#Another day of me realizing that trains have trauma

[decojellyfish]

So we saw Guard dog! ghost and kitten! reader

Rescued fighting dogs! Ghost and Soap with cat! reader

how about we get some of Price adopting a puppy! reader and reader having to learn the ropes from Older dogs! Ghost, Soap, and Gaz(maybe??)?

or just Price rescuing another former fighting dog! reader and them being all defensive against former fighting dogs! Ghost, Soap and Gaz(maybe??), maybe even fighting against them when they(soap) try to get too close for reader’s comfort

Thank you so much for being my second request!! I decided to go with the second prompt you offered me, and I had fun writing it! I just don't have fun making you guys cry because, fair warning, this one is gonna be angstyyy... 😔 But I hope you guys enjoy!

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Bite

Hybrid AU! TF141 Retired Fight Dog! Gaz, Ghost, and Soap x Retired Fight Dog! GN! Reader x Owner! Price Reader is only addressed as ‘you’

SFW ~ Angst

Warnings: Brief/occasional swearing, mentions of abuse, depression, extreme violence, trauma

───♡───────────── Beginning Your body ached. You didn’t know if it was because you were starving, or if it was your muscles and joints crying out for help from your most recent fight. It was a couple of hours ago, and it was rough. Your previous owner had disowned you when he found a new pup to use and abuse for profit. Part of you was happy, the years of abuse and ruthless training were over. The other part of you was absolutely terrified. You had no more food, no treats, no worn-out bed for you to sleep on, and no roof over your head.

You’d been homeless for nearly a year. You gave up on keeping exact track months ago. Your slightly sunken stomach never ceases its eternal growl, constantly yearning for food. Dumpster diving has become a part of your lifestyle. You had managed to find some food, albeit moldy and/or coated in garbage juices, but it was still food. ‘Food is fight fuel’ was constantly echoing through your head, while you fought off the sickness going through your head as realization set in that you were literally eating garbage. Sometimes, you even wondered if food was even worth it. You weren’t fighting as much as you used to. Sometimes you were suddenly assaulted by other stray fighter dogs as well, forcing you to live in constant paranoia, anxiety, and a never-ending feeling like you had to fight.

There were times that you even lashed out at strangers because of this constant fear. Domesticated dogs would find themselves abruptly thrown into a fight when you were around. They would leave with scratches, bites, bruises, and even chunks of flesh missing due to your fierce bite. In the underground fighting scene, you were most known for how gnarly the wounds from your bites would be.

This would result in animal control being called on you. But you’d evaded them countless times, which meant that you were far from where you originally came from. You would bounce from alley to alley, town to city. You were far from home if you could even call where you came from ‘a home’.

Though you were far from old enemies, you still made new ones. You were so used to lashing out that you were still getting into fights, but now you were getting into fights with fight dogs you didn’t even know.

Some days, you were tired. So tired, you just wanted to lay in your current alleyway and just rot. Let the bugs eat away at you, sometimes you even want to turn yourself into the pound. At least there you would have food in your belly and a semi-warm place to sleep. On other days, you were mad. So mad, you just wanted to paint the town red with any kind of blood, even your own.

Today was a tired day. You were lying against a wall, it was raining. Rain would be the closest you had to being bathed. Your rotted clothes were soaked and falling apart, your hair sticking to your face and skin as you stared at the opposing wall. Your eyes had nothing behind them, you were lost in your little world. Your happy place.

You imagined yourself in a cabin, or a cottage, just somewhere secluded and cozy. You had a loving partner, and pups of your own to take care of. A garden in the backyard, full of fruit, vegetables, and herbs. A flower garden in the front yard, full of daffodils, tulips, rose bushes, and trumpet lilies. You wore soft clothes like they were made of clouds. In your happy place, you were warm. In your happy place, you were safe.

Unfortunately, you were ripped out of your happy place by a smell. A familiar smell. Multiple familiar smells. Your heart had already started to beat rapidly, and the sense of adrenaline you had when in the fighting ring was coming back, slapping you in the face. You shifted your position from laying back against a wall to standing up and ready to fight, your teeth already beginning to show and a low growl slowly leaving your throat.

Familiar smells were never good, it meant that someone who had been made an enemy was close. Another fight was about to happen. You could hear men chatting with each other, though it was muffled by the ringing in your ear as your brain was now filled with nothing but adrenaline, panic, and one word. Fight.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Price was going on his weekly walk with his boys, all rescues. His home had become somewhat of a mini rehabilitation center. His pups, although fully grown dogs, were his pride and joy to be around. Gaz was his first rescue about seven years ago, Soap was rescued about two years after Gaz, and Ghost had been rescued three years before today. Price, himself, was a retired military veteran.

He enjoyed going on walks with his pups, he found it to be a nice bonding experience. Although today was rainy, it didn’t stop the group from following tradition. Gaz loved the rain, the sound and the feeling of raindrops hitting windows, umbrellas, or even himself was beyond calming for him. Soap didn’t particularly like rain, it mostly made him think of those unbelievably sad scenes in movies that involved rain, like an intense breakup. Ghost was neutral about it.

But Ghost found himself focused on something else, a smell. He glanced over at Soap, who could also smell this sudden scent. “Stop.” Ghost spoke firmly, grabbing Price’s shoulders and looking at the rest of the group. “Stay here, I smell something.” “Ghost, I don’t want you getting hurt-“ Price protested, only to be interrupted by Soap. “Stay, somethin’s here tha’ could rip out your throat.”

Gaz was worried as well, even though the scent wasn’t as familiar to him as it was to Ghost and Soap. He could smell a large amount of adrenaline and even panic or fear mixed in.

Ghost slowly walked up to the scent source and braced himself, slowly watching as a familiar face came into view. The two of you had been through plenty of fights together, each parting putting up a massive fight. You were snarling at him when he approached you, your body unconsciously moving closer to the wall, further away from him as he grew closer. Your hollow, starved appearance had him taken aback. You looked terrible. You were coated in scabs, bruises, and open wounds that had miraculously not gotten infected.

Your heart was beating so fast, that both you and Ghost could hear it. He had his hands up, his palms open as he showed he wasn’t looking for a fight. That didn’t stop you though. All you could see was all those fights, years ago. Ghost snarling back at you before he would nearly tear a chunk out of you while you almost ripped both of his ears off. You lunged at him with a loud bark, tackling him as you began to scratch and bite at him.

The group was startled, and terrified. They would all run to Ghost as they tried to get this rabid dog off of him. Of course, four men against you was an unfair fight and you were swiftly removed from the fight.

Soap held you against the ground, crouching over you as he pinned both of your arms behind your back as you continued to snarl and attempt to bite. You panted and stared at them with wide eyes, mostly focusing on Ghost and Soap since they were enemies from the past.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me, aren’t you..?” You spoke shakily, to either of the boys. Soap could feel how strong and deep your breaths were as you hyperventilated.

All the men shared a glance of worry, Soap spoke up, “We’re not those dogs anymore.” Ghost would nod in shared agreement. “You don’t look so good, since the last time I saw you.” He looked down at you, noting how your stomach churned from hunger, how tired your eyes were, and your slightly raspy breath. Even your recent wounds worried him, some nearly looking like early stages of infection.

You grunted as you struggled under him, “Yeah, well, ‘m happy to see you guys living the high life.” You grumbled, the other dogs’ ears twitching as they heard a slight crack in your voice. You couldn’t ignore it, you were jealous. They didn’t look as tired as they did at your last fight, not on edge all the time, they looked well fed, and they smelled good too. And worst of all, what made you want to lash out at all of them, even their owner, was the fact that they looked happy with this new life. The life that you desired that always seemed to be out of reach.

All the men looked back at Price, Gaz included, with one question in their eyes. ‘Can we keep them?’

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taking you back to their home was a fight in it of itself. You couldn’t help but be scared. Maybe they were all tricking you, maybe they were gonna lock you up in their house and sell you off to another owner in the underground fighting scene. Maybe they really were going to kill you. You only felt slightly safe with Gaz, but that’s because he didn’t look as scarred a fighter as Ghost and Soap, and his eyes held a safer gaze than the other two. He would hold your hand on the way home, firmly but protectively. However, he only did this after you attempted to run away from the group about 4 times.

Arriving at the Price household, there was an overwhelming amount of smells. Everything smelled like all the boys, but individually and in one unit all at the same time. You would stay close to the front door at the entrance, scared to step one foot further into the house. You still didn’t know if it was safe or not. Price respected this, though. He had Gaz let go of your hand so you could settle into the house at your own pace. The look of fear in your eyes was one that he was familiar with, he’d seen it in all his other boys when he first brought them home.

He had the boys all continue on with their night, only giving you directions to the bathroom in case you needed it at some point.

As time went on, your legs would grow tired of just standing. You remained seated, close to the door as you watched the household live out their lives. Price would only stop by you once for the night, and it was to give you a late-night snack and to wish you a good night. He had set down a plate with pieces of watermelon and a glass of water. He left after that, supposedly going to bed. The boys would stay up a bit later, they would watch you in secret. But you were quickly able to tell they were spying on you, however, you let them continue.

You saw it as a way to test if they were trustworthy. Your ears slightly twitch as you listen to their whispers.

“...how do you know them…?” Gaz would whisper, curiosity lacing his voice. “...Ghost and I have had a few tussles with ‘em years ago…” “...Fierce dog… don’t underestimate them…” Ghost grumbled in reply, Soap nodding in agreement. “...Nearly took mah whole face off…” Soap chuckled. “...They almost got my ears…” Ghost added.

You would faintly smile at the warning of underestimating you as a fighter dog. But then you were reminded that you were a fighter dog. And a successful one. Any moral being would never want to be a successful fighter dog. That meant you were scary and either could have killed or even mutilated another dog. Memories of all your fights would flash across your mind, like a blinding camera shot. Your successful ones, the ones where you would lose and your owner showed you what bad dogs get for losing. The bits of compassion you would feel for your opponent as they bleed out, or yowled in pain as their bones broke, pellets of skin torn off, or their bleeding gums from when you knocked nearly all their teeth out.

You wanted to hug them, apologize to them, tell them that you wished you could fix them. Only to have those moments of kindness wiped from your mind as the shrieks and cheers of your owner and the people who bet money on you were released into the air.

Coming back to reality, you were perplexed when you didn’t hear the whispers anymore. Taking a chance, you glanced up at the boys. Only to see that they were now staring at you, curious and worried. You didn’t know why they were staring until you heard a soft pit-pat against the floor beneath you.

Glancing down, you saw little droplets. Your hand instinctively raised to your face, feeling little beads of tears and the streaks they left behind on your face. You would quickly smear your tears away and shoot the dogs a mean growl before reluctantly stuffing a piece of watermelon into your mouth. You just wanted something else to focus on aside from the stares you were getting right now.

An hour later, the men had all gone to sleep and you had eaten all the food Price had given you and drank all the water he offered. You stayed awake throughout the whole night, however. You still didn’t trust anyone, believing the house was a trap.

Morning arrived, your eyes tired but still open as you didn’t want to lose your guard. Price was the first one up, yawning and scratching at his chest as he walked into the room. He would glance down at you, smiling when he saw you’d eaten all your food.

“Food was good, yeah? Don’t worry, I’ll get you some more soon.” He chuckled, taking your empty dishes away and heading into the kitchen.

You felt awkward now, just sitting there as Price had begun to cook breakfast. You would quietly stand up and slink into the kitchen, sitting on the cold tile as you would watch him from a random corner of the room. It had been about ten minutes before Price would look over his shoulder to check on you, only seeing that you weren’t in your previous spot. He would then glance down at you in your new spot, chuckling to himself.

“Got bored of the old spot?” He asked before going back to cooking. He didn’t expect you to be speaking right out the gate, all the other boys were like that too when he first took them in. After a few minutes, Gaz would walk in, rubbing at his eye. A big smile formed on his face as he smelled the currently cooking food. “Smells good in here, Price.” He would then finally look at you, mildly surprised you had moved but he would regain his smile.

Waving at you, he would approach you but keep his distance. “Did you sleep well last night…?” You silently stared at him, your restlessness very obvious, especially in your eyes. “Did you sleep- at all last night…?” He looked concerned, his brows only furrowing more when you shook your head no. “...Too scared?” You stayed quiet. “That’s okay, Ghost and I were like that too.” He smiled at you. You couldn’t deny it, he was a comforting ball of sunshine to you.

“I could set up a bed on the couch for you, I could even keep the telly on for you if you like falling asleep to that sort of thing.” You remained quiet as he talked to you, causing him to let out a slightly amused but comforting huff. “That’s okay, you can think about it during breakfast.”

Breakfast included food that was the most delicious food you had devoured in years. French toast, fried eggs, bacon. You would quietly inhale the first actual meal you’d had in a long time, everyone else watching you at the kitchen table, some trying not to laugh at your eagerness.

You awkwardly stared at everyone else, wiping away some yolk on your mouth with your hand. Price chuckled, “That reminds me, we ought to give you a bath today and get you some new clothes.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You awkwardly sat in the tub as Gaz would scrub a sudsy sponge along your back. Price was washing some clothes, making sure the scent was cleaned out so you had no trouble with wearing them.

“Don’t worry, I was like this when Price first took me in.” He laughed a little. “Quiet, scared, and I didn’t know if this place was my permanent home. But it is my home, and it’s gonna be your home too.” He smiled at you, now rubbing shampoo into your hair. “...what’s it like?” You looked up at him. “Y’know, living here? What’s it like?”

Gaz thought for a bit, also trying to make sure none of the shampoo got in your eyes. “Well, it’s nice. Good food, good clothes, good comfort. Price will sometimes pick up our favorite snacks for us, he’ll do that for you too, you just need to ask him or write it on the grocery list. We go on weekly walks around the block, sometimes we go to the park which is really fun. Especially with Soap, he really likes to play games at the park.”

That surprised you, you never took Soap to be a ‘fun games at the park’ kind of dog. Well, that could also be because you never got to see him or Ghost as a domesticated dog, your only memories of them being in the fighting rink. Maybe they have changed. Maybe you should give them a chance to show you they’ve changed.

Maybe they were doing that all along since they found you, only holding you down instead of attacking you in response to being attacked by an old foe.

The bath was eventually drained and you were dried off with a towel, Price coming in with a pair of folded up clothes, a t-shirt and some sweatpants. You were left alone in the bathroom to get dressed, also to let you just have time to yourself.

After a few minutes, you stepped out of the bathroom in your new attire. You couldn’t lie, the clothes were beyond comfy and were nice and warm. Probably fresh out of the dryer. The rest of the boys were on the couch, watching a show on the TV. You would stare at them before slowly beginning to move your legs towards the couch as well.

They would notice your approaching, but wouldn’t bring any extra attention to it. They all remember their first time trying to get comfortable in the new home. It honestly warmed their hearts watching you hesitate on where to sit before eventually picking a spot and huddling into the soft pillows.

Price was already dressed for the day and was writing down the current shopping list before slipping his shoes on. “Oy, Gaz, you’re coming with me for groceries today.” He called out to the couch, Gaz promptly getting up and putting his own shoes on. He waved to you and the other two before stepping out the front door, Price giving a wave as well. “We’ll be back in 30.”

You sat there in silence, now stuck with your past enemies. There was tension, no doubt. At least, that’s what you felt. You were the one who was constantly looking over at the boys, a nervous sweat forming on your forehead. The two were just sitting there, watching the commercials play and pass by.

Now that the only pacifists in the house were gone, they were going to pounce at any second. You were sure of it. At any given moment, they were gonna do it. So you sat there, in a state of constant fear and bracing yourself for a fight you didn’t even know would happen.

Ghost noticed your condition, Soap a few seconds later would see it too. “... you okay, pup?” Soap would ask, seeing the little bits of sweat on your skin. “You’re scared.” Ghost stated, looking deep into your defensive form. “You don’t need to be, you’re safe now. We all are. We aren’t the same dogs you fought those years ago.”

They continued to watch you, watching as you stayed quiet and just stared at them expectantly. “We know you’re also no’ the same dog from those fights. Ye dinnae have a choice, only doin’ tha’ for your own survival. Like us.” Soap’s eyes were full of empathy and concern.

“No need to be scared. It’s safe here.” He smiled at you, slowly reaching out to you to rub your shoulder.

You only saw the worst in people, you would see a possible future where he was reaching out to strangle you instead of comforting you. You thought you could see his teeth start to bare, maybe he was snarling at you.

You felt like you were back in the fighting ring. You could feel the adrenaline begin pulsing and coursing through your veins.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You didn’t know how you did it, it went by so fast. The last thing you saw was Soap’s teething smile and his hand. Now you were pressed up against a wall, hyperventilating at the sight of what you just did.

First, you  grabbed his arm, throwing him to the ground before you began to bite and tear at his flesh and clothes. You woke up when Ghost pinned you to the ground, keeping your wrists together so you couldn’t hurt anyone or yourself. You scrambled away from him and coward into a corner.

You thought you were doing good, only a day into this house and you were doing so good. You didn’t feel like a good pup, not anymore. You weren’t deserving of this house, these new clothes. the food that resided in your stomach. You were a bad dog. There was no way you could look any of the boys in the eye now. Not after what you did.

Lost in a tsunami of your thoughts, you couldn’t hear Ghost trying to reassure you, that it was normal for an outburst like this to happen. He, himself, did it to Price. He brought Soap to the bathroom, taking out the first aid kit along with a few extra bandages. Living in a house with a bunch of retired fighter dogs, the first aid kits would be a bit more extreme than a regular, everyday one.

When he returned to check on you, to tell you that Soap was going to be okay, he didn’t see you in your corner. Not even the spot you were in on your first day here. But he saw that right next to the spot, the door was left open.

They lost you. ───♡───────────── End

If you have any requests, or asks, feel free to submit them!

[izvmimi]

cw: spoilers. after timeskip. selfship-coded. reader has a defined quirk. hurt/comfort.

As strong as the bond between any high school class can be (even yours, arguably more a small superpowered militia than a group of hopeful freshmen in far over their heads and strong enough to make it through the other end anyway), paths diverge as people follow their dreams, even if they will all forever call UA their home. 

It’s fitting that Izuku Midoriya, indisputably the most affected by the trauma of the meta war has kept UA as home base, and settling into his new career as teacher has remained both expected and fulfilling, even if poorly introspective onlookers would think otherwise. He is the heart of what it means to be a hero and that is to inspire the present and the future, and carry on the lessons of the past.

He is also your heart, you muse, as you find him sitting at your kitchen table, poring over graded essays, the red ink from his excessively lengthy corrections and comments practically jumping off the paper it’s scribbled on. You set down your work bag and attempt to sneak up behind him, but even if he’s focused and still, he’s always sharp, setting his pen down to turn around and greet you with a kiss.

“Hey, you’re later than usual, so I just let myself in, is that okay?” he asks. You nod, moving over to wash your hands in the sink quickly, then coming back around to pull a chair next to him. 

You’ve wanted to ask him to just move in together for months now, especially since now you spend more time at each other’s places than you do your own separate ones, but something about the proposition has felt wrong, rushed maybe. It’s been just a little over a year since you moved back to Japan after your fellowship overseas, and while you’ve remained in a varying level of contact the whole time since graduation, the flux of things has changed significantly instead of settling normally. For one, confessing an unrelenting affection that was kept mostly secret since high school had changed the trajectory of your lives, finding ways to incorporate seeing each other without fanfare between your busy post-grad education and his UA courses, then finally a year of long distance had made it difficult to ever feel like things had been truly steady.

“I wouldn’t have given you a code or key if not, silly,” you remind him. He smiles, and you glance over at the last assignment he’s corrected, and grimace. 

“You know if Aizawa had given me this many comments on an essay, I wouldn’t have shown up the next day, Izuku,” you remind him. He laughs, as you take the paper and read his feedback, mind spinning.

“I mean, no kid’s ever cried yet. I try to be nice.”

He is nice, you think, realizing that not a single word in the practical novel he’s scribbled in the margins of the brief constructed response can be misconstrued as disappointed or demanding. 

In fact, you would have cried tears of joy reading this. 

“How was the clinic?” he asks over the turn of another page.

“The most darling kid who didn’t have a Quirk manifest yet at age 5 showed up with worried parents with too much money on their hands.” You twist your mouth to the side. 

Izuku doesn’t look up as he says, “Oh, that’s too bad.”

There’s a pang of discomfort in your chest for a split second, but he doesn’t say anything else, scribbling a series of checkmarks and x’s, the quick scritch of his pen a little louder and resounding.

Izuku was meant to be Quirkless and is happy being Quirkless yet again, his mission fulfilled and the world better for it - even if sometimes only marginally so - but you know he yearns for the ability to be back on the field, with the same restlessness All Might once recounted feeling once he’d retired to teach as well. It’s evident in the way Izuku stays up a little too late reading/watching the news at every level, and how much of his free time he coordinates to a similarly intense training program at the crack of dawn, and the fact that even now he bristles at the implication of Quirklessness as a disability.

Everyone can be a hero. He was the greatest of them all - is, in fact, and not just your personal one, but his own personal world has shrunk. Documentaries, videos, people’s memories will not change that the fact that he’s far bigger than the quiet life he lives.

Now he’s relegated to cheering his friends on, day in and day out, and preparing a path for the youth to surpass him, something he is willing to do, but you know perhaps the timing is a bit too early for someone who shines as brightly as him. 

You rest your head on his shoulder. I love you, you could say out loud, I love you, and the world loves you, for you even more than what you did and what you represent, but it doesn’t help and Izuku cannot help sometimes interpreting your love as pity.

“What do you want for dinner?” you ask instead, keeping your voice as gentle as possible.

He turns to kiss your forehead. “I’m good with anything.”

You hate that no matter what you ask, big or small, he’ll always say this, and decide you’ll order his favorite food instead.

—

Years ago, when Mei contacted you out of the blue while you were ass deep in your medical school finals, asking you if you remembered the last time you’d used your Quirk on Izuku Midoriya, you had immediately assumed she had officially gone insane. It had been greater than five years since you’d last had a normal conversation with her at all, if even that could be considered normal, and you hadn’t had a need to use your Quirk on Izuku since the meta war.

“I know it’s a long shot but I need to know if you still remember-”

“I do,” you answered quickly, then immediately your face warmed at the admission. You can’t help that your Quirk gives you near perfect memory of people by their neuronal diagram, but something about it feels stalkerish when you still think of him affectionately, and not just as someone you’ve once healed. It also doesn’t help what the circumstances were when you’d healed him… but that would be a concern and memory for later.

“How can I help?”

Katsuki rolled his eyes visibly at you when you showed up to Hatsume’s lab the very next day but the animosity between you two has been a running schtick for years and you responded in jest. Using Hatsume’s program to redraw each neuronal connection from memory and adjusting for differences related to age was your greatest contribution to Izuku’s suit, small sums of money to contribute to the class pot whenever you could spare them the other.

There was always a little pang of jealousy that Katsuki could always offer up more money than you could, which once you’d confided to him by late night phone call days before All Might came back to Japan, he’d remind you,

“I’m just trying to beat your boyfriend in a fair fight, don’t make this about you.”

Katsuki’s rash way of speaking has always intuitively comforted you in just this way. It brings a smile to your face, and you offer him a word of thanks, anyway.

“He doesn’t know, does he? I know you like to run your mouth.” 

Katsuki can’t see you roll your eyes. “He’s none the wiser, don’t worry.”

“Good.” 

—

Izuku sends you a daily good morning message, and you’ve rarely beaten him to the punch, but this morning, you offer him a phone call as you make your way to the center of the city to work. All Might is coming back today and will present his suit to him then, the fruit of all your joint labors, and you were practically unable to sleep due to the excitement. Part of you agonized over whether or not you should try to be with him in the moment, but this is a moment to be kept between them, mentor and mentee.

“How are you feeling this morning, Izuku?” you ask, hoping the pants of your speedwalk (late to work as usual), don’t concern him through the phone.

“Weirdly enough, excited. There’s a feeling I can’t quite place, a good one,” he starts, and your grin is ear to ear.

Hours later, you get an excited text and one of the happiest phone calls you’ve ever received, and your heart is full to bursting.

—

“It’s fine, you don’t have to fuss over me,” Izuku insists, and you pout. There’s one stubborn emerald curl that won’t right itself in your opinion, and he’ll be on set for an interview in just a few minutes - the first since returning to active hero work - but he holds your fingers in his hand and pulls them to his lips instead.

“It’s okay. Don’t be nervous on my behalf,” he reminds you as he kisses them. His eyes are kind and relaxing, and you let out a deep breath, biting your lower lip. “I’ve got this, I promise.”

“Fine.”

“I love you,” he reminds you. “Thank you for always being by my side.”

You nod, as his assistant whisks him away, and he steps back into the spotlight, where he’s always belonged.

[memysoulandi]

Jason Grace, so much potential...

Actually this goes for the entire lost trio. The AMOUNT of TRAUMA these three had and the potential for character development they had too is UNREAL, yet nothing was done. Let us begin my personal beliefs

Leo:

-Delve into his trauma of his remaining family deciding he was the devil at age EIGHT and refusing to take him in-abandonment issues

-Have his constant feelings of invalid-ness and being the unneeded member of the seven be corrected by giving him CLOSE FRIENDS HE PIPER AND JASON NEED TO BE CLOSER AT THE VERY LEAST and conversations when he realizes he is wanted and needed

-Don't have Calypso storyline in there-he didn't need a girlfriend to solve his problems, if you have it, have it as good friends-another member of his support group

-Make him gay and have valgrace or slowburn/implied valgrace(the two of them pining then like kinda tragic as Leo dies)

Piper:

-Have her lesbian storyline occur in HoO where she's a main character-it's an important storyline for her character that deserves a spotlight and time that ToA couldn't give it

-No Jiper! This relationship was toxic and founded on fake memories-if you're going to do it, do it as a part of her LGBTQIA+ journey and Jason's as well

-Don't have her demonize femininity! She can wear dresses! She can wear makeup! She can present more feminine and still be the same character and her hatred of any and all things feminine is not good representation! Make her a feminist, please! Or at least make her less against femininity as a whole.

-No kaleidoscope eyes! Give her brown eyes and also have her rediscovering her culture storyline as a part of HoO too!

Jason:

-Make him a better fighter than Percy. He has been at Camp Jupiter since the age of three and spent a year with wolves before then. He has spent his entire life in a military setting training, he should be a better swordfighter than Percy 'I show up to summer camp at age 12 to 16 and only really use my sword then' Jackson.

-Give him more powers. Or Percy less. Children of the big three should be equal in potential power, not Percy being OP and the others having lightning or shadows powers some of the time. Percy needs less power and Jason, Thalia, Hazel, and Nico need more. Jason should have more power than Percy as he has had longer to train it.

-Give him a personality. His storyline in HoO should be a journey of self-discovery. He has always been another member of an army, with constant pressure on him to be the best at everything and a strong confident leader who doesn't make mistakes as a son of Jupiter. His entire life has been dictated by those around him. For the first time, he is free of that and he needs to be discovering things like how he likes to dress, his style, his sexuality, his likes and dislikes, and his personality. In my opinion he should be kinda shy with a feral edge, side effect of the wolves, who is always trying to people please. When he stops doing this, he becomes significantly happier and a greater use to the team. Plus valgrace;D.

-Also, make him despise Percy at the beginning. He worked his entire life to be an afterthought that nobody looked for when he went missing for months, while Percy was looked for by everyone after only a few days. Percy achieved everything he wanted in a matter of weeks in New Rome and he was happy and had friends and a life. Percy has everything Jason doesn't. They need to have a moment where they are locked together and Percy goes "why do you hate me" and Jason breaks down because "You have everything I want and you don't even have to try!". This would create a better relationship for them and be the turning point for Jason as Percy hears what he has to say and validates him. Also Jason personality.

-Don't kill him off and continue his self-discovery journey in ToA.

-Make him and Thalia have a closer relationship that in the months between TLH and TSoN, it is implied that they spend time together. He should feel safe with her and they needed more interactions as they are SIBLINGs, god damit.

-Make him and Reyna just friends-she wanted to look for him but couldn't 'cause Octavian(the bitch) and someone needed to be Praetor in his absence.

-Also give him history with Octavian-ex-friends or something give me drama.

[the-entitie]

COD men x K-9 Unit male reader

Part 1 | Part 2》》

A/n: I can speak three languages, only one of which borrow German words, so forgive me for shitty translations. I'm from the RSA, so you know. Not any of the boys hometown.

Reader works with a K-9 unit and his partner is called Mutt who is a mix breed of Alaskan Akita and Doberman(Mutt is also a service dog as reader has paranoia and C-PTSD). Readers call sign is Riot. The 141 boys needed help tracing a terrorist and John called in some favors to bring Riot and Mutt into the field. He helped the Los Vaqueros as well.

After the mission back at base, the reader interacts with the men, and they end up interacting with him.

Reader is referred to as you or Riot.

Mentions of panic attacks, anxiety attacks, C-PTSD, war, and / or war related violence. Unhealthy coping mechanisms, past trauma. Death of a family member. Torture, scars, and flashbacks.

