. The top few buttons were unfastened to reveal the black designer t-shirt trapped beneath. His jeans were black, with slices at the knees.

“I’ll only be gone for two weeks. Why do you ask? Are you going to miss me? Already feeling the crushing weight of my absence? Don’t worry. I’ll text you everyday. I’ll even bring you souvenirs.”

“No.” Firmly, you shook your head. “You’re the one who’s going to miss me.”

“Get WhatsApp so I can text you without getting charged. It’s about time you finally downloaded it.”

“So you can spam my messages with even more pictures of yourself? No thanks. You have a mirror, and my gallery is already filled by you.” You narrowed your eyes. “Even if I wanted to, how can I download anything if you have my phone?”

“You mean this thing?” Teasingly, Cillian brandished the device. When you reached for it, he leaned back, toting it out of reach. “I can figure out your password and get it for you.”

He typed random combinations of numbers until he successfully unlocked it. You rose from your seat, more serious about retrieving it. To counter, Cillian hunched over, shielding the screen with his body.

“Relax,” he said, head disappearing beneath the table. Self-conscious again, you tugged your skirt down. “I’m sending myself the photos you took of me.”

Red with anger, you joined him, ducking beneath the table. With the slit of your phone screen showing through the opening in his posture, you glanced down, realizing he was going through your messages and replying with a selfie of himself.

“Cillian…” You grasped his shoulder. “Stop being a cunt. I’m not getting WhatsApp if you’re going to keep acting like this.”

Ignoring you, he abruptly stood. In y ourhaste to follow, your head slammed on the underside of the table. With a hand pressed against your scalp, you rose, only to encounter your frazzled expression staring back on the screen.

“Say cheese!”

Holding the phone over his head, Cillian snapped a selfie of you. As usual, he was smiling, sparkling, while your hair was frazzled and your face was sullen. Although you begged him not to, he promptly posted the picture to your Instagram, accompanied by some of the parfait and himself.

“Cillian,” you tried again. Shaking his shoulders, you groaned when he refused to budge. “Alright, then. I guess I’m just gonna get your phone.”

As if shocked by lightning, he jolted upright. He stared at her, eyes peering into your soul. “Go on. I don’t have anything to hide. But why don’t you want me to have yours? Do you have something to hide?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Good.” He shot you one of his infamous, heart-melting smiles. “Since I already looked at yours, we can look at mine together. It’d please you, right?”

There were moments when he sounded peculiar. Was it something in his tone, or was it his irregular phrasing? Regardless of the strange feeling’s origin, you felt a guilty caution and were inclined to dishonesty in his presence. You wouldn’t want to be a bad friend by misinterpreting his overly-zealous intentions.

Swiping his phone off the table, Cillian placed it into your palm. He relayed the password, but his hand remained enclosed around yours, so you punched in the code with your thumb. Chewing your cheek, you scrolled, hesitantly tapping onto a conversation, utterly disinterested until you saw the strange memes passed between Cillian and his friend.

“Here,” you said, resigned as you handed the device back.

He smiled. “See? Nothing to hide.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Shrugging, Cillian retrieved your phone from his pocket again to scrutinize the photos in your camera roll, trained on his appearance as he glided between filters and toyed with the saturation.

You futilely observed him before redirecting your thoughts to something more productive, the upcoming final exams. Soon thought, you began to daydream about fast cars and countryside estates, forgetting how, with the new year’s onset, you watched self-help videos, browsed countless articles to curb your materialistic tendencies.

You took up new hobbies with your friends, painting and snacking on charcuterie and wine. You denied yourself the pleasures of theaters, of restaurants and shopping hauls. But when your paycheck arrived, you found yourself partitioning it into tuition costs, then different discretionary categories.

Your mother incessantly begged you to enjoy your youth. One day, you’d have a fulfilling hospital job, packed with plentiful hours. Even then, there was an expected exchange of currency; time for a pay stub. So, at some point, you lost the desire to save and smartly concluded, that whether for necessity or whim, people only made money to spend it. Money was entertainment. Money was activity. Money was the tears in your mother’s eyes when you paid for half of your snot-nosed brother’s school fees.

Money was whatever you needed it to be, and it was all you lived for. You had tried amending this mindset countless times, but no other inspiration stuck. It was fortunate that you were friends with someone who had too much of it. Cillian spoiled you on excursions, with gifts. So, if he had money, then money was him, and by proxy, you were getting that bag while being in his presence.

Once, during your final year of secondary school, you turned to Cillian for advice. You purchased a shirt from a designer brand and wore it to his birthday party, only to have his younger cousin spill juice on you, Rianning it. On the verge of a breakdown, you stormed to the kitchen. As you furiously scrubbed your shirt with a dishrag, you heard footsteps in pursuit. Teary-eyes, you turned to him and asked to hear his truth of the world.

He hadn’t been rich back then. He was only the boy in the council house next to yours, your life-long friend. He knew you better than you knew yourself. You were attuned to his every quirk.

“I’m so tired of buying, buying, buying, but never feeling like I have enough. How do you get through it? Feeling like you’re enough without having it?”

“I’ll show you,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He removed a small clasp mirror, the kind that comes free from stores with a hundred-dollar purchase, and unceremoniously presented it. “You’ve got to love yourself.”

“And how do I go about that when I haven’t the slightest clue?”

“It’s simple.” A light red tinted his cheeks. “You tell yourself ‘You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,’ and know that’s what you’re always meant to be. At the same time, you need to know you’re insignificant no matter what you do. Only relationships define you, and no one wants to be around someone pathetic. You’ll only be used like that, so you need to change to protect yourself.”

Almost reluctantly, he peered up from the glassy surface to look at you, but you felt as if he never truly looked away, as if he were still tracing the contours of his every feature through the glare of the spectacles perched on you nose.

“People say beauty is on the inside, but if you’re ugly on the inside, then you know it can be manufactured.”

Cillian still hadn’t stopped staring at himself as he walked past anything reflective, anything that resembled him. He’d still stare so deeply into your glasses, at his reflection in your eyes and you still wondered if he was searching for a mirror that would twist his form into something beautiful.

You were snapped out of the memory when he voiced a request.

“Your turn,” he said suddenly. “May I?”

“May you… May you do what?”

“You looked at me earlier. I want to do the same.”

“I mean, you’re already looking at me…” You felt his stare and winced. “But it’s… alright? Yeah, go ahead.”

The air was thick as you waited, trying to anticipate his thoughts, unsure of what he had in mind. Cillian observed you with an intensity that felt almost palpable, his scrutiny a tangible force that rendered you immobile—a specimen under a microscope, a subject in a frame.

“Such pretty features,” he commented softly. His fingers slid along the curve of your cheek, coming to rest on the bridge of your nose. Before you could comprehend his intentions, he plucked your glasses off with a swift, almost surgical movement.

The world around you dissolved into a wash of colors, each brushstroke of reality smearing into an indistinguishable palette of hues. Sounds seemed to amplify in the absence of clear sight, the distant murmur of museum visitors swirling around like wind rustling through autumn leaves.

“You look better without these. You can’t see without them.” He dangled the glasses just out of focus, the lenses catching the light and casting ghostly reflections onto the blurred canvas. “But when I’m this close, can you only see me?” He leaned in, noses almost touching. “Sometimes, I like when you wear them, too.”

You blinked, trying to force clarity back into your vision, but it was futile. The room felt larger, more intimidating, as if the ceiling had stretched away and the walls were leaning in to listen. You were acutely aware of your heartbeat, a tumultuous rhythm against the backdrop of this disorienting scene.

“Cillian?” Your voice quivered slightly, betraying your unease.

“Shh,” he hushed, the sound slicing gently through the air. “Just look at me.”

You tried, oh how you tried, but his face was nothing more than a kaleidoscope of light and shadow, his features lost in a fog. He loomed over you, a specter made of shifting shades rather than flesh and bone. The faint scent of his cologne, usually so comforting, now seemed overpowering, filling your nostrils and clouding your thoughts.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, though whether he spoke of you or to himself, you couldn’t tell. The air was charged with a strange energy you couldn’t define. “Can you see me?”

“Only… only shapes. Outlines.”

“Like an abstract. Can you read me? Do you know what I mean?”

“No?” You said, uncertainty. “If you want to talk art, give me a day to talk to that one upperclassman who keeps begging to paint you.”

His presence was static, pointillism in slap-dash dots, yet there was a sharpness to it, like the glint of a knife hidden beneath silk. Suddenly, Cillian's hands cupped your face. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks in an unexpectedly tender gesture.

“You’re cute.” A soft laugh escaped his lips. The familiar sensation of being pinched and appraised was oddly comforting in its normalcy.

“Alright,” he said briskly, pulling away and breaking the momentary spell. Your gaze fluttered up, onto him. He stood, legs screeching against the ground as he jammed his chair under the table. “It’s about time to leave. We’ve got places to be.”

You blinked, trying to focus on his voice as it cut through the disorientation of your vision. “Can I have my glasses? And my phone?” you asked, reaching out in the direction of his voice, fingers grasping blindly at the air.

“Your glasses?” Cillian teased, dangling them just out of reach. “But you look so adorable without them.” His laugh held an edge, like the thin crack running down a perfectly glazed vase.

“As you know, I need to see,” you said, the words coming out more plaintive than intended. You felt for the spectacles once more, movements uncertain without sight to guide you.

With a sigh that suggested he was granting a favor, Cillian finally placed the glasses in your outstretched hand. The world snapped back into sharp relief as you slid them onto your nose, the cafe and its patrons coming into clear view once again.

“And this?” Cillian echoed, his tone playful. Retrieving the device from his pocket, he waved it around. “I’ll give it back, but you need to promise that we'll look at these together tomorrow. I want to coordinate our feeds.”

“Sure, yeah. We’ll align our online synergies tomorrow,” you echoed, using buzzwords and nodding although a part of you screamed in protest.

Standing, you snatched a few napkins and wiped down the photo shoot's debris. On the way out, you tossed the melted goo into the trash and bid him goodbye, slouching as you turned away and stepped onto the sidewalk, almost immediately surrounded by a torrent of pedestrians. You surged ahead, elbowing your way through the crowd.

“Hell is other people,” Cillian mindlessly commented. You instantly pinpointed his melodic voice amidst the throng. “Want me to give you a ride? Or walk you to the bus stop?”

Halting, you spun around, wrapping your hands around your mouth to shout. “No thanks. It’s not that far. You should also get home before it gets dark.”

“Alright. Be safe. Don’t get kidnapped.”

“Walking with you could endanger me. Someone would take you for ransom.”

“And you’d pay for it, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, I need to get my paycheck first.”

“Y/N,” he whined.

“You’re not Caesar, so why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugged and turned away, finally bidding you goodbye. His arms dropped to his side, madly swinging. You watched for a moment as he pranced, caught in his cool-guy act that he pursued it even as he stumbled over a curb. You chewed your lip to stifle a laugh, allowing yourself a final glance at his strange gait. You began at a leisurely pace, loosening up to let your arms swing like him. Maybe he was happy because he allowed himself to live so freely.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere oc #yandere male #how tf do I make a master list 😭#cillian

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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 6 months

Text

Imagine talking to Makino about Shanks...

You woke up to a soft kiss against your shoulder. Feeling the bedsheets shift a little, you heard quiet footsteps pad across the room until they eventually disappeared. Stretching, your limbs ached reminding you of pleasant moments from the night before. You hummed at the comfort and slowly fell back into a deep slumber.

When you finally felt the sun the backs of your eyelids, it was clear that it was time to get up. With a small huff, you gathered your energy and began to start the day.

Once you had freshened up, you peered into the room adjacent and found that it was missing one troublesome curly-haired boy. With a small hum, you ventured out to village to the only bar that he frequented.

“If you’re looking for Luffy, he’s under the piers again.” Makino offered when she saw you enter with eyes darting around the empty chairs.

Her comment eased your mind. At least he was safe in his space. Taking a seat opposite the working woman, you sighed a little.

“What day is it?” A yawn escaped your lips and Makino passed you the only drink that helped lift your spirits mornings like this. Her special blend of ice and select fruits was incredible.

“It’s the end of the week thankfully. Come to think of it, it’s the second last week of the month.”

Choking on the liquid, you leaned forward and hammered your chest to clear your airways. You had thought yesterday was just a rogue visit.

Crap. Quickly setting the drink onto the table, you turned to face the harbour and saw the familiar flag of the Red-Haired Pirates draw near which meant that-

“Shanks is back!” Luffy declared as he ran into the bar and stood in front of you. His eyes were bright with excitement and his smile carefree. Knees bounced as he could barely contain himself.

“Shanks is back!” He cried once more before dashing out of Makino’s bar with great speed towards the port.

“Hey!” You called out and leapt from your seat to the edge of the Makino’s bar.

“Luffy, don’t run so fast!” The warning fell on deaf ears. Resigning, you leaned on the wooden pillar.

“That kid’s going to be the death of me.”

“I would have thought that you would be just as excited?” Makino wondered as she restocked the shelves. “That ship means their Captain is here as well.”

You smiled a little at the mention of Shanks and took a seat at the bar. “I - um, I actually saw him last night.”

Makino hummed a little and sent you a knowing smirk. The captain of the Red-haired pirates had been smitten with you ever since he landed months ago and she had caught him sneaking out of your home on many occasions.

Raising an elbow to the table, you leaned against your palm and sighed. “What am I doing Makino?” You asked. “I work during the day, I’ve somehow become Luffy’s guardian and now I’m sleeping with a pirate.”

“I think you’re enjoying the fruits of life. Especially when they sail in a day early just to see you.” The barkeep comforted. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

She was right. It was okay to live in the moment and let things be as they are. Besides, Shanks made it adamant to give his heart to you from the start.

Masterlist here (for more One Piece)

#gif is not mine #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #theladyofmanyfandoms #shanks opla x reader #shanks opla imagine #shanks x you #shanks x reader #shanks imagine #opla!shanks x reader #opla!shanks imagine #opla imagine #opla x reader #one piece imagine #one piece x reader

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val-cansalute · 8 months

Text

PICKING UP THE ———- PIECES -———

ch. 5

ch. 1

ch. 2

ch. 3

ch. 4

ch. 6

a/n: 😪 banners by cafekitsune and saradika-graphics

Snow still lays thick upon the soil once you’re gone. Along its boundless surface, specks of silver glisten, basking in the gentle glow of the moon, smothering the town’s bustle.

“You sure?”

The wind is cruel, lashing auburn locks erratically about Ellie’s face, numbed by the frigidity. In spite of the burning cold overtaking her limbs, her grip on the straps of the saddle tightens and her eye contact with Tommy turns ever so slightly hostile,

"Tommy, it’s been less than a day. She can’t be far. You comin’ or not? ‘Cause I’m doing this with or without you.”

He looks back at her wordlessly with a furrow in his brow, piercing through the tense silence laced with the distant bustle of Jackson,

“Alright… Let’s set off quick then.”

“Okay.”

Something compels her to silence, an impulse to keep her lips sealed over restless secrets. Maybe she knows that going after you is illogical, that it was a choice you made on your own. But she can’t bring herself to indulge in those realisations – all she knows is that she has to find you; there is no hesitation. Thankfully, the urgency in her tone was explanation enough for Tommy.

With a rushed onset, they split up to cover more ground, venturing onwards into the overrun territory encompassing Jackson with eyes vigilant, searching for signs of you, but seconds turn to minutes, and minutes turn to hours of vacillating between trot and gallop, losing sense of direction and fragments of determination to the exhaustion that mutinies her mind.

Thank god the hoofprints come into view when they do - as if by magic or a blessing, the impressed snow shows itself clear as day, juxtaposing the sea of white bordering it, darkened by dirt and grime. Ellie perks up with desperate intrigue so she pulls the reins and crouches down beside them, muttering to herself,

“Huh, what do we have here?”

And then her heartbeat quickens in anticipation of relief,

“She's close.”

Verily, she follows, the tracks guiding her further into the dense vegetation with senses working overtime to accommodate the fact that it is winter and hordes are rampant. She fucking prays you didn’t run into one, but the forest is deafeningly silent, seeming to hold its breath tonight.

She’s fast on your track; in this moment, the path is hope, a lifeline steering her along. Every now and then, a rustle of leaves, or the distant echoes of infected throw her mind into disarray, but she scans the area rapidly, shaky grip tightening on her firearm, before pushing on.

Just under an hour, the prints become faded and scattered, and the apprehension makes her stomach twist before she lifts her head to greet the destination - a desolate clearing.

“Fuck me.”

Dim moonlight hangs over Ellie and Tommy’s exhausted figures. The night has been relentless. The trail resulted in nothing more than wasted time and the discovery of a empty clearing, devoid of any sign of you.

Frustration and fatigue etched on her face and lingering in the air around her, Ellie kicks at a loose stone on the ground like a little kid, the full regret of having set off hurriedly with no real plan or navigation overcoming her. They’ve gotten nowhere.

In a see-through attempt at remaining pragmatic, Tommy pats her shoulder and states with a tone of reassurance, though it’s betrayed by the wearied rasp in his voice,

"We'll figure it out, Ellie. We just need to rest for a bit and rethink our strategy. She couldn't have gotten far."

But Ellie's resolve is fixed and her jaw is set in determination. It’s too late to turn back now, she knows that.

"I can't rest, Tommy. Every minute wasted is another minute she's further."

He sighs heavily with complete sincerity, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

"Ellie, she’s probably asleep right now, or some shit. And pushing yourself like this won't help anyone."

Their intermingling voices rise, threaded with increasing aggression until the tension has thickened beyond salvaging, and the rift between their convictions seems insurmountable in the darkness of the night.

Finally, unable to find common ground, Ellie announces,

"I'm not waiting. I'm going to keep searching. You wanna go back? Fine."

And, without waiting for a response, she takes off, leaving her horse and Tommy, who mutters quiet cusses into the heavy stillness of the night. She moves with purpose, the flashlight attached to her backpack tearing through the darkness.

She refuses to let the ache in her feet claim her; every step she takes echoes the silent plea for you to be found. Even as the hours wear on, Ellie's determination refuses to wane in spite of the fatigue gnawing at her bones. She can’t let herself think, she can’t let herself dwell, she has to keep searching, even if she can’t tell herself why.

However, the moon, as always, gives surrender to the encroaching dawn. Ellie's flickering hope of finding you dims as her steps grow heavier and her eyes wearier, and the first light of sunrise bleeds into the sky from the horizon.

Eventually, shattered and running on sheer god-like willpower, Ellie stumbles upon a vantage point, and stands over the landscape, large enough to swallow her whole millions of times over, like she’s the last person on Earth, staring into the face of impending destruction.

But it’s just dawn, and the overcast warm glow showers upon her as the realization that she has been searching through the night hits her. The screeching thought of you inevitably having gotten hurt plagues her mind. Deep breath, in and out, she lets the weight of it all settle upon her weakened shoulders, yet there’s still no time for rest.

The search is far from over.

You strain your neck to squint up at the skeletal structure that has born the brutality of the post-apocalyptic world, barely making out the details past the overgrown foliage seeping out of its broken windows and destroyed walls.

You enter with caution and heightened senses, searching for any signs of danger. The creaking floorboards beneath your feet shatter the palpable silence in the damp air.

Shifting through the shadows, your senses remain sharp and attuned to the slightest noise, scanning the objects illuminated by the dim light of dawn filtering through the cracks in the abandoned building. Shadows loom outstretched along the corridors.

In a shadowy corner, a man is crouched over a bag, and you watch him with a racing heart before you emerge, your silhouette a silent spectre against the dilapidated walls.

Your eyes meet for a fleeting moment before you both jump into action instinctively, but you swiftly disarm him. The struggle is brief but intense, and he is overpowered, because, if there’s one thing fear has taught you, it’s that each movement has to be calculated and purposeful.

And when he’s on his knees, trying to plead for mercy, when he’s scraping pathetically at the scruples of humanity left in your soul, you remain resolute - just don’t think. Your grip is firm as you subdue him.

A few blows leave him incapacitated, and you leave it at that because you have never been able to succumb to gratuitous violence. He lets out a muffled groan with his cheek pressed against the cold stone floor.

Swiftly, you bind is wrists and ankles taut, ensuring he can’t pose a threat before confiscating his meagre supplies and rifling through them. Food, water, anything that could sustain you on the journey ahead, you take, and then you drop his bag my his side and arise.

You turn to leave, but you glance back at the man over your shoulder, meeting his eyes with a solemn expression. You haven’t done this in a while, not since you arrived at Jackson, and your penchant for showing no mercy has been buffed down.

There’s so much you have to beg your mind to steer itself away from, beg it to not to linger on the helplessness in his eyes as he looks back at you, or how you would’ve slit his throat without a doubt when it was just you and Soren.

With the stolen supplies secured, you walk through the entrance. You have to convince yourself of one last thing.

Mercy takes on different forms.

Out into the muted light of dawn, the air is brisk, and the horizon enlightening drags the worry of not making it out of the treacherous night you endured off your shoulders. A new day. A momentary respite washes over you; you’re only a little scathed.

With the first light of dawn illuminating your path,

“Only an hour or two away …”

It is a small victory in the grand scheme of things, but it’s enough for someone with your past.

Mounting her horse, the familiar weight of the saddle grounds you as you set off once more into the unknown. The rhythmic, muffled thump of hooves against the snow-blanketed floor, and the shadow of the horse and rider stretched long over the ruins, a lone traveller navigating the remnants of a world.

You ride on, your mind numb to the thought of returning to Soren. Back to the old house, to the doorstep where your heart lies dormant.

Crestfallen, the fruitless landscape stands before Ellie, as if to mock her hunched over figure, bathed in the warm hues of the noontime sun. She has been traversing since the wee hours of the morning after stopping momentarily to map out a journey in her relentless pursuit of you, trying to stay determined, but the urgency that keeps her moving forward is dulled by the incessant pangs of hunger and the desperate struggle to keep her eyes open. Doubt creeps in as the vast emptiness erodes her resolution.

Just as thoughts of turning back infiltrate her sleep-deprived mind, a faint sound carries along a whistling gust of wind, drawing her fading attention. Pained noises, barely audible, leave her instantly alert, and Ellie follows the source of the sound with a subtle limp in her step. Though her senses are sharpened by the urgency of the situation, everything still seems blurrier and muffled.

Guided by the haunting echoes, she carefully weaves her way through the silent surroundings, every step weighted with anticipation, into a derelict building.