Left: American Akita and Right: Long-haired Doberman

John Price: (740 words)

-He met you first, saw you first. Hell, he verified your file so he knew of your old teammates that turned because of the torture, and he knew of the many years you spent MIA. He also knows what you did to get out. So he keeps you close and keeps an eye on you. He's the one who needs to clear you for this recon mission. It will be his fault if another team mate goes rogue. -It only take him a few minutes to see how much you actually relay on Mutt, it takes him days to see its not reliance, no the two of you act in a cemented trust between you two. From the interactions at home base to the way you both move like a well oiled machine on the field, it doesn't take a genius to see that Mutt is a deadly force with training that makes the hound that much more dangerous. Price comes face to face with that realization when he sees just how far Mutt can throw a soldier four times their size. And Mutt came up to his thighs, mind you. -Time and space are all Price really needed to trust you completely. He knew how you acted with Mutt, and therefore, he knew how you would act around a team you trust. It doesn't take him long to see its not only Mutt who reacts to you. You react just as much based on your K-9. Price nearly shoots you when you call out to Mutt because you didn't whistle for the hound. You howled, and he could hardly tell it apart from the wild dogs he's heard out in the desert. He didn't even understand what the fuck you where doing until he heard something answer you, in the same rumbling call. It took a lot more time to get used to those kinds of noises from you. He could expect them from Mutt but not when it's you who makes them -Both of you were exhausted, been about three long days on your feet with little sleep, that's when he asks you how you make the sounds Mutt does. Hell he even starts trying to learn them just to know how you and you K-9 partner work better. "So I just cup my hands and what now Riot? I Grunt?" "No," you laugh at him, he doesn't feel patronized by it, "you hold your hands around your mouth and just bark, makes it echo like a dog." He sounded more like a mountain lion then canine when he actually gave it a try. You teach him how to pitch it up a bit, and how to drag the call out properly. "And you don't use your hand because?" "Because I'm used to it, and can make the 'echo' without my hands. I still do when I howl. Look." A few nights pass before he uses it to scare a tango shitless out side of the enemy base. He doesn't admit it but he likes 'talking' to the local wild dogs with you. He even enjoys hearing you and Mutt go off at each other because it means your both alive and still here. -Out side of the field and when you two go out to roam the town at the dead of night, he comes to see that the canine noises you and Mutt share gives you peace. The kind he used to find in cigars and smoke. He gets it, he knows that some people just have a vice. When you find him smoking alone behind his own home, he shrugs it off and blames it on the smoke detectors. He doesn't say that he stops to make your K-9 more comfortable in his home. He doesn't stop smoking but he tries to avoid it for your sake. You only corner him around a day or so to thank him. He won't admit to the red flaring up on his ears, but he tells you to drop it. -If he's ever the one who finds you when your having an attack, he will guard you. Get you safe and comfortable then he will become a gruff mother bear and be completely over protective of you. He only calms down when he sees that Mutt already does that, and he learns what can help you, what to look out for. He won't admit it though.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley: (734 words)

-Ghost didn't like you at first. or well he doesn't like anyone actually but he didn't like you. -You had a dog breed that was originally made for bear bating and he hated that he knew that. Even if you didn't get the hound because of that. Well, that and Mutt is constantly muzzled. It took you explaining it was required by law for him to try and ignore it. -But when he watches how fluidly you and Mutt work together, even seeing the raw fucking power that dog has when Mutt tackled an enemy to the ground, he starts to understand why you have to keep Mutt muzzled. Even if he didn't like it. -Simon has an ex-military dog at home so he knows how to act around an active working dog. He's the best to be around if you don't want people petting or trying to do anything really with your K-9 partner. -when at the base afterwards he sees that the dog isn't just a working dog but acts like you service dog. Everything from crowd control to doing small tasks for you on the daily. To siting between your legs when you have your back to anyone when doing a task to protect you. Mutt will even start doing this quiet sort of 'rueff' sound that will make you get out of where ever you are without any fanfare, you will just disappear. -He only finds out why a lot later. He feel kind of stupid for missing it after the fact. -Its the scars that cross your back and over your shoulders, the hitches of thick skin around your jaw. You are a torture survivor. So suddenly he gets it. Mutt is your safety, the dog wears a muzzle because your K-9 partner is also a person protection dog. -After he realized the why you stick to your partner so closely, he would begin to help Mutt protect you. He would stand ahead of you when Mutt would lay down to create space (crowd control). Ghost would watch your back and react with your partner to help you. -He takes his mask off when you two are either alone or when your are forced to show your scares he shows some of his to help you feel more comfortable. -you start to notice it, and at first you would try to stop him but eventually you just start protecting him back. You become more comfortable around him. Simon notices it to. -One day after a few days straight of being on your feet, both you and Simon end up passed out in his private quarters. Ghost wakes first to see Mutt cuddle against you and draped across him, when ever he tried to move the dog, they would just growl and to his utter amusement you growled back. -After that he gets you to 'talk' to Mutt any time he can, even on missions. - Ghost was the one who told you and Mutt to bark at each other to distract the enemy when on a recon mission. "Copy Riot, we need an in" "Need an in, copy. Any ideas for that L.t?" "Yeah, Riot go off and make some noise with Mutt" "Seriously?" "Yip, get going we need that data" You two got in, and yes you did start howling back and forth with Mutt in the echo trick wolves use. The enemy thought they were surrounded by cayotes. -When you eventually cuddle up with Ghost again, and Mutt yips or growls at you and you make the noise back, Simon will growl at you. It becomes a games between you to, even doing it as call outs outside of coms. Soap complains about wild dogs once and now Simon will get Mutt vocal just to fuck with Soap. -he starts calling you dog related nicknames, your name doesn't exist anymore. Call sign? only when necessary. You are now called with doggie names. He'll call out a, "Heh, Good boy" "Come on puppy you can speak" when you go dark on coms, or just when you don't answer him. Yes he will also say things like, "What ever you say Fido" -He makes you swear to never tell a soul that he also barks back at Mutt when you two are off duty. You caught him coping a growl when playing with Mutt once. -He gets Mutt and his las to meet. Now he also makes dog sounds with you on his down time, even without you much to his old girls delight.

John “Soap” Mactavish: (616 words)

-He loves your K-9 partner from the first time Price introduces you to the team, sure he tries to be professional but the second you let Mutt go off to play out of gear he just wants to give the hound so many pets. They are just so big and have that cute angry tilt to their face! Can you blame him. -when out on the field, he loves running with two of you on missions. The adrenaline and rush and just how much faster you two are than him. He loves it. -You end up doing it with him outside of missions after a while. Hiking out in mountains and secluded valleys, it's the first time he hears you howl with Mutt. The coyotes had started, yipping over whatever they killed lower down the ridge. Mutt, who was a few paces head, had paused to howl, without thinking you howl with them. Scares Soap but he just finds it fun. -Soap being so in love with Mutt leads to just being around you a lot. He starts learning what certain movements mean to you and your dog, how a sharp left with your hand was a call to draw back or how the shift of your stance meant to take the lead. It amazed him how well you read each other. -Then he sees how you act outside of the field, how Mutt still acted like a protector, and you kept mimicking the sounds Mutt made. Especially when you were more tired. He found it cute. Hell, he loved playing with Mutt, so when you made the hound more excited, he also got just as if not more excited. -Soap loves head scratches you find out when you two are off duty and hanging out. He's on the floor with Mutt and the hound he's cuddling wines before you reach down to comfort the dog with head scritches. You miss and pet Soap instead, beside being completely flustered, he asked you to do it again.  He just starts asking you to do it more and more before you start petting him the same way you pet over your hound. -Now you start with the dog related nicknames, even over coms. Much to Soaps embarrassment and the teams delight. He nearly buckles the first time you call him a good boy, and he does when you call him a good dog. Blames it on a miss step. -He loves, loves, loves listening to you, and Mutt yap back and forth, loves even more when you go to rough houses with growls and even try pining you down one. He fails, but he doesn't care. -Soap only catches one of your attacks when it's about sun down. You're both at his place standing in the kitchen when your shoulders suddenly hitch, but you continued on as normal. Until Mutt wandered over to you, they stopped dead before making a gruff noise and jumping up onto you. Instead of getting you secluded because, of course, the hound sees Soaps house as a safe space. And Mutt will get you down, force you to sit and lower your head. "Woh, n'er knew em ta jump? Wait shit. ROIT!" He'll be right there next to you, knows what to do because of Ghosts episodes on recons. "What's it, lad? What can I do ta help 'im?" -You don't really talk about it. Sure, you explain what it was and why Mutt did that, but not the why it happened. It takes a while to admit that the scares you hide are the reason for that attack. He gets it he does, and now? Mother fucker will do dumb shit to distract you, or just talk and talk and talk. It helps, he knows it helps.

König: (764 words)

-Being a sniper, he likes the added security, the extra eyes to help watch his back. Sure, he doesn't trust you per say but he tries to be friendly none the less. -He had no idea what Mutt was trained for until he saw the both of you take down someone who made it to his vantage point. He saw how you moved like Mutt was an extension of yourself, that's how you earn his respect. -König didn't know why you had so many commands for Mutt, but most of them were cues or just situational. Most of all, the verbal commands you use are in Russian and Dutch so he can understand some of the tasks you ask Mutt to do . It kind of scares him that Mutt would know which trail was a friend and which person wasn't. He stands by that fear when he watches you set them off on a run away target. -He will only admit to himself that both you and Mutt look way to good covered in the gore from that attack. -You had to explain that that kind of training meant your partner had to be muzzled. You both get to talking that night, swapping stories of close calls, and König shyly showed you the star splattered scar on his jaw. Lifting his hood up just enough to see it before hurriedly drooping it back down. You share a few of the worse days you had as a call in search and riot guard and snippets of the scars covering your throat. -Habits begin forming. König will be a silent wall between you and crowds while Mutt would start alerting to his anxiety attacks as well. You made a joke about borrowing Mutt to him on the days off. He didn't understand the first time Mutt barked at him in a weird gruff tone before jumping up and doing it again. It's when you get him secluded and safe that you explain it to him. "Its called signaling. They can tell you when these things are going to happen or are actively happening. " "So it's to let me know?" "Yeah, for me, it's when I'm going to either for a flash back or when my paranoia forces me into a panic attack." "Flash back?" "Yes, remember that sister I told you about." -It took days for you to actually relay that story to him. How your team abandoned you, how the enemy held your sisters head above your bloody form. You explained how that caused phantom pains or flashbacks and how crippling that can be some days. -He becomes your solace after that. He would be there when you needed it. Keep people away when you couldn't look at anyone. He even began listening to Mutts alerts. He even lets you help him through the easier ones. -König called you one night when you both were off for the next few days. You could tell by the shake on his breath what was happening before he could tell you. That was when you showed him how Mutt does decompression therapy, the hound big enough to help ground him. You stayed that night, even teaching König some of the commands you use to tell Mutt how to help you. He's quick to learn them as some phrases are Dutch that you use so he can catch the meaning of some commands. -You don't call him until a long while later. It's on a mission while you two are hunkered down after a botched extraction. Or well, Mutt calls him. "Riot? Are you, Oh Scheiße! 「Shit」" "wat 「what」, ag. What can I do? Dir helfen 「Help you」, how can I help. Please let me help you. " -He ended up holding how so you couldn't hurt yourself in these attacks. It didn't feel as entrapped as you thought it would. König is so much bigger than you, but it's like he makes a physical barrier between you and the world. He helps your partner make you feel safe. It's hard to explain to anyone why your panic attacks act like that, why your mind needs pain to calm from feeling like you're dying. König will explain how his attacks can feel suffocating, and that's why his jaw and throat are so bruised most days. -Between one mission and the next, you start showing off things you and Mutt can do to him, like Mutt retrieving throne knives or how the hound can trace any sent it knows for miles. -You only bark back at Mutt one night when trapped in a safe house. Neither of you could find each other, and mutt had run off

Alejandro Vargas: (720 words)

-Learning of the terrorist stationed so close to los vaqueros' home base, Alejandro was quick to reach out. The 141 had helped him before, so he was surprised to learn of the newer recruit they called in to help them. Alejandro told Price to just bring you along. They needed the extra help honestly, as much as he refused to trust any of 141 purely on principle. They needed the help. -He met you with Ruddy on the roof of the office building, and he asked the polit to land on. When you dropped from the helicopter with the others. Mutt held to your chest before being deposited on the ground. He's seen how some of the other search and rescue units who have K-9's, but he's never seen anyone who works with their hound like you do. Alejandro is both grateful and terrified to have you fighting with him.  -Seeing you and Mutt outside the field was even more intriguing. How the two of you reacted perfectly to each other, he saw a bit of himself and Rudy in the way you two work like a well-oiled machine. He tried to play nice, be kind and calm, but when shit hit the fan? He drops it. Its only been a week before you use the recall command on Mutt to level the man they needed to interrogate. Both of you were forced to hunker down in a safe house, Alejandro making the bound man walk with little success. He asked for your help not long after the son had dipped down.  "Think he will talk?" "Not willingly if that file you circulated was true." "Any ideas?" "You aren't scared of loud noises, are you?" "Not really, why?" -When you said you could help, this isn't what he was expecting, but it was working. You had taken to standing behind the tied down guy, and whenever Alejandro could sound even remotely frustrated,  you would call out to Mutt before the dog would lunge with a snarl or harsh bark. Scared the man shitless, and he would mumble about 'de-ablo' or 'deamons' on and off. When things got too harsh, or either of you were cornered, he watched in equal parts horror and delight as you let Mutt cull those surrounding you all. Watch as you both kill together just as well as you work together. -It eventually became a joke, the whole you being a dog or sounding like one. Even when the two of you left the safe house. Hell, he started talking to you like he would your dog. Started to tease you with the same command you used on your hound. "Come on, Roit, I know you can beg better than that." "Here, cachorro cachorro cachorro [puppy puppy puppy]!" "Such a good boy, you want a treat?" "There we go, Good perro. Now sit for me." Even saying he kept treats for when you were especially well behaved. If you didn't also start laughing along he wouldn't have kept doing it and actually started keeping 'treats' on hand for you on the late nights you two would just talk on and on about nothing and everything. -Being back at the base and left to your devices, he started asking about everything Mutt could do. He would ask if you could also do the tricks and inquire about the ones you could. "Wait cariño, you can howl?" "Yeah. Wanna hear me?" "Oh more than anything." "hhhm, maybe I'll do it later." "I'm happy to beg you, but I think you would sound better begging me, cariño." "I don't beg Alejandro." "You will. And you'll sound so good doing it." "Try me," -He loved hearing you talk to Mutt. Just waiting up at night to listen to the back and forth of barking and yips that echo across the open land. Whether from far away or not, he loved it. -Alejandro is the worst when either of you get hurt. He is the worst flirt, and he lays the dog related teasing on twice as thick. Not only is Rudy swearing him out in broken Spanish, but you don't help either. Doing anything to help him stay conscious or playing along to distract yourself from the pain. Even Mutt begins to see him as safe.

More COD Boys x K-9 unit reader 》》》》

[iloveinej]

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

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Steve rogers x reader

Category: Angst, fluff

Warnings: Description of an injury and blood, mentions of nausea, fainting

Summary: (Name) has never had the currant to tell Steve about the injuries, afraid of bothering him. Not realizing that it can backfire.

Words: 2.6 k

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(Name) loved Steve Rogers with her entire being, and she believed that every person she met felt the same. With his blue eyes, kind smile, and charisma. How he cared about every living, breathing thing around him.

But it didn't stop her from shutting down whenever he was irritated, mad, or even tense. Maybe it was because of past trauma, or that she simply didn't want to become the reason why he was mad. But every time he became like that, (Name) felt almost scared.

Not of him, of course, but scared that he don't want her near him. It has happened before with other people.

Which was why she was sitting in a corner of the quinjet, headphones over her ears as she tried to control the pain that bloomed like wildfire over her back.

It was an unsuccessful mission. And she knew Steve, like everybody else, hated unsuccessful missions. He was leaning against a wall, both arms crossed over his chest with a hard, stony look on his face. He didn't speak to anyone, stuck in his little world.

And she didn't want to be an inconvenience by whining about the flesh wound on her back. Especially if he hadn't noticed that she was in pain.

Either way, she planned on patching it up herself, and then going to bed, hoping that the storm would calm enough for the next day. And if she were feeling luxurious, she might even go to the med bay to get the wound checked on.

Except she hadn't planned on the fact that the wound was efficiently placed on her back, therefore making it out of reach for her to clean it. And she was way too exhausted to ask anyone else or to even care about the matter. So she grabbed the bandages and wrapped them around her chest and back, leaving it like that before turning off the lights in her bathroom and throwing herself headfirst in the bed.

Not knowing Steve lay on the other side of the wall, waiting for her to come and say goodnight.

--

The next morning, the ache in her back had gotten worse, and her left shoulder strained whenever she tried to move it. She needed to get to the med bay at least once today. But first, she required a big cup of coffee.

When she made it out to the sunlit kitchen, the pain in her back had spread. Now, her head ached just as much, and every time she turned too fast, black splotches would show.

And earlier, when she changed her bandages the blood had entirely seeped through, leaving it soaked in red. But the blood had been diluted with another liquid, which she found mildly concerning.

She poured herself the coffee that was left in the coffee machine and put it in the microwave since it was cold. And while she stood there waiting she noted that the kitchen was empty, which was strange to be at this time of the day.

"Jarvis? Do you mind telling me where everyone is?" She asked the AI.

"I believe that Mr. Wilson is still sleeping." She let out a humorous scoff." Mr. Stark and Mr. Banner are currently in the lab. Ms. Romanoff in the training areas with Mr. Rogers."

(Name)s ears perked at the mention of him, and her mind spiraled into calculating thoughts. "Did Steve already eat breakfast?"

"Yes. An omelet, made of three eggs and a cup of coffee, one teaspoon of sugar, and milk." A frown tugged at her face. Steve never ate breakfast without her. Unless they were fighting, which was a rare happening. Steve believed that the most important meal of the day was breakfast, and therefore always made sure that (Name) ate it with him. But so that he could have company, and also make sure that she ate enough.

"Alright then. Thank you, Jarvis." She smiled up to the roof, hoping that he could see her appreciativeness. Then she made a beeline back to her room with a downturn of her brow, planning to do paperwork before throwing herself into her, not so fantastic anymore, day. Completely forgetting her visit to the med bay.

--

Paperwork had always been a somewhat calming thing to do for her to relax, turn off her brain, and go on autopilot. Often when she was stressed, Steve found her with her nose in her computer typing away without any knowledge around her. It always worked.

Except for today.

The pain in her head only got worse after all the caffeine, and she couldn't lean back into her chair either because of her back. And not only that, but thoughts of Steve plagued her mind. And not the good, lovey-dovey thoughts. But instead, the toxic, poisoning thoughts were so loud that it was the only thing she heard.

She had no idea what to do about their situation. And she was really afraid that she had accidentally done something the day before to upset him, giving her a reason for his strange and unlike actions.

"Mr. Rogers would like me to alert you that there is a team meeting in the conference room in five minutes." She jumped in her chair and a small yelp left her lips as Jarvis spoke, making her back strain. And that made her wince painfully.

"I apologize. It was not my intention to frighten you." A grimace covered (Name)s face in an attempt to smile, and she carefully rubbed her shoulder.

"Don't worry about it. I was just stuck in my head."

"How so?" And (Name) went quiet. She hadn't expected a question from him.

"Nothing special." She absentmindedly hummed for an answer, and that seemed to get Jarvis less curious.

"If you say so. 3 minutes left." And with that, she quickly grabbed her things and bolted out of her quarters, right towards the elevator.

--

She turned out to arrive just in time as Fury was about to close the door, and she quickly slithered in, choosing a stool at the back of the table so that she wouldn't get questioning eyes on her. When she entered she could feel Steves's's stare burning into her skin, but she doesn't have the time nor thought to greet him, which would perhaps leave consequences for later. But now she just longed to sit down before she fainted.

She didn't even notice when Fury started speaking because blood was rushing through her ears, and beads of sweat ran down her neck, sending a shiver through her ice-cold and fire-hot body. It was like she running a fever in an ice bath. She dared to subtly raise a shaking hand towards her back, slightly touching the wound, only to have to suppress a wince and bring back blood-stained fingers.

She was at least wearing black.

Her attention shifted when Fury changed places with Steve, and let him take his place in the front. It was hard to know if she found it either positive or negative.

Positive because she could focus on something that brought her calm, and hear his voice instead of the roar in her ears. Focus on his plack t-shirt and nice fitting jeans, which was something he didn't wear often. How soft hir hair looked and his pink , kissable lips.

Negative because now he could see how colorless her face had become, along with a thin cover of sweat by her throat and her lifeless tired eyes.

And perhaps it made Steve speak a tad bit faster, and perhaps he skipped over some of the parts he was supposed to introduce. But it looked like his girlfriend was dying, and Fury didn't need to know that his two most capable agents were in a relationship.

He could her heartbeat picking up more and more as he spoke, and it was a relief for him when he could finally dismiss the team.

She slowly stood up as the rest of them collected their things and one by one filed out. But she couldn't do anything as quickly as she liked, not even walk. She had no choice but to take a tight grip on the chairs lined up, and use them as crutches.

And when Steve turned his back to gather a pile of papers, she took a breath, straightened her back, and took two quick steps towards the door. But Steve heard the increase of speed in her steps in quickly caught her arms in a fierce grip, stopping her from escaping.

"Damn it." She mumbled, making sure that Steve couldn't hear her. And then she turned her head to meet Steves's's eye, trying to look as normal as possible, which didn't trick Steve at all. Only made him more concerned.

"You alright?" He let both of his hands smooth over her shoulders and arms, looking at her with those blue, affectionate eyes.

"Mhm!" She hummed, trying to sound as carefree as possible while plastering a smile on her face. But he didn't look convinced. Not at all.

He let his left hand travel up to her cheek, and he was about to say something. But when his palm touched her cheek, he flinched and removed his palm to see that it was damp.

"Steve-" She warned, but it was no idea. He had already raised his sleeve and laid his wrist over her forehead. And she couldn't protest because his wrist was oh so warm while she had been freezing and sweating cold ever since she entered the room.

"You're burning." It didn't feel like she was.

"Are you sick?" He asked, a frown on his face as she felt for her temperature. "Why haven't you said anything?"He scolded, and she shrunk into herself as his hands continued to investigate her. Until his hand came in contact with her wound. And she recoiled away from his hand, trying to get as far away from the pain as possible. Tears gathered in her eyes at the fire in her back, and she glued them shut as she tried to let it pass.

Steve brought his hand up to see when he felt something on the tips of his fingers, and his eyes widened in horror. There was a vermillion stain on his fingers, running down his hand. And (Name) saw both concern and panic as he looked down at her, as she was now leaning against his chest, too tired to stand on her own.

"I'm fine, promise." She said, lime on autopilot.

"We need to get you to a doctor." He insisted, about to take her under the knees and carry her there. But the second he tried to m, she leaned away.

And the guilt was there again. Steves tired but pretty face showed concern and panic, but she wasn't supposed to make him concerned and panic. As his partner, she was there to make him calm, happy, and satisfied. Sure, if Steve would hide a wound like this one from her, she would be livid. But that's hardly classed as the same thing.

"It's fine Steve, I'm sure I can get there me."

He scoffed and looked almost hurt.

"No, you're not going anywhere yourself. Not by how you're looking"

A protest lay prepared on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't get further than opening her mouth before a strong wave of nausea and dizziness washed over her body. And she swayed, once, twice, before her footing came undone, and she lost all sense of balance.

And it felt like she fell into a warm pillow, or perhaps she was just delirious. But it truly resembled a warm, fluffy pillow. And she snuggled into it, ignoring the distant calls of her (Name). And Steve's breath got caught in his throat when he saw her closing her eyes in his arms.

--

Steve was aware that something was nagging his lover's mind, and he had been aware of it during the last week. It was like she walked on eggshells around him and it bothered him. Because something bothered her. Something about him bothered her.

He hadn't done anything differently, not that he was aware of. He hadn't said anything either. And he liked to think that he had a great memory.

And he still couldn't figure out why she didn't tell him about her injury. Banner had told him that she was lucky that the infections in her wound hadn't reached any further. But Steve had a hard time seeing anything positive with the situation at all.

Duobts clouded his mind and made it hard to think straight. How could he know that she hadn't hidden other injuries that she could've gotten?

As if her mind was connected to his, as if she heard his self-deprecating thoughts, she came to her senses and let out a long and low groan, snapping Steve out of his head.

He quickly discarded his block and pencil to the side, leaving the drawing on the small table by the side before crouching down to her height.

"(Name)?" He dared to ask, and his heart felt lighter when he saw her eyelids twitch in response. A sigh left her dry lips before her eyelids slowly cracked open and presented themselves to Steve, giving him a confirmation that she was there with him.

"Steve." It came as a breath, her voice warm with love as she saw the familiar face.

As light as a feather, he let his fingertips ghost along her temples, repeating the momentum over and over again. Her eyelids relaxed, and Steve's back tensed as she once again closed her eyes. But (Name) could feel his muscle become rigid, and let her hand gently enclose steves wrist, running circles on his inner arm as comfort. As she always did.

"Why didn't you tell me?" An audible sigh sounded from her mouth, and for a moment Steve was afraid that he had annoyed her. But her fingertips were still dancing along the expense of his arm, and he let that comfort him. Although, she didn't provide him with an answer.

"You can trust me. I want you to trust me." He reassured her, and vulnerability spilled through his voice. He grabbed her other hand that rested on her stomach, entangling their fingers.

"I do trust you." She hoarsely whispered, throat dry and mouth like sandpaper.

But when she forced her eyes open, Steve looked at her, unconvinced.

"Then why? Why didn't you tell me that you were in pain?"

She wanted to bathe in the softness of his voice. Get nurtured by it, drink it, and stay by the sound to the end of time. The fondness, bonded with her worrying, guilty, and anxious emotions from before created bittersweet sparks under her skin. And it took form as a watery mist, covering her live full irises.

"I do trust you, but I don't want to be a nuisance to you." She painfully admitted and laid her hand on his cheek as a peace offering." You work so hard to succeed Steve, so hard that when you don't succeed, you become very tense. I don't want to be there to make you even tenser."

He shut his eyes tightly and nuzzled his cheek further into her palm, and a drop of water fell from his eye, rolling down his summer-tinted cheeks.

"Why are you crying?" Worry etched in her brows, but he only shook his head.

"I made you think that you would be a burden to me whenever I felt a negative emotion." She shook her head, already beginning her protest." A partner is not supposed to do that (Name)."

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry."

"Steve, it was not on you. You didn't make me feel like a burden. I did. And I'm sorry for not telling you about my injury." She smiled sadly at him when he kissed her palm.

"I want to take care of you, and comfort you. I want to be that person to you, so let me be that the next time." And she could only nodd, her heart being free from the shackles of heavy emotions. Instead, she felt light as a feather.

════════ ⋆★⋆ ════════

My requests are open;););;);)

[phthalomushroom]

The Family (3)

last next

pairings: modern!mafia!aemondxreader

summary: You had left Kings Landing and the Targaryen family four years ago. Now back and living with your old roommate you realize that the life you had thought you escaped had seemingly been waiting for you. But will the family really let you go? Will the people you left behind forgive you? Can you forget the past and look to the future?

word count: 3.3k

warnings: language, mentions of trauma, mentions of shooting, alys rivers, Italians, drunk aemond??

notes: this felt rushed but it is also long - sorry about that, idk what happened I've been super busy!!!

You hadn’t spoken to Baela the entire way home.

To say you were more than pissed was an understatement. You couldn’t tell if you were more mad at the situation or at your best friend for keeping such monumental information from you. You stormed into your apartment with a plan to shut yourself in your room for the night when Baela stopped you.

“I was told not to tell you.”

You whipped around. “What?”

“Aemond… wanted to be the one to tell you.”

“And how would he have told me?” You had blocked his number and his social media when you left the city, fully shutting him out of your life. She gave a weak smile.“He didn’t say.”

You crossed your arms. 

Baela let out a long breath. “Listen, even if Aemond didn’t ask me not to say anything, I wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“You're my best friend Baela, I should have been told. What kind of friend are you?”

“One that remembers how fucking destroyed you were when you two broke up. One that remembers you leaving the city, fleeing from everyone all because of a fucking guy.”

“Which is why I should have known!”

“Why!” Her voice rose. “So you can run again?”

“I wasn’t running!”

“Then what the fuck were you doing?”

Escaping.

But you couldn’t say that. You couldn’t say that because it would make everything that happened that night too real. It would make everything and everyone you had shut out all these years pointless.

“I couldn’t deal with another 10 hour train ride,” Baela said after a minute of your silence. “Clearly there is still something you have towards Aemond.”

“Baela-”

“Whether it’s feelings or unresolved shit, I don’t know. Just… maybe seeing him, talking to him, will help you.”

She moved past you to go towards her room. She stopped with her hand on the door. “I’m sorry for the part I played in this, but Aemond asked and-”

“You couldn’t say no.”

She frowned, opening the door to step into her room. “He’s the head of the family now since Otto is in jail. You know whatever is asked goes.”

Your heart dropped. 

Aemond was head of the family?

********

You had an awful night's sleep. You tossed and turned, thinking about what Baela had said. 

Aemond was head of the house, he now ran the family which meant he called all the shots. He finally achieved what he had wanted all those years ago, but how he got there is what plagued you.

Your clock was nearing eight in the morning when your phone chimed. You looked at it seeing a message from an unsaved number, your heart sank as you read the screen.

Heard you're back in town, we need to catch up. - A

The fucking bastard. 

You had half a mind to tell him how caught up you were when you decided against it. You threw your phone on your bed and began getting ready for the day, making your way to the kitchen. You saw a note on the table from Baela, apologizing for last night and how she wanted to talk it over more when she got back from the dinner tonight.

You crumbled the note throwing it in the trash. You had already forgiven her in all honesty, you couldn’t be mad at her for long. Besides you were being too harsh on Baela, after all you hadn’t told her anything from that night. She only knew that you and Aemond weren’t together anymore and that you needed to leave right away. In the end you were taking a lot of your frustrations out on her rather than the real person causing it. But to redirect those feelings meant that you would need to talk to Aemond and that wasn’t going to happen.

Not anytime soon anyway.

You sent Baela a quick text telling her all is forgiven and that you would see her when she got back from the celebration dinner. 

You rummaged through the cabinets trying to find anything to eat but it seems like you’d need to do a grocery run. Thankfully you didn’t start full time at work till next week, your employer understood that you needed to settle into your “new” home. 

At least that's what you had hinted at when they asked when you could start.

You put your shoes on and headed out of the apartment, going to the cafe that was a block away from where you lived. From what you remembered this place had the best chocolate croissants and made the best drinks you’ve ever had.

You had just put in your order, sitting at one of the corner tables, scrolling through your phone as you waited for your name to be called, when the chair across from you screeched.

You looked up meeting the delightful green eyes of Alicent Hightower. 

You nearly choked on your spit.

She smiled cheerily at you. “I heard you were in town.”

You smiled back, putting your phone in your bag. “I just got in yesterday, I was gonna call but-” 

She held her hand up. “Best not to, there are prying eyes and listening ears all around that house I swear.”

You laughed. Alicent Hightower had been like a mother to you when your own mother left. When you had come crying to Aemond freshman year when your family was falling apart, Alicent was the one who wrapped her arms around you and let you stay in the house until you were ready to go back.

You still remember her rage when you had told her about the note your mother left.

She truly was one of the things you missed about the Targaryen family. 

“What are you doing on this side of the city?” Alicent, along with most of her family lived in an estate on the East side of the city that overlooked the canal.

“You know this side makes the best pastries.” She gestured to the boxes by her feet. 

“Georginos is pretty stellar.”

She grinned, reaching across the table to give your hands a squeeze. “And how are you doing?”

You put on a convincing smile. “Great, no problems yet.”

She nodded. “Good to hear. After what Aemond told me, I’m surprised you decided to stick around here.”

Your heart dropped. “What?”

“The rats, dear. I don’t know how you and Baela are able to live in an apartment with rats in it.”

You swallowed your confusion. “A lot of traps.”

“Aemond said he’s heading over later to talk with the exterminator, I’m confident he’ll take care of you.”

You nodded along. “Yup!”

She squeezed your hands again. “I’m so happy that you and him could remain friends all these years, I mean I had half a mind to drag him to Winterfell and make nice.”

You nodded along, hoping your face didn’t show the confusion and anger you felt.

“Anyway, what is your number? I've missed our chats.”

You hastily reached into your bag, wanting the uncomfortableness of this conversation to end. You pulled your phone out and along with it, the invite from Alys.

Alicent’s eyes widened, upon seeing the crumpled invitation. She looked up at you smiling. “I was hoping Aemond would take my advice on inviting you.”

You gave a half hearted laugh, shoving the invite back into your bag.

Could this get any worse? 

“So I take it I'll be seeing you tonight then.” She stooped to pick up the pastry boxes. 

Come fucking on.

“I actually wasn’t planning on attending.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

You stumbled over your words. “I’m Aemond’s ex.”

“But you're part of the family.”

“It wouldn’t look good if I came.”

“And why not? You and Aemond are still best friends, it would be absurd for you not to be there.”

“I just don’t think Alys-”

Alicent snorted. “Screw what Alys thinks, I’m the one paying for the whole damn charade. I might as well get a say in who gets to come.”

Just then your order got called. She grinned pushing in her chair. “Till tonight, dear.” 

You watched her walk out, at a loss for words frozen in your seat.

What the fuck just happened?

********

You had managed to fill Baela in on the phone of what happened in the cafe. Telling her about Aemond’s lies to his mother and the insistence of Alicent that you attended the dinner. Baela was able to stop by after work so that you two could walk in together.

You had just managed to find a dress in the back of your closet that would work for the formal occasion, your boxes from Winterfell still hadn’t come yet, to your dismay. The dress was slick black that had a perfect neckline that accentuated your boobs and yet didn’t do too much to make it seem like you were trying. Baela had described it as ‘tasteful sexy.’When you were looking in the mirror you couldn’t remember for the life of you where you had gotten it but didn’t care as you quickly left for the event.

You were already late and you didn’t want to have to spend anymore than an hour at the dinner. Luckily it was at Federicos, the whole place having been shut down for the special event. 

The restaurant came into view as you walked up the street, you could see Jace, Luce, and Rhaena all standing outside waiting. 

“You ready?” Baela asked. “We can bail out now, Luce can vomit on cue.”

“Tempting but gross,” You responded. You let out a long breath fidgeting with your handbag. “If I don’t show up Alys will be smug, and Alicent will hunt me down.”

“You don’t say no to the family.” She squeezed your hand.

You approached your friends, plastering on a smile that you knew you’d have on all night.

Rhaena hugged you first. “Finally, I’ve been trying to get Baela to let me come over to see you.”

“Yeah, it's been a crazy first day back.”

“Are you ready to go in?” Jace asked.

 “Of course, I’ve been wanting those garlic knots since we left last night.”

You hated faking it for them. You’d rather leave, you’d rather not be here. But maybe this was a fateful way of telling you to face your shit head on. So you took a deep breath as everyone filed inside, squared your shoulders and knew that you would get drunk as shit after this.

For now you picked up a cocktail from the bar with the others and sipped carefully, you needed a clear head for the night. You already spotted Alys making her rounds around the room, but hadn’t noticed Aemond among the crowd. You looked around again seeing Alicent sitting at the corner booth, nursing a glass of wine.

“I’m gonna go make an appearance with Alicent,” you told Baela.

You snaked your way through the crowd, all mostly being people from Alys’s side with a few Targaryens and Hightowers mixed in. A part of you wondered why more of the family hadn’t come but those thoughts were put on the back burner when you took the seat across from Alicent. 

She smiled. “Glad you could make it, love.”

“Glad to have been invited.

She waved you off. “Of course.”

“This place looks amazing, Alys really outdid herself.” You looked around at the black and white monochrome decorations that were dispersed around the restaurant. 

“It’s tacky,” she frowned. “And dull.” 

You chuckled. “You are just as blunt as I remember you.”

She lifted her glass. “Always.”

Her eyes drifted over your shoulder just as you heard a voice say your name. You turned to see a wide eyed Aemond Targaryen standing in all black with an empty whisky glass in his hand and a beer in the other. His hair that was cut short the last time you saw him had grown out and was now tied in a bun at the nape of his neck. He was as handsome as ever and the skip your heart did told you everything you needed to know.

You needed to be strong and you needed to be cold. 

You swallowed the panic that rose and instead raised your glass to him. “I guess congratulations are in order.”

That seemed to knock him out of his stupor as he gave you an easy smile. 

You heard Alicent get up from her seat, rounding to her son. “I can take this to the bar, you two should catch up.”

Aemond let her move past him, taking the empty glass from his hand before he slid into the seat opposite of you. He leaned back like he didn’t have a care in the world, his eyes glazed. “You never answered my text.”

“What text?” You took a sip of your drink.

He smirked, taking a sip of his beer. “You never were a good liar.”

“I blocked your number.”

“I got another number.”

You shook your head, he was still insufferable it seemed. “Seems like a lot of trouble to contact an ex.”

“You’re worth it.”

“You're engaged.” You weren’t going to let him win this. 

He leaned forward putting his forearms on the table as he set the beer down. The veins of his forearms strained slightly. “I was going to tell you when we met up.”

“And how would we have done that?”

“Well if you were going to continue ignoring me it was going to be more of an “accidental” meeting. I think that would have been charming.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re insane.”

“And you are still as beautiful as the day I first saw you.”

“I wonder how Alys would feel about that comment.”

“Alys isn’t here,” he slurred. 

Now that pissed you off. Yes, you hated Alys Rivers but like hell were you going to be treated like some mistress. “You're an asshole, you know that?”

He shrugged, leaning back as he took a swig of his beet. “I don’t understand how I can be the asshole when you're the one wearing a dress that I bought you. That is just insulting to my soon to be bride.”

Your stomach turned. That’s where you knew the dress from. Aemond had gotten it for you on your last anniversary. But if he was going to be an asshole about it, so could you. Strong and cold, that’s what you needed to be. 

You shrugged like he did. “A lot of men have bought me a lot of things over the years, I must have just forgotten.”

Something flickered in his eyes at that, like a fire had suddenly been lit. “You’re lying.”  

“Kinda like how you're lying to your mom about us.”

His face blanched, clearly taken aback. “What are you talking about?”

“We’re best friends? You’re helping with the rats in my apartment?”

He regained his composure quicker than you thought. “We are best friends and I did help with the rats.”

“That was the first week we moved in and it was one.”

He waved his hand. “Semantics.”

“We haven’t talked in years and from what your mother tells me it’s like we talk everyday.”

He leaned on the table again“What are you doing here, (y/n).”

“I was invited by your beautiful fiancee and your mother.”

“No, what are you really doing here?”

You ground your teeth. “Your mother invited me. You don’t say no to the family.”

“Except you.”

“What?”

“Everyone else can’t say no but you.”

You frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You were always the exception, (y/n). Then, now, always.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“I know that if you really didn’t want to come here you wouldn’t have, rules be damned. So why did you really show up here in a dress I bought you for our anniversary?”

You hadn’t realized it but during your exchanging of words his hands and yours had moved closer, your fingertips just touching.

Just then Alys came around the table sitting on Aemond’s lap, he pulled his hands away snaking them around her waist. “We’re doing toasts soon, honey.”

His eye drifted to you, before he looked at Alys. “I’ll be there in a minute, just need to finish this conversation.”

Alys suddenly looked at you, her eyebrows shooting up as she tried to look surprised. “Oh, you came! I gotta say I didn’t think you’d show.”

You looked at Aemond then. “I’m just here for the celebration.”

She smirked. “Well I hope your gift is nice, gods know enough of these people only gave us cash.”

She stood up then, leaning down and giving Aemond a long kiss. You looked at your now empty glass. 

He pulled away first, giving her a weak smile before she darted off back in the crowd. He folded his arms over his chest. “Celebrating Alys and I’s engagement? Seems very mature of you.”

You scoffed. “And how would you like me to react Aemond? Smash all the glasses, destroy the present table, burn the whole place to the ground?

It was his turn to scoff. “Well at least it would be a reaction, instead of this cold whatever.”

“I have been nothing but polite since we started talking.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”

“Then what are you talking about, Aemond?”

He leaned forward. “You’re shutting me out, putting walls up, being cold.”

“And what’s the problem with that? You were the one who told me to leave, Aemond. Then I come back and you’re trying to act like we’re friends. I don’t know you.”

“You’ll always know me, just like I will always know you.”

“Then how come I look at you and I don’t recognize you.”

“Maybe you don’t want to recognize me.”

“Don’t do that.”

He smirked. “Do what?”

You gestured to him. “Those stupid fucking games - answering my questions with questions, giving stupid fucking philosophical answers.”

He crossed his arms. “And why is that?”

You huffed. “You’re a prick.”

He shrugged. “At least I got some reaction out of you instead of that ice princess bullshit.” His voice went high pitched as he mocked you- “congratulations are in order, beautiful fiancee.”

“Is being nice a crime now in your family?

“No but being a liar and a coward is.”

You rolled your eyes. “Get a grip, Aemond.”

“What’s the real reason you came tonight?”

“I was invited by Alys and your mother, you know how they both can be.”

“Bullshit,” he spat. “I think you came here because you were curious, you couldn’t stay away.”

You wanted to laugh. This was such bullshit, what even was happening right now. Was he mad at you cause you weren’t mad? 

“Admit it.” He scooted closer.“I think you wanted to be here tonight to see for yourself if you could get me back.” He was leaning across the table now, his eyes flitting between yours. His voice dropped. “The ring was always yours, she’s just keeping it warm for ya darling.” 

You could smell the alcohol on his breath. He was clearly drunk and now he was being cruel. When you knew him he would never have let himself get to this level of intoxicated and he certainly would never have been so mean to you.

What the fuck happened when you left?

You shook your head, looking away from him.“I’m not here for you, Aemond.”

He arched his brow. “Then why’d you come?”

“To see for myself that everything we had was a lie.”

He leaned back, shaking his head. “What are you talking about?”

“Seeing you tonight like this, with her, I understand now that it wasn’t love we had but convenience.” You started getting up. “I hope you two are very happy together.”

He stared wide eyed, watching as you began pushing through the crowd. “Wait.”

“Goodbye, Aemond. Have a good wedding.” You waved over your shoulder as you walked away from Aemond Targaryen.

Tag List: @dixie-elocin @liannafae @toodlesxcuddles @watercolorskyy @zenka69 @bellaisasleep

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.66)

(Sneek peak)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your track record with trying to survive is a checkered one. This is a red spot among the black and white.

Tags: Blood, Guns, violence, near death experiences, everyone lives nobody dies...but someone does die this chapter, horror, non-lethal injury, talks of death and dying, a bit of body horror, forced murder? Trans! tae, Tae is briefly dead named in this, implied/referenced intimate partner violence, flashbacks, brief suicidality.

W/c: 8.0k

A/N: ahhhhhh <3 we're finally ready for this part of the story <3 i wonder what your guys reactions will be, i'm really glad i decided to split this chapter into two peices! it's much cleaner this way. don't be 🥲 too mad at me.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Chapter 66: Go for the Throat

You hold your breath. Still peering around the corner, watching and waiting for the man to spot you.

But he doesn't, after a breath where his soft footsteps echo, you wait, but nothing happens. You peak back around the corner. 

You absorb and catalog the details as fast as you can; the black ski mask, covered by one of those traditional masks, wooden with red lacquer. This one is a little different than the one that Jimin had; this one is white with red splotch on the cheeks, not twisted with thick eyebrows in a snarl. Like a ghost sent down from above to rob you of your humanity.

The bulletproof vest stops at the collarbones. The gun itself is black and a generic model. The long end is extra bulbous with something that might be an attached silencer. Hands covered in black nitrile gloves, leathery at first glance. There is a knife at his waist along with a barrage of other small things. Rope and a knife, duct tape and handcuffs. His heavy boots look steel toed and reinforced.

The man (because it is a man you realize; tall, maybe taller than Namjoon) trains his gun at the landing on the top of the stairs. Pointing it in the direction of Hobi, Tae, and Jin’s hushed voices.

Hobi giggles and it sounds so bright. Echoing off the walls and filling the house.

There is a phone cord tangled in your hands, long and white. You grip it tight.

This man might be silent but you’re quieter as you slide your bare feet across the smooth floors. Your strides are so quiet, you take one step and then another until you're behind the man, mirroring him.

You remember when Yoongi redid the floors, it was one of the few things that he did right away- before the pack came to live here (to love here). It took him weeks and weeks of sanding before he got them to his liking. Days more of brown dark stain that colored his hands ruddy until the soft matte finish stuck. Every pass with the belt sander and dirty rag a movement of love, a meditation for it.

Yoongi made every inch of this house with the same loving intent; to make it a home for all of you. You won’t let it become a grave. You won’t let this person stay here and ruin it.

Most people get it wrong; In order to kill, it is not a matter of elegance or effort. There is no such thing as a perfect kill, emotionless and analytic. it being justified only gets you halfway. There is no way to do it perfectly or cleanly. People die just as they live, messy and hopeful and dirty.

Murder isn't a matter or wanting or wishing, It’s a matter of rage.

It’s always been this way. Rage has been chewing a hole through you from the moment that you pulled the trigger with Geumjae. From the moment you said ‘I do’. Rage that these violent things have been done to you, that they continue to happen, that you can’t just get away from all the hurt and trauma.

Rage has eaten you clean through to the bone. Only now you're the hungry one. Right now, only three words run through your head;

How dare she.

How dare she send this man into your house. How dare she point a gun at the upstairs, in the general direction of your nest and your packmates. The altar at which you so desperately cling to, for sweet dreams and sweet worship. How dare she even think about hurting the people you love.

There is no courage, no bravery, no thought in your head about how stupid it might be as you step closer behind the man. You are not a trained assassin. You’re just an omega.

The adrenaline rush is an old friend, you know how to use it. You grip the phone cord in your hands and take a quiet steadying breath. He doesn't see you, he doesn't hear you, he doesn't know that you're behind him.

Wolves always go for the throat, whether they’re cornered or hunting.

The assassin’s foot ascends the bottom step. You don’t let him get to the second before you’re moving, hurtling forward. Footsteps light as a butterfly’s wings. Your hands go over the man’s shoulders. The cord no more than a white flash across his vision before you draw it tight across his neck.

Coming Saturday February 3rd at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments Below)

[apollyonsdarksecrets]

The Contract

Aaron Hotchner X F!Reader

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

Summery: She’s reserved, emotionally cut off, and spiraling down a dark path; one she can’t get out of on her own. Aaron Hotchner may be her only help, but at what cost? When he shows up to her hotel room, contact in hand, she realizes it may be more than what she bargained for.

Over All Warnings: 18 + Only, MDNI, SMUT. Language, typical CM violence, childhood trauma, abusive(mentally) father figure, does not line up with a specific time line, flip flops between 3rd and 2nd POV, so use of Y/n. BDSM Dynamics, contract, Dom! Aaron Hotchner, Sub! Reader, emotional detachment, reader is not good at taking care of herself, Age gap (Reader 25 Arron 40), explicit Smut detailed in chapters. This is a series 😅

A/N: listen y’all, Aaron Hot Hotchner has had me in a choke hold, I wish, since the moment I laid eyes on him. It’s only fitting he gets some love.

15 Years Ago

Her hands sting with little paint splinters, their jagged edges imbedding deeper each time her fists connect with the door. She gasps around another harsh sob, her eyes squeezed shut against the blinding darkness surrounding her. “Please daddy! Let me out!” She begs desperately, her small voice cracking. The door violently rattles back with a deafening crack, making her stumble back. She falls into the sink, clutching at its porcelain surface to stop herself.

“Shut the fuck up!” Her father’s guttural voice fills the confined space of the restroom, “The longer you cry the longer you’ll stay in there!” His words are slurred from the deers he’d had with his dinner, combined with the six he’d consumed during the day.

“Please daddy, I-I’m sorry.”

The only reply is the vibration of his heavy boots as he storms down the hall, shaking the old house. She presses her hand to her mouth, muffling her cries as she dares a peek at her surroundings. A pitch black void greets her, no light to be seen, not even from the bottom of the door. Blindly she feels around, the sink to her right, the rusted toilet to her left. Sinking to her knees she wedges herself in the space between them, pulling her legs to her chest and wrapping thin arms around them.

She rests her head against the column of the sink, every small noise making her jump and squirm, her young imagination running wild. Hot tears cascade down her cheeks, getting caught in the hairs stuck to her face before sliding down her throat, finally drenching the neck of her night gown.

5 Years Ago

“Congratulations! You have worked extremely hard to get here, and I can see great potential in your future working here with the FBI.” The Superintendent, a short stocky man, who’s suit is a size too big, holds out his hand to the woman across from him. She’s schooled her features into a mask of calm and restraint. She shakes his hand firmly, quick and to the point.

“Thank you, sir. This is an opportunity of a life time for me, I do not wish to squander it.” Just barely, if he had blinked he would have missed it, does her lips twitch up at the corners. She’s dressed very plainly, black blouse with grey dress pants. The nicest clothing she owns in her sparse closet.

“You’ll be stationed close to home, for now. With high marks such as yours though, I can’t see you staying long should you request a transfer.” Turning the older man retrieves a small black badge book from his mahogany desk, her eyes trained on his movements with restrained elation. “Your credentials, Agent Smit.”

2 Years Ago

Jennifer Jareau, or JJ as she requested to be called, brings the young woman into the heart of the Quantico department. Her eyes are bright, turning slowly as she walks taking in every inch of the Bull Pen.

“It can be a little intimidating the first time, but you get use to it.” The blond smiles with a soft laugh, a stack of folders pressed to her chest as she tails behind. “It’s just this way to your desk.” She points towards an empty half cubical, the plain desk void of anything other than a computer and a gold name plate, displaying the name ‘Y/n Smith’.

“Thank you, JJ, for taking the time to show me around.” Y/n turns with a genuine smile, setting her purse and bag down on the small rolling chair.

JJ waves her hand dismissively, shaking her head. “It’s not a problem, I remember how it felt coming in here a bit green behind the ears. I’m glad to help, anytime.” Her blue eyes flicker over Y/n’s shoulder, her smile faltering. Y/n turns around, finding a stoic looking man staring down at them from the landing above. He’s wearing a fitted navy suit, raven black hair styled neatly yet a few strands still fall across his forehead. His brown eyes are hard and imposing.

“We have a case.” His voice is deep and smooth, like a fine whiskey, an air of superiority lacing those four simple words. His stance gives him away, hands resting on his hips and chin held high, let’s her know he must be the one in charge.

“SSA Aaron Hotchner this is Agent Y/n Smith.” JJ begins but he holds up his hand, his face hard and set with an unwavering determination.

“I’m aware of who this is, and what you are here to do. Gather the team and meet on the plane. We will debrief there.” And with that he’s gone.

Y/n turns to JJ, her mouth age slightly. “Is he… always like this?”

JJ forces a sympathetic smile, “Unfortunately, yes. But he means well. Come I’ll show you where we need to go.”

3 Months Ago

“How do you do it?” Garcia blurts the question out in the middle of the room, all eyes turning to look at her at once. Her cheeks grow a little darker under her blush as she realizes just how loud she had been.

“Do what?” Y/n asks back, spinning around in one of the chairs circling the table in the conference room. The team had just landed forty minutes ago, everyone decompressing with coffee and donuts, generously gifted to them by the bubbling blond herself. Y/n takes another sip of her black coffee as she waits.

“I’ve never seen you cry.”

The question startles Y/n momentarily, her mind going on the defense as she tries to come up with a suitable answer. Opening her mouth she closes it again as Reid begins, “Ya know she’s right. We work a lot of hard cases but you stay pretty stoic.”

Turning to the rest of the team she glances over their curious faces, her gaze snagging on Hotch. His eyebrow is cocked, but otherwise his expression is impassive, impossible to guess what he is thinking. He holds her stare, almost with a hint of a challenge and despite herself she drops her gaze first, clearing her throat.

“I-I don’t know. Just got a good emotional switch, is all.” Y/n shrugs her shoulder, tapping her fingers against the side of the mug resting between her palms. The heat is nice, seeing as the weather is turning and winter is right around the corner, the office is cold having been shut down for hours now, the clock on the wall reading 1 am.

“Some say that the reason others don’t cry as often or as much is because they are repressing their own emotions, or have a hard time connecting with them. Some just don’t have tear ducts.” She glares at Reid, that smart brain of his going to get him in trouble. Emily scoffs and turns on him in your defense, hand resting on her hip.

“Spencer.” She says his name drawn out and scolding, making him slouch slightly in his seat, appearing sheepish. Y/n holds up her hands, coming to Boy Wonders rescue.

“It’s fine, really though I’m just good at detaching myself, emotionally, from the situation. Emotions are frivolous things that can get in the way of an investigation.” She shrugs her shoulder, her demeanor convincing them she is uncaring of the topic.

“Titanic.” Derek suddenly pipes up. “I bet she cries at Titanic.”

The group laughs, Y/n forcing out one of her own as her heart starts to pound in her chest. Morgan and Emily turn on Spencer, lecturing him about what is appropriate to state facts about, while JJ and Garcia begin to clean up. Slowly chatter and shuffling turns to white noise, a ringing in Y/n’s ears filling their place.

She stares down at the table, shifting in her seat as she tries to squash the rising anxiety. Memories, harsh and bitter like her coffee, pelt her; her chest tightening uncomfortably. All the whole Aaron’s watchful gaze never leaves her face, her mask of indifference and solidarity cracking the longer she sits across from him.

Present Day

You stare out the window of your hotel room, the city is shrouded in darkness but there’s the eternal glow of the night life that makes the inky blackness not so suppressing. Chewing absently at your thumb nail you sway on your feel, comforting yourself with the gentle motion. Today had been hard, grueling and long, but in the end the good guys came out on top.

A knock at your door startles you out of your thoughts, your body stilling and instinctively your eyes travel to your gun resting on the end table. 3am is a little late for a visitor. Another knock spurs you into actions and you cross the shaggy green carpet to the door. Peaking through the peep whole your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you step back, pulling the door open with you.

Aaron Hotchner stands in the threshold, still wearing his suit from earlier minute the blazer. The off white compliments his complexion and raven hair. “Hotch?”

“You’re awake.” He doesn’t sound surprised, more so relieved.

“So are you.” You keep the door pressed to your body, concealing the thin tank top and sweatpants you’ve dressed in for bed.

“Yes, I am.” He looks past you into the small room before gesturing to it. “May I come in?”

You bite your lip, eyeing around him down the deserted hallway before nodding. “Yes, of course.” He steps in full and you close the door, turning quickly to the chair across the room, grabbing your jacket. You pull it on, zipping it part of the way before turning back to your boss. He’s looking around, that part of his brain he can never turn off analyzing every inch.

“So… what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, going back to the spot you’d spent most of the night occupying.

“I wanted to let you know the hospital called. Jenny is going to be just fine.” He watches as your shoulders sink, a breath blowing through your nose as you visibly relax.

“That’s… That’s great to hear. Thank you.”

Jenny Campell, the 9 year old little girl abducted by her father, who was held hostage for two weeks in a remote part of Boston. She was severely dehydrated and would likely have lasting psychological problems from the abuse her father put her through; but she was alive, and the good guys had won.

“I wanted to talk to you… about the house.” Aaron’s head tilts slightly, as it always does when he’s approaching a subject he thinks may cause someone some uncomfort. You hold his gaze, crossing your arms over your chest, confused by where this could be going. Aaron clears his throat before he begins. “How did you know to look for a secret door?”

6 Hours Earlier

The house was dank smelling, clouds of dust swirled through the rays of light coming from the flash lights of the officers ahead of you. The house has been cleared, but something was missing, Charles Campell said his daughter was here, but where?

You circle back into the smallest bedroom, the voices of Hotch and Morgan floating through the open door as they try to discuss a new plan. The room was littered with trash, a twin sized bed sits in one corner, a large oak wardrobe opposite it. Children’s drawings adorn the peeling walls, and a dusty pink sign hangs above the bed frame, ‘Jenny Girl’.

You step closer to the armoire, newspapers and takeout boxes crunching under foot, as you shine your light over the furniture. It’s new, newer than anything else in the entire house making it stand out against the decay. It isn’t until you’re right beside it do you notice the scratches along the lime green paint.

The realization dawns on your like a bucket of ice water being thrown in your face and before you know it your yelling for your team mates. “Here! Hotch!” Your put your weight into the side of the wardrobe, pushing with everything you have as the two men rush into the room.

Morgan runs for the other side, pulling as Hotch takes up the space behind you, his arms caging you in as he pushes. The three of you move it easily, a small door, presumably to a crawl space, appears in the wall and you rush to pull it open. Morgan covers you with his gun drawn, giving you a nod to go before you yank the door open.

There, curled up in her side, is the little blond girl you all have been searching for. “Medic!” Hotch screams from above you, as you quickly moves towards the girl. She small and light, her hair matted and dirty like her blue night gown. You presses your fingers to the girls throat, a weak pulse answering.

~*~*~*~

“Y/n?” Hotch snaps you out do your thoughts, and you shake your head, clearing yourself of the memory.

“Sorry… I just… I knew there was something there, I won’t say I could sense it but my gut hasn’t lead me wrong, thus far.” Aaron nods, waiting to see if you will continue. “Charles isn’t a lier, his motivation for taking her were simple, revenge on her mother. Make her squirm and give him more parental rights. He never assumed she would get the police involved. Much less the FBI.”

“Jenny’s father is not only a drug user but a heavy drinker. Everything he had done was under the influence and when he was captured, and the substances in his system wore off he had gaps in his memories of what he did with Jenny. Explaining why he couldn’t tell us exactly where she was, just that she was at the house.” Hotch finishes for you.

“Exactly.” You pause, eyeing him over. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, in fact you did amazing in the field today. You worked out the clue no one else could’ve, and if it wasn’t for you there is no telling if we would have found Jenny in time. I’m extremely proud of you.” His praise makes something in your chest stir without your permission. Your clear your throat to speak, but he cuts you off. “But you didn’t answer my question. How did you know there would be a door behind the wardrobe?”

Your palms suddenly feel clammy, nervousness making your spine straighten. “I don’t know what you-.”

“You do realize I am the one that goes through ever personnel file before someone is permitted to work with my team, correct?” His voice doesn’t have that hard edge like it normally holds, in fact his entire demeanor is soft, calming. Almost like he’s trying to comfort a wounded animal.

You are the animal.

“Where are you going with this?”

“I know about your father, Y/n. I have seen the police reports, and I know you take cases with children very seriously and hold them close to your heart.” He takes a step forward and instinctively you move back, a look of hurt washing over his features. “I need you to tell me if you are alright, if this case was to much for you.”

~*~*~*~

The red lights of the ambulance quickly fade away through the woods, leaving the house illuminated only by the head lights of the surrounding cop cars. Aaron is removing his vest as he walks around watching as people file in and out of the house taping and marking things off.

He stops by the van, pulling the door open and throwing his vest inside, when he notices a figure standing off by themselves. He squints into the darkness along the side of the house, the person is hunched over, hands on their knees as their shoulder shake subtly. He scans the people around him, finding Morgan by the entrance to the house, on the phone with the rest of the team and the other 5 officers are accounted for. That leaves only you.

Slowly he moves closer just barely making out the sounds of you muffled crying over the noises of the others. Concern wipes through his body like lightning but before he can move any farther Morgan is yelling his name, startling you in the process.

You straighten up quickly, wiping your face with your jacket sleeves and Aaron retreats towards the others. Giving you your space without the fear of embarrassment of being caught.

~*~*~*~

Your face burns, cheeks bright pink. You open your mouth then close it again, a mixture of emotions tumbling around inside you.

Embarrassment, anger, hatred, regret, longing to finally let it all go. None of which are directly targeted at your boss but he’s the only thing in sight.

“How dare you.” You seethe, letting anger take over because it’s the easiest to roll with. “Don’t come to my room at all hours of the morning, trying to… to… get something out of me.” Your anger propels you forward and you find yourself inches in front of Hotch. He holds his ground, his hands moving to rest on his hips and you break eye contact long enough to glance at them.

“I’m asking you if you are alright.” Aaron’s voice has dropped, the timber low and you can’t help but like the sound of it. There’s no denying Aaron is a handsome man, but there’s always denying your feelings.

“I’m. Fine.” You ground out.

“Your lying to me.”

“Hotc-“

“Sweetheart.” The nickname catches you off guard, your eyes widening with surprise, breath trapped in your throat. Aaron takes the opportunity, his large hands cupping your face, giving you no other choice but to keep eye contact even as your body stiffens and a look of almost pain flashes across your face. “I know you’re lying to me because I am good at my job and so is everyone else here. You think we haven’t noticed your apprehension when it comes to a dark room? Or the way you always stand closer to the other females in the room, even if it’s just Spencer?”

Your hands find their way to his wrists, tugging but he stays firm, he isn’t hurting you but he’s going to make you listen. “Sto-.”

“Youre to comfortable placating than possibly rocking the boat for yourself. You never finish a cup of coffee because you hate it plain, you’d rather wonder around a new building than bother someone to ask where a room is, you dont open up to a single person because of your anxiety.” Hurt is written clearly on your features, hurt mixed with anger but before you can say anything Aaron steams ahead. “With that being said, you are one of my best profilers. I’ve seen you take on men twice your size and never bat a lash. Behavior like this doesn’t just come from nowhere. Something happened to you that made you this way.”

That unwelcoming pressure behind your eyes begins to overwhelm you, much like Aaron’s presence, his cologne infiltrating your nose with each ragged inhale. “What do you care? I’ve done just fine with how I am by myself, I don’t need you digging around for answers that will have no impact on you whatsoever.” Your voice comes out softer than you would have liked, making you hate yourself more.

“I care,” He emphasizes with a stroke of his thumb across your cheek, a foreign feeling on your skin. “Because I can not sit back and watch you hurt yourself like this.”

You scoff, trying again to pull away, managing to take a few steps back only for him to follow. A hand slips to the back of your neck, hot and heavy, holding you firmly in place. “You’re being dramatic, Hotchner.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you open your mouth only to realize you aren’t sure. “I… I had a snack in the car. On the way here.” It’s a lame excuse, and he sees right through it.

“I want to make you an offer.” His brown eyes search your face, the anger turning into confusion.

“An offer?”

“Yes, I’d like for you to hear me out before you make a decision. Okay?”

“If it means you will let me go, then yes.” You give his wrists one last tug and he relents, but not before giving your neck a final squeeze. You move until your back is against the window, the cold night air seeping through the glass and into your jacket.

Aaron sits down in the only chair before gesturing to the bed, “Why don’t you sit.” It’s more of a command than it is a suggestion, making you root to your spot, giving him your best disgruntled look that rivals his on a good day. Sighing he leans his elbows against his knees, scrubbing a hand across his face. He looks tired, the wear and tear off the job showing more and more. Dark circles from a lack of sleep, a few new greeting hairs You could have sworn weren’t there when this case began.

“Well?” You snap, throwing your hand up before letting it drop against your thigh. Aarons eyes slowly lift to yours, a look you are unfamiliar with lurking under his features as he reaches behind himself, pulling a folded piece of paper you hadn’t noticed before from his back pocket. He tosses it onto the bed and a thousand possibilities run through your mind all at once. Leave of absence? Demotion? Pink slip? “Hotch…”

“Go on. It isn’t going to bite you, honey.” He let’s a little bit of humor color his words and you shoot him a glare. You close the distance, snatching it off of the bed and unfolding it to realize it’s a few sheets stapled together. Your eyes nearly double their size, mouth falling open as you read the header.

‘Consent of Submission.’

Paragraphs make up the first page, the words jumbling together as you try to make sense of where this is heading. The next page is filled with bullet points, titled ‘Rules’. Eat three full meals a day, go to bed at an appropriate time, check in with how you are feeling; to name a few.

As you continue to stare at the paper, confusion and distraught winning the war of emotions on your face, Aaron begins speaking. “It’s a contract, between you and I. It will help you properly take care of your self and I will help enforce it.

“‘Submission’? Aaron… This is… What?” You begin to tremble with a vengeance, forcing you to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Yes, it will help you learn to regain some control over your trauma and your everyday life. It will help with the anxiety, depression, and emotional detachment you are facing.” He speaks so surely, like he has done this before, and maybe he has.