She approaches cautiously, entering a room where the sound is amplified and she comes face to face with the source: a man, bound and gagged, his eyes shut as he lies, weakened by his restraints. Without hesitation, Ellie kneels beside him, pistol pressed to his pained temple, her gaze unwavering,

“Who did this to you?" she demands, her voice edged with a fierce determination. His eyes fly open, looking up at her fearfully.

“Shit! Some fuckin’ girl – I don’t know!”

“… When did she leave?”

“Like ten minutes ago! I haven’t got shit, she took everything! I’m begging you, please untie me!”

She stands, contemplating it for a moment, before she kicks him over so that he can contort his body into a sitting position, eliciting a sharp groan. He wasn’t tied up beyond hope of managing to undo the knots, you made sure of it,

“You can figure that out on your own, I got shit to do.”

With a sense of exhilaration, Ellie jogs out and circles to the back of the building, her eyes scanning the snow-covered ground for any sign of movement where she notices a fresh set of foot and hoofprints, meeting at a point along the line where they become one trail of hoofprints, a delicate dance littering the frozen canvas.

Hope surges within Ellie as, once again, she follows the tracks. She has to move fast; you have a horse and she has only her feet. The air is tense with anticipation, but she somehow manages to power through the all-consuming exhaustion and hunger with the promise of getting closer to the elusive figure she seeks.

The sun dips lower on the horizon; the bitter cold forgotten in the warmth of purpose.

Nothing is left of your house but the gnarled bones of the home it once was. The memories of all you left behind seep through the cracked walls – the good and the bad, a silent witness to the passage of time. You hold your breath captive in your tightened chest and push open the door, its rusty hinges protesting your return with a shrill creak.

The air is thick with dust dancing in the slivers of dim light that manage to pierce through boarded windows. Everything surrounding you, once thriving and familiar, is now reduced to mere echoes, whispers. Your fingers gently trace the life left in the fray, your gaze sweeping over the remnants of all you lost to the destruction. There’s nothing but blood left to salvage, to hold onto.

You lay in the centre of what used to be your bedroom, save for the actual bed, beside the shadow of the place where Soren used to lie, but there is no reprieve. You can’t look at it, your gaze pointed to the damp-stained ceiling, rust-coloured organic forms scattered across it.

If there’s one thing you can trust to remain a constant in your life, it’s that memories flood your mind no matter when or where you are, unbidden and unwelcome. Here, you can let them play out wholly, succumb to the deserved guilt that you cannot let yourself escape.

Trace the mustard outline of the leakages in the wallpapered walls with the movement of your weary pupils, stop trying to battle the thoughts as they influx from the depths. Turn your head to look at the ruined wall – no matter how hard you scrubbed, droplets of what once was his blood, and his blood only, taken over by that cruel evil, seeped through and infected it just as the clicker infected him. They still burn as hot and bright as they did that night, staring back at you.

You had been splayed out on the floor, over tattered blankets, similar to now, waiting for Soren, who had heard a noise beyond the gate. The worry was becoming an annoyance, so you got up and ran out into the night to find him, further out than you usually would on your own.

You should’ve stayed. Never should’ve wandered. It was your fault he had to fight off that clicker, the scar etched into his back for all eternity, evidence of your fatal error. Even though you made it home with adrenaline pumping through your veins, the nagging sting eventually became an undeniable ache, and from that point, Soren was already dead.

He begged and begged, eyes glassed over for the first time since your mother died, but your pathetic selfishness left him shrinking beside the new force overcoming his body, till he became what he prayed he would never become.

Then, and only then, did you do it. Coward that you are, bashing his obliterated skull over and over in the haze, blood and brains sent adrift, consuming all the surfaces they landed on, your mind, body, and soul, for the rest of your life, and anything that lies beyond.

There’s a violent shift and you jolt back to the surface, gasping for air like you were drowning with sharp, shallow, greedy breaths.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Ellie's urgent voice cuts through the remnants of the memory.

"I got you," she whispers, a breathless relief in her voice. You, disoriented and still caught in an intersection between past and present, struggle to hold back the already fallen tears and even in spite of the glaring truth that you came here wilfully, the sight of her brings sweet relief.

“Ellie-”

“Shimmer.”

“Huh?”

“The horse’s name is Shimmer.”

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kawaiiwritingcomputer · 5 months

Text

Venture x Reader || Comforting Venture

🪼- this is sorta based on irl things when people said we got the ugliest version of venture :( dont be sad bby we love you

When Venture returned from their excavation, they looked defeated and upset. Their brown puppy-like eyes had been reduced to dark circles and dried up tears. That smile that brightened your world, was a pouting frown. Venture took off their muddy boots at the front door, their limbs dangling at their sides as they solemnly stepped into your view.

"Hello, my sweetheart, how was work today-" You turn around from the food you were finishing up, and your heart breaks when you see their sad face. "Oh no... are you okay? What happened?" You wipe off your hands on a towel and throw it on the counter, stepping up to your partner and taking them into a hug. You could feel their rigidness and unease as they took a few moments to return your hug. It wasn't your physical touch to make them hold back, it was something going on with their self. They still hadn't said anything, just hugging you back and laying their chin on your shoulder, in deep thought.

Sloan began to cry, and held you tightly as if you were their comforting little teddy bear. You settled into their embrace, and you could feel their body shaking and beginning to get sweaty with their weeping. "Baby... do you... do you think I'm ugly?" They pulled away a little to look you in the eyes, and your chest burned with passion as you immediately replied, "No, absolutely not! Why.... Who said that to you, Sloan?" You raised up a hand to hold their cheek, wiping away their tears with your thumb.

Venture could see your face turn angry, not at them, but whoever was responsible for hurting their feelings. Upon thinking about the incident again, they started to bawl their eyes out even harder. That sentence, that voice kept repeating over and over in their head, telling them that they were the ugliest on the team, and other disrespectful terms to target their identity.

"Honey, I think you're amazing the way you are.... Don't let their opinions get to you, they don't matter!! You are here, with me, so you've done something right along the way, and i think you're beautiful and handsome and everything in between."

Your reminder melts their heart, and you see their precious smile come upon their face. They kiss you warmly, their body wiggling with newfound happiness. You were right!!! How could they be ugly when they've scored the sexiest partner ever!! "Gracias corazón."

"It's okay. How about we eat? I made chili, and we can have ice cream for dessert!"

"Ah, My favorite!! I love you so much, Y/N!"

youtube

#venture overwatch #venture x reader #overwatch imagines #sloan cameron #i dont actually know if chili is their favorite #i was making it irl so first thing i thought of lol #🪼#if there is typo im sorry #Youtube

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forest-falcon · 1 month

Text

The Butterfly Effect

Chpr 9

⚠️ Trigger Warning for whump and angst.

🧡💙🩵

John brought the space elevator to a smooth halt just above the caldera.

He wanted to get a birds-eye view of One before he touched down.

The elevator door opened, and the astronaut made a conscious effort to coordinate his limbs; the additional gravity about as welcome as a new Fischler Enterprise venture.

John cracked his joints.

"Alright. Time to fly."

The astronaut leapt from the elevator and his jetpack deployed.

*. *. *.

Kayo flailed midair.

There was no time to think, only feel.

Her stomach seemed to drop faster than terminal velocity.

Darkness was swallowing her as light flew from view.

A hand grasped her wrist.

"Kayo. Glad I caught you!"

"John!" Kayo gave an incredulous half-laugh.

"Am I glad to see you!"

"Hold on..."

John guided the two of them back to the relative safety of the poolside.

As soon as his boots touched the ground, Kayo wrapped her brother in a Virgil-esque hug.

"K-ay!"

Kayo indulged herself the human contact a moment longer, before the sound of a jet engine could be heard approaching the island.

"Protocol Phoenix."

John had practically exhaled the words. Relief and disbelief was etched in his features, as though he had forgotten that he himself had summoned them.

"Here. Help Scott."

John shed his jetpack and ran to meet the carrier approaching the beach.

With feline accuracy, Kayo caught the pack.

Hold on Scott, I'm coming.

*. *. *

"Scott? Scott? You with me?"

Scott stirred, his brain registering the noise, but not the name.

"Scott, it's Kayo. Come on, sleepy head, no snoozing on the job. Can you open your eyes for me?"

A muted moan rattled around his ribcage.

His head hurt.

He was vaguely aware of his eyelashes flickering. Jeez...the last time his head felt this bad, he'd sampled some of Gordon's homemade moonshine. The memory curdled his stomach and he whimpered.

"You're okay. You're okay. I'm with you."

Kayo's slender fingers were resting on his face...on grazed cheekbones. It didn't hurt, not really. Not compared to the other injuries his body sported; but there was something in the sensation that registered as uncomfortable; an invasion of personal space that had him pulling away from her touch.

"Scott, try not to move for me, okay? It's very important that we keep your neck and head still."

His eyes finally opened.

"There you are."

Kayo offered him a warm smile. A smile saturated in love and reassurance. A smile that told him that he was going to be okay.

"-ay?"

Eurgh, his mouth was dry.

"I've been called worse," her expression shrugged, but her hands remained steady.

"Head."

It hurt. He still didn't know why. Where were they? Building collapse?

"You've been in an accident."

"Air?"

"Air?" Kayo parroted.

"I'm not sure I follow. Your oxygen stats look good... Or do you mean you were flying in the air?"

"Wh-w-where?"

His lungs felt like they were out of sync from the other muscles it took to breathe.

"Oh! You're home Scott. Well, the pool...kinda."

Scott blinked at her.

"Not your finest landing."

Landing.

Like a circuit finally completed, the jigsaw fell in place.

He'd been fixing One's overhead locker when the call came in.

Some pot-holers had managed to get themselves wedged in a remote location and needed assistance.

Gordon and Alan were already out in Four, and Virgil was off rota, so; One was required to safely extract the group.

His mind had switched to rescue mode. Muscle memory fulfilling the required procedures to launch his Bird. Truth be told, he couldn't remember stashing the Toolbox he was using in the very locker he had been fixing, but his head injury attested to the fact that he had.

The mission proved to be a straightforward one. Honestly, the GDF could have taken it; but given the limited information they had to go on, they weren't to know.

With no visible injuries and paramedics having arrived on scene; Scott fired One, and headed home. It wasn't until she made the switch to horizontal flight that the toolbox had shifted. In any other locker it would have been fine, but...stupid is as stupid does. He'd shoved it in the faulty one.

...which promptly opened.

...allowing the contents to rain down on top of him.

Judging on colour alone; the wrench was the offending item that had clipped him. The grease rags had mercifully missed.

What happened next was all a bit of a blur.

All he could really remember was wanting to make it home to Virgil.

"Vir-gil?"

"We'll get to Virgil. Right now, you're my priority."

"Pri-rity?"

"Yes. John and the rest of Phoenix are heading to him now."

Scott felt his veins turn to ice.

"No, no, no... Virg-l!"

Kayo's hands were fussing around him.

He pushed the aid away. This was his fault.

He did this.

Kayo attempted to thwart his thrashing.

"Geroff me and help Vir-"

"Sco-"

"VIRGIL!"

"-Shut the hell up Scott and listen!"

Two cat-green eyes pinned him.

"One is compromised. You not listening endangers us both, get it? I'm not leaving you, so either you let me do my job, or we both die here."

Scott's brain cowered. She meant every word. Kayo, like the rest of them, was loyal to a fault. She wouldn't leave him.

Sensing his outburst had passed; Kayo began fastening the foam blocks around his head.

She was staring him dead in the face.

"Help is coming."

Now he understood. First responders make for the worst patients. Best he could do was to trust her.

"Okay."

"Good."

Kayo exhaled slowly.

“John's activated Protocol Phoenix. The carrier has already arrived and John's gone to meet them.”

Scott blinked groggily. If Protocol Phoenix had been activated, then this was an even bigger fuck-up than he'd first thought.

“Phoe-nix?”

“Yes Scott. We rise from the ashes.”

"God, that's cheesy."

"Attaboy. Now let's get out of here."

#thunderbirds are go #thunderfam #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderwhump #thunderangst #scott tracy #john tracy #kayo kyrano #the butterfly effect

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lorata · 3 months

Note

Wait I just did the maths and Alec was 12 in Claudius’ arena. What was that like watching with his parents? Did Joseph use it as a teaching moment ‘this is what happens when you break the rules’ sort of deal

Anonymous asked: Just realised Alec would’ve been 12 and watching Claudius’ arena with Joseph and Adora, did they say anything? Did they comment? What did the trainers say?

OKAY WELL SIX MONTHS / 6,000 WORDS LATER HERE WE ARE

warnings for uhhhhh generational trauma and child abuse and the cycle of trauma / abuse / fear / fascism / all that good Seward soup

FIC BELOW:

-----

Creed left for Residential a week before the Reaping, and his absence stretched long and thin as the Games played out. One of their tributes died quick, a heavy blow to the head that took him out before he hit the ground. The other managed to drag herself into a tree with a seeping gut wound, blood oozing between her fingers and dripping down the branches, face upturned at the camera for a sponsor parachute that never came. No signs of life but the flutter of her lashes and the steady drip-drip-drip of blood until both stilled and the cannon fired.

“Bedtime,” Dad said, then almost as an afterthought, “You too, Selene.”

Alec dragged himself off the sofa, limbs heavy. Selene kept sitting, eyes fixed on the television with a now familiar glint. “Lene,” Alec said, sharper than he meant to.

Her gaze snapped to him, sharp with irritation, and he saw the Centre-reflex in the coil of muscle at her shoulder. Saw her wind up to hit him before the moment cleared and she was back in his living room, both their parents watching. “Whatever,” she said with sarcasm-shaded casualness. No points for subtlety, trainee, said the trainer in back of Alec’s head, but at least she followed.

No jockeying for space at the bathroom mirror now that Creed had gone. Alec missed it with a desperate ache, but elbowing Selene now wouldn’t bring back the easy playfulness of the early years. She brushed her teeth, spat, and marched into the bedroom without a word, leaving Alec to stand there with his mouth full of foam and his chest a gaping hole.

By the time Alec ventured into his room Selene had already vanished into the top bunk (Creed’s bunk). Alec stared at the lump of blankets in the reflected hallway light before giving up and crawling under the covers.

“I wouldn’t have tripped,” Selene said. The blankets rustled — the mattress creaked as she rolled over to face the wall — and soon her breathing evened out into sleep.

Alec tried, really he did. Except that eyes closed or open, squeezed tightly shut or held wide until they burned he still saw it: the red-black splatter of arterial blood onto wide jungle leaves.

-----

December: icy winds whistling from the mountains, blowing snow that stung his cheeks, endless promotions for the upcoming Victory Tour. Selene’s thirteenth birthday.

No party, like she predicted. Instead, Alec’s window slid open as he hunched over his desk, struggling with an essay about the Solstice, and Selene dropped through. Snowflakes scattered on her dark hair, slowly melting. “Yo,” she said. “Got the signature.”

Alec swallowed hard. “You going tonight?”

“Yeah. Uncle Joe’s going to drive me.” Not Uncle Paul. Not Aunt Julia. Selene rubbed one cheek with her shoulder, a short, jerky movement, avoiding Alec’s eyes as he gaped at her.

Selene barely spoke to her parents anymore, tension filling their house until it choked. But they weren’t the only ones; shared family dinners had stalled out since the fall. Selene’s parents didn’t want her going to Residential, everyone knew that. He didn’t know his parents had gone behind their backs.

“Oh,” he said. “Well — knock ‘em dead?”

“You know it.” She punched his arm. “Don’t wuss out without me.”

“Yeah, right. Like I’d stay here by myself where it’s sad and boring.” Alec shoved her back, and for a moment they could have been horsing around like old times, if not for the damp-edged sheaf of folded paper clutched to Selene’s chest. “Don’t break all the records before I get there.”

Selene didn’t wave as the car backed away down the narrow lane, but Alec watched the headlights bob through the trees anyway. “Are they mad?” he asked. The thought twisted his insides.

Mom held onto the question before she answered. He liked that she took him seriously, but hated that she had to think. “She would have walked,” she said at last. “Liking and accepting are different things.”

Not a no, Alec thought, but not ‘we are banned from the Valents’ house forever’ either. He didn’t like it, but he could accept it. One kill for Mom.

-----

Aunt Julia handed him his favourite mug, steaming and filling the kitchen with mint. Alec took it without paying attention, curling his palms around the sides instead of grasping the handle. He jerked back with a hiss, liquid sloshing over the rim onto his fingers. Only Centre-training kept him from flinging the mug away.

“Alec!” Julia darted forward. “Did I burn you?”

“No,” he said quickly, and hid his arms behind his back. His throat clenched. “No, I’m okay. Sorry. It’s fine.”

Julia studied him for several endless seconds. At the Centre Alec learned to take a punch to the face without flinching, but under Julia’s direct scrutiny he buckled and held out his hands. She curled her fingers around his wrists, turning him to face her so she could examine the angry weals slashed across both palms.

“I fell,” Alec said in a low voice. Julia caught his gaze and held it, but this time he squared his shoulders and stared back, steady. “I fell,” he repeated. “It was my fault.”

(Spring meant young, green branches, and Dad had been distracted. Usually he was precise: two short strokes each, but this time Mom had darted in to stop him. She’d ordered Alec to the Valents’ and pulled Dad aside, and as he edged out the door he’d caught the the sharp snap of her tone.)

Julia sighed, but only stood up to fetch the medicine kit. Alec watched her smear cream over the parallel cuts and tape his hands, and took a deep breath as she finished. “Is something … happening? Outside. Dad is really tense.”

Like Mom, Julia considered her words before answering. “I’m almost twelve,” Alec insisted. “I’m not a kid anymore, you can tell me.”

“You know Paul and your father can’t talk about work at home,” Julia warned. “But I do think the country is … uneasy. Seven had an unconventional win, and those are always unpredictable. I think everyone will be on edge until the Reaping.”

“We learned about that in Civics,” Alec said slowly. “Unrest happens in cycles. The districts get restless after the Tour but quiet down when the next Games start.”

She favoured him with a tight smile. “Exactly. A few more months and things should go back to normal.”

-----

“Elias Linden!”

Alec inhaled sharply through his nose. Reaching into his mind he yanked out half a dozen memories of the switch stinging his palm, Dad’s hand knocking his face to the side, the burn of his thighs as he counted down the minutes of his nightly wall-sits, so that when the camera drones swung past his row the image of his face that flickered across the enormous screens stared out calm and impassive.

(Alec, seven years old, desperate and terrified to start a fight so the Program will notice him.)

(A group of kids with Centre bracelets, tossing a ball back and forth in a circle.)

(A kid in the middle, wrist bare, face screwed up tight and lower lip wobbling.)

(“You’ve had your turn. Let someone else play.” “Last chance, kid. Go away.”)

(Alec in the office with a broken nose, split lip, a bag of frozen peas held to his face. Kid in the middle vanished as soon as the fists started flying.)

Elias Linden.

Out of all the twelve-year-olds in District 2. Alec must have fought the bullies over him a dozen times those next few months. Elias never said thank you — never looked him in the eye — and once the Centre called Alec stopped picking fights, too exhausted to think about the merchant boy with the hunched shoulders and hunted expression.

Elias didn’t look like a kid who’d learned to fight once his recess saviour forgot about him. The drones zoomed in on those same hunched shoulders, same clenched jaw, same stupid fancy clothes that made him a target for every pre-Residential tyrant in the central quarter.

And now —

“I volunteer!”

Alec pressed his knees together against the automatic urge to buckle. He had actually forgotten. Year after year of summers in this square — Creed’s lifelong obsession — and still, for those 30 seconds it was real. The Arena had swooped down and curled its claws around Elias, around all of them, like everyone else in Panem.

But they weren’t the rest of Panem. They were Two, and Alec couldn’t breathe. For a handful of seconds he got it, got why Dad always used that reverent voice when he spoke about the Games, why Creed puffed himself up so big and important. Alec knew Elias and they’d called his name; it could have been Alec. But it wouldn’t be Elias, and it wouldn’t be Alec, not this year, not any year.

Because of the tall, blond teenager with long limbs and steely eyes who strode down the central aisle, mouth curved in a hard sneer. And one day, because of Creed.

Alec bit his tongue until he swallowed blood and cheered with the rest of the crowd, a hollow in the pit of his stomach.

-----

Without Creed, now without Selene, the afternoon yawned. A whole summer with no one else for company; even Alec’s usual trick of calling up an imaginary Selene to devise likely activities wouldn’t save him now. Maybe he could dam the creek and teach himself to swim in the shallows? That would take time, if nothing else.

“Alec.”

He never jumped on the outside anymore, even when all his insides clenched into knots. But Dad’s serious voice made Alec’s heart start running laps, and he turned around slowly, brain doing somersaults trying to figure out what he’d done wrong. Forgot to make his bed? Left his breakfast dishes on the table? Splashed water on the sink and didn’t wipe it?

“Come inside and see this,” Dad said. “It’s important.”

Most kids at school didn’t start watching until the Reaping, maybe the year before so they knew what standing in the square their first year meant, but even Alec only sat down with his parents for the evening recap. A low chord of foreboding plucked in his chest. Quicksand dragged his limbs but he forced himself into a Peacekeeper’s march to join his parents in the living room.

Tucked into a corner of the sofa, under cover of his knees, Alec twisted anxious fingers in the crocheted afghan as one after another, district after district, kids his age walked shakily to the stage. This year the Games would have a whole stage of Elias Lindens — or Alec’s entire class at school.

“What happened?” he asked, once the footage switched to commentary. The Games correspondents didn’t have any theories, or if they did, they weren’t telling. Dad pressed mute on a discussion over the ongoing trend of seersucker in the outer tributes’ Reaping shirts.

‘This,” Dad said, slow and heavy, and Alec’s brain filled in the rest of the sentence along with him as he had done thousands of times — only without the ghost of Selene’s imitation trying to make him giggle —

This is what happens when we break the rules.

“Aunt Julia said,” Alec said, needing to show he understood, needing desperately to be a grownup. “She said there was unrest in the districts. Like how we learned in school.” Dad said nothing, which meant he wasn’t wrong, and so he continued, one foot in front of the other. “So this is — a reminder? That the Games are not a joke. That — that obedience is not a joke. That … they think they’re smart enough to find a way around the rules, if they’re tricky, but they’re not. The Capitol is the boss no matter what.”

Mom nodded. “Yes.” Now the Reaping footage returned in split screen, the only Volunteers (One, Two, Four) waving at the roaring crowds. Her face pinched, eyebrows drawing close, one corner of her mouth turned down. “Their job will be to carry out the punishment.”