“You mean it will help you control me.” Your accusation doesn’t phase him, in fact he looks to calm for the situation. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, leaning back in his seat with his head propped on his first. A complete opposite juxtaposition to yourself.

“In a sense, it’s power exchange. Nothing happens without your explicit consent, which gives you the power in what we do. Where I have the power is how we navigate those consents, what we do, where we do it, and how.” He takes a deep breath, giving you a gentle smile. “I’ve found people in your type of situation benefited greatly from being able to let their brains turn off, not have to over think every step of the day. Just exist and let someone else… Take care of them.”

“And if I say I don’t want to sign this?” You slam the papers back on the bed, more to hide your shaking hands than anything.

“Then I will have you go to therapy within the BAU system.” He shrugs his shoulder feigning indifference, even though his heart is thumping wildly. He thought the days of this life style were behind him, no longer needed, but the moment you turned up on the plane, he knew. Your lips were pressed into a tight smile, your body language screaming how uncomfortable you were seated between Derek and Rossi, though you desperately tried to mimic the calm demeanor surrounding you. Something stirred awake in his chest that morning, and he’s just been bidding his time every since.

Your stomach churns, weighing out your options. Somehow the latter seems worse. You run your hands into your hair, blowing out a breath. “I’m not submissive Aaron, you know this. This job requires to much for this to be a possibility. I don’t… I don’t see how it could work.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t, but I think there are things you haven’t learned about yourself yet. As for our job this is not apart of that, this is separate. We will just be ourselves, nothing out of the ordinary.” He says all of this so sincerely, a part of you wants to trust him. But the part of you that says no one is to be trusted squares your shoulders.

“What do you want in exchange? How do I know you won’t use this as black mail, or some chip to hold over my head?

His eyebrows raise in surprise. “Sweetheart, There’s nothing I want in exchange, I’m trying to help you. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.” You answer before you can even give it thought. Deflect, shut it down, move on. How you handle any sort of situation that strikes a little to close to home, that tries to dig out your weaknesses like he is doing now.

Aaron prepared for this, knew you would meet him with head on resistance, but also knew with the choices given what you would pick. You’ve gone back to staring at the papers, the wheels in your head turning at full force. He can guess within reason what you might be thinking, he had that same look on his face when he was introduced to the lifestyle all those years ago.

“Y/n.” Your eyes dart up to his, large and uncertain. “Give me a month, just one. If it doesn’t help, if it’s too much, then we call it quits.”

“Just one?” You echo back, Aaron nodding. He stands from his seat, large hand stretched out, palm facing the sky. This is crazy, wrong on so many levels. Not to mention the amount of trouble you both could end up in if someone so happen to come across this. Every fiber of your being screams the sentiment. But it’s your heart, though it bruises your ribs, that makes you place your hand in his. Aaron gently pulls you to your feet, making sure you have your balance before letting go.

“Go wash your face, then I want you in bed. You need to sleep.” Instantly you want to rebel against the order, the phrase ‘you don’t control me’ coming to mind but instead you turn on your heel. “Good girl.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice and your shoulders tense up, but you force yourself to walk into the restroom, closing the door a little to hard. You turn to the mirror, a woman with scarlet red cheeks stares back at you and you huff. What are you doing? Where has your brain gone? Groaning lowly you angrily grab for your face wash.

Coming back out into the room, dabbing at your face with a hand towel, you find the room is lit only by the bedside lamp. Aaron, with the contract in his hands, looks up when he hears you. Your hand tightens around the scratchy white towel as a small smile tugs his lips up. “You look beautiful even without the makeup.”

You roll your eyes, tossing the towel into the small tub behind you. “A very typical male complement, Hotch.” You quip, glancing towards your bed. The covers have been turned down, and there’s a glass of water on the night stand.

“Here.” Aaron holds out a pen, and the paper, suddenly your hands have never been so clammy.

“I thought you said we would just try this for a month. Why do I need to sign?” You skirt around him, fidgeting with your jackets zipper. You can feel your heart beat everywhere, from your fingertips to the bottom of your bare feet.

“To protect us both, either you sign or there’s no deal and you go to therapy.” Skin bristling you spin around, whatever you were about to snap suddenly dissolving on your tongue. His chest is mere inches from your face, forcing you to tilt your head back to look him in the eye. He never seemed this tall from across the room. “You’re wearing my patience thin, little one.” The heady rasp of his voice as he whispers to you makes your stomach clench, for an entirely new reason.

Begrudgingly you take the pen and paper, pressing it to his chest to bear down on as you scrawl out your name on the little line. You notice his signature is already on the other side.“There. Happy?”

He holds your stare for a moment longer, and you think he might say something more before he steps back, taking everything with him. “We will go over everything at breakfast, we have an appointment with Jenny and her mother Clair at noon.”

Your eyebrows come together as he reaches the door, pulling it open. “I thought the teams going home today?”

“They are. I have paper work that needs to be done and you are my only child psychologist. Goodnight, Y/n.” He smiles as he closes the door behind himself, relishing in the shock written on your face.

[cobaltperun]

Lost (13) - Easier to run

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Warning for this chapter: I don't go into details, but the ending might be a bit, uncomfortable.

Word count: 4.8k

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-Just washing it aside all of the helplessness inside pretending I don't feel misplaced is so much simpler than change-

Everyone who knew you and Tara for more than a day would likely say Tara was the one exception to your every rule. That all Tara had to do to get something from you would be to simply ask. There were plenty of activities that were only permitted to Tara. From stealing your clothes, in her defense they were comfy, and she felt like you were hugging her whenever she wore them, all the way to interrupting your training for valid, though admittedly silly, reasons. What? She needed her kisses and hugs!

Well, those people had no idea what they were talking about because all the tricks in the books weren't making you give in.

"Come on, Y/N," Tara was getting desperate at this point. Puppy eyes, which she almost never had to resort to in the first place didn't help, and all the other options she used failed just as spectacularly, for there was one thing you didn’t let Tara do, no matter how much you loved her. She pleaded, begged, she bargained, she tried seduction, promised things that made you smile at the mere thought of them, promised things that made you a flustered mess. Yet none of those methods worked. "Please! I'll do anything you want, or let you do anything you want," her pleading went unanswered as you got in your car.

"If you loved me, you'd do this for me," a low blow, but she was getting desperate. She wanted to drive, that looked like so much fun, and it’s been a while since she last drove!

You lowered your window and looked at Tara with the flattest look she had ever seen on your face. "Tara, you're not driving my car, now get in," she had no idea, but both of you had the same thought going through your heads. 'I have the most stubborn girlfriend ever.'

"You let Sam drive it," Tara grumbled when she relented and got in the passenger seat.

"I was injured! You can drive it if I'm dying or high on painkillers!" you exclaimed, clearly getting riled up over Tara's insistence on driving your precious car. Tara couldn't help herself, she grinned at your reaction. There was just something inherently appealing and maybe even a bit exciting in knowing that regardless of how much she pushed your buttons you'd only get annoyed and even then, you'd calm down after a bit of making out. So, while she really wanted to drive to Sacramento, getting you riled up would have to do.

Only... she just realized she couldn't make out with you while you were driving, and driving alone would calm you down. Tara was getting nothing out of half an hour's worth of effort.

Shit.

She guessed she could at least give you silent treatment for a bit. You were driving anyway, and not liking to talk while driving wasn’t limited to just phone, you didn’t like talking at all. You loved listening, and Tara happily talked throughout the entire rides, with you providing minimal verbal response. Honestly, she loved that about you, because you were a really careful driver, and she never had to worry about you as far as that was concerned.

“Come on, surely you’re not still moody over not driving?” you spoke up fifteen minutes after you left Woodsboro.

Tara hummed and turned her head to the side, pretending to ignore you. You huffed and she had to cover her mouth with her hand to hide the smirk on her face.

“Okay, okay, be moody. I guess we aren’t going to stop by that nice place on the side of the road, the one with that kiwi flavored ice cream you loved so much,” you had to be smirking, you absolutely had to be smirking. She heard it in your voice, you tease.

“Fine, fine, I’m not moody anymore,” she raised her hands and turned to look at you, after all, you did promise to stop by for kiwi ice cream.

“That’s my girl!” your smirk shifted into a happy grin causing Tara to blush.

~X~

Ever since choosing Blackmore University as the next step in your education, you made sure you went to Sacramento to visit Susan at least once a month, and Tara made sure she was with you every single time. In a week you'd be leaving Woodsboro so it wouldn't be as easy to travel from New York to Sacramento whenever you wanted to. So, that's how you ended up in Susan's guest bedroom with Tara getting ready to go to bed.

The fact that Tara was the one sleeping closer to the doors was enough proof of how the two of you felt regarding Susan. Right now, you and Tara were sitting on the bed, just about ready to lie down and sleep.

"I'm proud of you two, and yes, I already said that, and I'm going to keep saying that," Susan smiled, it felt good to hear someone say that, especially since it was directed at Tara too.

"Thank you," you glanced at Tara, noticing a small blush dusting her cheeks.

Every time Susan did something that made Tara feel welcomed and loved you couldn't help but like the woman just a bit more than before. "Thanks, mo-" you froze, your eyes wide as you realized what word nearly slipped past your lips.

You could feel your face burning as you wished for the ground to open and swallow you. Or for a bolt of lightning to strike you. Or anything, really, that could save you from embarrassment. Unconsciously you dropped down to the bed, behind Tara, thus hiding at least your face behind her.

A soft chuckle made you reach out and pull Tara closer to you as the bed muffled your embarrassed groan. "Good night," Susan closed the doors behind her.

Tara giggled, enjoying your unfortunate slip of the tongue. "Y/N," she pulled away from you, but only so she could lie down next to you and pull your head to her chest. "It's okay," she whispered softly, gently massaging the back of your head. "It was cute," she was enjoying this a bit too much.

"I'll never recover from embarrassment," you complained, even if you felt a bit better now.

"You're adorable when you get embarrassed," Tara actually cooed, only increasing the embarrassment you felt.

"No, I'm not. I'm an MMA fighter," you were a fighter, always ready for a brawl, proven to be one of the strongest female fighters in the world without even reaching your peak. You were not going to take this.

Tara shifted so she was face to face with you. "I don't see how one excludes the other, you're my adorable MMA fighter," the soft kisses were definitely making you just take it.

"You're lucky I love you," you playfully warned when Tara stopped kissing you for a moment.

"Oh, I know," there was a mischievous glint in Tara's eyes. Frankly, any other time this would probably escalate further, but you were at Susan's house and the mere idea of going further than kissing and cuddling felt strange, so, Tara just snuggled up to you and closed her eyes, content and happy to be here with you.

~X~

She made a mistake.

She made a terrible, awful, ridiculously stupid, mistake!

Why did she want to drive so much in the first place? Oh, yeah, because she hasn’t driven in a long time and really wanted to do it. Well, you let her drive on the way back and the car was absolutely, a hundred percent, against her. Shifting gears felt like being tossed back and forth, and why, just why did you have to go for a manual car instead of an automatic one? Sure they were cheaper, but still! Something told her you would still choose a manual car over an automatic even if you had more money.

“I’m so sorry,” Tara narrowed her eyes as she noticed you rubbing the audio system gently as if you were apologizing to your car. Actually, you were apologizing to it. And Tara felt her eye twitch at that.

You’ll see when she gets out of the city. And then she had to stop at a traffic light, on an incline. “Oh, shit,” she muttered, trying to remember what she needed to do. In her defense she didn’t have a car, and the last time she drove was almost three years ago. Maybe you had a point when you didn’t let her drive your car.

“What?” you turned to look at her and noticing her panic you placed a hand on her shoulder. “Easy Tara, you’ve got this,” she nodded, for all the complaints and refusal to let her drive you still had faith in her that she could do this. That calmed her down and she pulled the handbreak and relaxed until the traffic light turned green. She gently released the clutch and pressed the gas and lowered the handbreak, getting the car to move again. She let out a sigh and smiled as you placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly, and she didn’t need to look at you to know you were smiling. And the rest of the ride, well, it wasn’t smooth, but she didn’t feel nervous. You were next to her, and well, Tara would be the first to admit she kinda sucked at the whole driving thing, but everything turned out fine.

She parked like a pro in front of your apartment building. She still remembered getting into trouble with Judy when you were teaching her how to drive. She let you off the hook only if you promised to keep your lessons on the parking lots, and with your patience Tara learnt how to park perfectly. The driving part… well, not so much. You tried, you really did, after she got her driver license, but by that point you were already living in your apartment, working and actively preparing for your first fight, so Tara wanted to spend what time you had together doing something other than driving. “Home sweet home,” she said and stepped out of the car, you could have it back, she drove enough for a while.

~X~

Leaving Woodsboro and coming to New York, was, perhaps, the best decision you could make, especially for Tara. She was happy, relaxed, even excited, it was like she was being completely free for the first time in her life. Free from her mother, her past, from everything negative related to Woodsboro.

Nothing told you Tara was feeling better as well as the way you woke up that morning. It would be an understatement to say it was a surprise to wake up in your new apartment with Tara drawing random shapes on your left forearm with the tip of her finger.

Ever since Tara was attacked when the two of you slept together the two of you either spooned or slept in the same position as you were in this morning, with Tara's head on your chest, and your arms protectively around her. Cradle position, or something like that, Tara once told you.

"Hey, Love," you rasped, still a bit sleepy.

Tara leaned up, kissing the right side of your jaw. "Good morning, Y/N," you felt her smiling as she peppered kisses along your jaw. "We've got a long day ahead of us," she reminded you, though with the way she nuzzled into your neck you figured she wasn't too eager to get up.

"Let's see, we're meeting that girl who answered our ad for a roommate, Sam has a job interview, I have first MMA classes," Thomas really saved your ass with that. He paid well, maybe even too well, it wasn't a full-time job, and you could use it to stay in shape as well. Because of how well he paid Sam would only need to work one job, instead of two that she was planning on. Tara could focus on studying, besides, with her asthma job options were even more limited. If she wanted to get a job eventually neither you nor Sam would stop her, but she deserved to take it easy at least for a year.

You also retired with quite a bit of money from the deal to retire quietly and the two fights you had. You considered investing it in something but figured it would be smarter to wait for a bit and see how things worked out in New York.

"Mhm, and we have to go do some shopping, mostly for our kitchen," Tara reminded you. That would be a bit of an annoyance since Sam just had to insist on getting the top floor, no elevator in the building, apartment.

"I still can't believe there are so many stairs in this building, or that we actually have rooms now. And a kitchen. That isn't connected to the living room and bedroom. And two damn bathrooms. And three bedrooms. We have a separate dining area, Tara, a proper dining area with a table!" having spent almost three years in a cramped apartment made this feel surreal. Even the damn bed you were sleeping in was bigger now!

Tara laughed, tickling you slightly with her breath. "You can actually work out here," she teased you.

"That too!" you eagerly agreed. Finally, you could get rid of any nervous energy without heading to the gym. Granted, you didn’t have to do it that often, but just the fact that you could do it was enough. “And you can’t complain about that. Remember what you did the last time I did push-ups?”

Tara nodded, raising her head, and nibbling on your ear lightly. “Mhm, I sat on your back,” and she sounded so damn proud of that.

A knock on the door got your attention before you could reply to that. "Are you two decent?" Sam's voice came from the other side.

"Yeah!" Tara immediately said as she lowered her head back down and stopped teasing you. And you were decent, clothes on, room clean, you were just still in bed. Still, after Sam barely avoided catching the two of you in a not-quite-decent state she got into a habit of asking before entering. And you were thankful for that, because while you deeply cared about Sam, neither you nor Tara wanted her to walk in on you. And Sam was just as disturbed by the idea, so this was truly the best option.

"I was about to head to the store, do you need anything?" Sam asked, smiling when she saw Tara so happy this early in the morning.

Tara shook her head. "I'm good, thanks Sam."

"Same here, I'll get the breakfast ready when you come back," honestly, you got used to Sam living with you and Tara really quickly. It almost made you sorry someone else, a stranger nonetheless, was about to join the three of you.

"I'll be back soon," Sam left the two of you and you stretched a bit before finally getting up.

"You two are going to spoil me," Tara sat up as well, yawning slightly.

You took the T-shirt you slept in off and went to the wardrobe to get a clean shirt. "Nothing wrong with that, Love," besides, it wasn't like Tara didn't do anything, she had her own chores, it's just that they usually didn’t involve cooking, though she did cook every now and then, or cleaning that could trigger her asthma.

“Mhm, how about I spoil you as well?” she came up behind you, got on her tiptoes and kissed your neck, her hands sliding up your arms.

You turned around, capturing her lips in a quick kiss. “What did you have in mind?” you lifted her up, smirking teasingly as she pulled back and hugged you.

“How about we watch your favorite movie, and I’ll order our favorite snacks and food, so you don’t have to cook tonight?” she asked, and your eyes lit up at that. She could definitely spoil you like that.

~X~

You were late. Thomas took up some of your time to talk about the first classes you taught as well as to catch up a bit. After everything he did you kind of couldn't just leave. Besides, Tara and Sam were meeting this girl, Quinn Bailey if you remembered correctly, in public, far enough from the apartment. Her dad was a cop, so that made it easier to drop your guard a bit.

As long as Tara and Sam were fine with the girl, you were sure you'd be fine with her too. If you were being completely honest, if Quinn managed to convince Sam she was harmless she was almost definitely in.

The bar Sam chose was busy, though not crowded, especially at this hour. People came and went, stopping by to get their coffee or to get out of the heat, but no one really stayed more than necessary. You came inside and looked around until you finally noticed Tara. When you joined Tara, Sam, and who you assumed was Quinn, you quickly leaned down to kiss Tara's cheek, gave Sam a brief one-armed hug, and only then offered your hand to Quinn. "Y/N L/N, sorry I'm late," you said.

Quinn accepted the handshake. "Damn, and I thought Sam was jacked, but look at you," she whistled as you sat down next to Tara.

Well, it wasn't the first time someone noticed your muscles, but the girl in front of you was pretty much ogling you right now. "Right, moving on," not the best first impression, but you could brush it off. Tara, who was frowning, probably wouldn't though.

"Where's the rush? I wouldn't mind having some fun," what was this woman trying to accomplish? You really couldn't figure it out. Was she trying to piss Tara off or something?

"Well, have fun. Without me," you reached down underneath the table to rub circles into Tara's right palm. Feeling the way she squeezed your hand it was the right decision.

"Life, I have found, is about variety, Y/N," she leaned in, reaching over toward your hand.

"Mine is about one person," you pulled your hand back before she could touch it. Tara loosened her hold on your hand, but still leaned a bit closer. You could see she was glaring daggers at Quinn and Sam didn't appreciate it either.

Quinn had a bit of a frown on her face, but it quickly changed and she began laughing. "I'm just joking with you, though I really wouldn't mind taking a closer look," she openly ogled you.

Tara faked a cough. "Well, I'm not. I'm sorry we wasted your time Quinn," there was no need for Tara to finish that sentence.

Quinn had the guts to look shocked. "Are you serious right now?"

"Absolutely," Sam took Tara's side and you just shrugged, as if to tell her 'Well, what did you expect would happen?'

"Unbelievable," Quinn pretty much stormed off.

"Do we really need a roommate? The extra bedroom can be used if Chad or Mindy decide to sleep over," Tara voiced what all three of you were thinking.

"That's probably the best option," Sam agreed, help with rent would have been welcome, but you could manage without it.

"You won't catch me complaining, that's for sure," you were definitely in favor of keeping the apartment to just the three of you. Not to mention it was the safest option.

"Speaking of the apartment, let's go back," Tara was already up and pulling you along. Sam still had her job interview, so it would just be you and Tara.

Kitchen equipment shopping could clearly wait, as you could see she was still pissed off by the time you reached the building, so you picked her up bridal style. "Don't tell me you're jealous," you eventually asked and grinned as Tara placed her arm on your back.

"I'm not," she huffed as she unlocked your apartment.

She locked the doors behind you two and you went right to the bedroom. "What is it then?" you asked and lowered her down on the bed,

"You're mine," okay, that sounded way more possessive than you were used to from Tara. She said you were hers every now and then, usually when you were making love, this time though her tone was different. This wasn't born of passion, or said in the heat of the moment, this was pure jealousy.

"So, you are jealous," you sighed, letting her pull you in until you were pressing against her.

"Of course I am. She, she just-" Tara huffed and let go of you, spreading her arms on the bed. You immediately recognized the mood swings from right after the attack. Your best guess was that this one was caused by Quinn attempting to take you from Tara.

"Tara," you slowly kissed her neck, gradually making your way up to her lips. "I'm yours. The only variety I want to consider is the variety of ways I can make you say my name," you grinned a bit as you heard Tara's breath hitch.

No fourth roommate. Just the three of you. With Woodsboro left behind. It felt like nothing could go wrong. You should have known better. You should have noticed Tara was too focused on ignoring Woodsboro.

You should have realized Tara was running away from what happened the moment you caught her covering the scar on her hand.

You only realized it two months after you came to New York when she first disappeared.

~X~

She may have had a bit too much to drink tonight. That might be a bit difficult to explain in the morning. Where was she anyway? She felt nauseous, but she still drank whatever alcohol was currently in her cup. Who exactly brought her here anyway? She was at one party, then somehow ended up at another one. Maybe. At this point, she was too drunk to know for sure.

How was she going to get home?

Oh well, problems for later.

She felt hands on her waist. The grip was strong. You? No, no, it was too firm, too forceful. She stumbled back, her head clearing enough to vaguely recognize a guy who was at the first party.

"What's wrong? You want this, right?"

She heard the words, but she couldn't quite understand them. The alcohol was making it very hard to stay steady on her feet. Oh, this was a mistake.

"No," she slurred, a lot like how her mother would and for a moment she felt disgusted by her behavior.

The guy laughed, clearly not believing her. "I'll take good care of you, don't worry about it."

Even as drunk as she was she felt her blood run cold. "Y/N," you weren't there, you weren't with her. She imagined your voice, telling her to breathe, angry at her, but more than anything worried about her asthma.

There was a crash and what sounded like wood cracking and then she felt safe. She felt the fresh air against her cheeks, strong arms holding her close, protecting her from anything and anyone. "I got you Tara, I got you," she heard and fell asleep in your arms.

~X~

You came back to the apartment when it was almost midnight, with Tara completely passed out due to who knows how much alcohol she drank. Sam met you at the doors, her legs too shaky to let her meet you outside. You weren't doing much better, you had hundreds of worst-case scenarios running through your head.

Sam reached out to Tara when you stopped at the front door. She shakily touched Tara's cheek, then lowered her hand to wipe a bit of drool coming out of Tara's mouth.

"Y/N...?" there was a silent question in the way Sam said your name. You saw fear in her eyes, and you were sure it was in your eyes as well.

"I think I made it in time," she nodded when you said that, leaving the unspoken question to hang in the air. The terrifying possibility that might happen if Tara doesn’t stop doing this. You didn't say it, and neither did Sam, but when you lowered Tara on the bed as gently as you possibly could Sam stepped out. So, you checked, just in case. Just in case you had to immediately get back to that damned house and murder anyone still there.

Luckily, you don't need to do that. Your hands trembled as you put your shirt on Tara and you released a muffled cry of relief when Tara just curled up, peacefully sleeping in your bed. "God damn it, Tara," you stumbled to the dining room, where Sam is expecting you. "Everything's fine," you fell apart the moment you dropped into the chair.

You pressed your hands against your eyes as you began sobbing uncontrollably. For hours you managed to hold it in, and now it all came crashing down upon you. You tried to keep it down, to be as silent as possible, but all those efforts resulted in coughs and gasps as more sobs tore through your body.

Sam was no different. shaking and crying her heart out and you just stumbled over to her and pulled her closer. And she let you, she clung to you in a way that reminded you of Tara. You had no idea how long you stayed like that, or how long it took for tears to dry up. You just feel lighter when you separated from Sam.

"We owe Anika," you finally said, your voice cracking and hoarse, you were tired from all the crying.

Sam nodded, not trusting her voice at the moment.

You realized Tara was gone when, around nine p.m. you called Mindy to see why Tara wasn't answering her phone. And then all hell broke loose because Tara wasn't with Mindy or Chad, and she wasn't answering her phone. So, it turned into an all-out search. Driving from one party to another until Mindy called you an hour and a half later. Anika saw Tara at a party and before Anika could do anything Tara left with all the wrong people.

It took slamming a man into the wall to get the address. Miles away from where you were. Miles away from your apartment. So, you drove even more recklessly than you did when you were trying to catch up to Sam.

And you found Tara.

And you wouldn't be surprised if you broke more than a couple of bones at that house.

And you called Sam to tell her the moment you lowered Tara onto the backseat of your car.

And you brought Tara back home.

And she was fine.

Just so damn drunk she barely even registered you were there.

You'd deal with Tara's recklessness first thing in the morning. Right now, you just needed to go to bed and hold her. So, you did just that, you didn’t even have to pull her closer, because the moment you slipped under the covers, she instinctively moved closer to you.

“Y/N,” she mumbled, still drunk and asleep.

You just sighed and wrapped your arms around her holding her close so you wouldn’t fall apart once again.

~X~

Her head was killing her, and she moved closer to you, hoping that would help her go back to sleep, but it wasn’t working, she had one hell of a hangover and wasn’t feeling that good. Slowly she blinked, adjusting to the light and then she looked at your face. Tara’s eyes widened as she realized you were crying.

You… she never saw you crying before, and yet you cried last night. And then the memories of what happened came back, making her feel nauseous. She drank too much, didn’t answer her phone, went to a party to a part of town she didn’t even know, and she remembered the look on that guy’s face, the realization that she wasn’t safe and then you came and got her out of there. Tara swallowed the lump in her throat and hugged you tighter.

She messed up, she knew that, but the alcohol made her forget about Woodsboro, about everything that happened. She just wanted to be a normal teenager, to go out to parties, to not live in the past and let those three days define her.

And with the freedom she just now found she didn’t know when or how to stop.

A/N: Honestly, I think Tara was mostly fine in Woodsboro, but then New York gives her all the opportunities to pretend nothing wrong happened, and we gradually reach Scream 6 Tara from the party.

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

[withonly-sweetheart]

Reap What You Sow

part two

You've been reaped, and your partner is not the man you want to be spending a bloodbath with. But what if he's nothing like what you expected?

a/n: for the anon that's waited SO patiently for it... im still working on figuring out ur identity but im a bit slow... so.... i hope u like it i had to reread the book for this and WEUIORWPDOSWEIOR i have trauma from thg trust me

tw: major character deaths (if you can guess who ily <3) mentions of blood, gore, illnesses, blah blah all that stuff yk

wc: 3.6k

part one here!!

The first thing you feel, stupidly, is betrayal, but you hadn’t been together in the first place. There was no thought out alliance, even if that was what Haymitch was hoping for in the endgame. 

“Nice one, lover boy,” one of the boys teases. “Next time, make sure it's your girlfriend. Can’t recognize one girl from another, huh?” 

“He’s just that desperate,” one of them replies, and they all break out into laughs, sounding amazingly like a pack of coyotes. Leon stares down at his feet, gripping the coil of thin, white wire wrapped around his fist. 

“The faster we get rid of her,” he grits out from behind clenched teeth, “the better chance we have of winning. She’s smart enough to survive unless we take her out.”

“Take her out? Wow, Leon, ever the romantic one, aren’t you?” one of the girls muses. But Leon doesn’t smile like you expect him to, and the only emotion that overtakes his face is disgust as he scowls.

“Let’s just get moving,” he growls.

You see in Leon's stony gaze not hatred - but shame. For a moment, your eyes meet, and you understand. This is not the end, he promises silently.

Calming your racing, pounding heart, you slip back into the trees, vanishing on the wind. 

You can feel the camera on your back, tracking you, and you realize that you’ve kept your face as neutral as Leon’s, so just to keep them interested (and to bring in more sponsors), you tilt your head towards the afternoon sun and smile knowingly.

Let them figure that out, you think. 

You keep your footsteps vague, letting them track where you were - not where you’re going to disappear to as cunning guides your unsteady, unsure steps toward victory.

<><><><><><>

You’ve fared pretty well, you think, for the past three days. Your snares are doing well, and you’ve stayed close to the river. Luckily, the Gamemakers haven’t thought of targeting you for your little stunt, and you feel grateful for a moment before realizing that you’re still in danger.

A drift of voices carries on the breeze, and straining your ears, you snatch the faint sounds of celebration from the Careers' camp. Though your mind screams not to, you creep closer - and there, lying on the wind, come the first hints of Leon's ruse. 

"...tracks lead east. Could have ditched the knife, gone after bigger prey."

A derisive snort. "Girl's got more sense. Doubt she went after a damn bear with her dinky little knife."

But Leon persists, voice dropping low and persuasive. "Unless she's more desperate than we thought. And these woods are full of desperate souls..."

You see his silhouette move with subtle gestures, painting a picture only you could see is false. Slowly, so slowly, he nudges their guesses astray, south, then west into thicker forest. 

By the time their supplies were packed to give chase at dawn, Leon had spun such a tangled web even you almost believed his stories. 

And in the cloud of lies he wove to protect you, you start questioning whether or not the man you know is there, beneath the killer, if a shred of mercy remains.

He gives no sign of knowing you watch. You don’t know if he knows you are there, but that night, you say a silent prayer of thanks for this small act of unexpected grace.

<><><><>

You breathe deep as forest mosses muffle your footsteps, senses sharpening for the soft calls of potential allies. You want to seek out the little boy that followed you around during training, but so far, you haven’t seen him. But another sound comes floating through the wood - a broken, mournful murmur that pricks your heart.

Tracing the plea, you find Leon alone amid the ferns, face buried in his hands. At your approach he scrambles up, fingers clawing for the hilt of a missing blade.

"Come to finish it yourself?" he hisses, agony written plain before the mask slams down over his face.

Slowly, showing empty hands, you meet his wild eyes with a steady gaze. "Calm down, I’m here to help. You… don’t look too good.”

Leon sways, strength waning as exhaustion takes hold. Something flickers in his eyes as he collapses to the side, slowly curling into a fetal position.

Your hesitation is apparent, but immediately disappears when he hits the leaves, fingers slackening from your fists. You glance around, peering deep into the sheltering green, wary of enemies, but none arrive.

Then your facade breaks and you fall to your knees, surveying where his injury is, and spot the blood seeping from his shoulder.

“What happened?” you ask quietly.

“They found out I’m sick,” he whispers. You can’t resist flinching back a little, and he manages to grin before grimacing. “Cato stabbed me.”

“Why didn’t you run?”

“He saw you were standing there and sent people after you.”

You stare down at him, eyes blank before you frown. “But how’d you get hurt?”

“I killed them.” A groan passes his lips. “On second thought, save yourself.”

“I’m not leaving you,” you say as fiercely as you can through tears. You don’t know why the thought touches you, the fact he cares about you enough to betray his, however temporary, allies, just for you.

You would’ve assumed he would have laughed, joined them, even. A weak smile touches his lips. You rip fabric from your shirt to bind the makeshift dressing, tears mingling with the blood on your cheeks that got there from your frantic wiping. “Why’d you have to play the hero, huh? You couldn’t run away?”

“Had to… keep you… safe,” he rumbles, voice hoarse, parched.

“Well, congratulations, genius, now we’re both screwed.” Your breath hitches on a sob. “Just hold on, damn it! You’re not dying on me, hear that?”

Leon’s hand finds yours, grip tightening with determination. “Not… going anywhere. Promise.”

<><><><>

“What about the other girls?” you query, spooning soup between his lips, wincing as he swallows it with increased difficulty. His condition is getting worse, you can see that. You gently dab cold broth that you made hours ago from his ashen lips. 

Leon's labored breath grows more ragged, his burning gaze holding yours with haunting intensity. “What other girls?”

“Save your breath,” you reply, shaking your head. “It’s not important.”

“It’s important to you,” he says quietly, rubbing his finger in circles over your knuckles. “So tell me.”

“All those girls you dated back home, did they ever mean anything to you?” You drag in a fractured breath. “Do I?”

The royal crown of his hair dips back to grace the stone walls, breaths coming in puffs from his lips, twisted in a frown as he tilts his head to look at you, hooded eyes and furrowed brows asking you a silent question you can’t understand.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I’m thinking,” he rasps.

“Think faster,” you grumble.

He chuckles. “Bossy. Well, I guess the first girl I loved was my tutor,” he muses. “Not really my tutor. Just a girl that was smarter than me.”

“Was?” you ask, tilting your head.

“She died of some illness,” he says dismissively. “I loved the attention she gave me, treated me like I was her special little boy, even though that was part of her job. No, I didn’t love her, not really.” He meets your eyes steadily. “Not how I love you.”

And it’s moments like these that have you questioning whether or not he’s being serious, because his eyes are glazed and his mouth is set so seriously. Would he trade steel for softer weapons, if you grant his wish?

Gently, you lay your palm against burning flesh, unsure if you’re offering true solace or a cruel illusion, reflecting the confusion that you feel at his words.

“But you have every guy’s attention back home,” he breathes, almost a sigh. “I don’t stand a chance, do I?”

I can almost hear what Haymitch is undoubtedly thinking back home, begging me to say out loud, for the cameras that are definitely watching us.

“I might have their attention, but you’ve always had mine.”

And as if on cue, a silver parachute blows in on the breeze, landing near your crossed legs, silky fabric brushing your hand as you eagerly unwrap it.

“Look what Haymitch got you,” you say teasingly as you reveal a vial of what you presume is medicine, must be for his cold.

You pour it into his soup, swirl it around until the spoon generates enough heat to dissolve the sticky, ivy colored liquid. Leon’s nose crinkles when it meets his tongue, jaw working as he swallows.

<><><><><>

“Can’t sleep?” Leon murmurs as you rouse, blinking some light into your vision. Your joints are stiff from the unforgiving stone that blankets you.

You rub your eyes. "I don’t think I’ve slept very well since we got here," you sigh, rolling your stiff neck. 

Leon watches with quiet eyes. "C’mere." He shifts to make room for you in the small, cramped area, patting the space next to him. Leaning into his solid warmth brings strange comfort, comfort you are unaccustomed to.

“You look really pretty,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and when you crane your neck to glance up at him, there’s a dreamy look in his eyes as he gazes back, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

“Half asleep?” you joke.

“You look pretty no matter what.” Curled fingers graze your back, drawing tired muscle from knot to knot. You tense, unused to kindness from killers, mind flashing back to the way he had killed Glimmer, yet you let tension seep away under gentle pressure. 

When was the last soft touch? The last time you had let his hand touch your skin, heat mingling between your bodies? You lie your neck onto his shoulder, feeling him tense for barely a second before relaxing.

His breath fans your hair, smelling faintly of pine and earth. Your eyes flutter shut, forgetting just for moments your fate, and here in the dark, you forget that he might just be trying to kill you.

But, as all things do, it ends, and dawn looms with its crimson streaks. You are both marked for death, lambs led to slaughter, destiny undecided.

And you know you can’t let him choose what happens to not only you, but also your family. So you pull away from his warmth, almost immediately missing it, feeling the chill seep into your heart.

“I should… go hunt,” you explain quietly, but the hurt that presses through his neutral expression is something you have grown used to seeing.

"Go then," he murmurs, volume rising fluidly. "I just don’t get it.”

“Get what, Leon? We need to eat.” 

“I’m here for you, for free, and last night I proved to you that we don’t have to fight.”

His words sting, reminding you who you have to protect above all - those beyond these walls of blood. Your fists clench at your side, as taut as the cords in your wary stomach. "Nothing is decided here, not even-" 

"Trust?" Leon fills the sentence with wry amusement. "You don’t seem to trust even yourself, it seems."

Anger flares to life in your chest, his steady calm that dares your truths that you left unsaid, because that’s how you know to survive.

Your voice strikes like a flint against steel. "You might want to be thinking about your own survival, because your charming words mean nothing against bloodshed.”

His eyes flash, gray from moonlight, mouth hardening.

“Charming words are all I see you relying on, little bird. Will you still burn as bright as you think you are now, if it weren’t for me?"

His jab finds its mark - doubt you dare not voice aloud. Your jagged fingernails pierce the tender flesh of your palm, making crescent shaped, vague silhouettes of your anger. "How dare you say that? You don’t even know me, let alone what drives me to win!"

"Enlighten me then," Leon sneers, temper unleashed. But for a moment, a heartbeat, something flickers behind his granite eyes - regret? But he doesn’t stop.

"Is it because of your family? Or is the sick excitement I know you get from spilling blood by your pretty hand?"

You pause, taking in his words. You blink at him, face softening, releasing your hand from its anguish, unable to believe that he, of all, chained to this prison just as you are, could see you in such a light.

Your vision seems to dim red as a choked whisper claws free, "How… how could you say something like that?"

Silence hangs curdled between us as grim understanding sinks in, evident on his face. And you stand, brushing the underside of your thighs, biting your tongue, trying to convince yourself that you don’t care, that his words didn’t deliver a sting.

But the venom is already coursing through your blood as you walk away, leaving him alone, whispering your name.

<><><><>

The smell of damp earth fills his senses as Leon pushes through the foliage. He has to find you, has to make this right. Breaking through the treeline, he spots you sitting by the lake, your brown tunic matching the looming pines. 

You don’t turn as he approaches, eyes fixed on the still water. Leon's chest tightens. Stopping a few feet behind you, he whispers, "Sweetheart, I'm sorry."

Silence greets him, thick like the humid air. Leon kneels, reaching out to gently brush your shoulder. "Please, look at me." 

Your defiant yet sad gaze meets him as you turn. Eyes shining with unshed tears, your lips pull into a small pout. God, she’s beautiful. Leon cups her cheek, caressing soft skin with his thumb. 

"I was wrong. You mean everything to me. You would never do something like that, I know." Without waiting for a reply, he closes the distance between you and offers an apology, a plea for forgiveness, pouring it all into the tender press of lips, praying you understand. 

After a moment of hesitation, you lean back into him, and for the first time since you made your way into this hellscape, he feels genuine happiness.

But he doesn’t know you are only doing this for the camera nestled in the trees above you, panning across your faces, capturing every moment.

He doesn’t catch the clench of your fingers, turning them white.

<><><><><>

As the midafternoon sun breaks its unrelenting heat, you both stalk through the forest, looking for the last tribute, the last one before you’ll inevitably have to decide the victor between you both.

The sound of the river drowns out any other noise, the rush of water serving as a reminder of the weapon at your disposal.

Your opponent stands near the bank, eyes slanted dangerously. You recall yesterday, seeing Clove’s stoic face in the sky, flanked by puffy clouds. You also remember their bond, how close they were, horrifyingly similar to you and Leon.

Before long, you’re thrown into unwanted combat. Blood decorates the blades of grass dancing around your ankles, back to back with Leon as Cato’s fury seems to consume the arena.

Somewhere, deep inside you, a part that isn’t occupied with surviving, you feel pity for him, because in his howls of pain come grief, a silent plea to put him out of his misery.

As Cato lunges towards you with fierce determination, you act quickly, sidestepping his attack and delivering a powerful blow that sends him stumbling backwards towards the river's edge. 

Leon catches wind of your idea, and with a swift and unwavering hand, he pushes Cato into the cool, rushing waters below.

<><><><>

And we lie there, waiting for the river to calm, for the ripples gracing the muddy banks, right as twilight drapes the world in soft purple. 

The arena lies still, a haunting quiet settling over the blood-soaked ground. Shadows dance in the fading light, the remnant of the District 10 boy casting long, eerie shapes that stretch to meet your feet. There is no one left as the hovercraft picks him up too, leaving you both alone in the arena, surely being documented.

You see his hand grip the dagger jabbed between the lower fabric of his shirt, tearing a hole, precariously close to his stomach. Without thinking, your own knife flies to his neck just as it slips from his fingers into the river, breaking the calm surface of the water with no sound.

Hurt flashes across his expression before his eyes slant dangerously, tilting your knife further towards his neck, pressing it into the unscathed, fragile skin covering his throat. You hear yourself let out a childish sound before yanking it away, or at least try to.

Leon’s grip stays strong, fingers curling even more, drawing a thin rivulet of blood you’ve seen him cough up far too many times. With his other hand, he dips a gentle finger in the red, hissing quietly before smearing it in the shape of a cross on his neck.

“So you don’t miss this time,” he says dryly. 

“I wasn’t- why would I-” 

“Do it,” he whispers, voice dropping an octave lower as his face hardens. “It has to be me.”

“You’re not leaving,” you insist, trying to pull the knife from his grasp. “I can’t let you die!”

“I’m already dying,” he says softly, a sad smile adorning his face. “You didn’t think medicine would fix it all, did you? Besides, you said it yourself, didn’t you? Only one.”

“And it can be you!” you insist. “You’re not listening!”

“There’s nothing to listen to, sweetheart,” he replies, dropping his hand to cup your cheek, staring into your gaze longingly, honeyed eyes sparkling with pain.

“I’ll kill myself!” you blurt out, pulling away from his touch. “I-I can’t live without you.”

“And your siblings? Your family won’t make it,” he says gently. “They’ll be gone.”

Your thoughts are everywhere but home right now. “It can be different.”

“Fine.” Leon looks up to ponder the night sky, and you make the mistake of relaxing your hand, letting the knife rest loosely in your fingers near his chest. He notices this, those keen, sharp eyes and that smart, beautiful mouth curving up.

He does not grimace when your blade, still in your hand, plunges into his stomach, straining under the effort of burying the knife deep into his skin. His blood paints your hand a sickening shade of crimson, dripping from where your bodies connect. 

You can’t bring yourself to remove your fingers, frozen with shock. Leon lets out a fractured exhale, and through his parted lips you can see the ocean of ruby washing his teeth.

He collapses onto you, forcing you to collapse to the ground, laying him down on the dead foliage, where you had both tread mere hours ago, talking about your futures and how it would be the ideal, perfect life.

But now here he is, sprawled on rotting leaves, strawberry blonde hair fanning out in an ever-spreading pool of crimson, drenching your clothes, but you don’t care.

You press yourself closer to him, holding him like a child in your arms, the world around you fading into a distant whisper, leaving only the sound of his breath - shallow, yet steady, like the gentle flow of a tide. 

The light in his eyes flicker, a candle fighting against the dark, wax dripping down its body similar to the way blood runs down his body, painting his figure in a slick, reflective liquid that shines the moon back at you.

“Leon,” you whisper, trying to bring him back to you, chanting his name into the crook of his neck, where you had felt the tip of your blade press, kissing the hurt away.

“I’ll always love you, little bird,” he mumbles, glassy eyed, blood going cold, seeping from everywhere, coating your skin, quickly drying into crumbling material. 

And when he’s finally gone, after the minutes have stretched into hours, upon days in which the sunshine bathes his skin in a holy glow, the mockingjays chirp a hollow, solemn tune before the forest goes silent.

One gives the warning call, but you do not move. You can feel the hovercraft shielding you from the cheery sun, providing shade for you and the cold body in your hands.

For all the talk of killing him first, it seems he has killed you first, just by leaving you alone. And perhaps you will see him when they allow you mercy.

Why should they give you mercy? This is what you are thinking when your fingers find the blade. You hear Claudis Templesmith frantically calling to the hovercraft to do something, anything, but no one can stop you.

You have already been declared the winner. There is no one to harm your family. No one to harm your hunting partner, who awaits your return eagerly, but there will be no return. And, some selfish part of you knows that you’ll already be dead, unable to care if they die.

The blade slips into your skin effortlessly, as if knowing that this has always been its true purpose, knowing it is finally home, nestled in your body.

You lie beside your fallen lover, acknowledging it when he’s gone seems cruel yet inevitable, tracing circles on his still chest, as you had when you had slept together in the cave. The memory seems faint, distant, even, as if it had happened years ago, not days.

Your life disappears with your breath. The last thing you can remember doing is curling your fingers around Leon’s, entwined forever, captured in the scene of your death.

Destined to always reap what you sow.

[xxsabitoxx]

Being Sanemi’s Tsugoku

Other pillar versions (coming soon?)

A/N: it’s been a hot mother fucking minute since I’ve posted Sanemi. With Demon Slayer Sundays just a week away it’s only right that I return to my roots of posting some demon slayer content

Pink text is You — Green text is Sanemi

(Cosmo and Wanda think they slick—)

You couldn’t lie, you were initially petrified when Kagaya appointed you as Sanemi’s tsugoku

It was typical for the Hashira themselves to pick someone, usually someone they knew and trusted. Someone they could put their full faith in to fulfill their duties if it just so happen the current pillar was to lose the fight

That wasn’t the case for you. Kagaya himself appointed you for your outstanding performance and understanding of wind breathing

Needless to say, Sanemi wasn’t thrilled

“Just keep your mouth shut and maybe I won’t kill you.”

You could feel your brow twitch, you didn’t let anyone talk to you in such a tone. Wind pillar or not, you’d sooner die than be walked all over.

“Watch your tone and maybe I won’t beat your ass.”

Thus began Sanemi’s never ending torture. Torture he had to tolerate solely because Kagaya appointed you.

Hell it was likely a test at this point, put some sort of humanity in him so he wouldn’t get himself killed.

Sanemi’s training was nothing short of su!cidal, honestly by the end of the first day you were convinced he was trying to k!ll you

It consisted of training from sunrise until sunset followed by accompanying him on his patrolling. It would be a full twenty four hours until you saw your bed again.

“No wonder you look so psychotic, you don’t fucking sleep.”

He, of course, didn’t answer you. It seems he had taken his own advice to heart and decided keeping his mouth shut would save him the headache.

This intense regimen would continue for a full month, only half a day break in between so you could get some sleep.

You’d quickly learn his goal was to break you. Get you to leave the corps with your head hung low.

“Ya know, it’s kinda odd you’re so determined to get me to leave. It’s almost as if you care about me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. The corps is no place for weaklings, nothing more than demon bait at this point.”

“Ain’t that what you’d want then? People to lure the demons to you. Makes it easier than hunting them, pretending to be the prey I mean.”

Sanemi ended that conversation with a simple glare, something in his eyes that you’d never seen before. For once you let him drop it, not willing to uncover the man’s traumas against his will.

Sanemi’s behavior towards you mellowed slightly after three months of you being his tsugoku. You simply weren’t going anywhere any time soon so he didn’t think the hard ass attitude was quite necessary.

That’s not to say he started taking it easy on you… not by a long shot actually. If anything his schedule for you only got more intense. But it was different.

You could tell he was training you with the intent of keeping you alive, not scaring you out of the corps.

“I think we’ll be friends soon.” You laughed softly as you ate your lunch, sanemi was sitting a few feet away under the shade of a tree. “I don’t make friends.” It was gruff, food getting shoved into his mouth a moment later. “Okay tough guy, you’ll realize soon enough.” All you got was a nose scrunch in return.

The thing is, you were right. Sanemi should have known it would be impossible, even for him, to spend nearly every waking moment with someone and not enjoy their presence.

Around the six month mark of being his tsugoku, you found it easier to hold a conversation with him. Especially since he’d actually entertain it. Hell you’d even crack jokes with one another. It was safe to say he tolerated you now.

And not out of obligation

“I want you to leave the corps. I’m telling Master that you aren’t up to my satisfaction.” You froze, head whipping around to see if he was joking. The look on his face told you he wasn’t. “Aren��t we past this bull shit, Shinazugawa?”

Truth was, he’d gotten attached to you in some odd way. It fucking terrified him.

“You’ll do as I say, as your overseer. You have to obey my wishes.” You couldn’t quite understand why his attitude had switched, as if six months of work had suddenly never happened. “Bull shit. What the fuck happened?” He only shook his head, not able to maintain eye contact. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It wasn’t long before it turned into a full blow yelling match.

“I’ll tell Master you’re full of shit. Chances are he’ll fucking believe me, Shinazugawa.” For the first time, he was losing a battle in more ways than one. “Oh fuck off.” Was all he could muster, brain moving a mile a minute as he tried to figure out a better way to reason with you.

What had you done to him? He wanted to reason with you? That thought terrified him even worse.

In the end, all of his logic flew out the window as he uttered the very words he didn’t want to say out loud. Not because he didn’t mean them, but because he didn’t want to make things worse. He was already struggling with these new emotions, never mind making them known to you.

“I care about you a little too much to let you throw your life away in this hellish profession.”

That got you to freeze, eyes wide as you tried to gauge what exactly he meant by that statement. Silence hung between the two of you, you weren’t sure how long you both stood there in the back yard of his estate. But by the time you had gotten the courage to even make a noise, he was turning his back to you.

“Woah hold the fuck on! Don’t run away from me after saying something like that? Hell, Shinazugawa you never run from anything never mind me!”

For a moment he really wished some divine force would come down and kill him on the spot.

Yet, he steadied himself, realizing that you were right. He’d never run away from a fight, never mind being a coward with his own feelings. So he stopped, turning around to stop you in your tracks.

“I fucking care about you, what’s there to not understand?”

“That’s not where I’m confused you moron.”

He knew what you were implying, he knew what you wanted to hear and yet he found himself struggling. Being a Hashira gave him no right to admit he had feelings for you. It would only be cruel to you, especially since you were to be his successor.

“Shina—no—Sanemi. Explain yourself.”

That was his breaking point, eyes shutting as he exhaled slowly. Hearing his first name fall from your lips, this wasn’t exactly the situation he wanted to hear it for the first time. Yet it was enough to give him courage.

“I care about you, more than a friend, more than a tsugoku. There, happy?”

The shit eating grin that crept up your face was more than enough to show him that you were.

“See… I was right. I told you we’d become friends.”

“I just said I liked you more than a friend.”

“Fair enough, I guess it’s safe to say I underestimated you, master.”

“I’m still making you leave the corps.”

“Maybe if you offer me your hand in marriage I’ll consider it.”

He was starting to question why he even grew to like you in the first place. Though, the smile on your face had him mentally reminding himself to thank Kagaya for giving you to him.

[cbs-scorpion-coffee-shop]

Ok, hear me out:

Kratos, after the events of the Valhalla DLC, is sleeping peacefully in his home, until someone knocks on his door.

"I didn't know who else to go to." says Thor.

Thor, who had ascended to a higher existence after being killed by his father, rejected that existence and decided to live another live. He wanted to be better for his family, but he didn't want to return to them the way he was. He wanted to change first. So he went to the one person who knew how.

Kratos tells Thor about his past and he realizes that if Kratos can change then so can he.

"You kid is lucky." Thor says. "I hope mine can be as lucky as yours one day."

Kratos decides to take him to Valhalla as a start. An opportunity provided to Thor by Odin's betrayal.

Kratos goes to Lunda in the realm between realms and gets a mace and shield for Thor like the ones Modi had. On his way out of the house, Ratatoskr asks Kratos for a favor and says he'll reward him with materials. Kratos asks for another reward instead. For bitter squirrel to be Thor's partner in Valhalla. Kratos believed the similarities between them would make Thor feel at ease.

Kratos, Mimir and Thor, with much conversation between the three on the boat, go to the same shore and after much trouble, convince Freya to help them and not tell anyone. Especially Sif and Thrud.

"Well, at least with Odin gone, there's no one for him to serve. We could make good use of-" Freya says

"No." Kratos cuts her off. "He is Odin's monster no longer, and he will not be ours. To help us or not is your choice."

Freya sighs "I'm only doing it for you, you know."

"Thank you, Freya."

"Of course."

Thor, with bitter as a partner, tackles Valhalla.

Many obstacles stand in his way: The fact that he simply isn't a disciplined warrior, but a fat dude swinging a hammer, and the new weapons are something he isn't used to. The years of trauma inflicted on him by Odin. The death of his mother which he blames himself for. His refusal to embrace the Johtunar part of himself. His refusal to think and feel.

He tries and fails for many months. He lives with Kratos and Mimir and they get to know eachother better. He has Kratos train him, and eventually, with the help of Kratos, Mimir, Tyr, Freya and surprisingly bitter who turned out to be a better companion for Thor than Kratos could ever for, Thor manages to come to terms with his past, and finally battles Tyr and wins.

However, as soon as he peeks at what's behind the door, he quits. He decides that he doesn't wanna try anymore. Everyone else is wondering why, but Kratos knows why. He knows what's behind that door, or rather who.

Modi.

Killing his son. Thor could could never come to terms with that. It took Kratos over a hundred years to heal from that.

He goes to the spot where Modi died to remember his son. He looks above, and he is caught by the last thing he wished to be caught by.

Jormungandur.

He battles it, but due to not having his hammer, and the poison being his weakness, he loses and is knocked unconscious.

He wakes up a bed, wrapped in bandages. It wasn't Kratos's home, or any he'd ever known. The little boy sitting on the edge of the bed greets him. He has red hair darker than his and doesn't look older than three winters. His mother, a dwarf woman, tends to Thor and tells him that her husband saved him and to rest while her husband hunts for food. He tries to decline and just leave, but he can barely walk two steps.

Thor complies, and stays in bed.

He finds out that he is in a magical forest. Those unwanted and shunned by their own people come here to escape. Some dwarves, some giants, some Aseir, Vanir and many others, and that the forest is hidden by her husband's magic, and that he insisted on bringing him here.

Bedridden Thor occasionally talks to the boy and bonds with him. He finds out that the boy has giant blood in him, and works out that his father is a giant or at least has giant blood. No wonder his father never wanted to meet him.

The GiantSlayer he was would strike fear in any giant. He was nowhere near being better. His progress didn't matter to these people. but then why did he save him? That didn't matter as well. As soon as he gets better, he's leaving. It's better this way.

One day, he woke up at sunrise and found that no one was home. He found that he could walk and decided to just leave. He made his way through the forest, but it was a labyrinth. He found himself lost. It must be the father's magic. The excited laughter of the boy playing with his father and mother echoed through the forest. He wanted to thank them and say goodbye to the boy. He followed their voices. The boy was playing hide and seek with his father. It sounded like the boy was the seeker and his father was winning.

The father's voice was familiar. His heart grew heavy as he got closer to the source of the voice.

"It can't be." He whispered to himself.

He reached them, and the sight of the father struck him like a thousand lightning bolts.

Modi.

-Think I should continue this fic?

[genshin-squabbles-and-wobbles]

The Enraged Inferno || Part 2

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Character: Diluc

Type: Angst, tragedy, Revenge and Reader in her villian era

Tags: Fem!Reader

Requester: @sailorstar9

Content: Years later, Since the reader's distant relative is Baizhu, it would make sense she would have Dendro healing abilities, as Baizhu have been training you to defend yourself and medically educate you. However, ironically, you were in your villain era, You were angry, you felt robbed. This was trauma without you realizing it. Despite being taught to be a catalyst user, you decided, why in the hell would you even try at this point? You decided, a sword would suit you much better. How would life continue after this?

Trigger Warning: I might be a little violent in this story to stress the Villain Era the reader is in, and also, dealing with trauma so please proceed with caution. I might add cursing a bit, please let me know if you can feel the idea of the reader without the cursing.

Part 1: Here

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You applied medicine to your scars to help ease the sore aches. This medicine was specifically made for you by Baizhu. You rubbed your healed yet scarred wounds with medicine as you stared at them blankly.

"W-What are you doing!? S-Stop! It hurts! W-Why?? AHHH!!"

Those words of your own voice echoed in your head, you clenched your jaw. Three faces burned in your head, you remembered them so clearly. As they were the result of your so called infamous death. You stood up, and took your sword with you. Of course you kept your catalyst weapon with you out of habit.

You walked out your room, and went down to manage the register up front as you rubbed your forehead to help keep a calm your expression. You don’t want to scare customers, and you never intended ruin Uncle Baizhu's business with your own issues anyways. Qiqi was doing her usual things such as organizing the shelfs. You walked to the register, and got ready for the day.

"I'll manage the register today but only because I actually have another job for you, my dear" Baizhu appeared from behind, as he was in the storage room of the pharmacy pulling out fresh medicine in a series of crates.

"Good morning, Uncle. What do you need me to do today?" You walked to him and helped him unload the crates of fresh medicine. You were strong even to carry these crates like nothing, and of course, Baizhu would notice and comment on it, however not this time, since there was another matter at hand to be concerned about. "Well...there is an order that needs to be delivered to Mondstadt. I would like you to do that for me. Our usual deliver men are on break, so I need someone to cover for them. I didn’t find anyone in time, so you are my last option. I apologize for dropping this on you so suddenly my dear. I'll make it up to you."

You looked at him surprised as you remembered-- Baizhu doesn’t entirely know that you faked your death in Mondstadt. He only knew that you almost got hurt and that you needed a safer place to be in. However it had been years, and you have been training to be better in self defense. Out of anger, out of fear, out of revenge. You wanted to taste the days where you get to strangle those servants with your own hands. You know, you practiced, unknowingly to Baizhu. You await that experience to drip in your mouth, as though-- right now, you remain thirsty.

You nodded slowly with your arms crossed, deep in thought. "No worries, I got it, I'll prepare to leave in the afternoon." Baizhu smiled. "Wonderful, thank you my dear. And...I know your mother passed away recently, but...I know she's very proud of you. If only we knew, we could have helped, but your mother isn’t the kind of women to speak up when needed to be" He placed his hand on your shoulder. You smiled, but that was just a mask. You knew that very well with your mother, but don’t worry. That ends with you, you'll be the first women to speak up and scream to let them know who you are.

You especially wanted to dig deeper graves for those three servants, deeper than your own mother's grave. Deeper, to the point of touching hell itself. You'd rather be a criminal then some innocent bystander. You rather cause a shitshow then be in one. You rather cause chaos and sink your hands in those who deserve it. You didn’t care. Jean included. She doesn’t get off empty handed. None of them do. And Dulic...would you rather he pity you helplessly or fear you graciously? I don’t need to provide such an answer do I? Fuck those prissy shits.

Later on, you already left, you bid your polite goodbyes to Baizhu and Qiqi, as you were preparing to take the walk to your homeland. You wonder how life is like on there. You wore dark clothing, black pants, black turtleneck sweater, black shoes, bags under your eyes, as you nightmares of your incident. You used to wear such pretty and light clothes. Such innocent bloodstained clothes. Don’t worry, this time, the blood won’t be yours, and it would never show on black clothing would it? You were walking on your path to Mondstadt, as you were passing Guili Plains.

Some hilicurls spotted you nearby and ran towards you, without hesitation, you swung your sword and decapitated them all in one swing. You placed your foot on one of heads and crushed it under your foot. It was like you crushed a large snail shell. Stiff but with enough pressure, it breaks. You looked at the shielded mitachurl with malicious and murderous intent. Immediately, the mitachurl backed away sensing violence in you. You stepped forward, planning to be merciless and brutal towards it, however with that step, the mitachurl ran away.

"No one will mess with me...no one will take me as a joke. Ever again." You muttered to yourself and walked towards Mondstadt once more. Your lovely homeland.

A day later, you arrived there and looked around. Nothing changed, it was the same. You walked to the person you needed to deliver the medicine to, it was a man named Anthony. The medicine was for his sick little sister named Anna. She had a chronic illness, he is trying everything to help her feel better. Once you bid the man farewell, there was one thing has plagued your mind, what had come of the home you grew up in? You walked to your neglected home, the one you used to live in since a baby. You still had the keys to it. You went to the corner of Mondstadt and saw it, it was the same but had overgrown greenery, however, it was still...home. You unlocked the door and walked in, and saw dust and clutter everywhere. Boxes, and taken down picture frames.

You wondered if your mother was suffering from guilt from sending you away, however, it doesn’t matter now, she was gone. You were gone. Everything was gone.

You sighed. Regret filled your lungs, as you looked at the pictures of you and your beloved mother, as you loved her but you were so angry with her. You cried enough before, but being here makes you want to cry again, this was the home place of your mother. You never really had a father, it was just you and her. Now it's just you. The loneliness is aggravating. You started to go through through the mail, as it had pile up over the months, until you saw a letter that caught your eye. A letter from the Favonius Knights to sell the house since there was no one there paying for it nor the bills in it.

You thought for a moment. Could you perhaps move back in Mondstadt? Take over this home, and maybe, return to a life here. You thought for a moment, then thoughts of Diluc flood your mind, Jean, and her servants. You assumed they married and had children. You felt disgusted. "Hah, bunch of weak backed shit heads. I'll show them." You muttered with a reverge thirsty smile. However, the deeper the smile, the more empty and lonely it was.

You took the letter in your clutch and left. You walked into the Favonius Headquarters, and walked in on Jean in her office. Jean looked up, as her jaw dropped, and stood up. "Y-You..but...you.."

You looked at her unfazed. "Is that really yo-"

You placed the paper in front of her on her desk. "Shut up."

You pointed at the letter. "My mother passed, so I will be taking over the house, so no need to ransack it or sell it" You had malice and murder in your eyes. Yet you were emotionless. You wanted to strangle this women with every inch of your life.

Jean took a step back, startled. "You...You aren’t the same person as before...you...you're different."

You glared at her silently. "Man, if I could strangle you here and now, I would. However, I have better things to do then to waste my time on some waste of flesh here in front of me."

Jean's jaw dropped once again, as she looked at you worried. She took the stamp and stamped the letter with shaking hands. As she is well aware of murderous glare you had towards her. You took the paper and turned to leave. This was not like you. Not like you at all. This wasn’t the person she knew when you two were younger.

"Wait..." Jean stopped you, as you continued to walk out. "Wait!" Jean ran and stopped in front of you. "In case you didn’t know...Diluc and I didn’t get married...so so...you can stop your anger towards me! He voided it and he left. He...He owns a winery now, but I am still trying to get him back and make him marry me! So still consider us engaged! So don-"

"Good for you." You said coldly, and not really feeling like your anger had to be justified to her. You walked passed her.

"Also..." Jean continued hesitantly. "Your boss, Baizhu, said you had another order of medicine, he sent me a messenger about it..." You sighed and groaned with your head tilted back and eyes closed. "Can’t you leave me alone you petrified shithead...?"

Jean was taken aback at your reaction to her, even more that this was from your job, and not even in her control. She was used to you being kind, she was used to being loving and forgiving. No matter what she did to make you hurt and suffer, you always smiled and forgave her. You even wished her happy marriage, this only made Diluc like you more, as nothing seem to faze you. Despite nothing still fazing you now, your kindness was gone.

All you see, is a pile of useless shit in front of you. The downfall of Mondstadt. Jean felt your eyes as such. She sighed and held both her hands up. "O-Okay okay, dear Archons..."