“Because we’re the sword,” Alec said, on surer ground now. Anyone who made it to Transition knew this one. District 2, the tool, the weapon, acting as the Capitol willed. Creed had that speech memorized since he was five years old. “We don’t write the message, but we send it.”

They sent him back outside after that, and Alec hauled himself up the willow tree in the hopes that wind in the branches and the solid bark beneath his back would settle the uneasy churning in his stomach. All those weeks of Dad working overtime, the growing tension, a whole nation under the thumb for disobeying. Alec squirmed when Selene sneaked an extra cookie in front of him, never mind widespread treason. And now, six tributes in charge of delivering the Capitol’s retribution. Alec didn’t envy them that task. What did you do with tools, after all, once they’d outlived their use? There would only be one Victor this year, same as any other.

He clenched his eyes shut and focused on the rustle of leaves overhead, the drone of insects and scream of a distant hawk.

-----

Nothing surprising about their girl this year. Strong, beautiful, definitely deadly, stalking the training room in ‘unreleased’ footage that fools nobody but they still do it every year. Dad liked her; Mom said she should smile more. Then they had a brief argument about double standards in tribute sponsorship — Dad: “No one ever asked Nero to smile” Mom: “I am well aware” — while Alec wedged himself in the sofa corner as usual, hoping they forgot about him.

The boy, though —

Right from the start Alec could tell that the male tribute from Two would be unconventional, a thought that chilled his spine. Alec watched, chest squeezed so tight his ribs creaked, as the rangy boy chatted up outlier tributes, postured with the other Careers, and looked up at his mentor with such raw need that Alec looked away, burning with second-hand humiliation. Not exactly the ruthless murder machine that the Reaping set up for him to be.

Once footage ‘leaked’ of a Two v. Four showdown in the training room, both boys bristling for a fight, bodies tense and pushed up in each other’s space, eyes locked, faces so close they breathed the same air. Alec’s face burned, his whole body flashing hot, and he had to fight the urge to fling the blanket over himself, horrified to be in the same room as his parents, even though nothing about that made sense.

“What is he playing at,” Dad groused. “Actually, no, what is his mentor playing at. That boy’s only doing what he’s told. She knows better. Our job — and the stakes — could not be more clear. This is not the year to get clever.”

Alec didn’t bother answering, having long learned to differentiate between Dad’s ‘vent’ and ‘require response’ modes, and so he tensed when Mom ignored the signs. “She wants her kid to survive. There’s no shame in that.”

“That is not what the Games are for,” Dad said sharply. “Not this year. Not any year. They’re bigger than the life of one tribute, one mentor. Lyme knows that — or at least, she should. If she’s forgotten, then that’s one more piece in why this year is necessary.”

Mom’s face tightened, and Alec expected the silence to stretch the way it sometimes did at the dinner table, awkward and awful, but she fired right back, fast enough he nearly flinched. “Of course they’re more than a single life, but that doesn’t make that life irrelevant. It doesn’t mean she shouldn’t try everything she can to bring him home. Or should she dig a grave as soon as the paperwork is signed?”

“Alec,” Dad said, without looking at him, “Outside.”

Alec scrambled off the couch and out the door so fast he bashed his knee, hip and shoulder against various corners on the way out. He did not slow down until he hit the woods.

-----

Next morning, creeping downstairs to grab breakfast and duck outside before his parents woke, Alec ran into his father on the way up, squarely-folded blanket and pillow tucked under his arm. “Um,” Alec said, burning with a sense of shared embarrassment he couldn’t articulate.

“Alec,” Dad said, like any morning, except he fixed his gaze to the left of Alec’s head. Alec scrambled to the side, pressing his back against the wall to let him pass.

-----

“And with that, we’ll be right back to hear from our electrifying tributes from District 3!”

The camera wiped from Caesar Flickerman’s glinting smile to a panel of forecasters as Mom soundlessly muted the television. Alec’s knees dug into his chin and he held himself small, willing himself to shrink, dissolve back into the fabric of the couch, disappear entirely. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t even blink. Don’t do anything to draw attention. A mouse in the shadow of a hawk, waiting.

Dad’s moods had always filled the house — Creed never believed him but Alec could sense them with his eyes closed — and now it seeped into the living room, thick and unstoppable, like the low roll of thunder before a storm or gush of oil from an overflowing bucket. “Joseph,” Mom said, warningly, but then she stopped, looked at him, and her tone shifted, turning almost gentle. “Joe. It’s all right.”

“What about that is all right,” Dad gritted out. “The instructions this year could not have been more clear. One knows. Our girl knows. They’re playing along, they’re following the rules. The boy is not following the rules. He’s not following the rules, Dora —”

“I know,” Mom said, soothing. Alec had to breathe, finally, and drew air in through his nose as slowly as he could stand. “I know. But they know this as well as you do, they know the cost. They wouldn’t play this game for no reason. There must be a plan.”

“Oh?” Dad spun to glare at her, eyes wild. Don’t move, hissed Alec’s brain, don’t move. “What about all that about mentors and tributes and digging graves and lives not being irrelevant? Throwing our son in my face? Maybe she’s done the math and decided that it’s worth it, like you said. Maybe she doesn’t care who pays the price as long as one boy comes home. They don’t know.” His breath came ragged now. “They don’t know. They don’t know what happens when you break —”

Mom crossed the room in two sharp strides and knelt in front of Dad’s chair, holding his wrists. “Alec,” she said without looking away from Dad, “Go find Paul and Julia. Fast as you can.”

Frozen, Alec couldn’t move until Mom’s slap-sharp “Now, Alec!” tore him from his spot.

-----

Aunt Julia and Uncle Paul were washing the dinner dishes, television on mute in the other room, when Alec slammed his way in the front door. Julia jumped and dropped a drinking glass, which dropped into the sink with a wet plorp. “It’s Dad,” Alec said, chest squeezing. “The District 2 boy said something in the interviews and I don’t get it but it made him — he’s not — Mom said I should come get you —”

Julia and Paul exchanged a look. “Should I,” Julia murmured, and Paul shook his head. “I’ve got it,” he said, and he kissed the top of her head, folded the dish towel on the counter, and headed out. He squeezed Alec’s shoulder on the way past, his hand warm and solid.

“I don’t know what happened,” Alec said. He felt very small and very stupid and he missed Selene so much it hurt.

Julia sighed. “Let’s finish up the dishes first.”

Alec opened his mouth to protest, but Julia held out the towel and he stepped forward to take it from her automatically. And once he had the towel she handed him a glass and the rest sort of followed, and the rhythmic motions of drying the dishes didn’t make the earlier events disappear but they did help quiet the jangling in his brain, at least a little. Finally, Alec placed the last plate on the shelf and hung the towel up to dry, and Julia gestured him over to the table.

“I don’t know what happened either,” Aunt Julia began, and fair enough, they didn’t even watch the interviews. Until Alec came bolting in they wouldn’t have known there was anything to worry about. “But Paul and your mother will sort him out. Peacekeepers, you know. They understand things we can’t, sometimes.”

The urge to tear at the skin by his nails, to pick and pull until his fingers bled, bubbled up strong, and Alec exhaled hard and pressed his hands flat to the tabletop. Pushed down hard until his knuckles ached and his joints shook. “Do you think he’ll ever tell me?”

Aunt Julia frowned. “About tonight? Or something else?”

How even to explain the spectre that stalked his house, haunting the hallways and hanging over Alec’s shoulder any time he considered the kind of playful rule-bending that Selene took for granted as a childhood rite of passage. Alec stared at the table, following a grain of wood from the edge until it disappeared from view. “I don’t know how to — I feel like there’s something big I don’t know. Like he’s always not telling me something.”

Julia laughed.

A snort, not a fully belly laugh, and stifled by her hand once the sound caught up with her, but even so Alec bristled. “It’s not like that,” Julia said. “I only mean, Joseph always has something on his mind. But it has nothing to do with you — or anyone else, really.”

“But —” Alec clicked his tongue in frustration. “Shouldn’t I know? It seems like if I just, if I knew, I’d understand and it would all — make sense. Him. Me. All of it.”

She studied him, eyes dark and serious. “Alec,” Julia said finally. “It’s not your job to manage your father.”

Several summers ago, Selene pushed him out of the willow tree in the backyard. He’d landed on his side, shocked and winded, the breath driven from his lungs, one arm caught under him, wrist bone snapped in two. It came back to him now — not the blow or the pain or the fear, but that moment when he slipped from the branch before he hit the ground, when time elongated and he’d been weightless, floating.

“What,” he said finally, stupidly. “I’m not.”

“Hm,” Julia said. “I’ll make cocoa.”

-----

After the cocoa, Julia sent Alec upstairs to get ready for bed. “You’re welcome to stay here until things settle down,” she said. “I’ll make up the room for you.”

Despite absolutely nothing being different — Selene hadn’t even taken any belongings with her — the yawning cavern of her absence echoed so loudly that Alec actually stole one of her favourite shirts to sleep in out of spite, in the hopes that she would appear in the window to fight him for it, or something. Obviously she didn’t, because that was stupid, which meant that when Julia came back in to say goodnight she found Alec with ‘CAREFUL, I BITE’ emblazoned across his chest.

“Do you think we’ll get punished for what the Twos are doing?” Alec asked. “Dad’s worried, I know that much.”

Julia sat on the edge of the bed and brushed his curls back. “Your dad’s worried because his job takes him closer to things than most. I think if anyone knows their duty, it’s Two. Any mentor worth two stones knows how to keep their tribute and the district safe. Now sleep.”

She poked a finger between his eyebrows, then bent to kiss his forehead. Alec closed his eyes and let himself believe her.

-----

Tree shadows criss-crossed the ceiling as Alec tried to will himself to sleep. Two Boy had aimed the target back at the districts, blaming the families of the tributes for not volunteering. Except that — the outer tributes were usually scrawny, and starving, and had never seen a weapon in their lives. They hadn’t trained in a secret academy for years, had they? Mom and Dad and the trainers always said the Centre was a privilege. It wouldn’t be a privilege if everybody was allowed.

So what, then.

He could hear Selene’s dismissal already: not our problem. Even Creed would argue that training or no, it was the older sibling’s duty to protect the younger, and they would have to live with the guilt of that failure. But Alec had stood in that Reaping square, had watched Elias Linden take that first shaky step forward, and if no one else had taken his place? What if Alec had been thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and never held a sword? Would he have done it?

Alec didn’t even want to go to Residential. He’d never volunteer to die.

Okay. If it wasn’t the Careers, and it wasn’t the districts, then whose fault was it?

Alec jumped out of bed, sheets tangled around his feet so he nearly tripped and slammed into the floor face-first. He pushed Selene’s desk chair out of the way into the middle of the room, pressed his back against the wall and bent his legs until his thighs burned and his brain gasped in relief.

He counted to five hundred, then dragged himself, twitching and trembling, back to bed.

-----

Normality attempted to reassert itself with breakfast: scrambled egg and toast with a generous tablespoon of homemade rhubarb jam from the neighbours down the road. As always Alec hesitated at the jam — a definite indulgence, and he hadn’t done push-ups or anything this morning — but Julia had already spread it on the bread and asking for a plain slice would be rude. Julia and Paul shared another glance as he sat down, and Alec tensed.

“Your dad and Uncle Paul are going back to the office today,” Aunt Julia said, carefully. “We’ll all watch the recaps in the evening.”

Alec let out a breath. Aunt Julia was on-call for emergencies at the hospital and Mom’s school was out for summer vacation. Senior staff at Eagle Pass, meanwhile, had a work-from-home rotation for Games month, and it wasn’t Dad or Uncle Paul’s turn to be on site. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s an unconventional year already,” said Uncle Paul. “Safe to say the Arena will be a stressful one. We agreed it’s better if we’re not glued to the screen all day.”

Not exactly a lie — Paul and Julia only ever watched the recaps — but Alec knew the sound of an intervention when he heard one. “Okay,” he said slowly. “I guess I’ll … go hang out in the woods?”

Julia poured him a glass of juice. “You can take the fishing gear if you like. I’ll pack you a lunch.”

-----

He left the fishing gear at home, haunted by the memory of gulping mouths and pleading eyes on the last trip Dad tried to take him on, which left his original dam-the-river plan as the only option that sprang to mind. Alec trudged home at dinner time soaking wet, covered in mud, having heard absolutely no stupid jokes or threats or feats of illogic all day. The only time he fell into the creek, he’d tripped on his own.

Hanging out by himself sucked.

-----

Twelve-year-olds died every year. Alec had even seen them. But even compared to the hulking gods of the Careers they’d still been older than Alec and somehow more mature, even if they sobbed their way from Reaping to unceremonious death.

Now they were his age. His classmates.

The recap didn’t linger too long on their deaths, screaming and running and fighting to scale the forcefield walls. Two Boy took out one in the first few seconds — first kill of the game — without even looking. Dad grunted under his breath, a noise Alec recognized as now you’re playing ball. Unfortunately they saved most of the bloodbath time for the Career drama, Two versus Four and the shouts of betrayal between them. Dad was bracketed on the couch between Mom and Uncle Paul, and Alec tried not to look at him.

Two Girl gave it her best shot, but even she couldn’t take down four Careers on her own. “He left her there,” Alec said in a small voice. Sure, it was the Games, and alliances were only temporary, but — still.

“He made his choice,” Dad said, flat and grim.

He’d made everyone else’s choices for them too, apparently. After killing Two Girl the Pack stared at each other, then split. Everyone for themselves from day one. Alec swallowed the sour taste in his mouth. At least his parents paid for the raw feed so he didn’t have to listen to a commentary track on top of everything else.

And so it went, day after day. An ugly Arena for an ugly year, full of traps and tricks to create excitement before a bunch of kids Alec’s age could die slowly on their own. “It is a punishment for the districts,” Alec said once, watching the girl from Twelve dissolve in acid rain, screaming until her lungs filled with blood. “But not —” Not one carried out by the Careers, he’d begun to say — not with their tributes struggling to survive alongside the outliers, hardly the glorious tools of the Capitol’s vengeance the Reaping promised them to be. The sense of exception granted by the Volunteers had levelled.

He froze as soon as he registered he’d spoken aloud, but Dad only sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We have a narrative,” he said, reluctant. “We’ll see how it plays out.”

Two Boy started this, and so almost against his will Alec started to pay attention. While the Ones and Fours faced mutts, Two alone dragged himself out of the collapsing ground for hours and hours. Alec imagined the trainers asking, why? Why perseverance rather than combat? Humility over glory? Perhaps humiliation for the one who’d broken the rules? Bringing him low while the ones who’d played along got to earn their survival with honour and prestige.

Boring, Selene would say, for sure. Who wants to watch this dude crawl out of a hole for eight hours. Let’s go back to the fights.

-----

Two killed Seven after sharing a meal and talking about home, and Alec swallowed nausea. How could he do that, how could he — chat about family and little sisters and share chocolate and names and then slit his throat like that, like it didn’t even matter, pick up the dead boy’s token and take his snacks like it didn’t bother him. Alec thought of Selene sitting in Residential with the thirteens, watching, taking notes, of Creed, and the air around him had gone thin and thick all at once, pressing close around him and squeezing, squeezing, but none of it sliding into his lungs no matter how he gasped —

“Bed,” Mom said firmly, her hands on either side of his face. She snapped her fingertips against his cheek and he could breathe again. “Come on, Alec.”

He let her drag him into bed and tuck him in as she hadn’t done in years, physically lifting his legs over the edge of the bed and rearranging him bodily like a toddler. “I don’t want it,” Alec whispered, choked. “I don’t want Creed in there.”

“Creed,” Mom said firmly, “will not be like that.”

Alec pressed his arm over his eyes, breath shuddering. “He’ll still have to kill them. The ones my age.”

“He won’t have picnics with them,” Mom said. “He won’t make a game of it. And he won’t antagonize the President and the Gamemakers, either. You know that.”

He didn’t look at her. Pushed his arm down harder until coloured lights spun behind his lids. “Do you want him in there? Really?”

The bed creaked as Mom drew back, mattress bouncing with the sudden removal of her weight. “Good night, Alec,” she said, sharp and repressive, and it wasn’t fair and he shouldn’t have asked when she couldn’t possibly give an answer that would make him happy but her tone left no room for an apology.

Jeremy, Two Boy had said. Like my old man. He’d actually named his father on television. A father who — according to his interview — turned him out into the streets and left him homeless. Alec curled into a ball and tried to ignore the churning deep within.

-----

I hope the popcorn tastes good, said Two Boy, saluting over Nine Boy’s corpse with his blood-stained dagger. Try using thyme.

Dad stiffened. And there it was again, that little jolt in Alec’s spine, that sense of wrongness, the turn of his ankle on the stairs, the give beneath his foot that spoke of a sinkhole in the yard.

Two Boy hadn’t mentioned brothers. Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe he really did mean it to shame the district families, except. Except. If it were Creed he’d be sick with anger and guilt and fury, no one in the districts was eating popcorn — even in Two that was gauche, as Dad would say, so where — then who —

Alec met Dad’s eyes without meaning to, both of them fingers clenched on knees, breathing through their noses. This is what happens, Dad always said, when he ordered Alec to the wall, or sent him to his room without dinner, or cut a switch from the dogwood coppice in the backyard. This, and this, and this.

I get it, Alec wanted to say, desperate and terrified, but his voice died in his throat. I get it. He’s going to get us all in trouble.

Dad’s mouth thinned. He nodded, once, and turned back to the television without a word.

-----

Two Boy dragged himself across the frozen grass to the hovercraft as his vitals plunged downward at the bottom of the screen, but at the last possible moment he made it. The Gamemakers bestowed their favour, bringing out the sun to grant him that last burst of strength to get him to the ramp.

The Capitol assented. He had struggled enough, been humbled enough. A satisfactory narrative could be fashioned. District 2’s little traitor could come home.

Alec glanced at Dad, but phones were ringing off the hook all over the neighbourhood as soon as the trumpets blared. They all watched the recap knowing who would win. “Well,” Dad said finally, “this will be a fun cleanup.”

-----

No more of the districts-at-fault in the post-interview. No more inflammatory political commentary. They dressed Two in a too-big suit like a little boy wearing daddy’s clothes, had him blubber all over his mentor and cry about only ever wanting a family. Alec would never have believed it as a Two interview if he hadn’t watched the Games from start to finish.

Boring, said the Selene in his head again, absolutely disgusted, but the iron grip of terror around Alec’s chest loosened, maybe, a little. Obvious, sure, but maybe that was the point. Maybe playing poor-little-helpless-boy would be enough to forget this was one of the most dangerous Victors Alec had ever seen.

-----

After the closing ceremony, Dad called Alec outside. They stood together on the porch, shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the front walk as fireflies flitted in and out over the lawn. “Alec,” Dad said slowly. “These past — I’ve — I wanted to —”

Alec’s palms itched. The cuts from the switch had healed, pale pink stripes along his life line, nearly invisible. “It’s okay,” he blurted out. After everything that happened, everything he’d seen and heard, an apology from his father for showing emotion might actually explode his brain. “I get it. Now things can be normal again. Right?”

“I hope so,” Dad said, with feeling. He paused, and for a long moment no sound but the wind rustling the leaves and the call of two horned owls in adjacent trees. At last he let out a long breath and rested a hand on Alec’s shoulder. “I know it isn’t easy, but you’ve always tried to do what I ask of you. I know that.”

The sun had long set, only a thin, bright strip of light at the very base of the horizon above the buildings of town. Alec blinked away the stinging in his eyes. “Thanks, Dad.”

They stood there a moment longer, then Dad clapped his shoulder and stepped back. “Come on, then, let’s head in before the mosquitoes eat us alive.”

#lorata answers #anonymous #we must be killers: tales from district 2 #my writing #oc: alec seward #oc: joseph seward #oc: adora seward #is this too niche for ao3 lol #EDIT: too late it's on there lol

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geekyule · 5 months

Text

In the alternate world of Teyvat, where you begin your journey to find your loved ones by becoming a weapon of war in the Fatui

CW: violence, mention of blood, angst & fluff Thoughts: Excuse my first attempt at writing. There will be several parts coming soon. Semi-proofread

Part 1 - First Encounter

The snow fell thicker. Today marked your third day on the assignment on the outskirts of Morepesok, a seaside fishing village. Despite it being the third day, you hadn’t yet located all the hiding treasure hoarders. Anxiety was creeping in. The chilling winds blowing in from the sea and the night descending made your entire body tense with vigilance. Those scoundrels had meticulously planned their siege on the village to kidnap its inhabitants. Every entrance to the village required passing through this dark forest. They would target those traveling along the forest path; perhaps you would have to disguise yourself as bait to...

“Sister!”

You jolted into a defensive stance, turning towards the voice. A frantic girl ran towards you, carrying a smaller child on her back. One of the girl’s hands held a basket of herbs, while the other tightly gripped the sleeping child behind her. The treasure hoarders don’t raise children to deceive others like this, do they? - You silently pondered as the girl reached you. The girl looked up at you, panting, trying to appear tough but her voice trembling.

“Have you been waiting long, sister?”

“...?”

The blue eyes of the girl pleaded with you, before quickly glancing behind her, indicating that someone was following them. She shifted the child on her back and spoke louder.

“Teucer fell so we're late. I’m sorry. Let’s go home together, sister!”

If it weren’t for the sincere apology and the tears brimming in the girl’s eyes, you might have dismissed her. You believed the children trembled in fear whenever they caught a glimpse of your piercing gaze and eerie silence, avoiding you at all costs, just as you avoided them. Being around someone like you was dangerous enough for them, but now you realized you had to protect the two children and return them to their parents before any harm came to them.

“Let me carry Teucer. Mom will scold me until morning!”

“I'm sorry.” - The girl's face relaxed when she saw you played along. She hesitated a bit when handing her little brother over to you, but she was surely exhausted after running in fear. Her limbs trembled, tears started rolling down her rosy, cold cheeks.

“It's okay.” - You smiled gently - “I'm here now.”

With one arm holding the little brother, you used the other to pull the girl close to your side, patting her gently. You led the girl slowly back towards the village. The danger was definitely not over yet; these two children had ventured deep into the forest, with still a considerable distance to reach the safe area of Morepesok.

“Hold onto my coat if you know the treehouse." - You whispered, leaning down to the girl's head. She opened her eyes wide and immediately grabbed onto your coat. A clever child - you thought and smiled reassuringly at her. The little girl knew the home was too far to return to safety, they needed a shelter while the adults were around to help.

“There are 3 people chasing us…” - The girl whispered nervously.