Jean gave you an address to the delivery. "Here, this person ordered medicine just now, you should get it to them..." You took it and left. Jean watched you leave as she felt shivers down her spine. She had a bad feeling about you.

You can finally breathe, it was suffocating in there, like close enough you were about to punch her. But now isn’t the right time for that, there will be a time and place. You always knew that.

You walked back to your now renowned home, as you looked at the address. "Huh...a winery..?" You began making the medicine and preparing it. You then wrote a letter to Baizhu, about you living in Mondstadt and you will expand his business in Mondstadt.

The next day, you looked at the address and walked outside of Mondstadt, and straight to a large mansion placed in the middle of nowhere. "Huh...a big winery...but also a big mansion..." There was a line of grapes crops and a small town nearby. You walked to the door, and knocked. Adelinde, a maid of Diluc answered, as she held the door open. "Ah, thank you for the medicine. We have to sign a receipt that we received it, yes?"

You nodded and held up your hand crafted receipt as you don’t have access to the record papers. It was back in Bubu Pharmacy in Liyue. You needed to keep records of orders in case anything, business rules. Baizhu was smart for that especially when it came to taxes. " You walked in, and looked around. "This all...kinda seems familiar..." you whispered to yourself.

Adelinde opened Dulic's main office, as you walked in with the papers for him to sign, you gazed around his office, then onto him. Diluc has yet to acknowledge you, as you looked at him with a blank face. His hair had grown, he looks more like his father now. He is taller now, he got more muscular now. He dresses more astrostcatic now, despite his attempt to blend in.

You walked up to him without a care for manners or etiquette and placed the paper on his desk. "Please sign for your order." You said, as you wanted to leave as soon as possible.

Just then Diluc looked up at the paper, and nodded. "Yes, one moment." He had an annoyed expression, and then took out a pen to sign. But then he looked up, and his gaze fell onto you, and he paused.

His eyes went wide, as his face went pale. His annoyed expression dropped as he takes in this life changing occurence slowly. He gasp as he immediately stood up and walked to you and pulled you into a tight hug. "I...I thought you were gone..." He spoke in such a desperate tone.

His eyes were shut tight, as tears fell onto your cheek. Finally, a tragedy that wasn’t true. He desperately nuzzled your hair, as he slowly leaned back against his desk while hugging you. You were standing in between his legs, being held against his chest.

You sighed and pulled away using your hands on his chest to push yourself away from him. You looked up at him with a tired and blank face. "Sign the receipt so I can go." You said coldly. He looked at you, confused. This wasn’t the same, kind and sweet woman he knew. "Huh...?" He placed his hand on your chin and gently pulled you to look up at him, and look at your face. "What...What happened to you..?" He looked into your dead eyes and scrutinize your tired face.

[climbthemountain2020]

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met? - Chapter 15

Ch. 15 | Ao3

Thank you @witch-and-her-witcher and @popjunkie42 I love you!

[Some NSFW content and a dash of horror! Enjoy!]

For a while, their days and nights were exactly the same, something so horrific starting to feel commonplace as they neared the end of the second week. The first task was coming, and everyone could feel it in the buzz of the air. Amarantha had said nothing to them in the way of a time frame, likely hoping the element of surprise would work against them, but the hum of anxiety and excitement in the air belied the truth. 

The days ran together, the hours hard to track without the sun. It left her feeling a little crazy, and disoriented that her body and the anxiety contained within it would spike, clock or no, as they neared time to go to the throne room each night. But still, Feyre treasured every moment she spent with Rhys, even in that place. Even with the time lost, she was keeping her mind and body as busy as possible, keeping herself focused on other things and doing her best to move forward through each day. 

Feyre would wake up with Rhys curled tightly around her, they’d eat breakfast, train as much as they could get away with before sunrise, pack away additional food, and then he’d winnow her down to the dungeons. She’d bring that food to Calla, then also give Calla her portion from the guards. Calla looked exhausted, but Feyre and Rhys were doing their best to keep her fed well and her spirit buoyed as they ambled towards the first task. 

“Are you sleeping at all?” 

“There’s a lot of screaming at night, but I’m okay.” Feyre was worried, but despite seeming tired, Calla was clearly trying to remain upbeat. They’d had a chance to discuss Feyre’s magic in more detail as they scrubbed the floors one day. After talking it over with Rhys, Feyre had chosen to only disclose that she could occasionally speak in others’ heads along with the fire magic. True to her nature, Calla had been openly annoyed that Feyre had kept it from her. 

“Did the curse keep you from telling me about that, too?” she’d bit out as her scrubbing became nearly violent.

“No, but I had only told Lucien and Tamlin the night before the attor came.”

“So not another secret you were all keeping from me then?” Calla refused to look at her when she asked, focusing all her attention on the grimy floor in front of them that she was scrubbing raw. 

The comment stung, but Feyre deserved it. She focused on turning the murky water clean in a manner so agonizingly slow that Calla wouldn’t notice. She felt guilty, but she was still keeping secrets for everyone’s sake. Calla didn’t know how to guard her mind–if any other daemati happened to join Amarantha’s court, it would take nothing to breach the walls of her thoughts. Truly, if Feyre hadn’t slipped to speak in Calla’s mind in the throne room, she likely would have kept that from her, too. She wondered if she should be concerned with how easy it was to explain all this away, but it was for the good of everyone, even if it made her feel like shit. 

“No, Calla. I’m sorry.” Calla sighed, her shoulders dropping, but she said nothing more. 

Most of the time was spent in companionable silence, Feyre not sure how to go about repairing the trust that had been broken while still finding companionship within the trauma they were suffering. 

“Are you doing okay?” Calla asked. Feyre was shocked by the question. 

“I’m okay. All of this is so overwhelming, but being here,” she lowered her voice to barely a whisper, “with him. It’s all I’ve wanted for so long that it doesn’t feel real, even amongst all the horrors.” It was true. Feyre almost felt selfish for the joy that she was getting to experience amongst all this misery. Calla stopped scrubbing to put a hand on her thigh.  

“He healed me when no one else came. As long as he is good to you, I don’t care about the rest.” 

Feyre hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to hear it, tossing her own brush into the half-clean water and throwing her arms around Calla’s neck. Calla froze for a moment before returning the hug. 

“We can make it out of here. We can.” Feyre wasn’t sure if her words were meant more for Calla or herself, but she said them with conviction anyway.

+++

Aside from the daily chores, Feyre and Rhys were allowed more time than she’d dared to hope for. Every afternoon, she’d return to his room, spending the few moments she could with him while Nuala and Cerridwen prepared her for court. She didn’t miss the way his eyes roved over her hungrily each night, the desire in them so thinly veiled he might as well have come out and said it to her face. 

Despite that, all they’d done since her arrival was kiss, quite passionately at times, and Feyre was jumping out of her skin. She ached to run her fingers along his skin, her body seeming to reach out for his every time they were near each other. But she knew what Rhys had gone through, knew what he was still going through, and she would give him the right to choose when he was ready for more with her. 

Despite the requirement for their presence every night at court, it had provided them with some excellent quality time to talk while she sat at his feet or in his lap as his toy. Occasionally, she would dance for him like the courtesans that filled the halls once dinner had been put away and entertainment brought in. She’d been shy at first, the thought of what all those human suitors back at home might have thought edging her mind with shame. But at the feral, possessive look in Rhys’s eyes despite his nonchalant expression, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of enjoyment at the activity. Knowing that she had that power over him, the ability to send small cracks through that mask he’d perfected for so long, left her feeling confident beyond measure. At first, the high fae had giggled and pointed, but then, after a night or two, it had become as normal and commonplace as everything else, exactly as they’d been hoping. People lost interest in Rhys and Feyre and what they were doing, and it allowed them more freedom to sit and speak mind to mind for the hours they were expected there. 

Rhys told her all about the way they’d been trapped there, the details that Vincent hadn’t known well enough to share with her becoming clearer. He told her about how with the last dregs of waning power, he’d cast the strongest protective spell he could over his home, warning his family and effectively trapping them there to keep them safe. 

Tell me about your family. She glanced sidelong at him as she asked, and though she could hear his longing sigh in her mind, his face remained impassive, almost cocky as he surveyed the crowd while she sat at his feet. 

Morrigan, Mor, is my cousin by blood, born and escaped from the horrors of the Hewn City. You and her are going to get on impossibly well, I can already tell. I’m sure you’ll both be driving us up the wall in no time. 

Feyre thought she might like her a lot, too. 

And Amren is a terrifying creature millenia older than all of us trapped in a teeny tiny fae body. We try not to piss her off when we can help it. She cares a lot about us though, in her own way. I think that the two of you will get along nicely. I’m certain you’ll have earned points with her already for your grit and determination. 

Feyre loved that Rhys spoke of their time together in the future as though it were a sure thing. It gave her so much hope to see him imagining her meeting his family, blending with them as though it was a certainty. 

Cassian and Azriel are my brothers. They’re Illyrian, so they have these massive wings. 

Feyre was intrigued by that--she tried to picture it. 

Like a bat? She could hear Rhys’s rolling chuckle in her head. 

Much larger than a bat. The Illyrians are the Night Court’s most fearsome warriors, and they make up a majority of Prythian’s aerial forces. But Az and Cass are my brothers–we met in Illyria during my time training–the half breed and the bastards. Truly, you remind me a bit of Cassian. 

It was Feyre’s turn to laugh. I remind you of a fearsome, winged warrior? Did you drink the wine tonight?

No, smart ass. You have that same spirit, that unbreakable hope and stubbornness of will. And I can see so clearly the way you dream. They way you fight for something more. In truth, I see a bit of all my family in you. I know that they’re going to love you. 

I can’t wait to meet them. 

Feyre paused, wondering again about his home. She’d seen the maps of the Night Court when she was in Spring, remembered the separateness of it all and wondered what part of it Rhys lived in when he hadn’t been trapped here. She remembered the way he’d told her about the mountains of the ring she wore, glamoured here to be invisible. He’d said they were representative of his home. If he’d thrown wards up to hide it like he said, perhaps it wasn’t on any maps she’d seen.

Where do you live in the Night Court? 

Rhys paused a moment, not speaking immediately as he had been. She could feel a rush of nerves through his mind straight down through her chest, as though the emotions were her own. 

Will you let me show you?

Of course. 

She felt the gentle caress of him against her mind, pushing just past where they spoke, and she bit back a gasp as she felt their thoughts meld into one. Suddenly, she was soaring, the scene in front of her no longer the macabre visage of the throne room Under the Mountain, but the sprawling white-tipped mountains of a city far away. 

The stars shone like diamonds above them, the sky fading from a periwinkle at the horizon to the shades of deep navy, plum, and burgundy above. She felt the exhilaration as the wind whipped at her face, her eyes drawn down to the city of lights below, wrapped like a gift by the gentle, winding curve of a long and lovely river. She could smell the rich spices and cooking foods from the city below, hear the peals of laughter and feel the joy of the citizens. The air smelled like citrus and the salt of the sea–it smelled like Rhys. It smelled like home. 

The city was cradled on the other side by mountains of the deepest red clay, the lights twinkling from it as though a dwelling had been carved directly into the face of it. As she drew closer, she could see that’s exactly what it was: a home carved into the smooth face of the mountain, and she was nearly to the balcony of it. 

She dropped in the sky, circling around as the people below came into view. A beautiful female with flowing blonde hair, smiling and waving excitedly. A petite female next to her with a black bob and goblet full of dark liquid, looking imperious except for the relieved glint in her eyes as she looked up. Finally, she saw two winged males, exiting the massive double doors and shoving at each other while they laughed. Her heart leapt into her throat to behold them all there, all smiling up at her. 

A word flashed through her mind that wasn’t her own, a sigh on the breeze. 

Home . 

She blinked and she was back in the throne room, her eyes feeling strangely misty as she drew in breath. 

That is your home? It looked like nothing she’d seen on the maps or books of Night. 

That is Velaris, the City of Starlight. Mine and my family’s home. 

It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. 

You won’t find it on any maps , he said as though reading her mind. Centuries of High Lords have kept it guarded from the world, and I have kept that tradition up. I sacrificed myself here to make sure Amarantha never found out.

Thank you for sharing it with me, Rhys. 

I can’t wait to share it with you in more than just memory. Feyre felt her heart clench again at the longing and determination in his voice. 

Home. 

More than anything, she hoped that he was right. 

+++

When they arrived at court the following night, something was different. The tables were not set out for dinner, and Amarantha already sat on her throne, the crowd full and flush with high court and low court fae alike. Strangely, Tamlin was nowhere to be found, the seat beside her vacant. Feyre steeled herself, ready for whatever horrors might be coming–a change in routine here typically meant something gruesome. 

But instead, the crowds were focused on Rhys. She schooled her face, looking ahead as they parted. 

“Rhysand,” Amarantha’s voice rang out above the near-silent crowd of fae. “Come here.” 

Stay close to me.

He put a guiding hand on her arm, securing it more roughly when he remembered people were watching, then walked them towards the throne. As the crowd parted, they saw a male, a high fae, sobbing on the floor. His beautiful, dark skin was shining with sweat and tears, and even with the walls high in her mind, Feyre could feel the anguish washing off him. 

Amarantha did not deign to look at Feyre or Rhys as they approached, her predator’s smile locked in on the male on the floor. 

Remain at the edge of the crowd. If something goes wrong, find Lucien. 

Feyre did as he said, reluctant to leave him alone, her heart thundering in her chest. 

Amarantha finally turned her eyes to Rhys as he stopped at the foot of the dais, sketching a low bow. 

“My queen.” 

“Rhysand. The Summer fae,” she said of the male cowering at her feet, “tried to escape through the exit to the Spring Court lands. I want to know why.” Feyre knew Amarantha would be using Rhys to break into this male’s mind, cracking him piece by piece until he gave the information she wanted. She felt a crush of guilt in her chest. Was it because she could easily do the same? She had that same power beating through her body right this moment, and yet, the entirety of the burden fell on Rhys. 

Rhys slid his hands into his pockets and sauntered closer to the male on the ground. The Summer faerie cringed, his face shining with tears and the sobs choking out of him in croaking breaths. Feyre wondered how much information Amarantha had gotten on her own before they had arrived. The fae turned his eyes down, and Feyre looked away as he wet himself while Rhys grew closer. 

Gods, but they feared him.  

She was glad Rhys was turned away from her while he approached the male. She knew she wouldn’t be able to see the feral smile on his face matched with the pain she was certain she’d find in his eyes. 

“P-p- please ,” the male gasped out. 

Feyre could hear the silence around her, the air so quiet that it felt thick. She took the opportunity to scan the crowd, finding Lucien across from her, a short sprint away if things went awry. Halfway between the two of them stood a lovely young fae male, the same dark skin as the one kneeling on the floor. However, this fae had hair the soft white of the sand on the beaches her father had visited and told her about when he'd brought her home that shell. It seemed centuries ago, an entirely separate lifetime. 

She recognized this male though, from the books in Spring. It was Tarquin, the High Lord of Summer. That's why he looked so young–he'd been instated when his court had rebelled. Rhys stopped short in front of the fae, tilting his head to the side as he looked down into the broken male’s eyes.  She could tell Rhys was inside of his mind when he fell silent, his shaking ceasing as he slumped to the ground. 

Tarquin stood as still as stone, and his face was contorted with the true pain of seeing someone die from what was likely his own machinations. He was young, new in this position. Feyre wondered if he'd ever had to make choices that cost him lives before. He looked sick to his stomach. 

Rhys spoke and Feyre nearly jumped; she'd been so lost in her own thoughts. 

“He wanted to escape. To get to the Spring Court, cross the wall, and flee south into human territory. He had no accomplices, no motive beyond his own pathetic cowardice.” 

A lie. 

Feyre knew it, though Rhys’s voice remained steady and nonchalant. She could see Tarquin’s whole body deflate, as though sighing in relief. And Feyre knew what Rhys had risked, what he’d lied for. 

Amarantha simply huffed as she slumped back in her throne, resting her head back against the backrest. 

“ Fine. Shatter him, Rhysand. Then Tarquin can take the body.” The High Lord of the Summer Court bowed as if he’d been given a gift. The unnamed male from Summer had gone entirely still on the floor–Feyre was shocked to find him looking relieved . Rhys took his right hand from his pocket, letting it hang limply at his side, the only movement a slight curling of his fingers.

“Hurry it along, Rhysand. I grow bored.” Feyre felt guilty at the relief that Amarantha’s attention was not on her. 

Feyre watched closely as darkness, the full force of night, seemed to wrap itself around Rhysand’s shoulders as his fingers curled into a fist. The male on the floor went boneless, his entire body crumbling down into the puddle beneath him, blood pooling from his ears and eyes. 

Rhys had killed him. 

“I said shatter his mind, not his brain,” Amarantha snapped. She was visibly irritated, her dark red brows furrowed in agitation. The crowd murmured and rustled around Feyre, but her attention was on Rhys, still holding himself as though it were just any other day. He shrugged, putting his hand back in his pocket and looking up at the throne. 

“Apologies, my queen.” He was already walking away, back to that chair in the far corner of the room. Feyre hustled to catch up to him, falling in step right behind him so as to not raise suspicion. The crowd parted for them as though they were on fire, the berth so wide it would have been comical in any other situation. Rhys didn’t acknowledge her, didn’t acknowledge anyone around them, just walked with his shoulders still loose as though he had all the time in the world. 

That killing had been a mercy, and whatever he had seen in the male’s mind, Rhys had lied. Lied to save others, lied to spare Tarquin. The High Lord of Summer had known it, and so had the male about to die. It was why he’d looked so relieved, so ready. Rhys had spared them all, taken pity on all their lives and shown mercy. And yet, everyone here tonight would view him through the lens of the monster he’d made himself out to be. 

Rhys didn’t stop until he reached the table full of food and wine, servants now milling about and refilling it each time something was taken. This was clearly in lieu of the dinner they’d forsaken for Amarantha’s entertainment tonight. Rhys grabbed a goblet from a serving boy and drained it in one gulp, grabbing two more and handing one to her. 

They moved to his seat, her choosing to sit on his lap instead of the floor tonight. She ached to take his hand, to comfort him in some way, but the physical proximity would have to do. For the first time, she took a sip of the faerie wine, the taste sharp and somehow still sweet on her tongue. Perhaps it would help a bit to forget. 

The night went on in a blur of movement and drinking, Feyre sticking to only one cup and still feeling nearly out of her mind while Rhys threw back goblet after goblet, drinking himself into oblivion. They didn’t speak, not even mind to mind, and Feyre didn’t push, choosing to respect his space and be there for him when he was ready. But she hadn’t anticipated how lonely it would feel without his presence in her mind. His soft voice and low, rumbling laugh while they discussed any and everything had become so commonplace during their nights here, she felt empty without it. Her chest felt hollow and she wondered if she’d ever felt so alone, even though she was warming his lap beneath her. 

By the time it was acceptable to leave, Rhys was hardly able to function. He missed the winnow three times, dumping them into multiple hallways before finally landing in the room. As soon as they did, he waved his hand to lock the door and set up the sound shield, slumping back onto the bed and falling to his back. He was a sight, and Feyre decided to return the favor of running a hot bath for him, assuming he didn’t pass out before she’d returned. Once she’d lit the candles and filled the tub to the brim with steaming water, she returned to get Rhys. 

At first, she wondered if he had fallen asleep, his hands pressed over his eyes as though blocking out the low light. But then she saw the glint of the tears on his face.

He had been crying. 

She approached the bed, gently touching her hand to his as he pulled back, his bloodshot, wild eyes meeting hers as though he was surprised to see her there.

“Come on, to the bath.” She pulled him up, her hand grasped in his as she led him to the washroom. She untucked his shirt, pulling it from his waistband and undoing the buttons, then easing it off his shoulders. She unbuttoned his trousers, bending down as she removed those, too, then pulling his socks from his feet one by one until he was left in front of her in only his undershorts. She removed those too, his body shuddering beneath her fingers as they brushed his skin. 

“In you go.” Her voice was gentle, and he stepped into the steaming waters. 

“Don’t leave.” His voice sounded stronger than Feyre had anticipated, but that edge of need in it stopped her short right before the door. 

“You want me to stay with you?” He nodded. “Out here or with you?”

“With me. Please.” Feyre didn’t say any more, simply stripped off the scraps of fabric and belt and stepped into the bath with him, settling across from him in the tub and meeting his eyes across the water as the paint bled off her skin and into the steaming bath. The pain on his face nearly debilitated her, knocking the wind from her lungs and filling her with such a powerful sense of hurt and guilt and shame and rage that she gasped for air. 

“You saved Tarquin tonight, didn’t you?” Rhys’s eyes locked on hers as he nodded again. “It was a bigger plot?”

“Yes.” 

“You chose to save that male a life of suffering. You took his pain, didn’t you?”

“But I still killed him.” 

“You showed him mercy.”

“I am a monster.” She swam across the tub and found his arms open and waiting for her. He pulled her into his lap, turning her and resting his chin on her bare shoulder. She could feel the rasping exhale and ragged inhale of his breath on her. 

“You are no monster, Rhysand.” 

“You don’t know me, Feyre.”

“I do, though. I do know you.” She turned, tipping her head back to look into his eyes, pressing her lips to his. He was still for a moment, her lips eclipsing his before he relented, moving against her as though resisting the temptation were entirely beyond the realm of possibility. 

I do know you, Rhys. A monster would not have shown mercy.

He gasped against her lips at her voice in his mind. 

I do not deserve you, Feyre. But I will selfishly keep you as long as you let me. 

Forever, then. She could hear him sigh in her mind, his body going slack finally, the tension starting to melt off of him. 

Forever. 

+++

Feyre could tell it annoyed the guards that she was able to complete her tasks each day, and always early. They were too stupid to tell she was using magic, and Feyre was being far too careful to get caught. Even when she reached the point where she could have done the chores with a snap of her fingers, she paced herself, whittling the time away until it seemed more realistic. 

Each day, they came up with something more stupid and tedious, and each day Feyre thought through a way she might make it easier to complete. Between time speaking mind to mind in court and time spent in their room together, Feyre had been able to train more with her magic since arriving. She’d had a good enough handle on the powers before coming Under the Mountain to impress Rhys, but to be fair, he always acted awed at anything she did. It was a lot easier to practice with someone else than just alone in her tub, though, and getting to flex her powers a bit every day was certainly helping to strengthen them. 

Today, the guards led her deep into the mountain down dark hallways that reminded her of her first day there. The walls were more roughly hewn here, the air damp and heavy. Every room held a heavy iron door similar to the ones in the dungeons, but they were much closer together than the room she stayed in with Rhysand. She wondered what designated where people would stay here, how the mountain itself could possibly hold all the people currently living there. 

An abrupt turn led them into a massive, dark bedroom. It looked unused, an unassuming layer of dust across all the surfaces. As Feyre’s eyes adjusted, she could see there were no real items of personality to be found, simply some old stacked boxes, and a sword with so much dust on the pommel that a spider had strung its web between it and the wall. 

“Today you’ll be cleaning the fireplace. A servant spilled lentils in the ash.” Feyre wondered what a servant had been doing in here since it didn’t look particularly clean, but she kept her mouth shut. She wasn’t too ignorant to tell that the guards and Amarantha used these daily tasks to screw with her–she was certain they’d just tossed a bag of lentils in this morning. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. 

“Clean it up before the occupant returns, or he’ll peel off your skin in strips.” That got her attention. 

“Someone lives here?” The guards sneered at her and laughed, slamming the heavy iron door behind them as they left. Feyre rushed to it and bolted the lock as soon as they did. 

Peeling off skin in strips?? Whose room was this?

She wondered if she should try to call out for Rhys, but she wasn’t sure how far the connection stretched. Certainly by now everyone knew he was using her as his property. Surely they’d know he would be irritated at least if someone touched her instead? Rhys wasn’t exactly portraying himself as someone who liked to share. 

The thought reassured her, but she still scoped out the situation in the hearth so she could start getting to business. There were so many lentils in the dark fireplace that the little rounded dots blurred together before her eyes. There was hardly any light to see by, either, which made picking them out more difficult. She sighed, calling on her magic to find it…lethargic. A wash of panic came over her then. 

Oh no.  

She pulled again, calling from that now-familiar well inside of her. 

Nothing. 

A tiny, distant hum of nothing. Not even enough to conjure fire in her hand to light more candles. 

This was not good. 

Feyre pushed the panic down, reached into the fireplace, and began digging. 

Two hours later and her eyes were burning and aching, the joints in her hands feeling tender and swollen from the meticulous picking through the ash. Every time she thought she’d reached the end, there were always more she found–a never ending task that was exhausting her, her stress so palpable that she’d begun shaking and never stopped. 

With no magic, she couldn’t call Rhys. With no magic, she couldn’t finish this task or defend herself. No wonder Calla always looked so exhausted. 

The guards hadn’t specified how long she’d have to complete the task, and she was terrified that the owner would be back any moment. Who could it possibly be? One of the High Lords, perhaps? They’d all looked so stern and unforgiving in court. If anything, though, she knew the one from Autumn was the most bloodthirsty. She sent up a little prayer to the Mother that it wouldn’t be him. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the turning of the lock, Feyre whipping around and grabbing the wrought iron fire poker to defend herself. 

Surely none would dare hurt her , she reassured herself. She was in the deal with Amarantha. But her thoughts stuttered there. Was she, actually? Calla was. But to the court member’s knowledge, Feyre was nothing more than a slut for the High Lord of Night. Would they think she would perform for them, too? 

A racing darkness entered the room, the candles blowing out as though a strong gale had blown through. The door never opened, despite the clicking of the lock, and Feyre’s breath caught in her throat as she gripped the fire poker tightly in her hand. She would not go down without a fight. 

The darkness settled on the bed, nearly glittering in what was left of the low light, and Feyre’s shoulders slumped as a familiar, grinning figure materialized on the bed like some trickster of lore. 

“Rhys,” she breathed. “Thank the gods.” She was so relieved to see him she was nearly lightheaded with it. 

“As wonderful as it is to see you, Feyre, darling,” Rhysand said, sprawled on the bed, his head propped up by a hand, “do I want to know why you’re digging through my old fireplace?” He seemed to be in a much lighter mood today, and Feyre was relieved to see it.

“They said I had to clean out lentils from the ashes, or you’d rip off my skin.” 

“Did they now?” A feline smile crossed his face, a perfect brow lifting, and Feyre couldn’t help the heat that settled in her stomach. In another world, she wondered how this cat and mouse game might go. She wondered if Rhys might have still chased her without having met her outside of all this. Would she have let him having only seen him as a villain? She shuddered at the thought, but the reaction was not born of fear. 

“Do I have you to thank for this idea?” She cocked her head playfully at him.

“Oh, no,” he drawled. “This is my old room. I almost never use it any more. I came in today simply because I was told to vacate the rest of my items for a new tenant. I'd moved to the other one higher in the mountains years ago. I use this one only for storage purposes. I'm truly surprised no one else has moved in before now.” This room was bigger than the one they shared, but farther from the court. She didn’t know where Amarantha’s quarters were, and she didn’t want to know if the implications were what she thought they were. 

 “Is this clean enough for you?” She gestured back to the fireplace teasingly. He took in the pile of lentils and her dirty appearance.

“Why were there lentils in my fireplace to begin with?” 

She gave him a flat look. “To toy with me, I’m certain.” 

“Hm,” he said, sitting up on the bed.

“What's her goal here? She knows you and I are together every night, why put me here?”

“Likely more torture for Lucien. She asked if I was enjoying this the other night. I might have implied I had a few more sick plans for you, to which she seemed delighted. Perhaps she’s just giving me the opportunity.” 

Feyre immediately went on edge. “Or setting a trap for you.” 

Rhys suddenly cast out his power, sitting all the way up on the edge of the bed, the darkness snaking around the room as though searching for something. He furrowed his brow as it wrapped around the room, skirting over the walls and then pulling back into him. 

“No magic is spying on us here; nothing is listening or tracking as far as I can tell.” He cast what Feyre now recognized as a sound shield anyway. 

“I couldn’t use my magic here.”

“I cast a damper when I lived here,” he grinned. “Only I can use magic in this room. Now, are you going to put down that poker, or can I expect you to start swinging soon?” Feyre had forgotten entirely about the fire poker, laughing lightly as she leaned it against the wall. Rhys stood from the bed, walking slowly towards her. 

“So vicious, my Feyre.” His voice was low and predatory, the tone of it entirely changed. Feyre’s stomach fluttered, her heart racing as he closed the space between them. 

“A valiant effort, but useless,” he said. Why did the words turn her on so much? 

“How is it that you have such power still and the others don’t? I thought she robbed all of you of your abilities.” 

He lifted a groomed, dark brow, now only inches away from her. “Oh, she took my powers. This…” A caress of talons against my mind. Feyre sighed into it, back meeting the stone of the fireplace behind her. “This is just the remnant. The scraps I get to play with. Tamlin has brute strength and shape-shifting; my arsenal is a far deadlier assortment. And stronger ” He wasn’t bluffing– he was by far the strongest High Lord, and that did something else to Feyre’s fluttering heart. 

She swallowed, trying to continue talking. “So you can’t shape-shift?”

He stepped closer, his face nearly touching hers as his fingers caressed her jaw and she closed her eyes. 

“So many questions from my little human.” But just as she felt his lips graze hers, just as she was about to give him and press against him, she heard a crack like the snapping of leather or a whip. 

Her eyes shot open in awe, the most unbelievably beautiful set of wings now present on Rhysand’s back, a smile of male pride across his face. These were the wings of his brothers, the wings of the Illyrian aerial forces. They caught the low light, illuminating red through the veins and scars of the membranes that looked velvet soft. 

“Beautiful,” she whispered before she could stop herself, and his expression softened into something different. She reached out to touch one, and he let her, though he shuddered as she pressed her fingers gently down the flesh of it. His eyes closed, his breath inhaling between them. 

“Feyre,” he whispered it like a prayer, his eyes opened but hooded, now shining with something that looked a lot more like lust than anything else. Every nerve ending in Feyre’s body was firing, the intensity of it all lighting her up like the solstice. 

“Well, Feyre, are you going to finish the task, or not?” His voice was rough, hoarse with need. She nodded absently, catching on to his game as his voice sent shivers down her spine. 

“Yes, High Lord,” she said coyly, turning just as she saw his eyes gutter shut again with the words. 

She turned back to the fireplace, jutting her hips back as she did, bending low to the ground again and making a show of it as she knelt. Rhys didn’t say anything, but his sharp exhale made her smile as she ducked back into the hearth. 

She didn’t even hear him move before she felt his warm hands on her back, the teasing touch as his fingers brushed over the thin fabric and up and down her spine. She arched into the movement, swaying her hips and grinning again as he bit back what sounded like a curse. She busied herself with shuffling absently through the ash, though she felt nearly certain there weren’t many more lentils to be found. Rhys’s fingers found purchase beneath her tunic, pushing it up and wandering around the skin of her back and hips while she sighed. When those fingertips met her waistband and tucked into the sides, she wiggled her way out of them as he tugged. She could feel the cold air against the wetness forming between her thighs, the position she was in preventing her from rubbing them together for any form of needed friction. 

“Eager, Feyre?” The low timbre of his voice shot straight down her spine, her heart pounding in her chest as she practically vibrated from the absence of his touch. 

Yes . She jutted her hips out further. She had waited so patiently for him to touch her, to want this intimacy outside of whatever strange Calanmai magic or dreams they had shared before. 

She felt him pause. Had she said the thought aloud? 

Tell me you want this. 

I want this. 

Thank the Gods. And his hands were on her. She felt everything as he gently slid a knuckle up and down her slit, gasping for breath as the touch shot zaps of lightning through her veins. She whined as he pulled away. Just how I remembered. 

She turned in time to see him pulling a finger from his mouth, the movement nearly causing her body to buckle and collapse. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be working on something, love?” His voice was nearly a purr in Feyre’s ear, and she whipped her head forward, the remaining lentils in the fireplace taunting her even with her bared lower body exposed to the open air. Rhys didn’t waste time, his fingers back to exploring the second she had turned to the ashes. Feyre absently reached her fingers out, running halfheartedly through the cinder as Rhys ran his broad fingers through the wetness between her legs. She barely caught a breath before he was bent over her back, the solid, warm weight of him barely pressing into her. 

He dipped his fingers in right at her opening, then returned them upwards, her body banking as his fingers circled her clitoris. Feyre was so wet that his fingers easily glided in circles around her, her body already shaking with the sensation of it, her breath coming in short gasps. 

She was so close already, so tortuously close and the magic in her chest began to swirl violently, as though he’d lifted the damper on the room. She could feel everything , the lust, the desire, the pure, unadulterated want suddenly crashing through her and it was impossible to breathe. 

More. 

And Rhys didn’t hesitate, plunging his fingers into her, letting his thumb take over their previous job rubbing tight, quick circles around her as she fell apart. Feyre whimpered and ground back against him, entirely lost to herself and the whims of his fingers. She didn’t even attempt to control herself, letting the sensations guide her. Rhys bent just slightly more, his lips finding her neck and placing kisses on it as she writhed beneath him, the lentils and the fireplace and the task forgotten as he pushed his own hips against her. When he bit down with his sharp teeth on her earlobe, pressing his fingers firm and deep, she was lost. 

Feyre’s whole body quaked with the force of the orgasm he’d pulled from her, his free arm winding beneath her stomach and holding her steady as she came and came and came. It seemed to last forever, the sensation of his fingers slowing and caressing gently as she came down from it all, her body shaking and pulsing and her magic humming like a renewed beast between her ribs. 

They breathed together for a few moments, allowing Feyre to come back to herself and lightly whimpering as he removed himself from her body. He cleaned her gently, lovingly, and when she raised to her feet, he pulled her in to press the softest kiss against her lips. His lovely wings had disappeared, pulled back into his back as though they’d never been there at all.

“But you didn’t get to–” He shook his head, smiled and gripped her hands.

“We will have time. This was perfect.” Feyre chose to believe him, though the need to put her hands on him was becoming overwhelming. He looked down, seeing the soot that covered her hands and arms and his tunic now, as well, snapping his fingers to vanish it all away. The hearth was now cleaned, too, the lentils neatly piled in the provided bucket and the ashes pushed back into the fireplace as though she had done it all alone. 

As if summoned, the door roughly swung open, the guards on the other side stomping in then slamming to a stop once they realized Rhys was present. The panic in their eyes made Feyre smile. 

“She accomplished her task.” They grabbed for Feyre, but Rhys bared his teeth at them, a snarl ripping from him that sent heat flying through Feyre’s entire body. “She'll be staying with me for now.” 

Then, their eyes went vacant, as though they were no longer seeing, their bodies swaying slightly in place. “No more stupid tasks. One task, every three days. Otherwise, I will be taking over her chore assignments. Tell the others, too. Stay out of her cell, and don’t touch her. If you do, you’re to take your own daggers and gut yourselves. This applies to the other prisoner, too. The human. Understood?” 

The guards nodded in synchronicity, their glazed eyes staring out at nothing while Feyre smiled smugly at them. She was glad Rhys had included Calla, too. There was no denying the guilt she felt that Feyre was here, able to train and use magic and eat nourishing meals at a table while Calla all but rotted below. Even with the additional food and blankets and healing and protections, there was no denying the discrepancy in their stations here. It ate at Feyre, but knowing Calla would get a break too, especially as they neared the first task, set her mind at ease. 

As the guards left, the door slamming and bolting by itself behind them, Feyre let her shoulders drop, feeling safe as Rhys pulled her into his arms and winnowed them back to their room. 

+++

The next morning, Rhys woke Feyre gently, his nose nudging into her neck as she sighed. 

She closed her eyes, knowing that they’d soon have to get out of bed and eat and begin the day, but she wanted to savor the few moments in between. They were the moments she could pretend they were elsewhere, one of those lovely, large beds from their shared dreams in a place far away from here. 

Slowly, the two became aware of a rush of sound from the passage that led alongside their room, the voices and footsteps echoing off the walls as though many were passing through it quickly. Feyre turned in Rhys’s arms, looking into his eyes with renewed anxiety. 

The first task.

They shot out of the bed, dressing and throwing the necessary glamours over Feyre. 

“No matter what she faces, Feyre, you must let her. We cannot interfere.” Feyre blanched at his words. She knew he was right, but who knew what was waiting for Calla in the throne room? Could Feyre let her face it alone? Leave her to die? She would have to. 

Rhys put his hands softly on her face, pressing a fierce kiss to her brow. “Promise me, Feyre.” 

“Okay.” She nearly choked on the word. 

He flung open the door, Feyre letting him pull her along the hallways that were now nearly vacant of people. They must have been some of the last to arrive, the news spreading fast in the cave systems throughout this horrid nightmare court. They were not, however, going to the throne room. At the final moment, they cut left, equally massive doors opening into some sort of rock-hewn amphitheater. As they neared the doors to the arena, Feyre could hear the cacophony of sound ramping up to violent levels, hoots and hollers and shrieks that sounded like a crowd about to rip someone apart–thirsty for blood. 

They descended the endless stairs, the crowds jeering and shouting around them, but not focused on them. The attention was all aimed down at the bowl of the arena, a large platform built out to the sides and high fae surrounding it on the sloping walls of the audience. Rhys tugged her along behind him, the crowds dispersing row by row as they continued down, down, down. Amarantha sat on the platform in a new throne, the smaller one beside her holding Tamlin, vacant-eyed and more exhausted than Feyre had ever seen him. For the first time since that first day, it was pity she felt for him instead of resentment. He looked broken, that mask of indifference cracking a million different ways. 

As they approached the platform, Feyre could see five other high fae lined out around the thrones; Tarquin was one she recognized. Rhys took his place in line, her instinct to fall at his feet now second nature in these situations. She kneeled on the floor in front of him, taking in the rest of the motion around her. Even on the busiest nights at court, she hadn’t seen this many fae. Down in front of the platform, at the very center of this arena, was some sort of strange maze, walls of mud and clay seeming to defy gravity and draw upwards. Would they make Calla run this maze?

It wasn’t long before Calla was dragged in by the attor, her body thrown to the muddy ground in front of the platform. She and Feyre made eye contact for a moment, then she looked at Tamlin. Feyre was positioned behind the thrones, so she couldn’t see Tamlin or Amarantha’s faces anymore, but the crowd quieted as their queen began to speak. 

“Well, Calla, it’s time.” Feyre could almost hear the taunting smile on her face. “The first task has arrived. Let’s see how deep that human love and loyalty runs. This task seems fitting for you. I hear you’re a huntress.” 

Calla looked like she wanted to smile, but bit it back at the last moment. She would need that grit, that spirit for what remained. 

“Go ahead, look.” Amarantha goaded, as Calla rose from her knees to lean over the edge and look down. 

What is it?

Rhys didn’t answer, and Feyre didn’t dare turn to look at him. Calla didn’t see the attor coming, and Feyre’s warning scream died in her throat as Calla fell deep into the muddy trenches. In the chaos  and jeering and cheering from the crowd that followed, Feyre got to her feet, joining the people in crowding the edges to peer down into the muddy pit of dug out walls. 

Muddy walls, dark, carved caves. 

The stench was overwhelming. Feces and mud and stagnant water and death. Below, Calla struggled to keep her balance, the mud already swallowing up her legs to the shin as she strived to stay upright. 

“Hunt this,” Amarantha called out from the platform as a great rumbling began beneath their feet. Calla looked back up at Tamlin, and though Feyre couldn’t see his face, she wondered what was happening in his own mind as he beheld what were potentially Calla’s last moments. 

Feyre beheld in the distant trenches what looked like pieces of wood sticking out from the mud as the rumbling grew loud enough to vibrate their feet. 

Not wood. Bones. Mud and trenches and bones, and a body large enough to cause the whole mountain to shudder. 

The crowd moved to near silence, only whispers finding Feyre’s ears. 

She had read about this before, a lifetime ago, in one of Vincent’s books. 

Calla looked up to the platform one last time before the beast barreled out into the arena, Amarantha’s gleeful whisper filling the quiet air. 

“Run.” 

Then all hell broke loose. 

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@cauldronblssd @buttercupcookies-blog @witch-and-her-witcher @yeonalie

[jaebeomsbitch]

Victorian Wh*re (R.R)

Summary: Roman suggests maybe you can watch each other touch yourselves. Fem reader!

WARNINGS: SMUT MINORS DNI, mutual masturbation, swearing,

A/N: We're bringing back the dildo thing in the next fic! God I just know it would drive him crazy but also he'd feel so insanely bad about himself after. Anyway, hope you enjoy.

“You diddle yourself, I diddle myself come on it’ll be a fuckin’ disgusting fuck fest” Roman says. He’s always the one to initiate any intimate moments between you two because you knew how uncomfortable he was with it all. It’s like his body wants it, craves it but his mind immediately snaps him out of it when things get too far. You hadn’t gotten past phone sex which was even surprising to you. You didn’t know much about Roman’s sexual issues because he isn’t the most emotionally available person.

“Can you even…” you don’t finish the sentence. Your mind immediately travels to the image. The way his mouth hangs open, his hips twitching, that vein on his forehead popping out as he pants for breath. You can always admit that your…boyfriend? Whatever he was, was attractive. And although he has a vulgar personality you can’t help but look at the way his lips move or the way he perfectly quirks his mouth into a smirk. Meeting Roman made you realize you probably had odontophilia, your eyes always trained on his mouth. Something that Roman has picked up on but he’s yet to use as ammunition. Something about the way he has sharp canine teeth turns you on. Maybe it’s some sort of primal urge in you, like in caveman days he’d probably be really good at eating raw meat. 

“Oh fuck off! Yes I can jerk off, I jerk off so much I’m surprised I still have skin,” he says. You can’t help but laugh at his admission. 

“God you sound like a teenage boy,” you shake your head. His hazel eyes narrow at your little chuckle. 

“You want me to prove it to you?” He asks, eyebrow quirked, lips pressed into a slight grin. You look at him for a second.

“Oh you’re serious. Can- can you even get it up?” The words leave your mouth before you can think. As much as you always love your back and forth with Roman you never liked poking fun at his sexual trauma.

“Well…just— just try it with me and you’ll see,” he says, that grin a little wider but his eyes hold a certain vulnerability. 

You sigh, closing your eyes for a second as you press your head into the pillow. Are you really gonna do this? It’d be better than that time he tried to have sex with you and ended up dry humping your thigh for two seconds before just giving up and turning away. He didn’t let you comfort him either which only made it worse. 

A part of you was scared of crossing this line with Roman, you didn’t want to scare him off and create only more bad sexual experiences for him. But, you did feel pent up, would you mind if he just watched you if he couldn’t touch himself? 

“Ugh, fine,” you finally say, deciding to get out of your head. If he felt comfortable enough to do this with you then you’d let him. You didn’t want to deny him that part of himself, especially when you know how much he struggles with intimacy. 

“Throw me some pillows,” you say. Making a pile of them at the foot of the bed. You situate yourself so you’re half sitting half lying down. You have a clear view of him as you lay diagonal from him. He sits leaning against the headboard, you can see the way he gulps down his saliva. Was he expecting you to deny him?

“We can do this another time,” you say, giving him an out to say no. 

“What are you scared?” He taunts but his voice sounds a little broken. 

“I’m serious Rome, if you’re not ready you’re not ready,” you say, actually addressing the problem. 

“Oh fuck off, you got a fuck up vag or something? Oh god it’s fucked up isn’t it? Like a fucking acid explosion down there?” He says. 

You laugh, “on the contrary, all my partners have said I have a ‘pretty pussy’” you say laughing. It wasn’t true but you weren’t ashamed of your vulva, why should you be? Everyone’s look different. 

“Well I’ve gotten quite a few people thirsting over my cock. Said they wanted to make a mold of it or something. Oh those sick fucks probably would make a dildo and fuck themself with it,” he says. 

“Wait, why is that kind of a good idea?” You say. 

“What?” His attention snaps back to you. 

“Well if you can’t fuck me, then give me a replica of your cock. Then I’d at least know what it feels like,” you grin up at him. He’d probably love it, seeing you moan at the feeling of his rubber cock in you. 

“See, I knew you wanted to fuck me,” he says.

“Did I ever deny it?” You bite back. He looks at you for a second almost shocked before he snaps out of it. 

“Well it’ll happen one day,” he says a little sadly. 

“Hmm, one day,” you nod. 

“Okay it’s time to jerk off~” He sing songs, clapping his hands. 

“You want me to touch myself dry? You gotta give me some material to work with,” you grumble. 

“I mean just look at me,” he flexes his muscles. 

“Okay well you’re fully clothed and I don’t think you’re necessarily up for removing them,” you say. 

“You need me to expose an ankle or something. ‘Ooh I’m a baaad Victorian girl’” he says in a faux sexy voice, putting a finger on his lip and pretending to act coy, his leg stretched out dramatically to show off his right ankle.

“Oh yeah, that ankle has got me turned on beyond belief,” You laugh.

“No seriously, I’m gonna need to watch a video or something. I’m not exactly revved up right now,” you ignore the way he wiggles his ankle at you. 

“Okay fucking Toyota calm down,” he says. 

“Well-- maybe you start? It’ll give me some inspiration… hopefully,” you smirk. 

“Not a problem, I’m so fuckin’ hard right now. Ugh your ankle and knees are out? You whore,” his eyes run over the expanse of your legs. You can’t help but flex your feet in response. 

“Oh you’re hard at that? Well I can do so much better. Shit, I think if I flashed you, you’d fuckin cum in your pants,” you laugh.

“That’s a challenge I’m willing to bet on. I’d like to see you try,” he says, eyes half lidded. His hand sliding towards the bulge in his sleep pants. 

“Yeah?” You breathe. Oh this was getting real. He silently nods, the palm of his hand rubbing at the fabric. He tips his head back to lean against the headboard, his eyes trained on your body. They flicker towards different parts quickly like he’s unsure where to look. 

“Just fuck— take ‘em out,” he groans, his voice a little too desperate for his liking. 

“You’re a sick fucking pervert,” you say but the demand certainly sounds intriguing. He’s touching himself as you’re fully clothed, how would he react if he saw something… new? He shudders at your words but you don’t seem to realize it. Maybe it’s just because he hasn’t jerked off in a long time or something. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m a sick fuck,” he replies, trying to make it sound like a joke but there’s something there. A new tone you don’t recognize. It’s like you start to see Roman in a different light. Maybe you didn’t see him as a sexual person before but you’re definitely seeing it now, as his hips slowly tip to meet the palm of his hand. Shit why was this kind of hot? You’re definitely wet now, as you look at him, small whines in the back of his throat threatening to spill out. He keeps his mouth shut, embarrassed that he’s already worked up.

If he wants a show you’ll give him a fucking show, you bunch up your baggy sleep shirt. Your nipples perking at the cold air.

“Ooh fuck,” he moans, eyes trained on your chest. You decide to give him a show. If this was your only time doing this you had to make it memorable. Your hands slide up your ribs to cup your breasts, your thumb brushing over the taunt nipples.

“Ooh,” your breath hitches at the sensation, watching as his hand moves faster against his cock. 

“Put it in,” you moan, eyes trained on his hand. 

“What?” He chokes.

“Put your hand in there, you can’t just rub it all day. Touch yourself for real,” you say, eyes flicking up towards his. You notice the way his canines dig into his bottom lip. Fuck… your hand absentmindedly slides into your sleep shorts, your finger slowly circling your clit as you see him put his hand in his pajama pants. The fabric straining against his moving hand. 

Maybe it’s time to try out your new theory. “Fuck, you’re disgusting Roman. Look at you” you groan, finger pressing into yourself. His eyes flick towards yours, he can tell he’s turning you on. You wish you could mean it though, the words come out all breathy as you slide your middle finger in and out. You wish you could say any of your next words with conviction but your breath hitches when you see his mouth hung agape, his eyes closing for a second before looking at you hungrily. His gaze trained on the movement of your shorts. 

Fuck! There wasn’t enough space in them to reach your sweet spot so you quickly slide the fabric down your legs. You bend your knees to give him the perfect view of your finger sliding in and out in your cunt. 

“Oh fuck” He moans, eyes almost staring holes through your flesh. 

“God, you’d fucking love to watch me fuck myself with a dildo of your cock wouldn’t you? It the only way you’d ever fuck me. You’re a fucking sicko,” You whine the last part, your fingers relentlessly hitting the squishy part inside of you. Your other hand slithers around until it finds your clit, your fingers move quickly as you see Roman is close. 

He’s practically fucking his hand, his mouth hung open, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Ooh Fuck, yeah. I’d fuckin’ love it. W-want to see your face stretch around my… F-f-fuck!” He moans. 

His head slamming backwards into the headboard with a loud thud but he’s too caught up in this. Jerking off was something but this? This was so much different. The air crackles with your attraction for one another. You’d felt attracted to Roman in your weak moments sure but now, now you felt like you just opened a can of worms. Like crossing this line is going to make you crave more of him. 

“You’re close aren’t you? One look at me touching myself and you’re cumming in your pants like a fucking virgin,” You taunt, but your words have no real bite. It doesn't matter how harshly you say it, you want this. Want to see him ruin his expensive sleep pants, watch the way his eyes roll back and how his teeth will rip his lip open. 

“F-fuck M’close,” He slurs, his eyes half-closed but he keeps them open. He wants to keep this memory burned into his brain. He never wants to forget the sounds you make and the way your legs slightly shake as you circle your clit. 

“Shiiit me too. Let me see you cum,” You say, your voice higher pitched than normal as you try and stave off your release. Your eyes flutter, threatening to close shut but you force them open. You weren’t losing this experience. It’s almost like the aurora borealis but much more rare and a lot prettier. 

“Oh f-Uck,” He whines, his hips bucking wildly against his hand. Until you see them stutter, his canines digging into his bottom lip to try and keep himself quiet, his chest heaves, stomach twitching violently at the feeling of this new release. 

“Fuuuuuuck,” He groans, his cock twitching in his hand as the spurts of cum paint the inside of his boxers. The sticky mess seeping into the fabric of his pajama pants. He finally lets his cock go, taking his hand out from the waistband. You can see the glistening of his cum coating his hand as you work yourself faster. 

“Shi-it,” you shiver, the heat in your stomach building and building. It feels like you’re an old house caught on fire, your whole body sweating, your legs starting to tremble as you maintain eye contact with Roman. 

“Let me taste it,” You grunt, in between moans. 

“W-what?” Roman says confused. His mind is still on cloud nine as he licks away the drops of blood on his lip. 

“Roman I swear to fucking God I will fucking–” You can’t think of a decent insult, your mind turning to mush as you watch him carefully but enthusiastically crawl over to you. He smears his cum on your lips, his fingers prodding at the seam of your mouth until you relent. You eagerly lick at his hand, the fire builds more, the foundation of the house collapsing as you swirl your tongue around his fingers. 

“Ooh,” He shivers, his voice lower than normal as he moves his fingers in and out of your mouth. The cadence in his voice pushes you over the edge. Your entire body tenses up for a second before everything releases. You moan around his fingers, accidentally biting down on the flesh as your eyes roll backward. Roman watches you, you almost look possessed as you whine around his fingers, your body going completely limp. 

“C-can I?” You hear Roman ask but you aren’t really listening, not that you’d expect it anyway. Roman was one to take and never to ask. You languidly nod your head, the heat of Roman’s thighs pressing into the side of your leg is the only thing keeping you grounded.

That is until you feel him remove his hand from your mouth. His saliva coated fingers wrapping around your wrist as he uses your sticky fingers to dip into your cunt like a dunkaroo and scoop your cum, your eyes widen at the intrusion and boldness of it all. He brings your fingers to his mouth, the sharpness of his canines brushing the pads of your fingers as he cleans your fingers off.

“Oh f-fuck, Rome,” You moan, your eyes barely open watching him commit this obscene act. He knew about your weakness, he noticed the way you stared at him with that far away look when he bit into his thumb. 

Your thighs still twitch in the aftershocks of your intense moment. Your fingers are long clean but the tips of his teeth press into your fingers before he lets your wrist fall. He retreats back to his corner of the bed. You lower your shirt back down over your chest and slide on your underwear leaving your shorts lost somewhere in the sheets. You sigh as you lean your head back into the mound of pillows. 

“So was it as hideous as you thought? Worse than a mangled up ball of rotting flesh?” You joke with a twinkle in your eyes as you look at him.

“Oh definitely fucking worse, I had to stop myself from gagging it was so disgusting,” He says, a small smile on his lips and something different in his eyes. You can’t pinpoint it but something has changed. 

“You know, your ankle had me a lot more aroused than I was expecting,” You laugh. 

“Yeah? I got better ankles than a fucking marathon runner. I could put those victorian whores to shame… really fuck up their business,” He says sinking into the sheets. 

“Oh yeah? How much would you charge?” You ask, staring up at the ceiling. What the fuck was your life?

“I don’t know, like five grand at the minimum. I only want the rich fucks looking at my ankles especially if I’m gonna have to look at old men jerk off” He says, dramatically shuddering in disgust. 

“...I’ve got five grand, when's your next available appointment?” You ask looking back at him. His eyes meet yours. 

“Yeah?” He asks, seeming to speak without actually speaking about it, a big grin on his face. 

“I’m good for the money,��� You say, a small smile on your lips. You both lay there in silence, what you just did hanging in the air. Roman somehow feels lighter. Sure he’d still have difficult days, days where he can’t stand to look down at his body or days when you hold him while you sleep and he silently cries but he had this. He was capable of some sort of intimate relationship even if it was unconventional. 

You grab a pillow and crawl over to your side of the bed and lie down. 

“Roman?” You whisper, a little afraid of pissing him off especially after all this. 

“Hmm? Need another look at my ankles, this one’s gonna cost you double,” He says, lazily turning his head to look at you. 

“Only if you throw in a free elbow,” You smile, cuddling into your pillow. 

“That can be arranged, which one though?” He asks, placing his hands underneath his head as he mimics your position. 

Your eyes flick to his already exposed elbows, “Right, definitely the right.”

“Sure, I’ll throw it in only because you’ve been a loyal customer,” He says, hazel eyes searching through yours.

“I’ll continue to be loyal,” You try to reassure him. He doesn’t say anything, no smart quip, just an ever so slight nod as he closes his eyes. You can't help but stare at his face, at the slight stubble, the freckles painted onto the bridge of his nose.

“Stop staring or I’m gonna have to charge you by the second,” He says, his eyes still closed. 

“That’s okay, my boyfriend is a billionaire,” You whisper, scooting closer to him. 

“Boyfriend?” He whispers like the word is foreign. Your fingertips brush his hair out of his face. Everything was okay, you were both okay. He was your Victorian whore and you were all too willing to pay his hefty price. 

[tightjeansjavi]

Burning in a Hopeless Dream

Boston QZ : Part 9 ‘Rescue’

A/N: this was an extremely difficult chapter to write. So much happens and I want you to all please take care of yourself after reading. If it becomes too much, if you feel like you need to step away, please do not hesitate. Your mental health comes first. ♡

Summary: You and Joel find a middle ground after his PTSD episode from the night before. It’s Spring now, and you’re finally ready to get in on the action. Joel and Tess have trained you well. Uprisings of violence have left the three of you no choice but to leave the QZ. You plan to meet with another group at an abandon bookstore to plan your escape. Upon your arrival, you realize that someone has set you up. 6 against 3. What a slim chance of survival.

~word count : 8.7k~

Warnings: age gap (m/c is 28) graphic, detailed descriptions of violence. Shoot out. Guns/knives, knife wounds, graphic descriptions of blood. Agony, unrequited love, pining, angst, confession of feelings, trauma, feelings of guilt, child loss, swearing, anger, soft ! Joel, violent ! Joel, literally this is just one cluster fuck of emotions. This is not for sensitive viewers. (+18) MINORS DNI !

Songs for this chapter:

“Rescue” by Lauren Daigle

“Shrike” by Hozier

“Sign of the Times” By Harry Styles

“evermore” By Taylor Swift

“Particles” By Nothing But Thieves

“Lift me Up” By Rihanna

“Turning Page” By Sleeping At Last”

___________________

December 25th 2020 : Boston QZ

~Joel Miller’s POV~

Joel didn’t like to believe that he was born with a violent heart. Joel liked to believe that he was still a good person, deep down. Before the world had gone to shit, before the cordyceps, before the government murdered his baby girl in his arms, before all of that. Joel Miller was a gentle, protective and caring father. Becoming a father was Joel’s proudest moment. Being a good dad was tough, sure but Joel did everything for his baby girl. It was all for her.

Joel believed that his violent heart was a result in the world as he knew it, ending. When Sarah died, all he could think about was revenge and he meant it when he told you last night, in his fury, that he was a murderer, a cold blooded killer. That’s what he was. He went to bed with the knowledge of his past, and the consequences of his actions. He lived in it every single fucking day.

Last night should have gone differently. He thought to himself. It was early in the morning. He hadn’t gotten much sleep after he stormed off. He stared at the wall, recounting his dead daughter's screams, for hours. He recounted the fear in your eyes when he snapped at you. The way you flinched when he threw the glass at the wall. How you cowered away into the comfort of the couch, like a frightened animal. Despite his violent outburst, you still tried to comfort him, to bring him down. You were so fucking gentle with him. Even after he had let his rage out on you, your only goal was to get your Joel back. He couldn’t understand why you allowed yourself to stay so calm, to comfort him after he had treated you so poorly? After he had projected his years of pent up pain, agony and grief onto you, you still showed him kindness. Joel felt that he didn’t deserve that from you. He felt that he didn’t deserve you at all.

He swore he could still feel the caress of your palm against his face, the way your eyes frantically searched his, looking for anything you could find in his darkened pupils. He subconsciously found himself brushing his fingers against his beard then. You were too fucking good for him, too good for this fucked up world.

He had left his bedroom around 2 in the morning after he had calmed down, his footsteps were quiet as he padded down the hall to your curled up form on the couch. He wanted to make sure you got a decent night's sleep, it was the least he could do after what had happened. Joel had leaned down then, gently bringing his arms around you and lifted you up, bridal style from the couch, cradling you against his chest as he quietly carried you to your room. He watched you with soft eyes as you subconsciously turned your cheek against his chest, right against his heart. You looked so peaceful in your sleep. He quietly pushed your door open with his hip bringing you to your bed and gently set you down. He grabbed the quilt at the end of the bed and draped it across your small frame. Joel had leaned down, brushing a few strands of hair from your face and left a ghost of a kiss against your forehead, his eyes closing for a moment before he pulled away.

“I’m sorry, Gwen. I’m so sorry.” He whispered to himself as he looked down at you. A moment later, he had turned on his heel and willed himself to leave your room. He wanted to lay there with you, hold you close to his chest and apologize for his actions. You needed sleep, and he intended to give that to you. Joel for the first time, was actively putting your feelings above his own. He was trying to make that effort. It was the bare minimum but you deserved it. You deserved so much more than he felt that he could give you.

After he had left your room and returned to his own, and when he could no longer hear his daughter's screams ringing in his ears, Joel thought about you. His thoughts were constantly drifting to you and he wasn’t even trying to deny it anymore. What was there to deny? He had a soft spot for you. He wanted to be as close as he physically could be to you. He wanted to know everything about you. He was the flame from a lit match and you were the oxygen, keeping that flame alive. Last night was the first time you had ever truly opened up to him, and he fucking blew it. You had put your trust so deeply into him and he so easily lost sight of what truly mattered most. Last night Joel realized that you weren’t always so tough, so sure of yourself.

Last night, Joel saw a different side of you. The vulnerable, caring, and fragile side of you. You were a complex person, he realized. A complex person with deeply rooted emotions. You loved deep dish pizza and that stupid fucking Chicago Bean. You had a horse named Honey that was a Palomino, with the softest dappling, and you were the best of friends. Honey was violently murdered by raiders one winter, you were sixteen. You had the sweetest laugh that could make even the coldest man smile. You were a bubbly drunk, and ballsy wrapped up in one. You were affectionate towards those you cared about the most, and you cared so deeply for them. You held his face in your hands even when he turned violent and screamed and threw glasses at the wall and screamed some more.

These were just a handful of the things Joel recounted from last night. He could replay the entire sequence over and over in his head. All the way up to the moment where he snapped. The switch was flipped and he wished that you never had to see him that way. As he sat there in his solitude, he thought about how easy it would be for him to shut himself off from you again. To turn a cold shoulder, to make you feel as if you meant nothing to him. How easy it would be for him to push you so far away, so cruelly, you would never try to be close to him again. If Sarah was here, she’d be telling him off. “Why would you go and do that, dad?” He could hear her voice now. “Dad, I love you, but you’re an idiot. Don’t mess this up! She’s a good one. She makes you laugh, you smile the most when you’re around her.” He found himself turning his head to the side then, looking at the empty spot on the end of his bed and he imagined his little girl now. He found himself outstretching his hand and brushed it through the thin air, his face falling when he realized she was never really there, and he had just pictured her memory in his mind. He clutched the air in a tight fist before slowly bringing his hand down to rest along the rustled covers. He was trembling. “I’m not gonna let you down, baby girl. Okay? I–promise. I’ll fix this. I will. I–love you so much.” His tone was hushed and his voice had cracked towards the end.

He had sat there, staring at the empty space on his bed for what felt like hours before his senses returned. He knew then that he couldn’t push you away again. Things had gotten too personal. His walls had come tumbling down with yours in a deafening crescendo. Shutting you out permanently would in turn, tear him up inside. With his daughter’s words fresh on his mind, he knew that he had to fix this. Apologize, make it up to you somehow. If you needed space from him, he would give it to you. If you wanted to scream at him, cry in his arms, punch the wall, he would let you and in return, he would be there for you in any possible fucking way he could. However you would have him, he’d be there; indefinitely.

Joel had no plan of action whatsoever. He had no clue how you would react to him whenever you would wake up. It made him nervous. Nervous over the fact that the sheer chance that you wouldn’t ever forgive him was a real possibility. You were the most understanding individual that he had ever met but like himself, everyone including you, had their breaking point. It was inevitable to not have one and he hoped, prayed that you hadn’t hit yours.