“You and Teucer go to the treehouse and stay quiet, do not come out until I give the signal. I will protect both of you.”

As they headed towards the treehouse, you silently sensed the movement around, pinpointing the pursuers. Besides the three the children unfortunately faced, there were others gathering and chasing. The treehouse you mentioned was actually a landmark where the village hunters often stayed during long deer hunts. Luckily, you had learned from the villagers in the past few days, and the Archons had not disappointed the children as the treehouse was still sturdy even though it wasn't hunting season. You handed the little brother to the girl, urging her into the hideout and securely closing the door. Then you walked a distance away from the hideout.

“Now, let's greet each other properly.”

Three bandits stepped out from the shadows. There are two archers at 11 o'clock and 1 o'clock behind - You reminded yourself and pulled out a stick from your belt pouch. The treasure hoarder gang laughed loudly. One, seeming to be the leader, shrugged with the others, then smirked.

“Little girl, don't play childish games. We're just here to help you get to safety.”

Twirling the stick in hand, you advanced towards the group of bandits. With a flick, the stick unexpectedly split open at both ends and extended into a silver battle staff. A golden light encircled the threatening staff. The treasure hoarders, now intrigued, cautiously approached. You smirked provocatively.

“I'm also looking for a few people here.”

“You…” - The leader's face changed.

Slamming the staff into the ground, you sent golden geo energy lines snaking through the frontline bandits, deep into the darkness of the forest. Along the way, the lines carved the ground full of snow, terrifying the bandits. From the shadows, the ground trembled, followed by cries of pain, then silence. The bandits turned back to see their archer comrades.

“Don't worry about them. You’ll be reunited in "a safe place" soon."

You swung the staff forcefully, knocking the bandits off balance. With the archers out of the combat, dealing with the close-range fighters became easier. The bandits were not prepared to face a warrior with a Vision. You weaved through the bandits, calculating each move while manipulating the ground to gain the upper hand in battle. Despite your defensive techniques, years of weapon training and your petite stature provided you with a speed advantage in attack. Not to mention that the opponents couldn't assess your true abilities. The bandits fell one by one. You then created a stone wall to trap the treasure hoarder group, finally completing the mission.

“So, are you behaving now?”

You retracted the staff and carefully walked back to the hideout where the two children were when a light "swoosh" sounded. Before you could react, a blue arrow stabbed straight into your left arm, causing you to fall. Luckily I managed to twist lightly, this archer aimed for the heart - You reopened the staff to summon a stone wall in the direction of the attack just as two more arrows flew in. Blue arrows from the same person, this man moves fast and light, much more skilled than the bandits - You tensed up - If a master was sent, who are these two children? Suppressing the pain in the left shoulder, you plunged the staff deep into the ground, pushing out a series of stone columns towards the opponent. A blue cut slashed through each column, along with splashes of water. From the darkness emerged a figure with a masked head.

“Fatui soldier?” - you muttered in disbelief. In the ranks of the Fatui, was there such a highly skilled soldier? But what was he doing here? You were the only one assigned to the area.

The unfamiliar Fatui soldier dashed forward, wielding two daggers made of azure water. A Vision bearer, damn it - you quickly dodged a strike to your left shoulder, then spun to deliver a blow to the opponent's face, knocking off his mask to reveal orange hair. Too fast, if I just defend and counterattack, I will soon be defeated. These two children will be in danger. You decided to speak out.

“Where is your Fatui insignia, soldier? I'm specially assigned here” - You assumed a defensive stance after creating some distance from the opponent, your back towards the hideout. The top priority now was to protect the two children inside at all costs. Plunging the staff into the ground, you grabbed the arrow lodged in your left shoulder and yanked it out forcefully. Fresh crimson blood sprayed, falling on the white snow backdrop. The sharp pain made your vision blur. Should I use the "weapon" at this moment?

The Fatui member merged the two water daggers into one long glaive. He tossed aside his mask and stared straight at you. Those intimidating cloudy blue eyes seemed familiar. He coldly advanced, shouting.

“You’re dead!”

Using your right hand to support your left, you manipulated the broken stone columns to send shards flying towards the opponent, but they still couldn't stop his advance...

“Ajax? Big brother?!”

The little girl's voice echoed from inside the hideout, just as the sword came dangerously close to your neck. The opponent's wide eyes watched as you used your body to shield the entrance of the hideout. The door swung open, and the girl inside rushed out to hug you.

“She's protecting us! Don't hurt her!”

“Tonya!” - The Fatui soldier immediately dropped his weapon. His demeanor and face shifted to confusion - “What's going on? Where's Teucer? I don't understand.”

Tonya, the little girl whose name you just learned, stepped back and then rushed to hug her older brother, crying out loud. Perhaps now was the time she dared to cry freely, releasing the fear and anxiety. Ajax, the older brother, had to gently soothe her before she could recount the story. You watched the two siblings without noticing that Teucer had stood up and was looking at you.

“Sister. Hug!” - The little boy moved closer to you, not waiting for your response, and hugged your injured left side. You had to deftly avoid your bleeding shoulders from him, letting out a light cry of pain.

“Teucer! Don't! Oh, I'm sorry!” - Tonya ran back in a panic to hold her younger brother.

The older brother cautiously approached. You looked at him warily but without hostility. He tore a strip of cloth from his sleeve and helped you bandage the bleeding wound.

“I'm Ajax. Thank you for protecting my brother and sister.”

You didn't say anything, silently watching as Ajax tended to your wound. He still bore cuts from the flying shards, a gash on his cheek now oozing blood. Despite facing countless stone projectiles, he was determined to rush into battle; this soldier not only had a Vision but also displayed considerable courage, or... recklessness. When he began to reveal his face for combat, a strand of bloodthirsty aura clashed starkly with the present. Perhaps when loved ones were in danger, he became dangerous himself, ready to confront and protect.

“I've completed the mission, protecting your sister was just a coincidence. Anyway…” - You paused, looking at Tonya and Teucer who were staring intently - “Your sister is very clever.”

“Are you also a Fatui soldier?”

“I’m Y/n.” - You opened your belt pouch to show him the insignia and took out some first aid bandages.

“You should bandage your wound as well. I'll start a fire. You and your siblings should stay here tonight and return to the village in the morning.”

“Won't you come home with us?” - Tonya asked in surprise, looking at Ajax then back at you - “You saved us, and you're injured.”

“Sorry for shooting you, but to let the hero of the little ones go without repaying them, I'd regret it to death.” - Ajax quickly added.

“Your big brother is here now” - You ruffled Tonya's head, smiling even though the girl pouted in protest - “I need to escort the other group of people first. We'll meet again later.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Now, little sister, would you mind gathering some firewood around here for me?”

You used the staff to create a small patch of regular ground for the fire. While Tonya and Teucer eagerly gathered firewood, you took out fire stones from your pouch and began to light the fire. If it hadn't been for the recent danger, it would have seemed like a camping trip; the two children quickly returned to being cheerful with you. Ajax began to bandage the wounds on himself with the provided bandages, occasionally stealing glances at you and the children. After you had a small fire going, you headed towards the stone cell where the unconscious bandit group was being held, and Ajax followed. He pulled out a red scarf from around his neck and tied it around your neck, leaving you surprised.

“I... don't know how to thank you enough, please accept this. At least it will keep you warm on the way back.”

You looked straight into Ajax's blue eyes, probing, making him feel his cheeks heat up. But you just nodded slightly, bid him farewell, then quickly tied up the bandit group and disappeared into the shadows. Strange, there's something so familiar about his eyes - you thought silently, little did you know you would meet that young man again, sooner than you imagined.

Part 2

#childe x reader #genshin impact x reader #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x you #childe tartaglia ajax #genshin impact scenarios #ajax x reader #genshin impact #childe x y/n #childe x you #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin x you

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 5 months

Text

The Temptation Chapter 3

Summary: Father Barnes is devout, steadfast, and undeterred by flirtatious congregants. So why does this fallen angel tempt him so? You cannot serve two masters. Will he choose God, or his heart? This is a short chapter...Priest!Bucky x curvy!reader Warnings: eventual smut; religion (yes it's a warning); mentions of past sexual assault

Previous chapter Next chapter

The day after Christmas Y/N snuck into the church quietly. It was late and she didn’t want to risk running into Bucky. She skirted around the edges of the area as nuns walked around, cleaning up after Mass the day before. She managed to get one nun’s attention.

“Excuse me, Sister, um, are confessionals being held tonight?”

“Yes, they are, both Fathers are here tonight,” the Sister smiled at her.

“Okay, uh, could you tell me which one Father Richards is in,” Y/N felt like she was shaking as she asked.

“He’s in…oh, he should be in that one on the far end. I don’t think anyone is in there now.”

“Thank you.”

Y/N walked over to the farthest confessional room, tapping on the door a few times to make sure no one was in there before entering. As she shut the door behind her and settled on the uncomfortable seat she sighed, waiting for the telltale noise of the screen moving so that the priest could hear her. There was a scraping noise and a rattle, and she could hear the sound of breathing on the other side.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” Y/N immediately started.

Bucky nearly choked as he heard her voice. He looked over, being able to slightly see who was in the box even though they couldn’t see him. There she was, looking apprehensive and jittery. He cleared his throat.

“What troubles you?” he asked, trying to make his voice sound different. He wasn’t sure why he did this.

“Father Richards? You sound…different, are you alright?”

And there was his reason. She wanted to talk to Richards, not him. He knew this was a lie, but felt compelled to keep up the ruse. “Forgive me, I’ve been battling a cold for a while.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I hope you feel better soon,” Y/N rattled off, very little care in her tone. Bucky smiled at that. “Um…I’ve been having impure thoughts lately.”

“Impure thoughts?” Bucky ventured.

“Yes, about someone that I shouldn’t be having them about.”

“And may I ask who you’re thinking about?” Bucky didn’t need to be asking this, Father Richards would probably have not asked, but he needed to know.

“It’s about…Father Barnes.” Bucky let out a quick breath. He was feeling elated, pure ecstasy flowing through every limb. “And I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way, thinking these things. He’s a priest for Christ’s sake…oh God I’m sorry! I mean gosh! Ugh,” she grunted in frustration.

“I see,” Bucky kept his voice low, trying to sound less than interested. “And how long have you been having these thoughts?”

“8 months,” she breathed, rubbing her face with her hands. “I’m trying so hard not to. No offense but I hate coming here, so I never do, and yet somehow we keep running into each other. I was just wanting, needing, a friend, and it very quickly morphed into this sick, twisted thing that I don’t know how to stop. I feel like I can’t trust myself. And then Sister Carter called me his temptation, a Jezebel–”

“She called you a what?” Bucky seethed, somewhat keeping up with the facade.

Y/N sighed heavily, a hard sniff coming from her on the other side. “A Jezebel. That bitch…sorry,” Y/N sounded exhausted and exasperated. “That’s what Father…I mean, someone else called me a long time ago, and now I’m just…I don’t even know why I’m doing this.”

Bucky tried to regain control of his rage as he vowed to give Sister Carter a verbal beating. “I’m sorry she said that to you, that was wrong of her. You are not either of those things.”

Y/N scoffed. “Aren’t I, though? She said she sees the way I look at him, the way he looks at me.”

“What did you mean when you said you can’t trust yourself?” Bucky reverted to her earlier statement.

“Oh…awkward,” Y/N huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, I uh, I’m afraid of being left alone with him. Not that he would hurt me or vice versa, just that, if given the chance, I wouldn’t say no.”

Bucky palmed himself through his pants. Listening to this was torture, sweet, delicious torture. “I understand,” he cleared his throat again. “So you want him…sexually?”

“Desperately,” Y/N whispered.

Bucky’s head tipped back as he absentmindedly reached into his pants. He was definitely going to hell now. Jerking off to a confessional? He hadn’t touched himself in years, and it felt too good to stop now. “What are these thoughts you’ve been having?”

“That seems kind of personal, Father,” Y/N sounded dubious.

“You’re right, but I need to understand the level of impurity so I can help you…” Bucky slowly stroked himself, biting back a moan.

“Um…well, just, things of a sexual nature. Him having me in some, inappropriate places, in inappropriate ways. Like the altar,” She sighed. “Me taking him to my favorite places I’ve traveled…having fun on a beach in Bora Bora.”

Bucky bit his lip, his eyes shut tight as he imagined it. Him and Y/N on a beach, her barely covered curvy body on top, riding him into oblivion. Him laying Y/N down across the altar, hiking his sermon robes up and taking her right there in front of God. He shuttered and then felt his balls tighten, a sudden gush coming from him. He covered his groan with a cough. He tried his hardest to keep his voice even. “What do you plan to do?”

”What can I do? He won’t choose me. I don’t want to make him choose at all. I have to leave. Once everything is figured out, I’ll move on and get back to work. I’ll be the temptation, the harlot he was able to withstand.”

Bucky wanted to jump through the screen and shake her and scream. How could she think of herself that way? She wasn’t in charge of him or his choices. As much as he wanted her, as evidenced by the mess he made of his pants just now, that was his choice he made.

”You are not a harlot. Temptation is not a sin, and even giving into it isn’t always a sin, either. You are human, as is Father Barnes. I think…” he paused, unsure of how he wanted to go about this. “I think you should talk to him.”

”Talk to him?”

”Not as a confession, just as a friend, to clear the air. And then you can decide what to do from there. Until then…” he snuck his hand out of his pants, using one of the tissues in the room to wipe his hand, “I absolve you of your sins. Say three Hail Marys. The Lord be with you.”

”And with your spirit,” Y/N answered automatically. She scoffed at herself. “Thank you Father.” She left the confessional room. Should she actually talk to Bucky? It felt like putting herself in the line of fire. Father Richards was getting old, maybe he just had too much fun hearing about a congregant having a crush on his junior priest. Pervert, she thought.

**picture if from Pinterest, it's A.I. so there's no "artist" or "creator"**

@wintrsoldrluvr

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #smut #priest!bucky barnes x reader #priest!bucky barnes #chapter 3 #curvy reader #bucky barnes x curvy!reader

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matchagator · 1 year

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Clash | jjk (Mature) Ch. 7

Chapter 7 is here! I hope you enjoy! Thank you again for all of the love and support you have all shown Clash. I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart.

{Main Pairings:} Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader

{Rating:} 18+

{Genre:} Slice of Life | Neighbors

{Summary:} You're a new resident in your very first apartment excited to enjoy the simple life of adulthood. Unfortunately for you, you continue to run into unruly neighbors no matter how much you try to keep to yourself.

{Warnings:} Mature Language, Enemies to Lovers, Hostility, Mild Angst, Sexual Tension, Banter, Smut, Mild Degradation, Sexual Content, Prank Wars, Unprotected Sex , Awkward Tension, Fluff, Oral Sex, Teasing, Blood, Peril, Car Accident, Elements of Cheating (This list will be updated as each part gets released)

The bright flashing light of the emergency personnel begins to fade as Jungkook’s BMW pulls away from the spine-chilling scene of the motor vehicle accident. The drivers of both vehicles had already been transferred to the nearest hospital and traffic was finally starting to weave around the mess of scrap metal and busted vehicles still being cleaned off the road. You fail to realize that since Jungkook returned to the car, you’ve been holding your breath, feeling your anxiety slowly simmer back down at the realization that you were both safely on your way home. “Was that Taehyung?” You finally speak as you sigh in relief, shifting your gaze toward Jungkook as he sat quite stiffly in the driver’s seat.

Jungkook’s jaw was tense as he cautiously maneuvered toward the nearest exit, his eyes staying glued to the road in front of him. “Yeah, He’s on tonight.” You nod at his response, letting your gaze drop to your hands that are tucked between your legs.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook’s voice was laced with concern as he finally spares you a glance, his eyes exposing his protective demeanor.

For a moment, you contemplate your answer. You had never witnessed a car accident before and seeing someone helpless on the ground, tethering off the edge of life and death only seemed to make it that much more real and vulnerable. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You offer him a soft smile, hoping it’ll do its job of reassuring him that you’re mentally doing fine. “I’m glad everyone was okay.”

Jungkook’s grip tightens around his steering wheel as he glances in his mirrors, turning onto the large commercial street that leads down toward your apartments. “Me too.” He let out a long sigh, thankful for the reality that no one lost their life due to someone’s carelessness to double-check before merging into another lane.

“I bet you see that all the time.” You mention nervously, unable to imagine what dreadful sights Jungkook witnesses every time he clocks in for work.

Jungkook tilts his head to the side, letting the joints crack as he turns to face you with a broken stare. “That…and worse.” His words are haunting as a chill courses through your limbs. You feel content at the sight of your complex, watching as the parking garage door lifts open as Jungkook’s car approaches the entrance.

“Thank you for tonight.” You make sure to add as he skillfully pulls into a parking spot, thankful to see his eyes lighten from the darkened gloom that was entrapping him since the accident.

He grins as he places the car in park, finding your eyes with his. “I should be thanking you. It’s not often I get served a dose of humble pie.” He’s referring back to your victory on the track, causing the tension to vanish once as you smack your lips together, rolling your eyes as you unbuckle your seat.

As you enter the lobby and venture toward the elevators, Jungkook holds out his arm to keep the elevator doors from closing, motioning for you to enter as you quickly find your way toward the back of the elevator. You lean into the rail, watching as your date clicks the seventh floor. “You were amazing tonight.” You compliment him, your voice a soft hush as his large doe eyes find yours. He is almost surprised to hear you say such things.

“Thanks.” His lips pull into the hint of a smile, as he glances down at his attire. His plaid button-down was discarded into the dumpster of the parking garage while traces of blood were visible on the fabric of the white tank top adorning his toned abdomen. His hair has been tousled in the wind of the busy highway and even though he looks completely disheveled, you still find yourself immensely attracted to him. “I’m a mess.” He chuckles, glancing down at his body as he holds his arms out to better examine himself.

You laugh lightheartedly, thankful to see Jungkook less serious than he was on the drive home. “Comes with the territory of saving lives.” You feel your heart flip within your chest as Jungkook’s eyes met yours, his features softening from the reality of your presence.

“Still up for a nightcap?” Jungkook watches you carefully as if he’s expecting you to say no. The truth is, while the recent events of your evening might have been terrifying and unexpected, you couldn’t imagine going back home to face your thoughts alone.

“Yeah.” You answer softly, watching as he steps closer to you, his hand reaching out to caress your face. You hold your breath, anticipating the warmth of his touch as he leans forward. Jungkook catches himself, pulling his hand away before he can touch you, remembering that he should probably shower before having any more physical contact.

The tone of the elevator interrupts the moment as he turns to lead the way to his apartment. You follow behind him, watching as he searches his pocket for his keys. “I should take a shower first.” He glances back at you as he fiddles with the door handle, offering you a questioning stare. “Mind waiting?”

You shrug your shoulders as you hold your purse in front of you. The least you could do was wait for him to clean up after everything he’s done tonight. “Of course not.” You smile brightly, which only elicits a content grin from your neighbor. Jungkook pushes open his front door, gesturing for you to enter before him as he leans in to flip on the nearest light switch. You shyly squeeze past him, letting your eye wander over the landscape of his apartment as you take in the minimalistic decor.

Jungkook moves around you, taking his shoes off at the door before shifting about to turn on more lighting. You quickly copy him, removing your Converse and leaving them there before exploring more of the entryway. You smile as you watch him, admiring how clean his apartment is despite the collection of random items placed about the space.

“Make yourself comfort.” He offers, moving into his bedroom as he switches on a small gray box, beams of multicolored lights dancing across the walls as the ambient lighting creates a pleasant environment. He moves towards his closet, locating a dresser as he retrieves a plain t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts.

You hesitantly walk into his room, your curiosity taking over as you snoop around to glance at all of the things collected on his shelves. You notice a few Marvel items, video games, and music albums displayed, giving a few insights into some of the things he enjoys. “Nice place.” You hum happily, taking a seat on the edge of his large bed.

Jungkook peaks his head out from the bathroom, feeling completely wrecked by the sight of you sitting on his bed. He lets out a slight groan as he bites the metal of his piercing on the inside of his lip, accepting the fact that you’d look sinful spread across his sheets. He shakes off his imagination, pulling off his tank top before rolling it into a ball and tossing it into the trash given the blood stains. “Feel free to play music or turn on the tv.”

Your jaw practically drops open as Jungkook offers you a delicious view of his muscles, your mind going fuzzy from the sight as he moves his hands down toward the button of his jeans. Your eyes shamelessly follow his hands, noticing the carving of his muscles lubriciously pointing down towards his manhood. You chew on the inside of your cheek, feeling your body ignite in a raging inferno that can only be tamed by Jungkook’s touch.

“Y/n?” Jungkook’s voice painfully drags you from your lustful trance, blinking off your surprise as you shift your eyes back up to his. “Did you hear me?”

For a moment, you can’t remember what he said, your mind short-circuiting as you try to retrace the last things you might have heard. You hear him chuckle softly before unbuttoning his jeans, pointing towards the television and speaker. “You can turn them on.” He adds, before stepping back into the bathroom. “I won’t take long.”

You nod weakly, offering him a bashful smile as you watch the bathroom door close between you. You let out a sigh of frustration, practically palming yourself in the face for being so obvious about your attraction. You shift your weight to one side as you pull your phone from your back pocket, deciding to distract yourself in hopes of cooling off. As you tap your screen, it illuminates indicating a few missed texts from Roxanne.

As you go to tap open her messages, you hear the water turn on, the sound accompanied by Jungkook’s soft humming. You turn off your phone as you listen to his heavenly voice singing through the wooden door, getting hypnotized by the comforting sound. Your eyes follow the slow pulse of lights against his wall, enjoying the mood lighting which only seems to stir your desire to be intimate with Jungkook.

You nervously bite your lip, remembering how you cheated this man out of an orgasm in his own car. Despite the feud you created between you both, you recognize that Jungkook is genuinely a good man and any woman would be lucky to find themselves waiting for him to shower while casually sitting on his bed.

As your thoughts circle back to memories of Jungkook’s body, you begin to wonder what he looks like currently, naked beneath a stream of running water. You feel your cheeks burn at the thought of him soaked and vulnerable for your hands to trail down his body. You smirk mischievously as you imagine him groaning and tossing his head back from your treatment, singing your praise as you threaten to finish what you started in his car that rainy day.

You boldly decide to stand, moving your hands to your waist as you unbutton your own jeans, pulling them down the length of your legs before draping them across a gaming chair near the edge of his room. You quickly remove your panties, hiding them beneath the denim as you slip out of your cropped sweater and bra. You feel completely exposed as you begin to question your decisions. What if Jungkook wants to be alone, cleaning up after a stressful encounter? What if he rejects your advances?

The countless worries plague your mind as you cross your arms over your chest to hide your indecency, questioning your intentions. You fight with yourself, letting your desires take over as you timidly step toward the bathroom, opening the door slowly not to startle Jungkook.

Jungkook hears the click of the door, frantically turning toward the source of the sound as he catches a glimpse of your body on full display. He passes his hands across his face, pushing his hair back and clearing the water from his eyes as he processes the reality that you are standing naked on the opposite side of the shower door. His silence gives you all the confidence you need as you pull open the glass door, the steam clearing from the cool air as you get a salacious view of Jungkook’s body.

“What are you doing, princess?” His voice is almost a growl as if he’s the big bad wolf on the prowl for his little red riding hood, desperate for a taste. A shiver courses through your limbs as you hesitantly step into the shower, closing the door behind you as turn to face the man stalking you from behind the veil of water.

You bite your lip, refusing to let your eyes shift from his gaze as it pins you to a metaphorical wall. “I thought you could use some company.” You can feel your brain going dumb at the sight of his body beneath the stream of water, his muscles flexing against the warmth as he steps toward you. You feel the water run down your hair, trailing down your shoulders and breasts as you stand fearlessly before him, ready for whatever behavior he has in store.

Jungkook pants as he steps closer toward you, his tattooed hand gently trailing up your chest as his fingers grip around your throat, pressing you back against the tile wall as he hovers his lips just barely above your own. “You shouldn’t have come in here.” He groans, pressing his body against yours as the contact between your bare skin causes you to let out a gasp of surprise. He’s holding you firmly but gently, taking caution to read your reactions as you practically crumble before him. He keeps his hand snug around your neck before placing his free hand against the tile just beside your head, caging you between him and the wall as he leans in to brush his lips against the shell of your ear. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you all damn night.”

You feel your mouth run dry, completely parched for whatever sweet nectar Jungkook has to offer as you squeeze your thighs together, desperately spreading your palms across the tile in an attempt to stabilize yourself. You gulp back your arousal, helplessly searching for your will to speak as Jungkook continues to render you speechless. You go to speak until Jungkook lifts his thumb from around your neck, dragging it gently across your bottom lip as he slides his hand across the column of your throat until he’s caressing the back of your head.

A gasp jumps through the barrier of your lips as Jungkook grips his fingers through your hair, the tension of the strands and the swift movement of him pulling your head forward causes you to squeak in surprise. You feel his forehead press into yours, his eyes exposing the torment he’s clearly enduring every second he isn’t getting intoxicated by your affection.

“What makes you think I want to fuck you?” Your frontal lobe finally resumes normal functioning as your stubbornness hijacks any remaining rationality you have left, narrowing your eyes to challenge him yet again. “I just wanted to clean off.” Your excuse is complete bullshit, something Jungkook instantly recognizes as he pulls you closer, boldly smothering your lips with his as he extracts a long, drawn-out moan from you.

“Jungkook-” Your efforts to speak are rapidly muffled by his lips, his piercing dragging against your lip as his teeth bite down as if a warning to keep your mouth shut. You desperately attempt to catch your breath between his kiss and the running water threatening to drown you if Jungkook’s affection didn’t do the job first. Your arms act like the limbs of a marionette being manipulated by the puppeteer that is Jungkook, wrapping around his neck as you arch your body off the wall to allow your chest to press into his toned abdomen.

Jungkook groans from the contact, his lips trailing down the column of your neck as he ventures down your torso, his hands shamelessly sliding down your shoulders to grope your perky mounds as his teeth sink into the fleshy part of your breast. “JK…” You try to speak again between ragged breaths, your body shivering from his intentional love bites.

“Y/n…” He huffs against your skin, anger flashing across his pupils as he lifts his head back to the level of your eyes. “If you don’t shut up and let me fuck you…” He threatens as he presses his forehead against yours once again, his expression completely wrecked as he brings both of his hands down your side to grip the meat of your hips tightly. “I’ll pound you through the damn wall.”

The moment the last syllable leaves his lips, he’s latched back onto your lips, violating your mouth with his tongue as his fingers dig deeper into your sides as he effortlessly lifts you from the ground, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. You choke back a moan as you feel his hardened cock probing at the inside of your thigh, feeling dizzy already and he hasn’t even entered you yet. “Oh my….” You whimper weakly against his lips. “JK, please!”

Jungkook smirks against your mouth, hearing your sweat pleas as he presses his hips forward to tease you further. “That's right, Princess.” He groans, feeling his resolve crumble as he adjusts you in his arms to align your center with his dripping and eager tip. The strength of his arms hold you up until you feel him drop you onto his dick, impaling you to the hilt as a loud moaned scream breaks the confinement of your lips. “Let me hear how good I fuck you.”

You can hardly catch your breath, gasping through your muffled moans as you smother your face into the crook of his neck, desperately clinging your limbs around his body as he begins to bounce you on his cock. The sound of the running water does nothing to conceal the scandalous sound of your bodies smacking together as Jungkook’s length buries deep within your core, pressing deliciously against your cervix.

Jungkook presses his lips together, his features scrunching from the strain of his body as he compensates for your weight. The look alone leaves your body trembling for more, enamored by his athleticism as he continues to balance you against him. You move your hands up to the back of his head, clawing your fingers into that lovable overgrown mullet as you tug his head back. Jungkook lets out a hiss as he steps forward, pressing your back into the tile as the rough material molds over your shoulder blades.

You release your grip on his hair as your body begins to slide down the surface, the steam and water only creating a slippery environment as your hands press into the side of the shower to keep you up. Jungkook is thankful for the break on his muscles, moving his hands down to your ass as he rotates your hips back, dragging his length from the warmth of your vagina before slamming back into you.

The salacious position he has you pinned in allows him to reach a new depth, filling you to the brim as his cock twitches from the stimulation, his eyes reflecting the same expression as a rabid animal. “Fuck, Y/n.” He pants as he continues to pound into you, his eyes devouring the sight of your blissed-out expression as your helpless moans fuel his motivation to fuck you harder and faster. “You’re so damn perfect…”

His praise leaves you floating on cloud nine as you attempt to move your hips in sync with his, the pressure causing your pleasure to build deep within your stomach. “Oh shit…” You cry out, becoming nothing more than a sobbing mess as you feel your undoing rapidly approaching. “JK!” You shriek, feeling helpless as your orgasm rips through you, an embarrassing amount of liquid gushing from your center as Jungkook groans in satisfaction.

Your body convulses around him, the strength in your arms giving way as Jungkook catches your limp body, refusing to stop pumping himself into you to help you ride out the waves of your orgasm. “Almost there, Y/n.” He bites down on his bottom lip, his teeth unforgivingly pressing against his piercing as his cock swells with the anticipation of his sweet release. “Ah, fuck yes.” Jungkook grunts as your vagina constricts around him to the continuous stimulation, milking him for all of his worth. A guttural sound escapes his lips as his forehead drops to your shoulder, hot ropes of his seed shooting deep inside your uterus.

There is a moment of stillness as Jungkook holds you in place, panting against you as he finally lets your legs drop, despite their inability to keep you upright. You wince slightly from the overstimulation as his penis drags from inside you, gasping as Jungkook adjusts the angle of the shower head to douse you both in the hot liquid. It does its job of washing away the evidence of your sinful activities with Jungkook as he leans forward to press an oddly gentle kiss to your lips.

You sigh contently from the tender affection, feeling comforted by the warmth of the shower stream and Jungkook’s soft kiss. “You were amazing.” You admit timidly, biting your bottom lip as your legs finally allow you to hold your own weight. Jungkook grins at you proudly, chuckling softly as he moves his hands to flatten your wet strands of hair.

“Yeah, you’ve already said that tonight.” He teases, watching your bliss and gratification morph into an annoyed roll of your eyes. The small hint of sass is enough to drive him mad as he leans in to place a passionate kiss against your lips. “Don’t be a brat.”

You tilt your head in annoyance, his soft kisses preventing you from being frustrated with him. “Don’t be an ass.” You counter, feeling your heart flutter at the childlike smile that stretches across his features causing his cheeks to swell against his eyes, exposing his genuine happiness.

“Turn around.” His voice is surprisingly romantic, the tone dipping lower as if rich molasses while his hands caress your hips, gently guiding you to turn away from him. Your eyebrows pinch together in confusion as you hear some rustling from beside him. It doesn’t take long before you feel soft material smooth against the back of your shoulder as it moves down the length of your back.

You soon realize that the texture is similar to a sponge, feeling the suds of Jungkook’s soap alongside the gentle drag as he selflessly begins to clean off your body. You feel a shiver crawl up your spine from the affectionate gesture, tilting your head to the side as he brings the material back up to rub against your opposite shoulder.

A moan of relaxation threatens to reveal itself as you close your eyes, enjoying the rare moment of having someone tend to you so sweetly, feeling your cheeks heat from the blush creeping on your complexion. “JK…you don’t have to…” You’re silenced almost immediately as Jungkook steps closer to your body, wrapping an arm around your waist as he presses a kiss onto your shoulder. You whine as his lips leave your skin, shuddering once feeling them press against the shell of your ear.

“I want to.” His voice is uncharacteristically sweet, leaving you a blushing mess as you fight the infectious smile from creeping onto your face, nodding in agreement as you let yourself float in the serenity of his entrancing euphoria.

You let Jungkook’s hands travel along your body, feeling yourself begin to gently sway along with the glide of his palms, hearing his chuckle softly in your ear as he travels dangerously close to the juncture between your hips. He smirks as you suck in a breath, imagining all of the ways Jungkook has ever touched you as it threatens to send you into another toe-curling orgasm.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you are?” He whispers as he brings a hand up to move your hair across your back over to one shoulder, exposing the back of your neck for him to press open-mouth kisses across the surface. You roll your head to the side, happily allowing him access to your body in whatever way he desires as you hum in response.

He lets the water wash away the soap as he hangs the sponge back up, letting his hand sprawl across your stomach as he pulls you against him. You glance back at him over your shoulder as he slides his fingers down to cup your heat, a strangled gasp escaping your lips as he presses his finger against your clit. “You look even more beautiful when you cum.” He adds completely unashamed as your body convulses from his touch.

Your mind spins from the sensitivity, knowing it wouldn’t take much for him to seduce you into another round of sex. You bravely turn to face Jungkook, immediately noticing the darkened stare behind his pupils as he begins to entertain another moment of weakness in ogling your body. You chew on the inside of your cheek, nervously reaching for the sponge as you swirl your pointer finger in a circle, gesturing for him to turn around.

Jungkook hums in excitement as he follows your direction, turning to face the opposite side of the large shower. You reach out for his bottle of soap, squeezing some of the liquid onto the soft material before turning your attention to the details of his back. Your eyes instantly follow the curves of his body, practically drooling at the sight of his muscles so perfectly chiseled as you gently run the soap down his back. You feel his muscles relax at your touch, taking the opportunity to examine the details of his tattoo sleeve from a different angle.

Jungkook groans contently from your touch as your fingertips brush against his shoulder blades. “You’re not bad looking yourself.” You grin as you use your free hand to pass against his shoulder to better help smooth the soap across the canvas of his skin.

“That’s it?” He complains, quickly turning around to face you as he engages you in a friendly stare-down. “Only not so bad looking?” He adds, staring down at you intimidatingly as you move your attention to washing the surface of his pectoral muscles.

You peer up through your eyelashes as you challenge his bravado, a small hint of a smirk exposing itself on the corner of your mouth. “You have a big enough ego as it is.” You tease, knowing that Jungkook was nothing more than a man to admire. Despite your newfound admiration for your neighbor, you weren’t about to gravel at his feet as if he was a god, even though he definitely looked like one.

Jungkook steps closer to you, diminishing your proximity as he brings a hand up to cup your cheek. “You know, I’m only an ass around you.” He grins smugly, before leaning forward to capture your lips with his. He sighs at the contact, pulling away ever so slightly before pressing another soft kiss upon them.

You smile against his kiss as you pull away, exposing your giddiness as you try to maintain a calm, collected composure. “Oh? And when I’m not there, what exactly are you?”

Jungkook holds out his arms confidently gesturing to himself with a cocky deposition. “Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.” You blink, listening to Jungkook list all of these random titles as you’re features morph into confusion.

“What?”

Jungkook’s smile disappears as he suddenly becomes shockingly serious. “Iron Man?” He questions, gauging your understanding of the reference he just provided you as you shrug your shoulders in even more confusion.

“Is that a quote from the movie?” You inquire given that you’ve never actually seen the movie in its entirety.

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook practically chokes on his shock as he steps back to eye you up and down. “Have you not seen Iron Man?”

You shrug once more, which seems to set off Jungkook as he brushes his hands through his hair to adjust the wet strands from hanging in his face. He reaches past you, turning off the faucet as he turns to snatch a towel from the towel rail. “Alright, I’m getting you that drink and we’re watching it.”

You happily accept the towel now that you’re standing in the absence of the heat from the water, shivering slightly from the cool air of his apartment. “Seriously?” You laugh, finding his actions endearing as he quickly moves about to find himself another towel.

“Oh, I’m dead serious.” He retaliates as he steps out of the shower, drying himself off with a renewed sense of urgency.

You can’t help but laugh, finding this side of Jungkook insanely comical as you watch him tug on his boxers as he tries not to fall over. “Jungkook, at least let me go get some clean clothes…”

“No bother.” He interrupts, offering you his oversized t-shirt. “You can borrow mine.” He smiles widely as he takes the moment to take in the sight of your naked body as you wrap the towel around yourself to conceal the view from him. “I’m sure it looks better on you anyway.”

Your cheeks brighten to a deeper shade of crimson as you bite your lip from his comment, hating the fact that he knows exactly what to say to cause your heart to summersault within your chest. “Okay, fine.” You smile, stepping out of the shower to join him. “You win…this time.”

—

The warmth of the morning sun kisses your skin as it seeps through the curtains of Jungkook's bedroom, causing you to stir from your slumber. You let your limbs elongate as you stretch your tired muscles, startling yourself as your hand brushes against a solid figure beside you. Your eyes snap open, finding the tranquil expression of Jungkook resting soundly as your head rests gently against his bicep and pectoral muscles.

You can’t help but admire his features, enjoying his soft snores as you notice a small cylindrical pillow beneath his neck, allowing his spine to curve around the plush material. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the bright lighting around you, bringing your hands up to rub the tiredness from your corneas as Jungkook’s masculine aroma swirls around you.

It’s not your usual, waking beside such a handsome man, knowing that he seems equally as attracted to you as you are to him. The thought of this becoming a regular occurrence causes butterflies to flutter in your stomach, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. Your thoughts reel through the events of the previous evening, recalling your adventurous date and the severity of watching Jungkook spring into action to help during a car accident. It doesn’t take long for your memory to shift to thoughts of Jungkook in the shower, remembering your daring decision to join him beneath the stream of warm water.

You bring your fingertips to your lips, still feeling the tingle of Jungkook’s affection as you vividly recall the sensation of his cold metallic piercing molding over your mouth with the warmth of his supple lips. You shift in your position, turning your body to face your sleeping neighbor beside you. It’s amusing to you how a relationship that was filled with pranks and animosity suddenly morphed into one of admiration and excitement.

The television screen on the opposite side of his bedroom was still illuminated, the browser for Disney Plus still open as it displayed the title screen for the movie Iron Man. You distinctly recall your evening sprawled about on his bed, tilting your head toward his nightstand to see a few beer bottles remaining from your nightcap. You remember Jungkook’s childlike glee as he watched your reactions to the film, laughing and teasing you along the way as well as stealing some kisses before you both inevitably fell asleep.

Your moments of reminiscing are soon cut short as Jungkook’s soft snores subside, a low groan rumbling in his chest as his hand gently moves to caress your hip. His touch sends a jolt of electricity through your body as his peaceful expression turns into a satisfied grin when he too realizes that you’ve fallen asleep together.

“Morning, Princess.” He smiles brightly, his teeth glistening white as he moves a hand up to brush your hair from your face. You close your eyes as you press your face into his palm, letting a sigh escape your lips as you fight a smile from tugging at your lips.

“Good morning.” You hum happily, completely entranced by his details. Your eyes settle on the metal of his piercing, letting your pupil’s gaze lower to find a small freckle tucked beneath his bottom lip. You watch him lay flat on his back as he glances up at the ceiling, still waking up from his slumber.

Jungkook lets out another soft groan as his sleep threatens to pull him back under, leaving you to examine more of the fine attributes of his features. Your line of sight hovers over the small scar on his left cheek as you bravely decide to reach out and brush your fingertips over the imperfection, curiosity bubbling over as you gently bite your bottom lip. “Did you get this on the job?”

As your fingers feel the slight indentation of his skin against the scar, you hear a chuckle rumble within his chest cavity as he tilts his head back in your direction. “No.” He grins, running his hand along your back as you curl your body into his, keeping yourself up with your elbow. “It’s not that interesting of a story actually.”

You raise your eyebrows in curiosity, letting them scrunch from your pondering expression as you adjust yourself to peer down at him. “I have time.” You tease, waiting to hear the story behind such a distinct feature of his appearance.

Jungkook brought his opposite hand up to smooth his hair down in order to tame the flyaways from his bedhead as he squints his eyes against the sun. “My brother and I got into an argument over a computer.” He stated plainly, watching your reaction cautiously as if expecting to see disappointment invade your expression.

You shrug your shoulders as you lay back down, resting your head against his chest. “Wow, you’re right, that wasn’t interesting.” You tease, avoiding his glare that clearly pierces into the side of your skull.

It’s as if your words cast away Jungkook’s fatigue as he skillfully and athletically rolls on top of you, caging you beneath him as an arm rests on either side of your head. “Don’t be a brat.” He hisses as you gasp slightly from the sudden change in position, your soft sound muffled by Jungkook’s lips as he leans down to capture your lips in a surprisingly tender kiss. You feel your muscles relax from the affection, melting into his mattress as your body suddenly craves to be smothered beneath him.

You move your arms up around his neck, smiling against his lips as you deepen the kiss with every intention of getting your morning fix of Jeon Jungkook. Your actions are only encouraged as Jungkook allows his body to press against you, releasing an arm to trail his hand along your legs and waist. Your lips become a tangle of metal and tongue as Jungkook’s innocent soft kiss transforms into a desperate crave for your taste.

Jungkook’s hand trails against the bottom seams of his oversized shirt that’s draped across your body, his fingers tickling the skin of your thigh as you arch your back from the stimulation. His digits tread dangerously close to the inner part of your thigh, causing a shiver to course through your body as you continue to make out with him shamelessly, moving your fingers to grab ahold of the bottom strands of his hair that hang just at his neck.

You’re satisfied with the deep grutal sound that erupts from his chest as you tug, feeling his hips press into you as something hard pokes against the crevice between your thigh and heat. You gasp at the sensation of his hard dick ready for your attention, moaning at the thought of feeling him inside you once again. Your wall pulses at the excitement as if the ghost of his length sparks an insatiable heat between your legs.

“JK.” You grumble against his lips as he moves his attention to kissing your neck, sucking the skin shamelessly without fear of leaving marks from his rough treatment. Your mind swirls from his attention, leaving you grasping at his hair and bare torso, the flex of his muscle deliciously reminding you of what it feels like to have him strain above you.

Jungkook releases your neck from his affection, trailing his lips down to the collar of his shirt before lifting off your skin to find your eyes. “I knew this would look better on you.” He comments as his teeth snap against the collar, tugging the fabric down to expose more of your neck as he sits up on his shins before moving to pin your arms down by your head.

All you can do is await his treatment, finding yourself trapped as he hovers his lips over various parts of your body, teasing you as you struggle beneath him. “Let me touch you…please.” You plea, your hands desperate to paw at him, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of you once again.

“Don’t move.” He threatens, leaning forward to hover his face just above yours. You feel the pressure of his stare as he communicates his serious command, releasing his grip on your wrist to move his attention to your panties. You can feel his fingers claw against the waistband as you move your arms to grab at him. Before Jungkook can slide the fabric down your legs, he moves to pin your arms back towards your head, a low warning growl reverberating from his chest as he leans forward to press his forehead against yours. “I said…don’t move.” A shudder rakes through your body as you gulp back your arousal and stubbornness, fighting a smile as Jungkook smoothly slides the undergarments from around your waist.

Buzz

As he goes to pull his boxers down, you hear a loud series of vibrations coming from the comforter beside you, noticing the illumination of Jungkook’s phone screen. From your position, you can only make out that it’s a phone call coming from a number that wasn’t saved in his phone. To your surprise, Jungkook doesn’t care about the device one bit as he turns his attention back onto you, grabbing your hips as he pulls your body to slide against the sheets to be closer to him.

Once both undergarments have been tossed to the side, you feel Jungkook slide his hands up your body beneath the fabric of his shirt as he boldly sticks his head underneath the fabric to press kisses along your torso. You’re left practically squirming to touch him as you watch his head disappear beneath the shirt, obscuring your vision, leaving you blind to his actions as you feel his lips travel lower and lower down your abdomen.

Just as Jungkook reaches your love handles, you let out a squeak from the ticklish sensation of his teeth grazing your skin as he places a few love bites against the fleshy part of your hips. You let your eyes roll back as you melt further into the sheets, the cool sensation of them doing little to tame the inferno igniting across your limbs.

Buzz

Your moment of bliss is once again interrupted by the repetitive buzzing of Jungkook’s cell phone, your eyes searching for his as you wonder if this time he’ll stop and take the call. “JK?” When he doesn’t listen to you, you push up on your elbows, pressing your thighs together to get his attention. “JK.”

“Y/n!” He groans, crawling back out from beneath your shirt as he climbs his way back over your body, stopping only when his face is just above yours. “Stop interrupting me.” He threatens once again, his eyes dark and wild with agitation.

Buzz

As a few more vibrations come through the phone, Jungkook finally decides to pay attention to his device as he reaches across you to grab it from the corner of the bed. You watch him in curiosity before noticing his eyes widen, a look of complete shock and horror invading his face. “Shit.” He curses under his breath, studying the screen for another moment before rolling off of you and standing up as he quickly types away, responding to someone.

“Everything okay?” Your tone can’t help but expose your worry as you quickly sit up, watching Jungkook put his phone down as he turns to quickly retrieve clothes from his closet.

“Yeah, It’s fine,” Jungkook speaks half-heartedly as he quickly turns on the shower, letting the water run to get hot as he collects everything he might need for the day. “Y/n, I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

His words throw you for a loop as you sit perched on his bed, your legs crossed and your hands tucked between them. “What?” You watch him carefully, noticing him grab everyday clothes versus his work uniform, so clearly he wasn’t late for work.

“I forgot I had plans…” He starts to explain, setting everything down on the bathroom counter as you hear another vibration from beside you. You glance down at the screen, noticing the same number on the incoming text message. “I have to go.”

I look forward to seeing you again.

Your heart sinks to your stomach from the incoming message, your mind suddenly spirals with insecurities. Who the hell was messaging him and who did he have plans with? You feel your frustration bubbling in your stomach as you desperately try to collect yourself while also crawling out of his bed to pull off his shirt and put your clothes back on. “Right now?”

Jungkook moves toward you as you question his sudden urgency, and offers you an apologetic smile. “Yes.” Before helping grab your purse and belongings, he stops you in your tracks, pulling you closer to him to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “Yesterday was amazing”, He admits, smiling his famous bunny smile as his cheeks swell against his eyes. “I’ll talk to you soon?” He offers, his eyes searching your stare to make sure you are okay before escorting you to his door.

“Yeah.” Your voice is soft as you take steps toward his door, still trying to process everything. “Thank you again, for everything.” You add, making sure to cover your bases given he paid for everything on your date, not to mention sparing a few beers to share with you for a nightcap.

Jungkook grins as he opens the front door, unlocking the mechanism before offering you another apologetic glance for having you leave so suddenly. You comply, stepping out into the hallway as you pull your keys from your purse. “My pleasure, Princess.” Jungkook’s voice is low as if a purr as you exchange a few glances of admiration.

Your worry is suddenly completely annihilated as he bites his bottom lip, leaning into his door frame to watch you walk away to the door directly beside his. “You owe me.” You tease, narrowing your eyes as your point your keys at him accusingly.

Instead of retaliating, his eyes darken as if he’s happy to provide such compensation. “Oh, you couldn’t handle what I have in store for you later.” He licks his bottom lip lecherously as a heat stirs within you, your legs trembling from the implication. Before you can respond, he remembers that the shower is going and points back into his apartment, offering that same regretful stare. “I have to go. See you later.”

With that, you watch him disappear behind his door, leaving you to your thoughts as you step into your apartment that hasn’t been inhabited all night. You switch on the light, placing your belongings on the counter as you take another moment to process the recent events. While you felt a little better about the situation, you still couldn’t help but wonder why Jungkook needed to run off so quickly. You let out a sigh, settling for the numerous thoughts of what he could possibly be up to now.

—

After your thrilling date with Jungkook, you utilize your day off to accomplish all of your tedious weekly tasks. You took the time to venture off to the grocery store, restocking your refrigerator and pantry before turning your attention to paying all of your bills. You expected to hear from Jungkook at some point throughout the day but became disheartened as more and more of the day dragged on without a single text. The day wasn’t over for you as you began cleaning the entirety of your apartment, finishing with your laundry.

As the evening settled, you found yourself sitting on the edge of your bed as you plucked various pieces of clothing from the laundry basket beside you, folding each item carefully before forming piles across the top of your duvet. Your television displayed your favorite series as the episodes looped automatically, creating the perfect background noise as you continue your task.

You glance over at your phone resting beside your thigh, chewing the inside of your cheek as you tap the screen in hopes of seeing the name asshole with a text message on your display. Your heart sinks in your stomach at the realization that he still hasn’t reached out, leaving you to ponder back to the way your morning with him abruptly ended.

I look forward to seeing you again.

The text message you witnessed on his phone haunts your subconscious as you desperately try not to think back on the trauma from your past. Your efforts are to no avail as memories of your ex flood your mind, leaving you with recollections of the moment you discovered he was unfaithful. Thankfully, you and Jungkook aren’t in a relationship, honestly you just went on one amazing date. Surely he wouldn’t be dating more than one woman at a time, right?

You shake your head of your thoughts as you finish folding the last pieces of your laundry, plucking a pile from the bed as you stand to venture toward the dresser to arrange them in their proper drawer. As you approach the piece of furniture tucked against the bedroom wall that you share with Jungkook, you hear his laughter echoing through the drywall, discovering he is also currently in his bedroom. As you put away the clothes, you decide to reach out to him first, contemplating giving him a hard time and telling him to be quiet since his boisterous energy could be heard from your apartment.

You smile at thoughts of his possible response, pushing the top drawer shut before turning to walk back toward your phone. You stop dead in your tracks as another voice resonates from beyond the wall, this time resembling a much higher pitch, clearly the voice of a woman. You feel as if a freight train just rammed into you as you pause in your steps, moving back toward the wall before pressing the shell of your ear to the surface. Your fears are confirmed as you make out the muffled voices of both Jungkook and another female. No wonder he hasn’t messaged you all day, he was too busy with his plans.

“Fucking asshole.” You hiss under your breath, assuming the worse as you turn your attention back onto to chore. You feel anger bubbling within you as you swiftly finish off the laundry, leaving your bedroom toward your kitchen, and seeking out one of the fruity rum beverages in your refrigerator. You huff in annoyance as you open the door, grabbing the chilled bottle before grabbing a tea towel to help gain leverage on the bottle cap as you twist it off.

It doesn’t take long for you to drink half of the bottle, thankful for the burn of the alcohol as you hear your text tone go off from the other room. You contemplate whether or not you should rush over to check if it’s from Jungkook. As you deliberate, you hear voices from outside your door as the hallway only elevates the sound of their conversation. You take a few steps closer, making out Jungkook’s voice as well as shuffled footsteps of more than one person.

“I’ll text you after work.” You hear Jungkook say, as the footsteps become more distant, not hearing anyone’s voice in response to his words.

You grumble under your breath as you tip your rum bottle back to your lips, taking another swig of the sweet liquor. You finally decide to return to your room, letting your body fall into your plush mattress as you set your bottle down on your nightstand. You curl up to one of your pillows as you finally seek out your phone, noticing Roxanne’s contact appear on the screen.

It’s an immediate wave of disappointment once you realize it indeed wasn’t Jungkook reaching out to you, leaving you with more suspense and curiosity about the situation. You let your head fall back on your pillow with a groan, hoping an evening of rest would help bring clarity to this conflicting situation.

—

The following day, you endure another dreadful day at work as you mindlessly go through the motions, desperately trying not to think about Jungkook. Once you’ve returned home, you ponder if you’ll run into your unruly neighbor, your bitterness returning towards him. You haven’t heard from him since yesterday morning, feeling completely overwhelmed by the sudden whirlwind that has knocked you off of your feet. You knew he worked the night shift and that you should probably give him the benefit of the doubt, however, all the evidence pointed to some questionable activity.

You glance at yourself in the mirror as you observe your figure, nitpicking the way your leggings accentuate your hips and your tank top exposes your form. You let your features scrunch in frustration as you let out a groan of irritation, hoping that a trip to the gym would help relieve some stress given you haven’t gone since your dynamic with Jungkook shifted.

As you walk past your kitchen, you grab your phone and keys from the counter, tossing them into your gym bag as you move to snag your bottle from beside the refrigerator. You toss it carelessly into your bag as you exit into the hallway, your eyes instinctually shifting toward Jungkook’s door despite your fizzing rage. You feel yourself pout as you fight off a whimper, angry that you care so much about what this man is up to. Just a few weeks ago you wanted nothing to do with him, and now the thought of him possibly being interested in anyone else has you practically ripping at the seams.

You finally rip your stare away from the empty threshold of his apartment, slugging your way to the elevator as you fight the teetering of your emotions dangling you from the cliffs of your rationality. As you wait for the elevator to reach your floor, you grasp the small compartment containing your AirPods as you take one, and shove it into your ears, desperate to distract yourself with your favorite playlist.

You tug your phone from your bag as you pop your case back in, scrolling to your Spotify as you tap your gym bops playlist to get your adrenaline pumping. As the elevator tone is hardly audible in your available ear, you watch the doors open, subconsciously holding your breath as if expecting to see Jungkook on the other side.

The empty elevator cart reminds you of just how silly you’re being, becoming annoyed with yourself for being so eager to possibly run into Jungkook. It’s a painful reminder of just how into him you’ve become, which only adds to your crippling anger.

The ride down to the lobby is quick as you focus on a Chase Atlantic song blaring in your eardrum. You strut down the long hallway toward the gym as you feel yourself suddenly becoming eager to run on the treadmill.

As you pass the floor-length windows looking into the gym, you turn to enter the large space only to find you are not alone. You spot a man with familiar features, his lip piercing and distinct tattoos catching your eye as his muscles flex beneath his muscle top. His body looks amazing with the glisten of sweat and the exposed limbs, however, it doesn’t draw your attention as much as his hair. You notice Jungkook’s long overgrown mullet is now more evenly chopped, his hair still long and hanging just above his eyes, yet the drenched strands seem far shorter than you’re used to.

Jungkook’s face is scrunched together as his jaw tenses with each pull of the row machine, the strain of his features evident as he catches sight of you in the mirrors beside him. He lets the row machine retract back to its dormant state as he stands from his position, offering you an excited smile.

“Princess! What a surprise.” He beams as your irritation finally bubbles over from seeing him in person since everything that’s transpired after your date. You offer him a deadly glare, watching his glee turn into utter confusion as you storm toward the floor mat in the far corner of the space. You let your bag drop from your shoulder as you pluck your water bottle from its confinements, taking a swig of water to cool yourself off.

As you adjust yourself on the mat to begin stretching, you notice Jungkook grab a small towel that was draped against the rowing machine, wiping his face to soak up his sweat. “What’s got your panties in a twist?” He snarls in your direction, unamused by your less-than-civil greeting. You try to ignore him, bending forward to stretch the muscles in your legs as you lunge from side to side.

Jungkook takes your attitude as a challenge, stalking toward you as he finds your gaze. “Being a brat, are we?” He continues, poking your inner bear as you helplessly try to avoid snapping at him. You take a deep breath, removing your earbud before reaching for your case in the side pocket of your gym bag.

“Being an ass?” You argue back, offering him a sarcastic grin as you watch his eyes darken from your sudden hostility.

You stand to meet his stare, grabbing your water bottle as you gently twist open the top to take another sip. Jungkook presses his tongue on the inside of his cheek, visibly restraining himself from chewing into your bad manners. “What the fuck is your problem today?” His voice is sharp, sending an instant chill down your spine. Your reaction causes Jungkook’s demeanor to soften, glad to see you’re still most submissive under his treatment. “Need me to put you in your place again?” He teases, raising a brow salaciously as you smack your lips in irritation.

“No, you’ve been far too busy for that.” You bitterly retaliate as you watch his face blanch in confusion. Your patience has run its course as you angrily step toward him, pushing your palms into his chest as the tight band of your anger finally snaps. “I heard you and your guest yesterday.” You seeth, remembering the moment you realized Jungkook was with another woman the night prior.

Jungkook was still visibly processing your accusation as you push past him. Jungkook turns to grab your arm gently, twirling you back in his direction as he tries to prevent you from storming out on him. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard you with some girl.” Your voice explodes as you snatch your arm away from him. “And you have the nerve to ask me out again. I’m not looking to fuck around, JK.” Your voice cracks as you fight off your building trauma, all the distrusting memories from your ex resurfacing in your heart.

Jungkook’s eyes illuminate by the revelation of your words, finally connecting your accusations to his activities from the previous day. His features soften as he reaches back out toward you, trying to reassure you that your insecurities are misled. “Y/n, let me explain.”

Your jaw tightens as you feel yourself wanting to hear him out, turning rapidly on your heel to avoid the conversation as you quickly make your way out of the gym. You need some fresh air, feeling yourself swirl with emotions as you bulldoze your way outside as the cool evening air hits your skin. The pool patio is barren, and residents are clearly not utilizing the space since the sunset. There is still small traces of color swirling into the dark sky as twilight slowly disappears.

The calm reflections of the water reflecting against the Edison bulbs strung across the patio leaves you sighing away your agitation, desperately grasping to whatever tranquil surroundings could prevent you from storming back in to give Jungkook an earful. The luminescent glow of the pool from its interior lighting only aids in casting a peaceful serenity that is soon disturbed by a hand grabbing your shoulder to spin you around.

You’re met with Jungkook’s annoyed snarl, his jaw tense as he offers you one last opportunity to let him explain. “Stop being a fucking brat and listen for a minute.” He growls which only spurs your annoyance, pulling away from him to keep walking away.

Suddenly, your feet lift off the ground as Jungkook’s fingers grip your waist, lugging you over his shoulder as he starts walking toward the edge of the pool. You gasp in protest, smacking your hands against his back as he effortlessly tosses you into the chilly water, your attire becoming drenched the minute you hit the surface. Your lungs fill with the chlorinated water, leaving you completely puzzled that Jungkook would dare throw you in the pool after everything.

Your head breaks the surface as you cough up the water that surged toward your lungs, offering him a death stare as your hair clings to your head. “Fuck you, JK.” You seeth, brushing your hands over your face to clear your hair from your field of view.

“You looked like you needed to cool off.” He offers with a shrug of his shoulders, a smug smirk tugging at his mouth as he leans down to crouch by the edge of the pool. “Finished being a bitch?” He tilts his head with his inquiry, causing you to groan from his persistence as you smack your hands down against the surface of the water, admitting your defeat.

“I’m not a bitch.” You snap, crossing your arms in front of your chest as your eyes drop from his view, refusing to make eye contact with him. Jungkook doesn’t take your gesture lightly, becoming increasingly agitated by your attitude, standing to remove his shoes before crouching back down and placing a palm against the ground, twisting his body as he jumps into the water with a splash.

Your eyes widen from his actions, surprised to see him jump in after you as he takes long purposeful strokes toward you as he pushes his way against the pressure of the water. You hesitate, wondering if you should back up or swim away. Before you can even make up your mind, Jungkook has his arm wrapped around your waist as he aggressively pulls you into him, crashing his lips against yours to silence whatever protest you may have.

At first, you push your hands against his chest to create distance between you, but his strength is overpowering, keeping you pinned to him as his infectious kiss slowly melts your struggle as you accept his invasive affection. Before you know it, his tongue is breaking the barrier of your lips as he begins passionately making out with you, successfully extracting a moan from your vocal cords as you feel his toned muscles beneath his soaked clothes.

You gasp for air as he finally releases you from his treatment, causing your head to spin more than it previously was. Within seconds, Jungkook’s hand latches around your chin, forcing you to look at him as he presses his forehead against yours. “Listen very carefully.” His voice is threatening, paired with the same intensity as you muster up the courage to stare into his eyes that are sternly piercing into you. “I don’t know what you think happened, but I was with Taehyung and his sister.” He explains, his voice sharp with intent as you process his words.

“But you…” Before you can speak, Jungkook tightens his grip on your jaw just enough to remind you to listen but not enough to cause you pain.

“I was late to the airport. I was supposed to go with Taehyung to pick her up.” He proceeds to explain as your cheeks ignite in embarrassment. “The woman you heard in my apartment yesterday, that was her.” Jungkook narrows his eyes at you, slightly amused to find that you were so jealous at the thought of him flirting with another woman. “And since you jumped to conclusions like a complete psychopath…” He releases your jaw, moving his hands to your waist to keep warm from the contact of your body pressed against his. “You should know Taehyung was also at my apartment, or did you fail to eavesdrop long enough to hear his voice too?”

Your face practically goes white at his confession, realizing that your paranoia and jealousy created a monster that jumped to conclusions, assuming Jungkook was nothing more than just another player. “JK…I’m sorry.” Your voice is barely audible as you hang your head in shame. “I shouldn’t have…”

Jungkook releases his hold on your waist, swimming a few inches away from you before dunking his head underneath the water, brushing his own hair out of his face as he slicks the damp strands back. You can’t help but ogle at his appearance, his drenched body deliciously displayed beneath the wet fabric of his white muscle top. The glow of the pool flatters his features, causing you immense regret as you realize that you falsely accused a genuinely good guy.

You turn away from him, feeling a slight shiver as you hug your arms around yourself, unable to process words to express your guilt. Thankfully, Jungkook finds the situation more amusing than upsetting as he swims back up to you, twisting your body to face his as he leans in to press another endearing kiss to your lips. “You were that jealous, huh?” He beams, his eyes wide as they glimmer with amusement.

There is something about the cocky grin on his face that infuriates you, but the truth behind the last few days seems to wash it all away as you happily accept his attention. “I didn’t know what to think” You admit, knowing your past relationship didn’t help your thoughts on the matter.

Jungkook chuckles as he pulls you into him, dropping his hand to your ass as he uses the weightlessness of the water to effortlessly guide your legs around his waist. “What do you think I think about all day? You really believe I don’t think about your ass and tits every chance I get?”

Your face flushes a deep shade of crimson as he compliments your physique in a manner that has your legs tightening around him. “Princess, I don’t plan on seeing anyone else.” His words seal your fate as you pull his lips onto yours, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting yourself indulge in another passionate kiss as you admit your undeniable feelings for Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook gently sways you both in the water as your kiss deepens, passionately making out with him as he fights off an erection. You grip your hands around the strands of hair closest to his neck, sighing at the realization that it’s now shorter for you to grab. “You cut your hair?” You pull away from his lips, taking in his new appearance as you realize his hair isn’t that much shorter, but it’s definitely more uniform and less choppy. You can hardly call it an overgrown mullet anymore.

“Yeah.” He smiles, pressing kisses into your jaw as he moves back to capture your bottom lip between his teeth. “It was annoying me, so I cut some off.”

You purr as you twirl your fingers around one of the strands, grinning as you pull away from him, watching him chase after you. “You’re still handsome.” You admit, watching his eyes sparkle from your compliment.

“And you’re still a brat.” He adds, giving you a questioning glare as you shrink beneath his stare. Typically you’d retaliate, but given that you falsely accused him of fucking around with another woman, you figure you’ll let him get away with it, just this once.

“You still like me.” You gauge his response, watching his eyes darken as he moves slowly around the pool with you latched around him.

He offers you a serious gaze, smiling ever so slightly as he processes his words. “I do.” His voice is soft, instantly causing your stomach to flutter with butterflies at his confession. “It’ll be the death of me though.”

“Ha, Ha.” Your sarcastic tone has Jungkook lifting you up to sit against the edge of the pool, nestling himself between your thighs as he silences you with another kiss. You smile against his lips, letting yourself drown in the comfort of his affection as you both breathe a sigh of relief.

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memphisnovels · 1 year

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Evermore

Chapter 14. Saw you in a dream

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Hi friends, apologies for the inconsistent uploads, things will get back on schedule after the next few weeks and it will be business as usual :))

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

warnings: big sisters Anna and Natasha, PTSD and trauma, Nadia totally isn't in denial, mentions of injuries.

I picked up my pace, pushing my body to move faster across the field. The sun bathed my flesh as I ran. Sweat beaded across my forehead but I ignored it, completing another lap around the compound. I’d decided to workout outside today, a decision which had nothing to do with the silver-haired Sokovian I’d spied venturing to the gym early this morning. I’d been training for the past few hours, cardio workout and then running laps. When my body was moving, I could avoid the things I didn’t want to deal with.

It wasn’t just the moment Pietro and I shared, Obolensky’s words had not left me. I’d laid awake in bed many nights since Moscow racking my brain, trying to understand. He wanted to live in our minds, to destroy us mentally, there was a real possibility that his questions about the ballet were nothing more than tactics to torture me. Yet, even with this in mind, the words would not leave me. There was this feeling deep within, something niggling and unyielding, something that called to me, begged me to look deeper.

“Are we gonna spend the whole day out here?” Natasha asked, shielding her eyes from the sun as she sat dropped down onto the grass.

I sighed exasperatedly, barely sparing her a glance. “It’s a beautiful day, the sun will be good for us.” I began a set of pushups.

“Oh right, so you’re definitely not just avoiding Pietro?”

“I am not avoiding him! I am… Jesus, can we not do this right now?”

She giggled, shaking her head at me. “Fine, we won’t but you owe me after this.”

I sat on the grass beside her, sipping from my water bottle. “What do you want?”

“Let’s go into the city, I need a break from Avengers business for a little while.” Laying out on the warm grass I stretched my limbs, laying my arm over my eyes to block the sun. “And by that, I mean I already booked us a hotel for Saturday night, a whole two-day away from the compound. That means we won’t have to get heat stroke just to avoid your boyfriend.”

The glare I sent her was vicious, it brought a grin to her face. I didn’t move from my position on the ground.

Natasha scoffed at me, moving to her feet and nodding toward the compound. “Are you coming or not?” She extended her hand out to me. The sound of a familiar Sokovian accent filled my ears. I accepted her hand swiftly, lurching to my feet.

“I want to talk to you about something,” I murmured as we reentered the compound. She glanced over at me, eyebrows slightly raised. “It’s about what we spoke about last week, what Obolensky said, the ballet thing.”

She nodded. “You think he was telling the truth?”

I shrugged. “He wanted to torture me but telling me the truth could be the best way to do that.” The look on Nat’s face was one I knew well, she did not need to say anything, there was an unspoken understanding between us. “It could be a lie to mix my head up, but if it’s not...”

“Okay.” She offered me a gentle smile then. “Let’s look into it. We’ll do it together.” She added, taking my hand slowly.

…

It was strange and almost beautiful the way the tree-dappled landscape transformed into skyscrapers, cars, and light pollution. I missed the city, it’s far too easy to breathe upstate, I longed for the smog. We had spoken to Tony before we left for the city. He said he had a plan, he said he’d work on it while Natasha and I were away, and we’d start operation: Swan Lake when we returned. I did not agree to that name.

The first item on the agenda was lunch, we’d stopped at a little, family-run restaurant that we’d frequented before relocating to the compound. The cheerful voice of Maria, one of the owners called our names as soon as we entered through the front doors. She was an elder woman whose face was lined with life experience, and I liked her quite a lot. Even when she insisted on hugging and kissing me each time, she greeted us. “I cannot believe you have finally come back! My, I think I’ll die and never see my favorite girls again.” She had a thick Italian accent that was immensely comforting to me. A basket of hot bread was placed in the center of our table the very moment we sat. “Oh my, Nadia, you are just devastating! You get more beautiful each time I see you.”

I shook my head at the woman who doted on me. “Oh, you are just trying to butter me up, so I order extra bread.” She laughed, kissing Natasha on the cheek before heading back toward the kitchen.

Everything seemed to move slower here, it was hard to explain, as though the moment you step through the doors into the candlelit restaurant you are transported into a sleepy town in Italy. The velvety music that played over the speakers easily covered the hustle and bustle of the city outside, the smell of basil and tomato lulling you into a serene kind of peacefulness that rids you of any negative thoughts.

We were halfway through lunch when Natasha finally asked me the question, I knew she’d been dying to. “So, I know that you know who is out of bounds for conversation but what about your love life in general?”

“What about it?”

“Well, how is it?”

I narrowed my eyes at her then. “How is yours, Natasha?”

“That’s mean.” I thawed slightly at the look in her eyes.

“Sorry.” A beat of silence passed between us. “How are you doing since… Banner went off the grid?”

She looked down at her plate, rubbing at the back of her neck. “Life goes on. Just getting through it I guess.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Is it easier for you to deal with it if you pretend it’s not happening?”

“As if you of all people are giving me crap about avoiding my problems.”

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “I see your point.”

“No way, Nadia Pimenova acknowledging defeat?” I rolled my eyes playfully at her words. There was silence for a moment as she fiddled with her cutlery. “It’s like he just… disappeared, dropped off the face of the earth. I know that he needs time to deal with his stuff, I completely get that, but it’s really hard to just stay put knowing that he’s out there somewhere all alone.”

She pushed a lettuce leaf around her plate, resting her head on her hand. I reached across the table, placing my hand adjacent to hers. “He’s going to be fine, Nat, he’ll come back.” She offered me a sheepish smile, unconvincing at best. “And if he doesn’t, we will go find him together.” Her expression shifted then, the look in her eyes was one that I understood, even if it wasn’t one, I could define.

She would stick by my side whilst I navigated the terrifying road that was my past and I would stick by hers whilst she navigated the equally terrifying prospect of the future. The truth was she’d never needed to thank me for keeping her secret when she defected from the Red Room, for me, there had been no other conceivable option but to lie for her. I would never have sold her out, even when she was gone, I would stick by her. She was the first person who’d ever made me feel like I was not alone in the world. I did not blame her for what she did because I understood it. Matron Katerina and all of the other officials would never have been able to get New York out of me, because it was the one thing they could not take, the one thing that was ours to keep.

I took in a deep breath when we were on the street once more. “What are you doing?” Natasha asked.

“This city smells like shit… I missed it so much.”

She laughed wholeheartedly at my sentiment, pulling me along to walk beside her. We ate bagels and drank copious amounts of coffee and walked for hours. I loved every second.

“I feel like I’m going to explode if I even breathe too much,” I whined into my phone.

Anna’s breathy laugh carried over the line. “Nonna Maria’s and bagels will do that to you.”

“When are you coming back to New York?”

“When are you going to come visit me?”

I sighed exasperatedly. “You know how I feel about London,” I responded teasingly. A bark sounded in the background. “Georgie…” I said wistfully causing Anna to laugh at me yet again.

“So, what else is happening in your life outside of the wonderful reunion with Obolensky?”

Nat offered me a cheeky look as she walked past my spot on the hotel couch. I narrowed my eyes at her. “Don’t you dare.” I spoke quietly to her.

I realized my mistake the moment Anna asked me what I was talking about.

“Nothing, Natasha is just being inappropriate.”

“What’s happened that you aren’t telling me?” Natasha’s loud laughter filled the room. I threw a cushion at her head, though she dodged it easily. “Nadia I swear if you don’t tell me now I’m going to come down there and force it out of you.”

I maintained that Natasha was losing her mind.

“You are a filthy little liar, Nads. Tell me!”

“Pietro kissed her,” Natasha said, hiding behind a cupboard, narrowly dodging another cushion to the head.

“идиот,” I shouted at her.

Idiot.

Anna gasped before laughter once again filled the line. “I cannot believe you weren’t going to tell me about that!”

“It was nothing! He is stupid and he should not have done it.”

“But you did kiss him back,” Nat added.

The glare I sent her was nothing short of lethal. “Oh, I so called this!” Anna piped up. “Didn’t I tell you that he was completely obsessed with you?”

“Jesus, it was a mistake, okay?! He should not have kissed me, and I had a momentary lapse in sanity and facilitated it. Why can we not just move on and pretend like it never happened?”

There was silence in the room for a moment. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding him? You’re hoping he’ll what? Forget that you two made out on the balcony?”

“There was no making out! It was one kiss and I’m avoiding him so that he’ll get the message that I am no longer facilitating anything of the sort.”

“That’s a very sound plan.” Sarcasm dripped from each syllable Anna spoke.

Nat whirled on me then, eyes wide with delight. “So, you admit you’re avoiding him!”

I shook my head, opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water. “This conversation is over! I have no interest in Pietro and he has no interest in me it was a heat of the moment decision that should have never happened and will never ever happen again!”

“Are you sure about that?”

I threw the final pillow from the couch at Nat.

“You’ve got a lot of anger in that little body! You know I can think of a really good outlet for that. He’s about 5’11 and brimming with boyish charm, something tells me he’d be more than happy for you to take it out on him.”

A chorus of laughter came from Natasha and Anna then.

“I am getting very sick of the sound of your voices. You are both delusional!” With that I abandoned my phone and the cackling redhead to collect myself in the bathroom. They were wrong, there was nothing between us, I was just overwhelmed it was the heat of the moment. I forced myself to stop thinking about the way his lips had felt, the way his breath had ghosted over my cheek, the look in his eyes. The sound of running water filled the room at I flicked the tap on, splashing the cold liquid onto my face.

Pietro had attempted to speak to me a minimum of 3 times a day since the night on the balcony. I’d done well in avoiding him so far. During training I’d tell him we could talk later and then I would simply find reasons not to be alone with him after. When I wasn’t avoiding him, I did my best to act completely unbothered by his presence, I was not as cold as I had been in the beginning, but I put forth an indifference toward him. I knew I couldn’t keep this up forever and though I told myself that I was just buying time to figure out what to say, I knew it wasn’t true. There was nothing much for me to say to him when I hadn’t the faintest idea what had prompted me to behave that way with him. It was baffling and the only explanation I’d managed to come up with was that I’d briefly been possessed by some demonic spirit who wanted to wreak havoc on my life. I suppose, truthfully, I was just hoping he’d forget about it before I actually had to face my moment of catastrophically poor judgement.

“Nads…”

“What,” I muttered into the darkness of the room.

A slight snort sounded. “Okay, grumpy.” There was silence for a long moment, the air shifted slightly, prompting me to bite back my next retort. “Do you ever feel like… I don’t know like a nonentity?”

“It is 1 a.m., Natasha.”

“I know, sorry. I’ve just been thinking a lot about the Red Room lately, I guess. It’s strange.” Her deep exhale was almost shaky. “When you first got out, I mean, did you feel like it was hard to rejoin normal life?”

Her question had me thinking back to that time, examining it for the first time in a long time. “There was no normal life for me… for a long time it didn’t really feel like there was even a me, not one that existed without the Red Room.”

“Right! I just feel like the second you’re out you're expected to assimilate, to be just like everyone else but I didn’t know how to do that. I’m not sure if I even do now, or if I’ve just become really good at faking it.”

“It’s been almost 10 years since I got out and there are times… so many times, when I look at other people and I’m not sure I’m ever going to be like that.” A heavy swallow allowed me to continue. “I don’t know who I was before it, it’s not easy to function like a normal human when the formative years you recall were spent learning ways to die most people couldn’t dream of.”

Natasha was silenced momentarily by this. “I’m sorry if I’ve pushed you with the whole Pietro thing. I know it’s hard… believe me, I know.” I glanced toward her, unable to make out her face in the darkness. “What was done to us was monstrous. What was done to you… I only want you to be happy, I hate that you can’t let yourself be because of it.”

“I’m fine, Nat. Really.” I closed my eyes tightly for a moment, taking a deep breath. “I always am.”

“Because you’re a survivor.”

I rolled over, looking toward her bed. “I learned from the best.”

“It’s your choice, obviously, and you know I’ll have your back no matter what you decide, but I really don’t understand why you want to know whether what Obolensky said is true or not. I spend most of my time actively trying to forget the things that went on.”

It was complex. “What they did was monstrous… they took everything from us… maybe it will not be a pleasant memory, maybe there is nothing to remember, but I want to remember, I need to, Nat. This cannot be just another part of me that I do not get to hold on to.”

The room was lit only by the dim glow of streetlights I could hear the faint sound of traffic below us, petering out slightly at this time of night.

In that moment, everything felt just alright. Somehow, it was perfect.

…

My palms were sweating profusely as I sat in the chair, glancing at Natasha over my shoulder. “Still doing okay?” She asked. I nodded at her, closing my eyes for a moment as the headphones were places over my ears. The screen opened, a girl in covered in white tulle slipped onto the stage, moving stiffly to the classical music that echoed through my headphone. She was beautiful, graceful in a way that made it hard to look away, yet as I watched her, I felt nothing. No memories were sparked, there was nothing. It was the same time after time, for hours I sat and I watched, ballerina after ballerina danced across the stage and yet nothing changed for me. Hours passed me by while I sat there staring blankly at the screen as nothing occurred within my mind. Natasha stayed with me the whole time. At some point she placed a glass of water before me, yet I just continued to watch, never taking my eyes from the screen.

I was furious, how could I let him get to me like this, after all these years. Obolensky was just trying to torment me, and I’d let him. Rage simmered through my veins. I closed my eyes tightly, willing it to settle. Natasha had gone to find dinner some time ago now. I attempted to practice the techniques they used to tell us about in group, focus on one thing, breath into your belly. It didn’t work, I launched the now empty water glass at the wall, pacing back and forth. It was only when I felt the sharp slice of glass across my foot that I stopped. Glancing down, I saw blood smeared across the shards, crimson dripping coating my flesh. I took my seat once more, beginning to pick the smaller fragments from the ball of my foot. Bloody footprints followed me across the shiny floors as I wandered toward the med bay in search of a bandage. When I spotted a roll, I grabbed it and took it back to the room I’d been in, beginning to wrap my foot as one of the ballets came to an end.

I rested my head in my hands, closing my eyes again. That’s how I was positioned when the music began, it was beautiful, but it wasn’t the first time I’d heard it. I felt the sound travel across my shoulders, up my neck, and then back down again, along my spine inducing a shiver.

‘Corps de ballet of the State Academic Bolshoi Theatre presents Giselle.’

Those were the words I saw written across the screen when my eyes opened.

There were flashes of red and blue, white and tulle, over and over.

My back was pressed flush to cold metal. I could not move my head or my arms, my legs might have been numb, or maybe they were no longer there. I wasn’t sure. The music had filled my ears for so long that it seemed to have become a part of me, I could not remember where it ended and I began, had it played all my life; perhaps.

There was a ringing sound in my ears.

Giselle was on the stage then. The man she loved was engaged to another, he had lied to her and now she was dead. Then she wasn’t, she came back an apparition, cursed to dance with wanderers until the exhaustion took them to the grave. I thought the girl looked young and she was so sad.

When I blinked, I was back in the compound, my hands were in fists, fingernails digging into the flesh of my palms. My heart was thrumming against my sternum and every muscle in my body was strung tightly. I swallowed heavily, blinking and once again I was transported. Gasping breaths, and cries, that was what filled my ears then, but it was only for a second before it was gone. With a blink there was a man before me tightening binds over my body, placing something over my eyes, another blink and it was gone.

“Nadia?”

I yanked against my binds. The room was white, I think but really, I couldn’t remember. The straps were chaffing against my wrists from how much I’d pulled at them.

“Nadia.”

Again, and again my name was called but I couldn’t tell from where it originated. I gritted my teeth, squaring my shoulders and shutting my eyes, attempting to ground myself; to return to my body. The music was still playing, though it was almost as if I were listening to it underwater. A group of dancers entered the darkened stage, each wearing long white dresses. The man was back, he bent down and peered at me through large, black-framed glasses. I did not recognize him, nor did I recognize this place, this was not the Red Room. I’d never been here before, yet here I was now. The man was speaking, I could hear his voice, but I did not know what he was saying. It was all garbled and muddled. I couldn’t move any part of my body, strapped so tightly to the metal beneath me. I thought there might be tears in my eyes then.

My name was called again. I strained, attempting to find the voice, to come back. The bespectacled man leaned in again, reaching out toward me, a shining needle in his hand. I flinched away from it, but he took ahold of my face. The gentle touch confused me, but when I opened my eyes again, I understood. I was back in the compound, chest rising and falling rapidly, my arms were pressed to the chair, but I was not bound. My eyes danced across the man before me, dark hair and matching eyes.

“Just breathe.”

I was gone again then, but not to the table where I had been bound. I was on the street. There were buildings and some trees planted around the sidewalk. Brick apartment complexes and fire escape lined walls. New York? The breeze tousled my hair slightly, but it barely moved, when I looked down, I saw… plaits, hanging from either side of my head. The sun kissed my cheeks, peeking through the leaves of trees, seeking me out. A voice called down the street, but I did not understand what the person had said. When I looked up, I only saw his back. A young boy walked ahead of me, he wore a dark red backpack with a little key ring hanging from the zip, I couldn’t make it out. I began forward, attempting to catch up with the boy, I reached out toward him when I was less than a pace away, my hand almost making contact with his bag when a voice cut echoed through my mind.

“Nadia, are you still with me?” Tony asked, I could feel the warmth of his hands over my wrists, willing me to come back.

I did. My head was spinning, and I felt unwell. I blinked a few times, but I stayed put, my mind seemingly tethering itself back to my body. Looking around the room I found it the same as it had been before, glass still shattered on the floor. I met Tony’s eyes. Just past him stood Natasha in the doorway with an exceptionally concerned expression.

“He wasn’t lying.” When I spoke, my voice did not sound like me, shaky and wrecked.

For the first time in days, I was in a rush to go train. Natasha and Tony followed behind me with concerned expressions, saying that they wanted to debrief first, they wanted to know what I’d seen. I didn’t really know how to tell them when truthfully, I did not really understand what I’d seen. A jumble of moments that seem completely disjointed and entirely unfamiliar to me. I wanted out of the stuffy room, I needed to move my body, to hit something; to feel something other than the trembling, cold that burrowed into my bones when I thought about the man in the glasses.

After an icy shower, I was straight into the gym, gesturing for Pietro to follow. “We’re sparring,” I said before he had a chance to speak, my tone leaving no room for argument.

I dodged the jab he threw at me, slipping beneath his arm to move behind him, giving him a few slight pointers as we sparred but offering nothing beyond that. There were no taunting remarks from me or mildly flirtatious commentaries from him, it was making my skin crawl, this strange dynamic that we’d fallen into. Particularly now when all I wanted was to focus on something other than the jarring images I’d just endured.

I stretched my arms above my head, cracking my neck before we moved to the punching bag. With a gesture, I told him to begin. His jaw was tense as he began, his stance was perfect as were each of his punches. I wandered around the bag, my eyes trailing over his form. Then he changed his pattern, sending a kick to the bag… with his foot. He sent a glance my way then, eyebrows raised slightly. “Shin, remember how I showed you,” I muttered, attempting to keep my voice nonchalant.

“That’s it!” He exclaimed suddenly, throwing his hands in the air. “I can take no more of this.” I watched him with furrowed eyebrows, not entirely surprised by his outburst and, frankly, feeling slightly relieved at the forced shift in my focus. “How can I make it better? Just tell me what to do to fix things, Nadia.”

I asked him what he meant.

“I preferred it when you acted like you hated me because at least I understood what you were feeling.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. “What did I do wrong here?”

A heavy, sickly feeling pooled in my stomach. The same one that had filled me on the balcony when the hurt had flashed across his expression. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” A little truth, I supposed I owed him that much. “You did nothing wrong, Pietro.”

“We cannot continue like this. I won’t.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest, he took a step toward me.

“Let’s just forget it ever happened.”

His eyes met mine then, an unreadable expression on his face. “That’s what you want?”

I nodded, once, firm. “I will be your friend, and we will forget about all the other stuff.”

“Friends?”

I nodded again. He mirrored my action, wringing his hands together slightly. “Oh, and don’t ever kick with your fucking foot again.”

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venturethighs · 1 month

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Dropping this at five in the morning because I instantly woke up and made myself sad, so here we are

Do you think mummy!Venture ever craves a good chase? I think it's probably just part of being cursed and preventing grave robbers and spreading plagues of locust upon the locals and all that.

You find that they're getting a little restless lately.

You can suck and ride them all you want to, but it feels like something small is missing, and they can't put their finger on it.

So they bring it up to you. "Is there something wrong with me?"

No, of course not.

They explain that it definitely isn't you. There's just... something inside that feels... out of place. Like a cat running around in circles trying fruitlessly to catch that laser pointer it so desperately wants.

"Does that make sense?"

You know that they're slowly still modernizing themself– recently they've discovered laser pointer cat chase videos.

"So, you're saying... you're the cat, and I'm the little red dot?" You ask.

They think about it for a moment. "Yes... actually."

"And you want to feel like you actually caught something, instead?"

They nod.

"Well, you already caught me once. I'm sure it wouldn't be too hard to do it again." You point out. "Except, your trap kind of helped you out, too."

"I... cleaned all those up... I'm still sorry about that." They explain.

"It's okay, really." You reach out and ruffle the brunette locks atop their head.

"Maybe another chase would make you feel better, hm?" You suggest. "I'm not a great runner... so I can't promise it'll be thrilling."

They briefly perk up at the thought. It doesn't come without worry, however.

"What if you rip your stitches? I'd feel bad..." Their fingers delicately brush over the metal intertwined with your undead flesh.

"All the more fun for you then." You bring their hand up to your lips and gently kiss the wraps. "Plus, you can stitch me up again later. You like doing that."

They're quiet as you continue placing every finger and knuckle up to your soft lips and treat them to gentle affection.

"But..." Their words trail off as thoughts run through their mind.

"It's okay. You don't have to, if you don't want to." You comfort them.

"I want to. It's just... if the curse completely takes over, I can't promise I'll be gentle. What happens if I can't stop...? I don't want to hurt you like that. Ever."

You bring your hand up to their face and hold it tenderly.

"It's okay." You lean in and place kisses to their scarred face. "You can be as rough as you want. I can handle it."

"Are you sure...?" They still sound nervous.

You clutch the fabric of their shirt and bring them in even closer.

"Listen to me. You could dismantle me limb by limb and leave me unable to walk or crawl for the next three days while you stuff my holes full and I would never complain about it."

Their face turns lilac at your sudden assertiveness.

"I'm not a frail porcelain doll that breaks at the smallest touch. I'm a patchwork corpse that's seen and been through things that would give Mary Shelley nightmares."

You look them directly in their dark, glowing eyes.

"Be rough with me. I can handle it. Okay?" You promise.

They're speechless.

"I'm going to start running. If you don't come after me, I'll be very disappointed. Do you understand?" You maintain your stance.

They blink. One time– then two. Then, their eyes turn red.

"Don't tell me what to do." They growl in ancient Egyptian.

"That's more I like it. Good little pharaoh~!" Your praise feels backhanded, and it drives out the ancient cursed spirit even more.

You feel yourself being suddenly lifted and thrown halfway across the room. You brace yourself, somehow landing on your feet and come to a skidding halt as if you were an action movie hero.

Anyone's knees would've been destroyed after that. Lucky for you, your electrified metal skeleton holds up a lot stronger than regular human bone. You take a moment to regain your composure before you head off running as fast as your undead legs could take you.

And yes, stitches immediately begin to rip out of place. Not enough to become an issue right now, though.

"Go ahead and run. I see everything that goes on in this place." Their voice echoes through the halls as you twist and turn down the corridors.

...

They were in no hurry to catch up to you.

You had been running for at least fifteen minutes now with no sign of them. Instead of continue blindly into the darkness like you were already doing, you take a moment to lean against the wall and catch your breath. Your hands tug at your looser stitches and tighten them up the best you could before you take off again.

You hear footsteps echoing all around you. Sand falls from the ceiling as if the rocks above were about to cave in.

Then, suddenly, a portal of sand appears from above. Their outstretched arm reaches for you, and you narrowly dodge it and rush forward. The rest of their body carefully emerges and casually walks down the hallway after you.

Locust are now flying by at an alarming rate.

More twisting, more turning, more running, jumping and occasionally even crawling to make your way through the dusty pyramid halls.

How big was this place again...?

Didn't you just go through this hallway...?

Things are shifting. You're intentionally being driven in circles.

"What's wrong? Are you lost, my little lotus?" Their ancient words sound sweet, and the darkness echoes in every word. "Too tired to run any further? Come to me."

You're not ready to give up just yet. Sand continues falling– you hear rocks rearranging themselves above and below you. Eventually, it feels like an earthquake shakes the entire foundation to its core. You cannot see an inch in front of your face.

Your heart pounds inside your metal chest.

Then, as suddenly as it starts, it all becomes still. Quiet. Undisturbed.

The earth and dust settle. Sunlight peaks in, just barely.

In front of you is the the biggest collection of gold, treasure and trinkets you have ever seen. Hieroglyphs line the sandstone walls and tells the story of a pharaoh lost to time.

"There you are." Their voice calls out.

You stumble backwards from surprise, and they catch you effortlessly. Their eyes are the same shade of crimson, and terror strikes you to your core.

Yet, you're sopping wet all the same.

They waste no time.

You're grateful that you wore something you weren't particularly attached to, because the fabric is instantly ripped by their cold hands.

"My little lotus... you must be so tired. Let me nourish you like the Nile then, hm?" They shove you to the golden ground, nothing left covering you but tattered clothing.

"Look at you. All your pretty petals, waiting to be plucked."

They undress themself next. You clamp your thighs together as more slick drips out and heavily coats the inside of your folds. The small beam of sunlight illuminates their toned body covered in mystic ink of times long ago, and they hover just above you before they reach for something just out of your vision.

"For you."

It's the most beautiful turquoise necklace you had ever seen. The teal blue amulet was shaped in the form of a scarab with its wings extended towards the sky. They delicately place it around your head and let it settle on your bare chest.

"Beautiful."

Their hand splays in the center of your ribcage.

"Your heart is beating so fast, and you're warm– like the sun at its highest peak on the deserted earth. Are you feeling well?" They ask.

You wish you could understand a single word they're saying.

Their hand slowly glides down further and rests atop the loose stitches of your thigh. They nudge your legs open, and you happily oblige.

"Glistening– like venom dripping from deadly fangs."

Their fingers trace your folds as your face turns from lilac into amethyst. They gather up a little bit of your wetness and bring it up to their forked tongue. It wraps around their finger like a snake, letting out a satisfied noise as they lick it clean.

"Sweet like honey." They mutter.

Their hands return to your thighs before parting them as far as they could go. A devilish grin crosses their face as they dip between your tired legs and take you by surprise. Your chest heaves as their tongue wraps around your throbbing core and flicks it aggressively– eating up every moan you make as a result. Sparks quickly begin to build inside your hips as their brutal pace continues.

Your hands reach down to run through their umber locks and grasp it between your trembling fingers. When they look up at you, the sunlight is illuminating the blissful look on your face as they continue rolling their tongue against the most sensitive part of you.

You hear them speak telepathically to you– invading your mind and removing every last bit of privacy you had.

"Do you want to see how you look...?" They ask.

You don't get the chance to respond before images of you from their perspective flash inside your mind.

"How does it feel? To watch yourself being devoured?" They add.

They lap up every last bit of juice that you produce. It's clear that you enjoyed it– perhaps a little too much. It does not bother them in the slightest, though.

You latch on tighter to their hair and pull them closer to where you need them as your toes curl from the growing excitement. It only adds to their frantic drive to please you– lapping quicker, harder, tasting you to the fullest– all the while they swallow every drop you had to give them.

"I can feel your legs trembling, my dear lotus. Your sounds are so loud, so desperate. Are you close...?" You hear them deep inside your mind.

Close was an understatement. You could feel the fireworks going off as you heavily convulse around their head and clamp your thighs down to trap them in place.

"That's it. Bloom for me." They command.

You are violently thrown into your orgasm as their fingers dig into the sides of your thighs. They continue eating you into completion, and their tongue slips back into their mouth like a snake.

It takes several minutes for you to snap back to reality. In the mean time, they hover over you as if you were helpless prey.

The mouse caught in the mouth of a hungry asp.

The curse still has an iron grip on their conscious. Usually, it's pretty easy to keep in check.

Not now.

They grasp the necklace around your throat and force you to sit up. You are face to face with their hardened length.

"Now it's your turn." They're back to speaking to you vocally now.

You open your mouth wide– but they stop you before you can even touch your mouth to it.

"No. That's not what I want." They snap. "Get on your hands and knees."

You do as your told.

"Good."

There is no time to prepare as they grab the flesh of your hips and align themself at your soaked entrance.

"Are... you gonna be gentle?" You tease.

They only grin that same devilish grin before ramming into you as if they had gone completely feral. Your fingers dig into the gold beneath as you're belligerently rutted into, every inward thrust driving you forward as your skin ripples from the impact. Your arms weaken and you fall forwards, forcing your hips into the air and taking them deeper than you expected.

It catches them off guard. The most satisfying groan sounds from their throat as they continue their ruthless pace. Ancient swears fall from their tongue as lewd noises continue to fill the air around the two of you.

Their stamina is completely warped– the curse gives them the energy they need to continue going even when the strongest would quit– and although you two have barely gotten started, you're already feeling the aching and tiredness as if you had been going for hours. Your arms and legs are visibly shaking, but you're adamant about not showing weakness.

You wanted to experience it all– every last bit of it– the full power of the ancient curse that haunts this pyramids corridors.

"Keep going!" You cry. "Don't hold anything back!"

Their hand reaches for your hair and pulls so violently that you can feel stitches pull. You stare upwards towards the crack in the sandstone where the sunlight filters through as your body is ravaged without remorse.

"More..." You coax them further. "More...!"

You sense them towering over your figure as you struggle to keep yourself upright. Seconds pass by– then it turns into minutes– and they do not once grow tired of their frantic thrusts. Your trembling arms and legs begin to give out as you crumble further down onto the glimmering floor of treasure.

You feel yourself slip as your knees give out. This only serves to boost their ego further.

"I– I can't feel my arms..." You admit. "Or my legs."

They don't reply. They simply maneuver you so that you're laying on your back now, and they bury their face in your neck to place harsh kisses to your violet flushed flesh. You playfully wrap your legs around their waist as they rail harder and harder into you, hugging them close as you lose yourself in the overwhelming power of it all.

The sunlight that once filtered through the darkness now dims. Time seems to stretch further on until a star flickers into view.

You are unbelievably sore– but they show no signs of stopping.

"Aren't you close...?" Your lip curls into your signature pout that they love so much.

"No." They growl.

You rack your brain to come up with something before your metal skeleton is reduced to a pile of scrap.

Then the idea hits.

"Mm, you have to be..." You tell them.

Your fingers rake down their back as your breath hitches.

"I– I want to carry your heirs." You beg. "Please?"

They fumble for just a moment. Clearly that got their attention.

"Finish inside me. I'll give you all the heirs you desire~ but you have to finish inside me, first." You remind them. "Every. Last. Drop. I won't forgive you if you spill any of it."

It was near automatic.

You feel the warmth of their essence fill you to the brim and then some. However, they're determined to fulfill your desire, and so not a single drop was wasted. It sits rightfully inside of you where it belongs.

You are warm, full and exhausted.

They push themself off of you and collapse from over exertion. The curse subsides.

For now.

They take a few minutes to catch their breath.

"Are– you– okay?" They breathe. Their voice is raspy and near gone. They're finally speaking English again.

You look up at the small view of the sky filled with twinkling stars.

You nod.

They inch over and wrap themself around you affectionately.

"You did so well. I'm so proud of you." It almost sounded like they were crying.

You comfort them to the best of your ability: patting their head, running your fingers through their tangled curls, kissing their forehead and rocking them lightly to help them come down from their ancient eldritch high.

"I should be the one saying that. You did really well, too." You reassure them. "I'm also proud of you. I always am."

It's quiet between the two of you after that.

You had not even realized you both fell asleep until the sunrise catches your eye.

Except, this time, you let them sleep in. You watch the slow rise and fall of their chest as they dream away.

The roles are reversed for once.

It's you that's making them feel safe now.

#rambles #monster au #mummy au

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the-morningstar-family · 2 months

Note

So. Let me get this straight. Ghost is an entity who exists outside any plane of existence. Ceres is their friend, who somehow knows people from Heaven. Ceres was sent to Hell to help by Alastor's mum(?) and somehow can open basic portals. Couple questions here:

Does Ghost know Als mum too? If so, why haven't they mentioned anything?

Did Ghost transport Ceres to Hell? Or is Ceres capable of powering portals between the realms?

Also! Ghost is able to possess things (Luci's button?) in Heaven too? SO, they are able to venture there as well? And if so, why don't they just stay there?

We know Ceres is an Owl, but are they like Ghost? Or are they something else entirely?

What's going on with Ghost's other drones? So far, we've only seen the one at the hotel. We know that two more were with Al, and some were following Nova and Kidnapping Co. That's, what, at least 5 drones? And only one is accounted for?

Is Ghost still powering/controlling the drones, despite their physical form being KO? Or are they acting on their last directives. So far, they've been used as an extension of Ghost themself, as if they were yet another limb. Or have they also just kaput with Ghost?

There's so much going on!?!?! Like! SO MANY THEORIES. >:) Plus we have to worry about if Alastor and Nova are gonna be OKAY, and what exactly Charlie and Lucifer are about to do! AHHHHH. Its such an addicting story!

Angel, shrugging: "Hey we know as much as you do. They're passed out, the doctor's don't really know what to do with 'em'"

Nifty, suddenly appearing from some corner of the hotel: "They helped tough. Even when it hurt them. Maybe they like pain too!"

Nifty shudders in delight. Husk and Angel share a look.

Vaggie: "Charlie isn't answering her phone I hope she's okay..."

Meanwhile

Charlie and Lucifer stand in a dirty bedroom. There even a couple of bugs crawling around.

They sneak a peak around the corner. Through some miracle they haven't been spotted yet.

Nova is sitting on a chair. This time not bound to anything, though she looks terrified at the two men. And she's slummed in the chair. She's still in that chair. For what an hour now? Luckily they draw it slowly, they want to keep her alive as well.

She's whimpering and sniffling, the Morningstar's hearts break at the sight

Brax, annoyed: "Shut up. Or do you want to go back into the closet?"

She's trying to press her arm to her mouth, making the sound quieter, not actually able to stop. The other man just rolls his eyes and checks the machine. It must be Alastor's father.

Lucifer gives Charlie a sign to wait. She does so, but ready to step in as well, whenever needed.

Lucifer: "You know, I don't take kindly to people who hurt my family. And unfortunately for you, the two of you definitely made the list"

#send asks #ask #ask blog #ask me anything #hazbin hotel ask blog #hazbin lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #charlie morningstar #charlie hazbin hotel #charlie

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persephonewritessometimes · 2 years

Text

Moon Song / part four: smoke signals missing my heart

Summary: Y/N is staying with her sister for the time being, but her thoughts turn to Hotch.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x (AFAB) Reader

Word Count: 2915

Warnings: ANGST, distressed!reader, reader is kind of depressed and doesn't want to talk about it, lots of emotions

Playlist: Link

Author's Note: I apologize if this chapter is a bit more slow-moving, I promise the next part picks back up! As always, thanks for reading, it means the world!

This work is meant for readers aged 18 and over. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

-Two Days Later-

I’ve been staying in my sister’s spare bedroom for the past two days. It’s blank, bare of any memorabilia, just beige walls, cream-colored carpet, and me curled up underneath the covers not even knowing what time it is.

“Y/N? Are you hungry?” My sister asks, opening the door and walking in quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“No,” I mutter. Oak and Bobby have been nothing but gracious hosts, giving me space. I know my sister is worried about me – I’m worried about me, but at this point, I’d rather just rot away in bed than do anything else.

“Will you just eat a little bit? For me?” Sometimes I forget that I’m two years older than her. I feel small, curled in bed. I feel her rest a hand on my hip. “Y/N.”

“Please,” I whisper. She just sighs and leaves, shutting the door behind her. My phone is shut down, buried underneath my socks. I texted everyone, save for…him, and gave them my sister’s address, asking them to send a letter if they wanted to get in contact with me. I just need some time away from everything. I sigh and roll over to my back, stretching out my limbs from their cramped position. I forget how cold my hometown is in December. It makes sense, we’re far more north than Virginia is. I woke up to a light dusting of snow on the ground this morning, snow flurries kicking up in the air. I sat by the back door and watched them as I sipped a cup of coffee. Then it was back to bed.

I’m listless, I don’t know what to do with myself, don’t know what to say to Oak, don’t know what to say to myself. I feel drained, devoid of life, and lost. I sleep almost all day on the second day.

On the third day, I peel myself out of bed, take a shower, and put on a pair of sweats and a large sweatshirt before emerging from the confines of my room.

“Good morning,” I say quietly, pouring myself a cup of coffee in the tackiest mug I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I watch my sister and her husband exchange a look. “You can say it. Subtlety is not your strong suit, Oak, and I profile people for a living.” I say, raising my eyebrows, stirring some sugar into my coffee.

“We’re just worried, Y/N. I’ve never seen you like this before, I’m worried.”

“That’s fair.” I grasp the warm mug in both my hands, turning to lean against the counter and look at them.

“Is there any way we can help you? I’m just lost here.” Oak looks like she’s about to cry and Bobby grabs her hand, squeezing. Tears prick at my eyes at their affection.

“I just need time, that’s all. I’ll be okay – I always am.”

“That’s what I’m worried about, Y/N. You always manage to pull yourself together and don’t let anyone see what’s going on underneath. It’s okay to hurt, it’s okay to open up, it’s okay to not be okay." She smiles at the cliché.

“I’ll be fine. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To heal, to be somewhere that…that he’s not.” My throat closes up and I barely get the words out. I clear my throat awkwardly. “Do you have any errands I can run for you? I might as well make myself useful while leeching off of you.”

“You’re not leeching off of us, Y/N. You’re welcome here. And I need a few things from the grocery if you’d like to venture out today.” I nod, taking myself and my coffee back to my room. I finish it within a half hour and fight the temptation to turn my phone back on. I put on socks and shoes, grab a banana from the fruit bowl in the kitchen, my sister’s shopping list, and let myself out of the house. I breathe in the crisp air for a few moments, letting my body adjust to the chill. I walk a mile to the store, eating my banana, I relish in the exercise and the serene quiet that my hometown brings.

It’s just a small mom-and-pop grocery shop, and Meryl recognizes me instantly.

“Well, if that’s not Y/N Y/L/N! Hey sweetie!” She calls from behind one of the registers.

“Hi, Meryl.” I give her a small smile. “Just picking up a few things for my sister,” I say, waving the list.

“Come here and give me a hug, I haven’t seen you in years!” She rushes over and squeezes me tight.

“Yeah, I’ve been busy. Always working.”

“The FBI needs to give you more time off!” I laugh, and agree, excusing myself to do the shopping. The store is quiet, just me, Meryl, the store manager, two middle-aged women, and a dad and his son. I’m watching them, not on purpose, the dad looks nothing like Hotch, but he reminds me of him all the same. I overhear him talking to his son and he says,

“No, we’re not getting chocolate today, Jack, just the necessities.” I freeze when I hear his son’s name, the tears threatening to spill over. I blink a few times, willing them back and hurriedly get the items my sister needs. I make my way back to the cash register when a can rolls in front of me. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” The man exclaims, “Jack you need to hold onto things better!”

“It’s fine!” I say, leaning down and picking the can up. Jack walks over to me shyly. “Here you go, Jack,” I say, handing him the can.

“Thank you!” He exclaims, beaming up at me. I smile at him and give his dad a smile. I check out, adding a chocolate bar to the belt.

“This is for that little boy when he and his dad check out,” I say to Meryl, handing her the chocolate bar.

“You’ve always been a sweet girl, Y/N. Don’t let anyone dim your light.” Meryl says, taking the chocolate from me. I just give her a small smile, take my bag of groceries and head out of the grocery. I’m on the way back to my sister’s house when I see a small church on the other side of the street. It’s quaint, made of old gray stone and its doors are wide open. I’m curious, I don’t remember seeing this church growing up. I look both ways before jogging across the street and stepping inside. It smells like old books and communion wafers. There’s a “Please be quiet!” sign right outside the chapel, and there are a few people sitting inside, praying in silence.

I’ve never been a particularly religious person, so I don’t know what compels me to walk into the chapel and sit in the last pew. I set the groceries down quietly beside me, and I just kind of look around. It’s beautiful in here, with huge stained-glass windows towards the front, and an altar made of granite. It feels peaceful here. I don’t pray, merely just sit in quiet contemplation for a few minutes, before gathering my things and leaving. I let myself into my sister’s house and put the groceries away. I find my sister sitting in the living room and ask,

“Hey, has that church always been there?” I ask, and she seems surprised that I’m wanting to have a conversation that’s longer than her asking me a question and me saying no.

“The gray one? Yeah, I think it’s been there as long as we’ve lived here. Why?”

“Oh, well the doors were open, so I went inside. It was pretty, I liked it. Very quiet.” I say and smile. “Felt nice.”

“I think it’s open every day for people to come in and pray.” I nod in contemplation, and she asks, “Have you heard any news about…?” I shake my head.

“I turned my phone off. Completely. Which reminds me, if I get a letter, it’s from my team. I told them that’s how they could contact me.” She nods, and I excuse myself, back to my room.

-The Next Day-

I awake from a nightmare, gasping for breath. It’s early, and the sun just starting to rise. I pull on my coat and a pair of thick socks, quietly letting myself into the backyard. I watch the sun as it rises, the hues coloring the sky. I watch as the sky turns the lightest shade of orange – his favorite color – and then into vibrant yellows and soft pinks. It’s beautiful and I don’t realize that I’m crying until I feel my cheeks get cold and wet. I laugh a little, wiping them away. It’s silly to be crying at the sunrise, but it feels like something inside me has cracked open, ready to heal.

The next week I come out of my room more and more, borrow books from my sister (mostly shitty romance novels that don’t have much substance but are distracting enough), and walk to the little gray church every day. Sometimes I only stay for ten minutes, the other day I stayed for an hour. I think while I’m there, reflect, sometimes I cry, but I always feel better after I leave, like the load has lifted a little bit. I’m letting myself into the house after spending some time at the church and Oak says,

“Hey, you got a letter today.” She hands me the envelope and I recognize JJ’s pretty handwriting.

“Thank you,” I say breathlessly, taking the letter back to my bedroom and ripping it open. Everyone has written a paragraph for me. Some are short, some longer, but all light-hearted and express that they miss me. Penelope starts hers off with a poorly written joke, but it still makes me laugh. JJ’s paragraph is last, and it has the information I’ve been dying to know.

Y/N, I hope you’re getting the rest you deserve. I know you’re wondering about him, so I’ll tell you. He woke up shortly after you and Reid left, and the first words out of his mouth were your name. When he realized you were gone, he looked like he was going to throw up. He’s back at work, despite the doctor’s orders, and keeps to himself even more than usual. He doesn’t joke around anymore, just says what he needs to and leaves. We’re worried about him, and I know you are too. He’s not the same when you’re gone. I’m not telling you this to get you to come back, I’m telling you because I know you, and you’d strangle me if I didn’t give you at least a little bit of an update. Take your time, we’ll all be here for you when you want to return. Love you.

-JJ

They did not ask him to write a paragraph, and I feel the absence of his presence greatly. I wonder if he even knows if they’ve sent me a letter. Part of me is glad, if he doesn’t write, then I don’t have to worry about reading his words and feel like I’m hurtling over the edge into the abyss.

I woke up in the middle of the night that night. It’s pitch-black outside, the world is quiet, waiting for something. I shuffle out of bed, put my gun in the waistband of my pants, and go for a walk. The world looks different when it’s nighttime, it’s peaceful and I walk to a park two blocks away. I sit and swing for a while, and I can’t stop thinking about him. I see him everywhere I go. In the grocery store, in the sunrise, in the sound of the door being opened but it’s always just Bobby.

I don’t know when I start to cry. I just sit there, unmoving, letting them spill down my cheeks.

“Let him go,” I sob at the big dark sky. But I can’t. He is entangled in my very being. The first time we kissed, the atoms of my body welcomed him in, and now he is burned into my soul. I will never be able to let him go. I feel like I’m watching myself break down from the outside, an outsider to my own life. I’m listening to her scream, listening to her cry. A feeling of relief came over my soul. I couldn’t take it any longer, and I lost control. They’re big, heaving, gut-wrenching sobs as I realize that I will never be able to rid myself of Aaron Hotchner. I feel the rational part of me chasing my emotions up the stairs, and I pinned her to the ground. Underneath her whimpering, I could hear the sirens sound. I rattled off a list of all the things I miss.

“God?” I whispered when I was able to get my sobs under control. “I know we don’t exactly have a good track record, and I know it’s stupid to ask you for something after all these years, but if it’s meant to be, can you please send me a sign?” I look up into the sky and right as I’m about to close my eyes, two shooting stars follow each other across the sky. I suck in a breath and whisper, “Thanks, God.” I collect myself and walk back to my sister’s house, curling back up in bed and sleeping better than I had in weeks.

I dream about him. When I wake up, from the dream where I am safe and loved, I reach across the bed for a body I know isn’t there. I curl into a tight little ball, resting my hands under my chin as my sleepy eyes take in the quiet room. I feel more at peace than I did yesterday and join Oak and Bobby for breakfast. They keep glancing at each other, and I know they’re trying to figure out what changed.

“Y/N, Christmas is next week, do you want anything?” I blink and pause. I hadn’t realized it was coming up so fast.

“Oh! Um, I’m not sure. Maybe a nice pair of pajamas?” I suggest, and Oak smiles at me.

“I can do that.”

“Do you want anything?” I ask back. She regards me.

“I just want you to be happy.”

“Oak…” I start, but she cuts me off.

“No. Y/N, you love that man, yes?”

“Yes, but - ”

“No buts. You love that man. He loves you. You make it work, if it’s meant to be, it will work. It won’t be pretty and easy, but you can’t give up and then spend your whole life wondering what would have happened if you had just tried.” She grabs my hand and squeezes it tight. “I’m not saying you need to just forgive him immediately, but it’s clear he loves you, and you can’t help but love him.” I squeeze her hand back, not trusting myself to speak, and nod.

I walk to the church again that day, feeling lighter than I have in a long time. There’s no quiet sign today though, and people are chatting inside. I almost turn and leave when I hear,

“Hello, I’ve seen you here a lot. What’s your name?” An older-looking man, approaches me, a kind smile on his face.

“Oh, um, I’m Y/N. I’m just staying with my sister for a little bit.”

“Ah, I see. Running from your responsibilities?” He asks, smiling.

“Running from a person, more like it.”

“Ah, there’s always a boy in the story, isn’t there?”

“Yeah, it seems like it,” I mutter, but smile at him.

“What’s his name?”

“Aaron.”

“Good name. Is he kind?”

“He tries to be, he’s just been hurt. We all have.”

“I understand. We’re having a potluck right now, would you like to join us?” He asks, motioning towards the chapel.

“Oh, uh, I didn’t know. I didn’t bring anything.” I feel awkward.

“That doesn’t matter, come inside, Y/N, we’d be happy to have you.” I don’t know why I concede, but I do. The old man, whose name I forgot to ask, introduces me to a few people, and I recognize the dad and his son, Jack from the grocery store.

“Hey! Thank you for the chocolate!” Jack says, tugging on my hand. I smile and crouch down to be on his level.

“Of course! What’s life if you can’t have a little bit of chocolate?” I wink at him, and he giggles. I stand back up and his dad, whose name is Eric, says,

“Thank you again, that was a pleasant surprise.”

“Anytime.”

“Why did you do it?”

“The world needs a little more kindness than what I’ve been giving it,” I say plainly.

“I see you met Aaron,” Eric says, changing the subject and nodding at the older gentleman. A look of surprise comes over my face before I quickly school it back into neutrality. Of course, his name is Aaron.

“Oh, uh, yeah, he invited me in.”

“He’s one of the church elders, and the nicest man I know. Hey, we’re having a Christmas Eve service, if you’d like to come.”

“Of course, I’ll be there.” I smile and excuse myself. For some reason, the idea of smoke signals comes to my mind.

The orange sunrises, the little boy named Jack, the double shooting stars, and the older man named Aaron. You must have been looking for me, sending smoke signals.

---

part five: the day after tomorrow

---

TAG LIST (want to be added? click here!): @helmihotchner @hausofwhores @stxlemate @heidss @justjoyceme @bxtchopolis @art-and-thoughts @morgthemagpie @rousethemouse @ssamorganhotchner @mrs-ssa-aaron-hotchner @sebastiansstanswhore

#hotch x reader #hotch x y/n #hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #moon song hotch

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