He did what any normal, with a hint of insanity, person would do. He busied himself while you rested. He forced himself to leave his room, he checked his appearance in the cracked mirror in his bathroom, at least 100 times. Fixing his hair, splashing ice cold water in his face to calm his nerves. He was careful to be quiet despite how creaky the old floorboards were. The last thing he wanted to do was wake you. When he had come upon the shattered glass all along the floor against the back wall, he imagined the fear in your eyes again. The way you flinched and cowered away from him. He didn’t want you to wake up and be instantly reminded of his violence so he sank down to his knees, and started to pick the larger shards of glass up, carefully. He had cut his fingers a few times on some jagged pieces but he didn’t care. Minimal cuts held no power over him. The rest he picked up with an old newspaper page. When he deemed that the majority of the glass was picked up, he moved onto the next task.

He fluffed up the pillows on the couch as best he could. He then refolded the thick quilt he had draped around you hours ago, It faintly smelled of you. When he found the book you had been reading still on the floor, he bent down and picked it up. You had dog-eared the page you had left off on so he was easily able to flip to it. He skimmed over the words from the passage and it then dawned upon him, you had nearly been crying because of this damn book. This damn Heathcliff being a total jackass–who the hell talks to someone on their deathbed like that? He closed the page then and set it down on the coffee table. He moved into the kitchen then, grabbing the half bottle of whiskey and tucking it back into the cabinet. You could hold your liquor decently well, but he enjoyed seeing you get all flushed in the face, and fucking giggly. You were an adorable drunk. You looked so pretty with your lips wrapped around the rim of the glass– “focus Joel.” he said to himself. Now was not the time to allow his head to go to the gutter, no matter how easy it was to end up there. He put away the stray mugs and any other clutter found on the surface of the counter. When he was finished, he started the kettle so he could make you a cup of tea. He knew that could bring you a small bit of comfort at least.

He moved back to the couch and sank down. His curiosity surrounding the book you were reading got the best of him. He grabbed it from the coffee table and flipped back to the first page. He wasn’t a super big reader by any means, he had no reason to be. However, this was the only way he could pass the time till you would wake up. He quickly found himself immersed in the story of Catherine and Heathcliff, just like you had. Joel almost hadn’t heard the creaking of your door, or the soft sound of your footsteps padding down the hall but when he did, he shut the book quickly, tossing it on the coffee table as he sat up. Your footsteps were quiet, hesitant in a sense from how careful you were treading. His heart sank a little but he refused to lose all hope just yet.

When you had come into his view, the first thing he noticed was how exhausted you looked. He knew he was the cause of it. He took notice of how your arms were crossed over your chest. Most likely from the chill in the apartment but it made his heart sink further in his gut. What really did him in was how you averted your eyes completely from his. As if you were afraid that by just looking at him, you would set him off again. Joel knew then that how he acted last night, had severe consequences. He had emotionally damaged you.

He broke the tension then. “ ‘Mornin.” he rasped out, fiddling with his fingers as he waited for your response.

He was met with silence.

“I uh–I made you some tea. It’s on the stove, I can get it for ya if you’d like.”

He was already up from his spot on the couch then, quickly walking into the kitchen area and grabbed your favorite mug and one of the last tea bags from Frank. He poured the hot water in before steeping the tea bag. You hadn’t moved from your spot in the middle of the room. This worried him immensely.

He brought the mug over to you then, hesitantly. He stopped a few inches in front of you as he held it out to you, waiting for you to grab it.

You had slowly looked up at him then, reaching for the mug and clutched it to your chest, the warmth settled into you, but your blood still ran cold.

“Gwen–” He was cut off by you.

“Why are you doing this, Joel?” Your tone was barely above a whisper and your eyes were looking anywhere but at his.

“Gwen, what are you talking about? I just wanted to make you a cup of tea–”

“No, Joel. You know that’s not what I meant. Why do you care? Why are you suddenly being nice to me?”

He looked at you then, finding it hard to find his words in the moment so when he didn’t answer, you continued.

“I can’t–I can’t keep doing this Joel. If you’re gonna push me away, just fuckin do it. You don’t have to stand there and pretend like you care about me. I know I overstepped last night, and I'm sorry for what I did. Just save me the pain and just say whatever it is you're going to say. Rip the bandaid off, Joel. Go on, I can handle it.”

He took a deep breath then, running his fingers through his hair momentarily. He expected you to be upset with him, you had every right to be. What he didn’t expect was how you were going to deliver this painful blow to him and now his hope was beginning to dwindle.

“Gwen, I have no intentions of pushin you away like that.”

“Bullshit.” Your words stung. You were waiting for him to yell, to snap on you again but it never came.

Joel had reached out and gently grasped your shoulders in his warm, calloused hands. You had flinched from the sudden contact but didn’t move away from his touch.

“Gwen, I swear on my daughter’s grave that I ain’t gonna push you away. Doll, look at me, please?” He was nearly begging you now. “I’m so sorry for how I treated you last night. You didn’t know about Sarah. It wasn’t your fault and you didn’t deserve to deal with me like that.”

He watched as you slowly looked up at him, fresh tears threatening to spill over because you were just exhausted. Joel, and whatever it was that was going on between you, whether it be a friendship or something more, exhausted you to the bone. You knew deep down that Joel was more than a friend, Joel meant more to you than he would ever know.

“Then why did you leave me? I-I was there for you. I held you. I comforted you, and then you up and fucking left.” You pushed his hands off your shoulders then, taking a step back.

“Baby, please just let me–”

“No, Joel. Stop it. Please stop it! I’m begging you. I’m not your baby, Joel. I’m not your doll. I’m nothing to you. Please stop messing with my emotions. You’ve already taken so much from me and now? It feels like a slap to my fucking face.”

He watched as you backed away from him, creating a distance and he was afraid that this was you leaving him. You had enough and last night was your breaking point.

“Gwen, Please. Just listen to what I have to say. All of it, Okay? If you decide after that you don’t wanna trust me, that you don’t think I care about ya, then i’ll let you go, okay?” I left you last night because it was too fucking much for me to handle. I had screamed at you, thrown glasses at the wall, made you feel like a trapped fuckin animal and you still held me. It–it confused the fuck out of me. I know it sounds like some lousy excuse, but I didn’t know what else to do Gwen. I didn’t want to leave you there like that. Not after what I just put you through.” He took a small step towards you then, his eyes trained on yours, pleading with you to believe him.

“I didn’t fuckin sleep last night because I just felt so guilty and if I could take back what had happened, I would. In a fuckin heart beat, I would have.”

The realization dawned upon you that Joel had carried you to bed sometime last night. You were half awake, still buzzed but you remember his familiar scent, his warm chest, his steady heart beat. You faintly heard his voice, felt his lips against the skin on your forehead. “You carried me to bed. Didn’t you?”

“I did. When I found you curled up on the couch like that, it didn’t feel right to just leave you there. You looked so uncomfortable and it was the least I could do. I know it wasn’t much, but I wanted you to wake up in the comfort of your own bed after all that happened.”

He watched as you slowly turned your head to the side, it was obvious that you were dealing with your own inner conflict now just by your demeanor. When you finally composed your thoughts, you looked back at him once more.

“You did all that, because you care about me? Why?”

Joel thought it was obvious that he cared about you but when he really thought about it, he had thrown your emotions through the ringer on multiple occasions. He had battered you up more than he realized. So, of course you were going to question him. He hadn’t given you any reason to believe that he really did give a shit about you. Considering he kept his feelings about you to himself. He wasn’t good at expressing them, and now it was coming out all at once and he couldn’t stop it.

“Gwen, of course I care about you. I care about you too fuckin much for my own good. Remember how I acted when you had that fever? I was terrified that you weren’t gonna make it.”

“Yeah? Then you came back, took care of me and fuckin pushed me away again.”

He rubbed his fingers against his temples then as he inhaled through his nose.

“I know what I did Gwen, and I’m sorry. I thought at that moment I was ‘doin the right thing. You cared too, didn’t you? I heard it. I heard you throw your knife at the fuckin wall.”

You scoffed under your breath then. “You’re doing a real fucking terrible job at presenting a convincing case right now, Joel.”

He took a step towards you then. He watched as you took one back.

“Look me in the fuckin eyes and tell me that you didn’t care, Gwen. That night, before I met up with Tess at the rendezvous point, I told you that she and I were together. You cared, I know you did. You just did damn fuckin good job at hiding it from me.”

He watched as you narrowed your eyes at him, your hands were balled at your sides in tight fists and you were trembling.

“Tell me that you don’t give a shit about me, ‘darlin. Tell me.”

Another step forward from him and your back was nearly touching the wall.

“Don’t fucking do this to me Joel. Stop it please. You can walk away now. There’s still time for you to fucking walk away.”

“Why do you keep fuckin pushing me away?”

“Caring about you the way that I do, is only going to end up getting me fucking killed Joel. Sooner or later, this is going to catch up to us! We’re all gonna die eventually. It’s not worth it. It’s not worth it to feel, to devote yourself to someone, when the fucking world could take them away from you in a heart beat!” Your back was now pressed against the wall, Joel was everywhere, all at once.

His chest was now barely touching yours, his forehead was dipped down, resting against yours. His warm breath was lightly fanning your face.

“I’d kill a thousand fuckin men before I’d allow that to happen, Gwen.”

You physically had to create some distance between you. He was too close, too real, too everything. You placed your hand on his chest to push him away and create that distance, but he wouldn’t budge.

“No Joel. Stop it. You don’t mean that. I’m not worth it, I’m not and you have Tess—”

“You don’t think you’re fuckin worth it? You’re fuckin incredible. You’re the only good left in this fuckin world, Gwen! I’ve been fighting this for so fuckin long. Do you realize that? I imagine what my life would be like if we didn’t rescue you from those raiders. If you didn’t give me this fucking scar? He gestured to the small dent on his eyebrow, the end result of you throwing a knife at his face 3 years ago. My life wouldn’t fuckin matter Gwen. I wouldn’t care if I lived another day. There was nothing left for me to fuckin live for. Then you came along, you showed up and fuckin flipped my goddamn world upside down. I hate you for it, you know that? I hate you for it because I fucking care so much—if something were to happen to you? I’m putting it all out on the fuckin table, baby. I’ve got nothing left to fuckin lose. You’re right, we live in a fucked up world. Hell, we could die tomorrow for all we know. Y’know what I’m not gonna do? I’m not gonna hide. I ain’t gonna run. I’m right fuckin here and I will wait for as long as I have to, I will wait for you.”

The weight of Joel’s desperate confession, knocked the wind straight out of you. It felt like he was depleting all the air from your lungs. Your heart was pounding against your chest, your eyes were wide and the tears that threatened to spill over, finally came. He was cupping your face in his hands before you even had the chance to wipe them away yourself.

“Joel, I can’t fucking afford to lose you. I can’t.” Your words came out in a choked out sob.

“Shh. Shh, ‘darlin. I’m right here. I ain’t goin anywhere. You’re not gonna lose me alright? I’m right here. It’s gonna take a hell of a lot to take me out anyway. I’d give ‘em hell first.” He was speaking so gently to you now. His thumbs were vigorously wiping away your tears and you finally gave in, falling into his chest as you clutched his shirt between your fists like your life depended on it. You were exhausted from fighting how you felt about this man. Your walls were crumbling down around you, while Joel was right there to hold you together. When your knees finally gave out, he scooped you up into his arms so you didn’t have to stand anymore. He held you so fucking close to him in those moments and you let it all happen; you were done fighting.

________

For the rest of the afternoon, you and Joel sat together in comfortable silence. So much had happened, so much was said and yet, you were both content just being in each other's presence. Tess had made it home safely sometime in the middle of the night. She was too exhausted to even notice you and Joel passed out on the couch together. He had draped the thick quilt over both of you, you had your calves comfortably resting in his lap and his fingers had been rubbing soothing circles into your skin before he had drifted off, not letting you go. Even if on the off chance she had noticed, she was too exhausted to care.

_________________

For the rest of the brutal winter, Joel made it his mission to continue training you. You spent many hours out in the woods together. Practicing your shooting, combat skills, and everything in between. Tess had even accompanied you on a few occasions. She taught you the dirty ways to win a fight, especially against a man. This was the first time you felt that she was viewing you as her equal.You appreciated her knowledge more than she would ever realize, and you came to find out that Tess was pretty fucking funny when she wanted to be. Everything was falling into place the way he should be. By spring, you were ready and adequately prepared to get in on the action, finally.

Spring brought new beginnings. With these new beginnings, came new challenges. The Boston QZ was arresting, prosecuting, and executing residents on the daily. Anyone that was caught breaking a rule, attempting to escape, committing treason, or acts of violence, were publicly executed every morning. You weren’t just dumping the infected dead anymore, you were dumping familiar faces into the deep pits. Times were getting tough and with every body you dumped, another new resident would come through the gates. It would only be a matter of time before Joel would get thrown in lock up, or worse. He had a few FEDRA soldiers wrapped around his finger but how long was that really going to last? On-top of everything, there were more firefly attacks. With hushed whispers of a possible overthrowing of the fascist pieces of shit that swore to protect their residents, and were murdering them instead. The QZ was never safe to begin with but now, it was turning into an active war-zone. Joel had made the decision that the three of you needed to get the hell out of dodge.

There were a few other smugglers that had the same idea as you. Joel agreed that having a larger group would increase the chances of escaping. More bodies = more lookouts = higher chance of survival. At least, that’s how he explained it. You had agreed to meet with the rest of the group at the rendezvous point: the abandoned QZ bookstore. It had enough cover in case something were to go wrong, and you always had to expect the worst.

“ ‘Alright, sundown we head out. If things get sketchy, we run. No turning back.” Joel had said hours before the escape plan would ensue. As he was talking, he was looking right at you. He was always looking at you.

Evening came quickly and you found yourself packing the essentials from your room and taking one last look of what was your home for 3 years. It was bittersweet, but there was no time for emotions, you had to get out fast. Slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you took one look at your barren bed and closed the door behind you. Little did you know, this would not be your last time in the apartment.

Joel and Tess had been loading up their guns at the kitchen table when you had walked in, your gun and knife tucked securely in their holster. When Joel had sensed your presence, he looked up for a moment and gave you a reassuring nod. His eyes told you that everything was going to end up being okay, and you believed him.

The three of you headed out of the apartment and onto the streets, quietly. Joel in front, you in the middle and Tess behind you. The abandoned bookstore was only about a 10 minute walk. It was no stroll, however. You still needed to be on high alert. The three of you moved silently through the shadows of the alleyways, backing yourself into a tight corner when a FEDRA truck would drive by with foot soldiers.

You had made it to your destination without getting caught. Joel had quietly pushed open the door with his shoulder, his gun was drawn and he looked around the expanse of the building, his eyes searching for any moment and when he deemed it safe, he ushered you and Tess inside, closing the door behind them. The bookstore was nearly destroyed. There were bookcases knocked off, shattered glass, books strewn about. Like most of the buildings, nature had begun to take over once more. There was moss throughout and long winding vines stretching up towards the half collapsing roof. You had your gun drawn now but couldn’t help but walk through the wreckage, glancing at what books were left along a mostly untouched shelf.

Minutes had gone by and there was no sign of the rest of the group's arrival. Something was wrong. You could all sense it and Tess was the first to speak up.

“Joel, something doesn’t feel right. Something’s off. They should have been here already someone probably fuckin set us up.”

Joel had kicked at a piece of rotten wood on the floor then, muttering under his breath.

“We’ll give it another minute and if they don’t show up, we’ll book it, alright?”

Something was definitely very off.

Another minute had passed and no sign of the group’s arrival.

“Alright, Joel we gave it another minute and now—”

Tess was cut off by the sound of debris crunching under heavy padded boots and Joel was already raising his gun from the intrusion. He looked to his left then, where you were standing, gun drawn and he motioned for you to get behind the bookcase.

“Gwen.” He hissed. “Get down. Get behind the bookcase, NOW.” His tone was urgent, but his eyes were focused on where the sound had come from. You ducked behind the bookcase then, crouching down with your gun held steadily at your chest, your finger on the trigger and then you heard familiar voices. The unfriendly kind. Robert’s fuckin henchmen.

“Joel, Tess.” The man had paused then. They had 6 men with them, heavily armed. “Where’s that pretty little thing you've been hiding away, Miller? What’s her name again?”

He snapped his fingers, making it seem like he couldn’t remember your name.

“Ah, Gwendolyn! That’s it. She’not hanging around with your sleazy ass anymore?”

“It’s Gwen.” You and Joel had simultaneously whispered out.

“What was that?” The man mused. “Gwen. Right, got it.” He took a step to the left, Joel’s eyes and gun followed him.

“So, she ain’t here then? Not hiding in the shadows waiting to snipe us out? Gwen, sweetheart, you hiding from us?” He sing-songed. It sent bile rising up your throat and your finger hovered over the trigger once more.

“She ain’t here. What the hell are you doin out here, James?” Joel spoke calmly, his gun still trained on him, watching him closely.

“Oh? She’s not. Well, ain’t that a shame.” He kicked over the standing bookcase that was a few feet from where you were hiding. The crashing sound nearly made Joel flinch and you had sucked in a shaky, low breath.

“Y’know Miller, it’s funny you’d ask. We caught wind that you wanted to get the hell out of dodge. Thought to myself, Joel Miller? On the run? There’s no way. Then one of your so-called “friends” rats you out. Say’s that you’re meeting up here tonight, and you’re leaving the QZ.” He kicked a book on the floor then and it landed with a thud, right in front of you.

“Can you imagine the look on Robert's face when we told him that you were ditchin?” He chuckled.

“I could give less of a fuck what Robert had to say about it.” Joel was quick to respond back.

“Course you could give less of a fuck, Miller. You thought you could just slip on out of here without him knowing? Never took you to be a fool. So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna put the guns down. We don’t wanna fight. You’re gonna give us the pills that you owe us and we’ll go our separate ways.”

“If we don’t?”

James smirked then, looking over at the fellow smuggler. “We kill you both and take the girl. I know she’s hiding here somewhere, Miller. You couldn’t protect her forever. Robert’s been askin about her. He’d be pretty pleased if we showed up with the pills and her. Would definitely brighten his day.”

“I ain’t got any pills on me James. My guy got thrown in lock up and they’re probably gonna kill him tomorrow. You go back and tell Robert that he’s gonna have to find someone else.”

“Damn, you don’t have anything on you Miller? The hell happened? You’ve gone soft or somethin?” He had taken a step closer to the still-standing bookcase and Joel followed, he already had sweat beading on his forehead from the intensity of the situation, his blood was pounding in his ears.

“I don’t have shit on me James. We haven’t made a run in fuckin weeks cause of FEDRA. Look, I can offer you some of our supplies and ammo but that’s about it.”

You had slowly moved from your crouched position. From your angle, you’d have a good chance at taking one of his men out, but you’d have to be quick about it. It was risky, but you knew that if you didn’t at least try, the three of you were not going to make it out of there alive. Now was your chance to prove just how lethal you could be.

James sighed then. “You really never make this easy, huh? Well Joel, Tess, it’s been nice knowing ya—”

He was cut off by a gunshot, your gun. You had peeked around the side of the bookcase, aiming your gun at the one man that was closest to Tess. You breathed in, exhaled out, remembering Joel’s instructions as you released the trigger—BANG. The sound of the man dropping with a sickening thud was enough to have everyone turn in the direction of the gunshot.

“You’re a fuckin liar Miller and you’re gonna die for it—” more gunshots echoed and the chaos ensued.

Tess had taken out one man before she crouched behind a bookcase further from you. Bullets were flying everywhere, and now all three of you were hiding in opposite areas of the building. Popping up to shoot before crouching back down. You could only hide for so long.

You peeked around the corner once more, taking aim at one of the men once more, having a good shot at his leg. Before you could pull the trigger, you were harshly yanked back by your hair, the gun was ripped out of your grasp and thrown on the floor before you were slammed into the mossy pavement. You could faintly hear Joel yell for you through the ringing in your ears. He couldn’t reach you from where he was crouched. He couldn’t protect you. He was helpless.

You could feel blood trickling down your forehead, a kick to your gut from the heel of James boot sent you gasping for air, squeezing your eyes shut from the intense pain that knocked into you. Another kick and you were seeing stars. Surely, you’d have some angry bruises blooming on your skin.

“Fuckin knew you were here the entire time bitch.” He spat, yanking you up once more by your hair. “Think you’re so clever huh? What’re you gonna do now, sweetheart. Joel can’t fuckin save you.”

He had thrown you down to the pavement once more before he was on top of you, holding you down with his weight while you screamed and fought back with everything you had left in you. Your screams shattered Joel to the core, and he was left seeing only red behind his eyes.

In your fight for survival, you had grasped the hilt of your blade from your holster and yanked it out, in the process you had sliced James arm and sent him falling back, giving you the leverage you needed to get yourself up. You threw yourself onto him, jabbing your blade into his chest with a yell of pure rage. You heard his groans of agony as you twisted the blade deeper. Watching the life drain from his violent eyes before you yanked the blade from his chest and fell back against the pavement. In your rush of adrenaline, you hadn’t realized that he had his knife out and it was now pierced through your abdomen. White hot pain shot through your nerves as you took harsh breaths, crying out in agony from the pain you were feeling as you grasped the hilt of the blade lodged in your flesh.

Tess had seen you go down first and she shot up from her crouched position, taking aim at the last of Robert’s men, pulled the trigger and shot him in the head, between his eyes. She didn’t even wait to see him drop before she was rushing over to you. When she saw Jame’s blade sticking out of your gut, the blood pooling around the wound, she yelled.

“Joel.”

“JOEL!”

She was crouched beside you now grabbing your hand so you couldn’t pull the blade out.

Joel had rushed over to you then, pushing over what was left of the bookcase and when he found you laying on the concrete, gasping and crying out, and Tess holding your hand, he had images of Sarah. The blood pooling around her shirt, her gasps and cries—

“No. No. No. NO!”

He yelled, dropping to his knees beside you

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck. You’re okay Gwen. You’re okay baby we’re gonna get you out of here, okay? We’re gonna get you out of here!”

You were struggling to breathe and both Joel and Tess’s voices sounded fuzzy and far away. You only had a matter of time before it would be too late.

“Tess, help me! We have to get her up!”

He was already reaching for you then, wrapping his arm around your shoulder so he could lift you up. The movement caused the blade to shift and it sent another wave of pain as you cried out.

“I know baby I know. I have to get you up! I have to! Look at me baby, look at me! I’ve got you okay? I have to get you up!”

He brought your arm around his shoulder then before he hoisted you up into his arms, while Tess ripped off her jacket so she could apply pressure to your wound, there was so much blood already.

Joel was in a fury as he held you against his chest and let Tess lead the way out of the building as he ran like hell, each step he took caused you more pain and your eyes were barely open now, as you struggled to hold on.

“Look at me baby! Don’t close your eyes! Keep looking at me! I’m right here—I’m right here please please hold on baby! Please!” He was desperately pleading with you then as he quickened his pace.

“Baby I got you, I got you please please stay with me, Gwen! Stay with me!” His tone became more desperate, more raw as your eyes had fluttered shut by the time they had reached the apartment.

His jacket was now soaked in your blood as he kicked the apartment door open, Tess had rushed to the table, knocking everything off it as he gently laid you down on the surface.

“Get me the fuckin alcohol and first aid kit! Hurry, Tess!”

He worked fast at applying pressure to your wound, his hands were wet with your blood and he was fighting back his tears. He couldn’t lose you, not like this. “It’s going to be okay baby, I promise! I’m going to fix you right up! Open your eyes, Gwen! Please!” He applied more pressure to slow down the bleeding and you shot up, grabbing his hand and squeezed down hard as you screamed.

“I know baby I know, stay with me! I can’t take it out yet baby I’m sorry! I’ll make the pain go away, I promise! I’ll make it go away!” He watched as you fell back against the table once more just as Tess came back with the bottle of rubbing alcohol and the first aid kit and a few towels to use to pressurize the wound.

“Tess I need you to fucking hold her down okay? She’s gonna move when I take this out and then you get those towels on her right after, okay?!”

Tess had nodded, she was far calmer than Joel in those moments and thank god, because if she wasn’t, there’s no way he was gonna get through this.

“Okay baby I’m going to take it out now okay? It’s going to hurt for a minute but you gotta trust me! Count with me, 1-2-3!—” he had quickly yanked the blade from your abdomen then. The scream you let out would forever haunt his dreams as Tess held you down, you could make out her face slightly through your pain and deliria. Her eyes showed fear, fear that you could die on this table tonight.

Joel had tossed the blade to the side then as he grabbed the towels and pressed them down hard onto your abdomen, Tess took over then and he held your face in his bloodstained hands. He was covered in your blood and it made him feel sick. “Baby, baby. Hey, baby. Open your eyes dammit, please. Your eyes are so beautiful, Gwen. Please let me see them again.” He stroked your cheekbones gently, tears running down his face. “We’re gonna fix you right up. Gonna stop the bleeding and stitch you up, okay?” He had kissed you then, for the first time. He kissed you with tears wetting his cheeks, leaving salty streaks in their wake. He could taste the blood on your lips from the gash on your head, but he kissed you as if he could breathe life back into you from his lips alone.

“Joel if we can’t slow down the bleeding—”

“Don’t fuckin talk like that Tess! Don’t. She’s going to be okay, we're gonna fix her up. We’re gonna save her! She can’t fuckin die like this dammit. She can’t!”

With the strength that you had left in you, you slowly reached your hand up brushing your fingers against his face, your touch was there and gone as fast as it came. His face fell when your arm dropped to the side of the table, your fingers outstretched and unmoving.

“No. No. No. You are not dying like this dammit! Don’t fuckin leave me, please!”

He moved the blood soaked towels off of your wound and onto the floor. The bleeding had stopped enough for him to stitch you up, but he had to be fast.

“Tess, get me the needle and thread!”

He wiped his hands off quickly then as Tess grabbed the needle and thread, they didn’t have a lighter to sterilize it but there was no time to think about those things.

“I need you to hold her hand and talk to her, okay? Just fucking talk to her and tell her that everything is going to be okay!”

“Joel—”

“No Tess, fucking do it, please!”

She grabbed your hand then, giving it a squeeze while Joel had started to stitch your wound up, she used her free hand to feel for your pulse then. It was there, but it was faint. You were barely just holding on. She had crouched down then brushing some hair from your face gently, seeing the matted blood from the gash on your head. She leaned down and whispered. “Hey, I know you love him, Gwen. So please, do us both a favor and don’t die tonight. He needs you. I know he does. You don’t deserve to go out like this. You’re gonna be okay. You’re a fighter, remember? Always have been”

Joel had started to stitch you up then, he was no expert but he worked fast despite the horrors that he was facing in his mind. This situation was all too similar to what he went through with losing Sarah. Except, this time he actually had a chance to save you, and he would be damned if he didn’t try.

You had faintly squeezed Tess’s hand, you heard what she said, part of it, and you were going to fight like hell.

When Joel had finished stitching you up, he looked up at your face to see if there were any signs that you were still there. He grabbed the rubbing alcohol and applied it around the wound before he ripped open a thing of 17 year old gauze and placed it down on top of the wound along with a bandage. Finally, he grabbed the bottle of penicillin. If the blood loss didn’t take you out, infection certainly would. He injected the needle into the vein in your arm then and looked at Tess before he sunk back into the chair with his face in his hands.

“Joel. Hey, Joel. She’s breathing. She squeezed my hand. I think she might have heard me.”

He looked up at her then, feeling exhausted and defeated but he willed himself to stand and be by your side once more. He pulled the chair back before he sat down, grabbing your outstretched hand and brought it up to his face. He pressed a soft kiss to the outside of your palm, interlocking his fingers with yours and squeezed. It was a gentle reminder to you that he meant it when he said he wasn’t going anywhere. He would be right there for you, always.

Tess hadn’t let go of your hand either, she used her free hand to grab the rubbing alcohol and a gauze pad. He watched in disbelief as she poured the liquid onto the gauze and gently dabbed it on the gash along your head and wiped the matted blood away.

Joel and Tess sat there with you till you showed early signs of recovery, your chest was beginning to rise and fall at a normal rate. Your breathing was still faint but it was there and sure beacon that you weren’t done yet.

Joel had gently lifted your body from the table, bringing you over to the couch and set you down before he draped the blanket across you. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your head, closing his eyes for a moment before he had pulled back.

Tess was already disposing of the bloodied towels and your shirt. The table looked like a crime scene, your blood was everywhere and when Joel came to help, she stopped him then.

“Hey, it’s okay. I got this, really. Go and be with her. She needs you the most right now.”

He reluctantly agreed, giving Tess a slight nod before he walked over to the couch and slowly sank down, he lifted your head gently so you could rest it on his lap, his movements were extremely slow and gentle as he didn’t want to accidentally hurt you. He noticed your dried blood all over his hands still, a painful reminder of what had happened.

______

Tess had joined him then, she sat across from him on the coffee table. Her hands were stained with your blood as well. Both parties were silent then, replaying what had happened in their minds before Tess had finally spoke, breaking the silence.

“Y’know, I should have never underestimated her. She took that first shot with zero hesitation.”

He slowly looked over at her then, brushing his knuckles across your forehead gently.

“I should have been there to save her, Tess. I wasn’t. I failed her.”

“Joel, no. You didn’t fail her. You couldn’t control this. Neither of us could. She fought like hell.”

He was too exhausted to argue and in a way, he knew Tess was right. He didn’t fail you. He taught you well. You protected them with that first shot. You knew that James was going to kill them if you waited any longer. So you took that risk, even if it meant you would get hurt. You didn’t care, your instincts kicked in and you went with it, guns blazing and fire in your heart.

“I understand now. I didn’t before, but I understand why you care about her so much, Joel.”

“Tess—”

“No, just listen to me alright? Let me say this. You need to hear it. I knew from the beginning that you saw something special in her. I didn’t understand why. I mean hell, she threw a knife at you man and you decided, hey, let’s take her in. She tried to kill me but we can’t just leave her out here like this. Then, I saw the way you would look at her. It wasn’t noticeable at first and half the time I thought I was imagining it. Then I’d catch you at random moments, she’d walk through that door and I’d see that smile. It only comes out when she’s around. You only call her doll. You’ve never called me that and I just started to notice all the little things. I was jealous, Joel. I was because all I had ever wanted was for you to look at me that way. Then, I thought I had you when we were at Bill and Frank’s. For a split second, I selfishly thought you would have forgotten about her. How silly of me, right? She’s hard to forget.”

“Tess, why are you tellin me all of this?”

She sighed then, rubbing her palms along her torn jeans before she looked at him, with a soft, knowing smile.

“Because I’m letting you go, Joel.”

He frowned slightly then as he looked at her. He wasn’t expecting her to be like this, certainly not now. Tess still meant something to him. She always would, but he loved her in a different way. The way he felt for you was on a whole other spiritual plane that even he himself couldn't fully explain.

“I’m letting you go because you were never mine in the first place. Not really. You were always hers. It just took me a while to realize it.”

Joel had reached for her hand then, placing his over hers and gave it a squeeze. He had fresh tears threatening to spill over then.

“I’m sorry I could never love you the way that you deserved.”

She placed her other hand over his then, rubbing her thumb against his knuckles gently.

“You don’t have to be sorry for that Joel. Just love her the way that she deserves, okay?”

He nodded then as he glanced down at your sleeping form. You weren’t out of the woods just yet, but with Joel by your side, and Tess close by, you had something to hold onto and live for.

“I will, Tess. I promise you I will.”

CHAPTER 10: