#anyways sorry if the hard cut to gore was surprising there was Supposed to be a full page inbetween

[writersrealmbts]

Lonely Little Jack-o-Lantern

Description: Yoonkook x reader, Hybrid Au, Zombie Apocalypse Au. You operate your own little farm, living in an area that doesn’t have as many zombies as other areas, but one day a group of hybrids show up, and the changes are immediate, especially where Yoongi and Jungkook are concerned.

Warnings: Mild language, mild blood and gore (very mild)

Posted: 10/30/2020

Tags/Genre: Yoonkook x reader, hybrid au, zombie au

Sort of Fluff, Sort of Angst: 12,331 words

A/N: This is long as heck, so I hope you guys enjoy it, it’s not the normal zombie au type so bear with me, and I got caught up in details. All the details. But here is your story, @ditttiii​, my baby bird. And It’s technically still the 29th, but I was formatting it anyway and thought, hey, only a few hours away for me! Happy almost halloween!

You walked carefully, furtively looking around.

Then you spotted it, lifting your machete….

And quickly sliced down and through it, cutting it off at the neck.

Severing it’s lifeline.

How else would you dispatch it?

You straightened up with a grin, putting your machete again. “Perfect! You’ll make a fine jack-o-lantern! And your buddy will make a fantastic pumpkin pie!”

The pumpkins didn’t respond, not that you expected them too.

You picked the smaller one up by the vine and cradled the other in your arm, humming happily as you headed back toward your home.

Sure, there was a zombie apocalypse going on. In fact, most people had retreated to the shelters and military safety zones.

But…you hadn’t actually seen another soul for a couple months, or a zombie since last spring.

Cold was surprisingly effective at getting rid of zombies. They had all migrated to warmer climates, except for the odd straggler that moved so poorly due to frostbite damage that you easily dispatched them.

You’d taken up residence in an abandoned farm-store, with an attached greenhouse that you utilized to maximize food production (plus several extra greenhouses a ways away which definitely helped, but you didn’t use all of them for obvious reasons). You went on your merry way, making enough food for yourself, plus extra just in case, and setting aside extra goods for anyone who happened to come your way. You’d give them shelter plus some dried foods to take with them as they journeyed onward, and they usually repaid you with a couple days of help around the farm or kitchen.

Heck, last summer, you’d hosted an impromptu wedding. The group had been traveling together, both families having been together to meet one another before the wedding, and the groom’s father was a priest. He basically ordained you before he left, even told you where to look for legal documentation at the courthouse for if you ever needed to conduct another wedding.

At this point, the ceremony was more of a comfort sort of thing. A long-held tradition to bring a sense of normalcy to the abnormality of the life everyone now lived.

You paused once you reached your home again, feeling as though something were off.

Slowly you lowered the one pumpkin to the ground, grabbing your machete again.

Then you spotted them. Five figures, moving slowly, just shapes at the moment.

You scooped up the pumpkin again and quickly went inside, putting up your defenses just in case after depositing your pick onto the floor. Then you went out around the back to secure your livestock, which mostly consisted of birds that you had adopted from the abandoned homes and farms around you, a few rabbits, three goats (that you honestly only sheltered for the night, they did their own thing and you let them), and a little piglet that a passing family had left with you a few months ago (the runt of the litter, very weak at the time but slowly growing under your care). You went down the street every morning to milk some of the cows that lived there. You didn’t know enough about them to fully care for them, so you weren’t entirely certain what to do for them, but there was a farmer that came up once or twice a summer to check on you and the cows, and the small herd of cows hadn’t suffered yet. And you had butter, cheeses (when you didn’t mess up the process), canned milk, condensed milk, sweetened condensed milk, and had even tried to make yogurt once or twice (it didn’t go well).

Your next foray would be trying to milk the goats, something you’ve been avoiding because you’d never liked the goat products your family had always pushed on you when you were younger, but desperate times and all.

But that depended on you protecting your home today.

They were moving pretty slowly for humans, but not quite as sluggishly as you would have expected of zombies.

You would have to wait until they were closer.

Whatever they were, they still hadn’t spotted you, even as they got within a 100 feet of you.

“Halt! Identify yourselves!” You called out, pointing the rifle at them.

They stopped, some of them raising their hands, most of them looking surprised.

“We’re just passing through, trying to find our way to the sanctuary!” One of them called.

All of them were men, which made alarms go off in your head.

“You know you’re going the wrong way, right?” You asked, really not buying that story.

Until they all drooped and started griping at each other in a foreign language.

“Hey!” You yelled. “Still waiting!”

“Right, sorry, sorry, um, we were at the Cherimo base, but it was being evacuated, and we were on a smaller plane and it crashed…and…we’re lost…” The one that had spoken before said.

You studied them for a while. You had heard over the radio that something was going on due to resource loss, but the signal had been fuzzy and you weren’t sure why they would….

Was that a tail?

Oh.

Oh.

“Are you hybrids?” You asked, lowering the rifle carefully.

One of them nodded before the spokesperson, then nervously halted when he saw the others weren’t nodding.

You lowered your guard a little more. “Let me guess, autopilot failed?”

They all nodded this time.

It made sense. If there were limited resources, why wouldn’t they get rid of lifeforms they deemed less useful. Nevermind that so far hybrids had shown more immunity to whatever it was that made people zombies. If one of them were bitten or injured by a zombie, as long as they cleaned the wound thoroughly and quickly they wouldn’t turn.

“It…it seriously hurt one of our friends. The other stayed behind to take care of him, and we were supposed to find help. That was a couple days ago though….” The spokesperson said, voice trailing off or choking up.

You bit the inside of your lip, looking at your home from the corner of your eye, then sighing and putting the safety on. “Alright. I’ll get the truck ready, but if there are two people there, I can only take two extra people. The rest of you will have to stay here.”

“You’ll help us?” The spokesperson said, sounding completely surprised.

You nodded, heading toward the door to unlock it. “But there are going to be so many ground rules. First of all, I’m allowing you into my home, don’t make a mess of it. Drink as much water as you like, it’s clean, and I’ll cook something when I get back. But you can’t sleep here. It’s too dangerous for me. You can sleep in the greenhouse, or you could try the farmhouse down the street. I’ll make an exception for your injured friend and one other to keep him company. And I’m still going to be celebrating Halloween in a couple days, so deal with it.”

He was translating, but they already seemed to be agreeing.

You ushered them in while you got the keys to the truck. “Names?”

“Kim Namjoon,” The spokesperson said, “Fox is Jimin, Otter is Hoseok, red panda is Jungkook, and Taehyung is the bear.”

You paused to study him. “And what, exactly, are you?”

“White-nosed coati,” He answered, nervously.

You blinked at him, then shook your head and kept moving. Grabbing your first-aid kit (had you raided the emergency medical center a few miles from your home? yes, yes you had) and heading out to the truck, you didn’t bother looking to see who would join you.

It was Namjoon and the red panda, who thankfully looked strong. Jungkook?

They guided you back to where the plane had crashed, which wasn’t too hard after you got in the proximate area thanks to whoever it was that had stayed behind keeping a nice, smoky fire going.

But they hadn’t been joking.

Their friend was seriously injured.

The other looked up, obviously scared and desperate, relief visible when he smelled his friends, calling out to them in their language.

You hurried over, not caring about the snarl he emitted as you got close.

They had strapped him down carefully, so he couldn’t injure himself by moving, which was good, but….

“Yoongi, she’s here to help,” Namjoon said, more firmly.

You bit your lip. “Get him in the bed of the truck. We need to get him back to a clean environment, get him fully hydrated so that he can replenish any blood-loss, and then I’m going to have to clean and suture his wounds. Someone get the tailgate.”

The four of you quickly moved, but carefully got him into the truck and made sure he wouldn’t get jostled around too much. Then you drove carefully back to your home, parking as close to the door as possible.

You hopped out and hurried inside, rushing to the basement to grab some of the supplies you kept in the cold down there.

It was a slow process, especially since you kept double checking with the medical books and manuals that you were doing the right thing, but the other boys were patient. Namjoon reading it again aloud if you were uncertain, and reassuring Yoongi that you were being careful and doing your best.

So you had his wounds sanitized and stitched, had carefully given him some medicine to fight any infection that may have started despite the dedicated care Yoongi had provided, and all of you had decided that an I.V. was too dangerous to attempt without further research and verification.

And he was partially conscious by the time you finished, so you all just resolved to carefully give him lots of water (he was no longer strapped down, they knew his neck and back weren’t broken, they were just trying to keep him still), and he was carefully propped up in your guest bed by two in the afternoon.

You left Taehyung carefully giving him sips of water, closing the door softly to limit the stimulation.

“Thank you,” A voice said quietly, accent present.

You turned toward the voice and spotted Yoongi, head down. “No problem. He’s okay for now, I think. I’m not exactly a doctor or a nurse, but I’ve done everything I can.”

He nodded slowly, but you weren’t sure how much he actually understood. You thought he must have understood most of it, though.

You nodded as well, then took a deep breath…and turned away, heading for the kitchen. “Let’s get you all something to eat.”

They hesitantly followed you into the kitchen, peeking around furtively, and sticking to the spots that seemed to be out of the way.

You glanced at them, then grabbed a couple jars of chicken broth. “Well, are you going to stand there, or are you going to help?”

“Help,” Yoongi said immediately, stiffly walking a little further into the room.

You nodded, then pointed toward the pantry. “In there are potatoes, carrots, and onions. I need two onions…eight red-skin potatoes…and ten carrots. Could one of you go into the greenhouse, through that door, and get me three stalks of celery?”

Namjoon relayed the message and Jungkook nodded eagerly, heading that way.

“Garlic?” Yoongi asked, bringing out the other things.

You contemplated, then shrugged. “Sure, but only one or two cloves.”

He nodded again and headed back into the closet.

You glanced at the other three, then pointed toward the pantry. “In there, rice. Fill this.” You set a measuring bowl out.

Jimin (?) nodded and took the bowl, heading in to find the rice.

You got the jumbo-sized pot out and some of the butter and oil, but didn’t turn it on yet.

Jungkook came back with the celery and you smiled your thanks, getting a cutting board and a knife to carefully cut it up. Then you turned on the stove on a low setting to let the celery cook a little longer.

You had Hoseok (?) peeling the carrots, with instructions on how to chop them afterward.

Namjoon was washing the potatoes.

Jimin was carefully washing the rice.

Yoongi was chopping the onions.

You set Jungkook to mincing the garlic so you could pay attention to the cooking celery, and trying to remember what else you put in the soup. “Jimin, can you go pick some spinach? Fill this bowl, the tiny spinach, though.” You set a bowl down on the counter.

Jimin looked uncertainly to Namjoon, who translated, then he nodded, and headed out into the greenhouse.

Hopefully he knew what the spinach looked like.

Yoongi brought you the onion and you dumped it into the pot.

“Can you go get green onion? Just a small one,” You asked.

He blinked, then nodded, heading out.

You grabbed some eggs setting them nearby for when the onions were ready, and accepting the garlic from Jungkook, but keeping it to the side for the moment.

You handed the spoon to Jungkook. “Stir now and then.”

He nodded confidently.

You grabbed a pan and some of your cherry peppers and mini-sweet peppers. You cut them into chunky pieces, not too big, then coated them in some oil and put them in the oven under the broiler for five minutes, initially.

Jimin came back with the spinach with Yoongi, who had the green onion you had requested.

Jimin took all of it to the sink to wash it, asking something in Korean.

“He wants to know what you need done with the rice and the spinach,” Namjoon translated.

“Spinach can be coarsely chopped, just keep the rice set aside. The potatoes can be cut, somewhat large…um…” You looked around, then pulled the pepper chunks out of the oven. “Slightly bigger than this.”

Namjoon translated.

Hoseok nodded, grabbing the scrubbed potatoes and waving Namjoon away.

You continued watching to make sure they understood, then nodded and went back, checking to see how the onions were cooking, then adding the garlic.

Jungkook looked curious, but also frustrated, like he wanted to ask something but wasn’t entirely certain how.

You cracked half of the eggs into a dish to whisk them up, opting for more eggs since it meant more protein and you had a ton of them anyway. Then—pushing the onions, garlic and celery to one corner—you poured then eggs into the pot and then plonked the lid on for a couple minutes to let the egg cook a bit.

Jungkook stared at the lid, then looked at you, still seeming to lack the words to inquire.

You shrugged, gathering the peppers, and then quickly chopping the green onion, the green part a little bigger than the white, and tossed both of those into the pot when the egg seemed to be the right amount of cooked. Stirring carefully, not wanting to break up the eggs too much, but also wanting to let any uncooked egg have a chance and free the onions, garlic and celery from their eggy prison.

Dear god you hoped this would taste okay.

You boldly poured in the chicken broth, making sure nothing was clinging to the bottom. Then you added the rice, spinach and potatoes and left it to come back up to simmering while you pulled the extra chicken you had cooked out of your cooler. You had planned on making chicken stew, maybe cooking up some dumplings, but…you could tell they were hungry and this would be faster than chicken stew and less nitpicky.

You paused before starting to cut the chicken, quickly going to grab some seasoning and being very careful about measuring that up.

“What is this called?” Namjoon asked, gesturing to the pot.

“Would you believe chicken and rice soup?” You asked, going back to the chicken with a knife. “If you hadn’t noticed, I was kind of winging it. Hopefully it will taste okay.”

Yoongi gave you a thumbs up. “Thank you.”

You nodded. “It’s not much. We don’t even know if it will be good.”

“Still,” Yoongi murmured, shrugging and looking away.

You quickly looked back down at the chicken. “You all are the first people I’ve seen in a couple months. Don’t get me wrong, I love living here. It’s probably safer than even the military zones. The zombies can’t withstand the winters and it makes them easy to dispatch.”

“Lonely,” Jungkook murmured.

You shrugged. “Even in a crowd, people have the ability to feel alone. I think actually being alone is better. Then at least I can’t resent others for not noticing me. It’s an apocalypse. At least I chose this life. No one forced it on me, not the apocalypse, not a plague. I chose this for myself. There’s a sort of satisfaction in that.”

Yoongi came beside you, cat-like eyes flickering over the chicken you were shredding. Then he met your curious gaze, holding it for a long moment.

“I suppose that makes me lucky,” You added. “To be able to decide my own life.”

He blinked slowly.

You shifted on your feet, unnerved.

“Uh, the pot….” Namjoon said, voice nervous.

You broke away from Yoongi’s gaze, and turned toward the pot.

It was boiling, so you turned down the heat for the moment and gave it a stir, then went back toward the chicken.

Yoongi had already taken over.

You stared for a moment, then went to wash your hands. “This place runs on solar power, and has a well. Normally, when I have people here they exchange work for a place to stay for a few days. Your friend is in no shape to be moving anywhere—”

“We’ll happily help you with anything you need,” Namjoon said quickly.

The others were nodding in agreement as he quickly translated, all looking scared and somewhat terrified.

You held your hands up to stop them before they continued down the panicky path they were treading. “I was just going to say, that you can stay as long as you need while your friend is recovering. I’m going to go check on your friends.”

They nodded.

Jungkook followed you out and into the bedroom again.

Taehyung and Jin were asleep.

You carefully closed the door, then studied Jungkook for a moment, noticing a tear in his shirt that looked pretty big. “Are you hurt?”

He glanced down, then looked sheepish and shrugged.

You pointed to a chair. “Shirt off.”

He carefully removed his shirt, obviously in pain from the gash on his ribs.

You could just hit him upside the head. All that lifting he did!

So you did. “Don’t do stupid things like lifting people when you’re injured.”

He looked at you with wide eyes, and you don’t know how much of it he understood, but his cheeks turned red and he looked away quickly.

You went and got water and a cloth, then knelt beside him to carefully clean the wound. You tried not to notice how well-muscled he was, or how he looked much less innocent like this. Sure, he still had an adorably bushy tail, but—

You flinched as a hand rested on your head, lightly stroking your hair, peeking up to see Jungkook mesmerized by your hair.

He grabbed your free hand, which you’d put out to balance yourself when he startled you, and brought it to his heart.

You could feel it racing, and you locked eyes with him.

He shyly looked away after a moment.

You swallowed hard, then finished cleaning his cut, wiping some antibiotic ointment on it carefully, and then bandaging the area. “There. No heavy lifting for a while. I see you overworking and we’re binding your whole ribcage.” You stood up and packed the first aid kit up again, then hurried back into the kitchen.

You stirred the pot, pulling some rice to test it. “Not yet. Tomorrow, I thought a few of us could venture to the local stores and get all of you some extra clothing and shoes and other supplies. Only those of you who aren’t injured, though. There are monsters hiding out in some of the stores still. That means no Jungkook, and no Jimin—I saw you limping.”

“Jungkook?” Yoongi asked, eyes widening.

You nodded, turning to glance at Jungkook as he followed you in, shirt back on. “He has a nasty cut on his ribs. He shouldn’t have been doing any of the lifting he did.”

All of them started ragging on Jungkook, who was sheepish.

Yoongi was over beside the red panda hybrid talking lowly, quickly, and somewhat sternly.

Jungkook nodded, slouching to rest his head on the cat’s shoulder.

You added the chicken to the pot to distract yourself. You’d never really met any hybrids, except a couple of your childhood friends’, but you figured the scenting you were witnessing was more of a private thing from the way the others sort of averted their gazes.

But you were also morbidly curious.

Yoongi came over a few minutes later. “Seokjin?”

“Sleeping still. It’s good for him to rest. How much English do you understand?” You asked, turning a little.

He sort of shrugged.

“Sorry I can’t speak your language,” You said a little more quietly.

He shrugged again. “You…nice. Keep going.”

You blinked at him for a moment, barely registering Jimin in the background making a lot of complaining-type noises. “I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but…thank you?”

He nodded, looking embarrassed, then mumbled something to Namjoon.

Namjoon looked reluctant.

You studied the room.

Namjoon finally turned to you. “Yoongi was wondering how much you understand about hybrid situations during this…pandemic.”

You carefully tasted the broth as you debated how to answer. “I know…that many hybrids have been used as…stress relief for certain clientele to boost morale. Illegally. Others trained as foot-soldiers in the war against zombies. Sent to a slaughter.”

“Yeah. We were transferred to Cherimo six months ago. We were more for shows than anything too….” He didn’t seem to know how to continue.

You stirred the pot nervously. “Shows?”

“Music,” He reassured you. “But…they were talking about us…taking on second jobs. Just before the crisis. Then we were determined to be expendable.”

You nodded. “I understand. Well, once you’ve recovered, we’ll see about getting you all set up on your own, where no one can determine what you can or can’t be. With any decency, you’ll never have to face such threats again.” You tasted the rice again and nodded firmly. “Well, threats from zombies always exist nowadays. Soup is done. Someone grab the bowls from that cupboard.”

Jungkook was hurrying to do as you asked, getting out the four bowls you had, and then looking worriedly in the cupboards.

You went over, opening the one he hadn’t looked in and pulling out assorted other bowls. “They’re all sort of scavenged. I’ve never really needed more than six bowls before today. Guess we should pick up more when we break into the store tomorrow. I think Seokjin should just have broth for now.”

Jimin nodded, taking the bowl of broth you’d ladled out and heading back toward the room.

You gestured for the other boys to get food for themselves, not exactly hungry yourself since you’d had a decent breakfast and instead opting to bring up your pumpkins. One to carve, one to eat. And then you’d also be able to roast any pumpkin seeds to munch on throughout the winter.

Jungkook, Yoongi, and Namjoon stayed in the kitchen while they ate, mostly watching you as you prepared to cut open the pumpkin you were going to carve.

“What…are you doing?” Jungkook asked carefully, quickly filling his mouth afterward.

“Making a jack-o-lantern. I’m going to gut this, then carve a face into it and pretend it’s a normal Halloween occurring in a couple of days.” You managed to get the knife through the thick rind, then carefully cut open the top of the pumpkin.

It took a while for Namjoon to translate since he’d been in the middle of inhaling his food, but after he did, Jungkook nodded, still looking curious.

Yoongi seemed indifferent, mostly muttering something that alerted Jungkook to the fact that his soup still existed, and giving Jungkook a big chunk of chicken.

“Where do you get things like flour and rice?”

You made a face. “Well, most of it I pilfered from stores. I was lucky to find this place early on, lived about a half-hour drive from here, and they had some things. There are stores equidistantly around here: One to the south, one to the north, and one to the east. West is more farmland and forest mix, as you probably surmised by the drive to your crash site. And there’s a farmer to the south that I do work exchange with. He grows wheat, corn, and sugar-beets, and helps me with some livestock. He in turn knows a guy to the east that’s been running some flour and sugar-beet processing, so he’s been providing me with some flour and sugar when he gets the chance.”

“And what do you do for him?”

You pointed to your basket of eggs. “His wife is allergic to feathers. I provide them with bird meat, and eggs. And I can grow things here throughout the winter, and I have a pretty efficient canning process going here. We just exchange goods and services. Nothing else. His son came with him once last winter. They were out of greens. Thankfully, I had enough for what they needed, and sent them home with plenty of greens and some extra goods to help them out. There are benefits to being a party of one, just as there are downfalls.”

“Being lonely,” Yoongi said quietly, not missing a beat and not looking your way.

You shrugged. “But I get a lot done. And I know that if I need company, it’s not terribly far to where his family is. The rule is to bring some goods though. Like, his wife came to visit me sometime in January—they have a horse and wagon that he rigged a heating system in—and she brought me a cherry pie. I spent Christmas with them, and took an apple and a pumpkin pie. That sort of thing. And if you guys settle near here, then we’ll probably do trades with you guys as well. And if you don’t, that’s fine too. What I’m saying…is that solitude isn’t quite so terrible when you know that there is someone around if you really need them.”

Jungkook had moved closer, watching you scrape out the pumpkin guts with clear curiosity.

You glanced at him again, then turned your attention to carefully cutting slices of pumpkin flesh from the inside of it, not wanting to waste any of it. You were determined to experiment more this year, try not to waste anything because it was…hard. Hard to make everything count, and with seven extra mouths eating you were going to need to make every bit count. You had multiple foods curing in the sun so that you could store them on the shelves in the basement, but still…even though you’d been doing this a while, it was always a curious thing trying to figure out if you had enough food for the winter. And it wasn’t as though you could do much about it with it being the end of October.

“How much warning did you get?” Namjoon asked, the first question he seemed to have himself.

You gave a half-laugh. “Well…we knew about the outbreaks in Europe, Asia, Australia, Africa…and my family was already taking it seriously. My parents decided to move out to live with my brother. I was still working, and printing off binders worth of information. No one ever thought to hit bookstores. My dad had started buying gas-tanks and filling two whenever he went to get gas. Left that for me since mom wanted to be by my brother and his family.”

“You didn’t go with them?”

You shrugged. “Half-brother? Not on the best terms. We would have killed each other. As it is, we talk on the sat-phones on Mother’s Day and Christmas. Everyone thought the world would shut down completely, but it didn’t. Anyway, I was banking on them surviving. As much as we don’t get along, my brother is a former marine and his neighbors are well spaced and consist of an older trapper and his wife, a marine buddy of his with his wife, and a cattle ranch. They’re doing great. And I got enough plants and seeds and information, not to mention people raced to get out of the area when they were told it was safest to get to a fort or the nearest Military zone. I hid in the basement for three days after that announcement, but nothing happened to me. I stayed at the house for a month after, packing the truck and trailer. I had my car still, with a full tank of gas, and I went around to see what things were like. There were still a few groups evacuating, but no one really paid attention to me. Met the owners of this place, asked if they were staying or going. They were older, and had been planning on selling the place before all of it went down. I gave them a wad of cash and a box of canned food, they gave me the keys. Everyone I did meet thought I was crazy. I was very careful about moving everything, and I kept everything locked up tight.”

“When did the zombies hit?”

“About this time that year. I remember because I thought it was ironic that the zombies would finally show up around Halloween. They were pretty bad that fall, and into December because it wasn’t as cold of a winter as normal. But January swooped in like a champ with below-freezing temperatures and lots of snow. I was lucky. Very lucky.” You finished picking the seeds out of the guts (at least, you were fairly certain you had removed all of them). “The cell towers were still work intermittently, so I can look up information quickly if I want. And the powerplants…they were still running until December. But hey, I’ve got three generators, and a crap-ton of car batteries for powering extra things, like the greenhouses.”

“Did you farm before this?”

You wrinkled your nose as you thought about it. “Honestly? Not to this extent. I’d thought about it, but the most we ever had was a vegetable garden and a couple of fruit trees. To say there was a learning curve would be an understatement. But I got through it.

“Scared,” Jungkook asked, gaze locked on you.

You shrugged. “Who isn’t? Would you like more soup?”

He looked at his bowl, then looked toward the pot.

“You guys can just help yourselves. I’ll probably eat later.” You picked the knife up again, seeing the end of the conversation in sight once more. Less distraction while holding a sharp object. Sure, what you were cutting out of your jack-o-lantern wasn’t going to be pretty, but you could roast the, up like fries and that would be really yummy. Or you could try to make a pumpkin spice something or other. You weren’t really sure what you would do with all of the pumpkin innards you were breaking out.

You just knew the shell was getting a face.

You paused, turning back to the egg basket. “I never let the animals out again.”

Someone followed you as you rushed out the back door to the small stable/barn/shed that you had shooed the animals into (that weren’t already secure in their own pens, mind), opening the doors to the fenced area for the pig and goats to run around, including your favorite pygmy goat that you honestly rescued just because it was cute. Whoever it was helped you shoo the ten chickens, two turkeys, three ducks, and one grumpy goose out into the bird run.

“Go on chicks. Guster! Get your tail-feathers through that door,” You scolded, picking up the grumpy goose and essentially tossing him through.

He landed just fine, honking angrily at you.

The ducks were happily settling near you, but you carefully shuffled them through the door.

The turkeys had gone through the moment you opened the door, the smarty-pants.

As for the peafowl in the pen on the other side of the property…well…as pretty as they were, you pretty much just fed them and cared for them because you felt bad for them. Sure, you had lot of pretty feathers for crafts in wintertime, but they were loud. And picky. And they ate so much, and needed warmer, dryer, well-kept pens.

But they were also very sweet and probably hand-raised because they always came right up to you.

Without a feed source to purchase for them, you hadn’t thought they would survive this long, but they were still plucking along. You let the male out during the hot days of summer to roam, but he always came back just in time for you to put clean water and whatever treat you’d scrounged up.

You’d let all of the birds out when you’d been tilling, letting them get the grubs and ants and other insects that were in your way.

The ducks would usually go down to the pond, but you’d just cleaned out their swimming pool, so you figured they would be fine as long as Guster didn’t decide they weren’t allowed to be there.

You would have to add more minnows to the pool.

There were so many things you hadn’t considered when you were setting up everything and rescuing the animals you did, that you just sort of figured out as you went. Like, hey! If you capture some minnows and raise them you can give them to your ducks and geese and they will adore you for centuries.

You had to raid the U-Haul and get a bigger transport vehicle, then raid a bunch of farm and pet supply stores. Then again that would use up a lot of gas as well.

“Uh…sheep?”

You turned around, looking at Jungkook, then at the goat that was trying to eat his shoe-laces. “Goat. Carl. Just push him.”

He did, and Carl plodded away.

Yoongi was also there, holding an egg and looking curious.

You glanced around, then grabbed an egg-carton. “Guess we should check for more eggs while we’re here.”

They nodded and helped you search, noses twitching and active as they explored the nooks and crannies.

Four eggs wasn’t bad considering you’d just collected eggs that morning. You’d put them in with the broody turkey. She’d hatched at least half of your chickens, and your third duck. She was your most valued asset.

The boys stood well-back while you carefully pushed her from her nest from behind, and placed the eggs before she could attack your hand, then closed the back hatch.

She was happily situated once more when you peeked in.

“Great. Okay. I need to make the trip across to the other pen, and then go down to see the cows this afternoon. But I need to show a couple of you what to do since we’ll probably be gone most of tomorrow,” You spoke, not really expecting a response.

Jungkook caught your wrist. “Me.”

“Alone?”

“You are alone.”

“But I’ve had practice. At least get Jimin and…who else is staying behind tomorrow? Besides Jin.”

Yoongi shook his head. “Jungkook and Jimin.”

You nodded. “Okay, then at least get Jimin to come see what to do as well. Don’t rush. We’re heading toward that building.”

He looked and nodded, then jogged away.

You huffed. “That boy.”

Yoongi made a soft sound, like he agreed but was also amused.

You turned to him. “Does it bother you when I just ramble on?”

He shook his head, a certain intensity in his gaze as he met your eyes that made it hard to continue meeting his gaze.

But impossible to look away.

His ears twitched, but they were angled toward you. His tail flicked as he stepped closer to you.

Warning lights went off in your head. Seven men. One girl. Alone.

You whipped around as fast as you could and started walking, grabbing the bucket of feed you’d prepared earlier. “Welp, let’s go. I’m sure they’ll catch up with us soon.”

And you swore you heard him hiss in surprise, and you just wanted to laugh at how ridiculous you were being and how ridiculous this situation was, but honestly who would have thought—

You squeaked in alarm dropping the bucket and running back toward the house to grab the rifle and the axe, then racing back toward your peacocks to save them from the zombie.

Yoongi gladly accepted the ax, hurrying after you, but also staying a good ways back so that you would have time to shoot the thing so he could chop it’s head off.

You’d become a very good shot in the past two years.

Yoongi looked like he might be sick after cutting its head off.

You didn’t blame him.

Wordlessly the two of you dragged it a place where you could bury it when you got the chance.

Jungkook and Jimin were there when you two returned, with Namjoon to translate.

Poor Namjoon.

When you were finally done instructing them on the peacocks, and the other animals on the property, you all headed down the street to the cows.

Jungkook fascinatedly touched the cows, while Jimin and Yoongi crouched beside you to learn.

And Yoongi was only gulping several times while he watched the milk tin you and Jimin filled, one cow after another.

The boys were also teasing him, and though he refused to give them much of a reaction, his cheeks were a little red and there was a twitch at the corners of his mouth that hinted at a smile and man that was adorable, especially with how his eyes closed slightly and his hair—

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

Nope.

Nuhuh.

Stop it.

“So, what do you do with it now?” Namjoon asked.

You shrugged. “Take it home, separate the cream, pasteurize the milk. Then I’m either going to drink it or make something out of it.”

“Cool,” He replied, then translated, but you got the feeling that only Jimin really needed the translation as the two of them walked away, Jimin carrying the container effortlessly.

Jungkook and Yoongi walked with you, looking around at the farm while you got the cows some fresh hay, and inspecting the houses that the three of you walked past on your way back.

“Where did they go?” Jungkook asked carefully, looking at each abandoned house.

��I don’t know,” You answered quietly. You’d been to each house. When you finished your chores in the winter you amused yourself by inspecting the houses around you. Gathering furniture and supplies that you decided were needed.

“You live there,” Jungkook asked.

You shrugged. “Yeah. It made sense. Live where you work. I was just lucky that they had an extra room attached to the store area that I could turn into my room. I’ll probably just sleep in the kitchen, though. It’d pretty comfortable there once I set up the cot. Nice and warm.”

Jungkook paused by one of your smaller pumpkins that was sun-cured and awaiting transport to where it would be resting for winter or for later processing.

You paused as well, then picked it up. “Come on, panda boy. You can carve one too.”

Yoongi started purring but quickly coughed to cover it.

The other boys were distracted, talking with Taehyung quietly but animatedly, and the door to the room where Seokjin lay was propped open slightly. Seokjin was asleep and Taehyung was eating, cheeks bulging slightly from how much food he’d shoveled in.

Felt good to have your food appreciated, even if they were only eating it because they were half-starved.

Yoongi and Jungkook followed you into the kitchen (Yoongi moving the milk pails, that Jimin had left on the floor near the sink, onto the counter for you).

Jungkook went at his pumpkin carefully, but the one time he didn’t do something carefully he earned a low growl from Yoongi. He proceeded to stick his tongue out at the feline, and continuing carefully.

You pushed the bowl of seeded gut, unseeded guts, and seeds toward Yoongi with a grin.

He winced, but didn’t fight it. He did get a fork and spoon to help him sift through though.

Jungkook hummed as he worked, filling the slight-awkward-slightly-comfortable silence, sometimes murmuring a word or two in Korean.

And you believed that they’d been in the music industry, because there was no way they would pass up the chance for a rare hybrid that could also sing. And Red panda hybrids were rare.

There hadn’t been much of a hybrid-culture around you growing up, so you were aware of it, and had met a few hybrids that were therapy hybrids, but you’d never had significant exposure to them aside from your one road trip with you friends when you broke down in a hybrid town. The hybrid women that came to your rescue been extremely kind to you and your friend and had gotten you on the road again. But they’d told you to avoid hybrid males, “For everyone’s sake” and now…you still weren’t certain what it meant.

You wondered how they were doing during this apocalypse. They’d probably just stayed put and established more defenses. They were already mostly self-sustaining, with their own power supply and water system. Most people wouldn’t have even passed through there unless they were very, very lost.

“There’s a hybrid town…there was a hybrid town, to the east of here. There were completely self-sustaining. After your friend heals up, you might want to head that way,” You said in the silence after Jungkook finished his song. You were finished with your jack-o-lantern, just peeling the skin off of the bits you had carved out to add to the pile of salvaged pumpkin flesh.

Jungkook went rigid, and his tail fluffed out.

Yoongi also looked…tense.

“Or not. Do whatever you guys want,” You quickly added, a little alarmed at how alarmed they got. You’d just wanted to let them know that there was somewhere they might have a better chance. They’d said they wanted to go to the nearest safety zone, but that would also mean returning to servitude, discrimination, and possibly worse things.

Jungkook and Yoongi started having a rapid conversation over the workspace, Jungkook looking desperate and despairing, Yoongi looking uneasy and reluctant and adamant.

You weren’t sure what it was you had said, but they seemed to be quickly heading toward some sort of dispute and Jungkook suddenly turned adamant as well and Yoongi got a fed-up look.

“Namjoonie-hyung!” Jungkook finally called loudly, slamming the knife he had been using down on the counter and turning to head toward the main room.

Yoongi’s eyes widened and he hurried after the panda. “Yah, Jungkook-ah.”

You watched them go, then quickly grabbed the knives and put them in the sink in case they came back. Then you started sorting the seeds out of the guts of Jungkook’s pumpkin as the debate appeared to continue in the next room with lots of shushing.

You really wished you’d gotten more language textbooks and dictionaries. But honestly, there was no way you could have foreseen needing to know Korean.

———

Seokjin was already looking better the next morning, and more aware. Taehyung was carefully feeding him, and between the two of them they managed to tell you about the other pains—possibly broken bones—that Seokjin had. But all you could really do about them (aside from feel them and see if you could feel any displacement, which you didn’t) was splint them and tell him to not take any risks. Unfortunately, at least one of his legs appeared to be broken. You had a brace that he went into comfortable, but that was the best you could do for him.

At least they weren’t avoiding you like the others.

You weren’t sure what it was that you had said that set them off, but, after the…discussion yesterday afternoon, most of the boys sort of avoided you. Looked nervous.

But as it got later in the morning, you gathered and loaded some supplies into the truck. You’d already hooked up the trailer

Jungkook met you there, looking determined.

“No,” You said firmly. “I told you, no injured people on this trip. Too dangerous.”

His brow furrowed.

“No,” You repeated. You were not going to be fought on this. No way.

Finally he stalked away.

You wished you felt victorious.

Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, and Taehyung were set to go with you—though Taehyung appeared to be giving very detailed instructions to Jimin and Jungkook about Jin’s care—and soon packed into the vehicle.

It was very awkward. Yoongi sat in the back with Hoseok, but he wouldn’t look at you.

Namjoon and Taehyung were crammed in the front and Taehyung had apparently tired of practicing his English because he was talking with Namjoon.

Your hand went to the pocket with the list of things you wanted to look for, as if the list would reassure you that everything was okay.

You could feel someone’s gaze burning into you, and you knew who it was without looking.

You knew it was Yoongi.

You just wished you knew why.

You’d gone east, since that town was fractionally closer, easier to navigate, and hadn’t been raided as much.

“What’s the plan?” Namjoon asked as the houses started giving way to more business stuff.

You started to reply, then pulled into the hospital that was there (just a random specialist center, not a full one, but you thought it still might have some things you could use). “First we see if we can find Seokjin a wheelchair, crutches, or more braces—anything that might help. You have your weapons?”

They nodded.

You parked the vehicle, studying the building for a moment. “Okay. We stick together. Two people look, the other three guard. Got it?”

A smattering of agreements and a queasy nod from Hoseok let you know that they agreed.

“Hoseok and Yoongi, you want to look for the equipment?”

They nodded, though Yoongi was slightly more reluctant.

“Yoongi thinks I should help look for equipment and he should help guard.”

You gave Namjoon a quizzical look.

He rubbed his neck sheepishly. “I’m a little clumsy. They call me the god of destruction. He doesn’t want me to destroy everyone.”

You nodded. “Okay. Also, guys, if you see medical things that will fit in our bags, go ahead and carefully grab it. Especially gloves.”

He nodded, translating for everyone, then listening to a few follow ups. “Okay, so, just to be sure we’re all on, uh, the same page—Hoseok and I search and gather large and small supplies. Taehyung and Yoongi guard, but also grab things as they see them, and you’re guarding and searching as well?”

“That is correct,” You answered, curious. Had that not been clear? “I mean, I can also push one of the carts we brought but…I don’t even know if this place will have zombies. It was mostly an rehab center for old people, and I mostly think we’ll find gloves and hopefully a wheelchair or walker.” You shrugged.

Famous last words?

There were definitely a few zombies.

And by a few, you mean a few dozen.

Also, Hoseok was completely terrified of both the zombies and his weapons. No wonder he looked queasy.

You found a room that was empty and the five of you managed to get inside without zombies , locking and then barricading the door so you all could catch your breath and double check for injuries.

Yoongi grabbed you, moving you around and frantically checking you over, then sighing wordlessly.

“I’m fine. Were any of you hurt?” You asked, trying to visually assess Yoongi since he blocked your view of the others.

“We’re good, Tae had a close call, but he wasn’t bitten.”

Hoseok moved into your line of sight and pulled on Yoongi’s shirt, which somehow effectively pulled him away from you.

Which was good.

You were starting to feel a little nervous.

“Wheelchair!” Taehyung suddenly shouted, all signs of fatigue gone as he rushed toward a whole stack of them.

You looked around at the supplies, then met Namjoon’s gaze. “I guess this would be the supply room.”

Namjoon just grinned.

All of you quickly dispersed to fill your bags with supplies, Namjoon grabbing the different braces and checking how big they were, Hoseok carefully grabbing boxes of gloves and carefully looking over bandaging and such, and Taehyung still playing with the wheelchair.

Yoongi was trying to decipher the labels on the medicine.

You started bagging rubbing alcohol, peroxide, other creams and liquids that you recognized.

Which led to you being beside Yoongi helping grab medicines.

Yoongi seemed to look you over again. “You’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” You answered again, shrugging.

Yoongi nodded, then showed you a label.

You nodded, then went to check on the other boys.

But Yoongi stopped you, a strange desperation in his eyes. “Stay by me,” He said firmly, anxiously.

You stared into his eyes for a moment.

“When leave, stay by me. Please,” He begged, grip on you tight.

You weren’t certain what it was about the way he asked, but the moment he asked, you knew you would say yes. “Okay. When we leave.”

All of you jumped when something banged on the door, but it didn’t sound forceful, and a glance toward the door proved that it was just one of the zombies lightly hitting the door with a cane. Geriatric zombies, those were a thing now. Zombies who used canes and possibly walkers.

Now if only they weren’t interspersed with other zombies that didn’t need such aids, getting out of there would be a cake-walk.

But like most of your life since the pandemic, of course it wouldn’t be easy.

“He should be fine,” Namjoon reassured you, pouring more peroxide over the nasty bite and ignoring Yoongi’s growl of pain.

“Why would he do that?” You asked in a whisper, shaken to your core. The five of you were in a different parking lot now, treating his bite since the coast was clear.

The boys just exchanged glances, then shrugged or muttered something.

“Well…he can take a bite and survive as long as we sanitize fast enough, whereas if you were bitten…that’d be it for you,” Namjoon said carefully, watching as Hoseok meticulously cleaned the wound and then applied antibiotic cream. “It’s preferable.”

“It’s still dangerous,” You whispered, then scanned the surroundings again for any interlopers. “And we’ll give him some antivirals just in case. I still don’t understand why…why he acts the way he does around me. One minute he won’t look at me, and the next he’s getting bit by a zombie so that I won’t be bitten.”

Namjoon looked uncomfortable, like he was hiding something.

Hoseok’s gaze darted up at you, and Yoongi was definitely looking a little red.

Taehyung was checking out the store-fronts, only a couple of steps away from the group. He pointed at one of the stores. “Why…why?”

You followed his gaze, noticing the door that you had marked. “I did that. I barricaded it and marked it. The back door too. I cleared it out. It’s safe to go in there. We’ll get you guys clothing, shoes, coats, and other extra things. But they may have gotten in through the back, so we should secure that before we start grabbing things. And I get to approve of the coats, because there’s a certain type you’ll need to make it through a winter here. Hats. Scarves. Gloves. Blankets. Sheets. Pots and pans. Dishes. You should stay in the truck,” You said pointedly, looking at Yoongi.

He rebelliously looked back, stubbornness in his features. “No. You go, I go.”

You huffed, and folded your arms, but you weren’t about to fight him as well. “Fine, but you’re staying back.”

His eyes narrowed, but that was the only response he seemed to give you.

Once Hoseok had bandaged it, and used one of the compression sleeves you all had liberated from rehab center to hold the bandaging in place and give it more protection, all of you carefully removed your barrier and then cautiously entered the store.

But the barricade on the back door was still in-tact, so you all blocked up the front door for while you were shopping, and each of you took a grocery cart or two with you. You went to the kitchen stuff first and filled a cart, then the home goods stuff and filled a cart. Checked on the boys, but they were trying on clothes and shoes together and seeming to discuss the sizes of the others.

So you went and got yourself some more clothing, your gaze continually catching on the night clothes and intimates.

But that was ridiculous. You didn’t need that stuff. You had no one to impress or dress for.

Then again….

After you put those carefully packed suitcases near the front with the carts you’d filled, then started going through coats, grabbing a few for yourself, but mostly pulling options for the hybrids. The warmest brands. Sturdy ones.

You flinched and jumped at the sound of someone sighing just behind you, staring at Yoongi as he examined one of the coats you’d set aside.

Yoongi met your gaze, looked back to the coat, then stepped closer to you. In your space.

You held your breath as he held you in his stare.

He stepped closer, body right next to yours, and then he ducked and tucked his face against your neck.

You froze, feeling his nose brush against your neck, his furry ears tickling your cheek.

Then his lips pressed to your skin and he pulled away, hand resting on the other side of your face, cupping it so that you didn’t look away as he pulled back.

After a second, amusement sparkled in his eyes and he smirked slightly.

Then he was walking away.

And you were frozen. Absolutely frozen.

Because what the hell was that.

Once you had a coat for each of them, including the ones that were waiting at home, they all sort of went to explore since they could.

You grabbed hats and gloves, some beauty products that it carried (which weren’t numerous). Socks. Boots for when yours wore out.

Then you and the boys carefully packed everything into the trailer before heading over to a farm store that you’d raided and secured before.

Except this time you had extra muscle power to load those wood-burning stoves into your trailer. And extra lumber, chicken wire and other fencing supplies, tools, oils, kerosene, butane, propane, rope, nails, screws, sleeping bags, tents, flashlights and lamps, brooders, feeders and waterers for all of your animals, extra chicken coops and rabbit hutches and just so many different and various things you needed or would need. And lots of seeds. And heavy duty work-boots, overalls, and other labor gear for everyone (yourself included, because you would wear through those boots eventually and your father had drilled in you the importance of good footwear).

Not because you couldn’t come back. With the gas you’d managed to salvage, you probably had enough for another eight trips if you kept decent speeds and your car stayed maintained. And your neighbor had been talking about rigging vehicles with alternate fuel sources, so if he ever got that working….

But you had to assume that he wouldn’t, which meant getting as much as you could while you were in town.

Which is why you thought it couldn’t hurt to see if that little oriental market that had been near there had anything that kept that they might enjoy. But it was smaller, so you told them only one other person could go in with you and still be able to fight, and that you’d prefer it be Namjoon since the two of you could communicate more easily.

There was extreme reluctance, especially since you hadn’t specified where you were going and there were several stores in that plaza, but with the walkie talkies that you all had acquired they finally agreed.

And you got five sacks of rice that still seemed to be okay.

Then you guys hit the plaza with two big-box stores. Getting storage containers, mattresses (because none of you trusted the mattresses left behind in the houses, and the boys insisted if they get one [bless them, they planned on sharing one] that you get one as well and Yoongi wouldn’t let you say no so you made them get two mattresses for themselves), and then you all split up to search the many food isles for unexpired goods.

And of course you got paired with Yoongi.

Neither of you said anything as you started walking up and down the isles, you pushing the cart because he was insisting on being the guard. Not that you guys thought there might still be zombies lurking around (you highly doubted there would be any still hiding after the way Taehyung had run around yelling happily once the group had finished killing the four or five zombies that were in there), but it was better to be safe than sorry.

So there you were, chucking snacks that had been chock-full of preservatives into the cart, and wondering if the cereals would be stale or if they could still be good after two years.

Wondering if he was ever going to say anything.

Grabbing just about every canned good after checking expiration dates.

Taehyung said more when he brought you guys two carts, speaking mostly to Yoongi, who translated roughly. Something about the other boys and medicine.

And then Taehyung was gone with the other two carts he had been pushing, and dragging your full cart away.

The store next door had yarns and fabrics that you all just packed right up, regardless of pattern or texture, as well as all of the threads and pins and beads, packing everything in more boxes and such. Raiding the notebooks, pens, pencils, books (including text books, which included English textbooks that Yoongi grabbed several of, and a Korean-English dictionary and textbooks that you grabbed since you figured they’d be there for a while and hey, what’s another language to pass the time), clothing (again, what could you say, you didn’t know how to make socks or comfortable underwear), instant-photo cameras (Taehyung was especially excited about those with main mentions of Jimin in his ramblings), another pharmacy raid, shampoo and soap, and all of the hybrid stuff that they could ever want, extra furniture that was easier to move, more dishes and cookware, candles, canning supplies, solar panels, solar batteries (could never have enough of those), more foods that you knew would keep (because you were now feeding eight people and Taehyung liked to snack, he was doing it in the store the moment you said something was still good), and then if the boys secreted some things into what you all got you didn’t pay attention since they also didn’t pay attention as you checked out the period supplies because that didn’t stop with the pandemic and though you had alternatives (which you picked up more of, thank the heavens) sometimes it was just easier.

And Taehyung had a cart full of ramen that you weren’t about to fault him for.

Yoongi was the only one awake on the drive home.

“What was that earlier?” You asked. “At the coat store.”

He sighed and you heard pages turning. “True partner.”

You waited for more, but that seemed to be all he was going to say on that front. “What does that mean?”

He sighed again, this time more aggravated and with a slight hiss to it. More pages flipping and you could see his frown in the rear-view mirror.

Finally a frustrated growl and the thunk of a book closing. “Home. Jungkook.”

“We’re almost there,” You replied quietly, sighing. “Almost there.”

Jungkook rushed out when you all arrived, grinning with relief. “Hyungs!”

“Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi called back, hurrying to him and grabbing his wrists.

Jungkook immediately nuzzled Yoongi’s neck while Yoongi started muttering something, with glances toward you that soon had Jungkook staring as he gently fingered the fabric over the bandaging.

Taehyung raced inside.

Namjoon gestured to the load. “Unload today, or tomorrow?”

“Unload light stuff, leave the heavy stuff for later.”

He nodded, translating and calling Jungkook and Yoongi over.

You grabbed an old pumpkin cart and brought it over for them while Jimin brought over a couple of the grocery carts.

And Jungkook….

You had to scold him about eight-dozen times not to lift things that were too heavy, but every time he just grinned at you and cutely said “no speak English” and carried on (but it usually gave the other guys time to get over to him and at least help carry the heavier things.

Jimin was parked in the basement stacking canned and jarred goods on your food shelves and medicines and other non-food items on your other shelves, since it required less movement and he apparently aggravated his injury while all of you were gone. You were guessing one of the goats tried to get him, but Namjoon didn’t seem to know how to translate what was said, so you just left it at that.

Taehyung had rejoined everyone in unloading, and was working with you as a two man conveyor system for Jimin.

You swore Jungkook was trying to show off.

Yoongi took the suitcases that all of you had filled with clothing and coats and stacked them in your bedroom to go through later.

And before you knew it, the truck and trailer were almost completely empty.

Jungkook had ingredients out like he was about to cook, and he looked at you happily, as though inviting you to cook with him.

You nodded, gesturing for him to lead on.

He grinned and then brought you some vegetables. “Chop.”

You nodded, not even surprised as Yoongi also joined you and Jungkook and everyone else disappeared to ‘go check on Seokjin’. Because you could see Taehyung and Jimin playing outside and exploring one of the greenhouses, looking at the pumpkins, and Namjoon was just through the door, looking through a stack of books. Which meant Hoseok was probably the only one who actually went to check on Seokjin.

Yoongi and Jungkook somehow managed to give you enough instructions that you managed to help them, and when they couldn’t find an ingredient and couldn’t name it, you would play a guessing game with Yoongi. The hardest was probably soy sauce.

But the most surprising thing was probably how…touchy they were with you.

Or when Jungkook just came up behind you, wrapped one arm around your waist, shoved his face in your neck, and licked you.

Licked. You.

And you yelped, because all of that happened in about two seconds, and you could feel their surprisingly stunned stares as you booked it out of there.

You walked quickly across to one of the greenhouses, cursing frantically and pretending you were doing something completely routine by getting treats for your animals.

Namjoon found you, looking nervous. “Hey. Yoongi sent me to find you.”

“Fuck,” You hissed, picking up a pumpkin. “What the hell is going on, Namjoon? And I am not in the mood for and BS.”

He winced. “Um…what do you know…about…mates?”

“I suppose we aren’t talking about the British or Australian definitions, and more biological definition?” You led the way toward your rabbit barn and hutch.

He nodded, looking anywhere but you. “Definitely more biological.”

“Sorry you got caught in the crosshairs as translator,” You muttered, dropping the pumpkin so that it would break, and then putting pieces of it in the different hutches with some of the seeds for them to enjoy, but also giving them lots of fresh grasses and greens so that they wouldn’t overindulge. You’d give the rest of it to the goats and pig.

He shrugged, peeking at the rabbits. “Cute. So, for hybrids, potential mates are identified by smell a lot of the time. Jungkook and Yoongi are technically mates, but…they also identified you as a potential mate. So…they…want to stay near you.”

“So, hypothetically, if I had told them about a hybrid city that you all may have wanted to go to after leaving here and they reacted poorly to it, it would be because it was almost like an unconscious rejection of them?” You asked, darting glances toward him.

He snorted, and then started laughing. “Is that what happened? Geez, they’re so dramatic. Look, I already told them to take it easy around you because you are human and it might not be something you want for yourself. But…even if you aren’t…we would all like to stick around. Maybe not here exactly, but we could be close by and help you out when you need it. You’re the first person, hybrid or human, who has ever been kind to us. And we feel safe here. Would it be okay if we stuck around?”

You considered it for a moment, wondering what it was that made them feel so safe or comfortable. And if you were okay with what he’d said. Yoongi and Jungkook wanted you as their mate. As proposals went, you’d heard worse, but you also hadn’t known them long enough to commit to anything. “Tell them they have to play the long-game. And…I kept a couple of the nearby houses from having burst pipes the last two winters for when people pass through. If we get the one across the street set up with a power supply, you guys can live there. The house next door is for refugees on the move, and me. It’s easier to bathe there.”

He grinned at you. “We can stay?”

“Yeah, sure. Why not. But that means we’ll have to be frugal. I’ll need you guys to help me get two more greenhouses planted.”

“Sure! We can do that!” He grinned happily, bouncing on his toes.

“Great. Now, go tell the boys to stop attacking me with affection out of the blue.”

He laughed and hurried off to tell the others.

What had you just agreed to?

———

You weren’t sure what it was about Halloween that always brought more zombies around than normal. Maybe it was the swift approach of winter. The hard frosts. Urging them to migrate.

Either way, you’d had your work cut out for you from the moment you woke up.

Thankfully, the boys hadn’t wandered off alone at all, and never unarmed after you woke everyone by shooting the rifle.

You did lose another chicken though, the one that refused to go into the coop once she’d escaped the previous evening.

“Is that coffee?” Yoongi asked, gaze locked on your mug.

“Sort of,” You answered, gesturing to the pot. “There’s coffee in it, if that’s what you’re asking.” You’d combined your coffee-tasting tea with some of the frozen coffee grounds you had. You hadn’t resorted to your instant coffee yet. You weren’t ready to admit defeat. You weren’t ready to say goodbye to coffee.

But that day was fast approaching.

You would have to bid your vice goodbye.

Another gunshot alerted you to an issue out front, but you waited for the holler for assistance.

“We’re good!”

You nodded and poured Yoongi a mug of the sort-of-coffee sort-of-tea.

He took a sip and sighed. “Good.”

“Glad you like it,” You replied.

He nodded, then sat back beside you, surveying the fields for more zombies.

Jungkook came and sat between the two of you on the ground, leaning against Yoongi’s legs.

They sat with you in comfortable silence, though Jungkook was also tracing the seam along your calf. Barely touching, seemingly an absentminded action, but slowly capturing your full attention.

Jungkook peeked up at you, then back down, tugging on the seam. “Okay?”

You smiled. “Sure.” It was amusing that he wanted permission to play with a seam.

Yoongi glanced around, then got up. “Can see house?” He asked, pointing toward the house next door.

You looked around seeing Jimin and Hoseok coming around to relieve you and Yoongi from your watch. “Sure, just tell them where we’re going.”

Jungkook nodded, hopping up and racing to meet them, glancing back multiple times as they continued walking over.

Jimin gave you a thumbs up, and they took your places.

You led the two curious hybrids over to the house, glad you’d kept up with cleaning it once a week. It was chilly in there, but not freezing. And honestly, during winter, you preferred staying in there because of the bathroom. You’d set up a shower in the store, and a sort of bath, but usually if you really wanted to feel clean and bathe in nice hot water, you came to the house and indulged because it had an energy efficient water heater that could run on the power supply you generated all through the year.

Either way, the cozy house was clean and well-furnished.

Jungkook looked around curiously, straying a little.

Yoongi stayed close to you.

“Not much to see. I put overstock food in the basement when I need to.”

Yoongi nodded, then got closer to you, seeming to ponder his words carefully. “Namjoon told you, scents and things.”

You felt a decently strong urge to start running. “Uh, yes. Did he tell you what I told him?”

He nodded, then rolled up his sleeve. He rubbed against certain parts of his wrist and arm, then held it out to you.

You blinked at him, confused beyond reason.

“Smell,” He said quietly.

You looked between him and his arm skeptically, then leaned forward and casually sniffed his wrist.

Then you sniffed again, because who the heck smelled like petrichor?!

Jungkook eagerly joined the two of you, offering you his wrist.

Jasmine.

Your weaknesses.

Yoongi gently pressed a kiss to your cheek. “You smell nice with us.”

You closed your eyes.

“Oranges?” Jungkook guessed, nuzzling up to your other side.

And oh, those sneaky fluff-butts.

And didn’t they know that there were zombies around.

But of course they could tell how you felt about all of this thanks to their superior sniffers.

Which was probably how you ended up kissing Jungkook while Yoongi kissed your neck.

All of you stopped at the sound of a particularly loud gunshot.

Shortly followed by two more shots that had all of you hurrying out to make sure everything was under control.

You carefully avoided them the rest of the afternoon, not entirely certain you trusted yourself around them and their stupid petrichor and jasmine which were your favorites. And they said you smelled like oranges and what did that even mean aside from Yoongi saying that you smelled good with them. Were oranges a desirable smell?

But whenever you passed by them, or were near, they found a way to lightly touch your arm, brush their hand against yours, rest their hand on the small of your back, tuck your hair away from your face and you totally didn’t end up kissing Yoongi when he went with you to feed the broody turkey.

And you both definitely wouldn’t have been overtaken by a zombie if Jungkook hadn’t conveniently come by and shot it.

Jungkook peppered you both with kisses, as though those would help calm you from the close call, and then pointed out that he had set out the jack-o-lanterns.

You stared at the glowing pumpkins and started laughing, because, of all the things to prioritize that day, with zombies all around…he made sure the jack-o-lanterns were put out.

So maybe when all of it was you were assigning watch duty for the night, you made sure those two would be with you, because you felt safe with them looking after you. Both of them had saved you.

“Lonely?” Yoongi whispered, staring up at the stars.

“No,” You whispered back, fingers running through Jungkook’s hair. But this time that was all you needed to say. It was enough.

“Good,” Jungkook sighed, giving a sort of rumble of approval and melting further against you as you gently scratched behind his ears, fluffy tail wrapping around him and eyes drifting shut.

There was a long trial ahead of you. Learning their language, fighting zombies, making sure there was enough food to eat, fighting zombies, caring for the livestock, fighting zombies, and exploring whatever this was with Yoongi and Jungkook. Maybe even convincing them to try and make it over to the hybrid town, just to try and initiate trade or something.

There were a lot of things to think about, and consider, questions to ask and have answered.

But in the glow of the three jack-o-lanterns, with soft smell of petrichor and jasmine surrounding you and the sounds of the others talking and laughing inside, you weren’t worried.

You weren’t lonely. “Not anymore.”

--

Next

--

Zombie Apocalypse Masterpost

Tagging: @lost-xim, @bryophytas, @young-yellkie, @alex--awesome--22,  @missmoxxiesworld​, @knjhe​,  @i-dont-even-know-fck​, 

[forsakenoathkeeper]

I Am Alive (chapter 6/?)

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Synopsis: You were a mechanical engineer, now a nurse for androids, who moved back to Detroit after the revolution to offer aid. After reconciling with an old friend, you became rather acquainted with his android partner.

Please support me on AO3 & thanks for reading ♥

The rain had finally started to die down when Connor pulled into the Thirium Clinic's parking lot. There were only a couple other cars present, likely your coworkers.

The android retrieved an umbrella from his trunk before trotting over to the entrance. Not wanting to make a mess by dripping water all over the place, he decided to wait outside, beneath the awning covering the front entrance.

"I'm right outside," he messaged you.

Not even a full minute later, a nurse came sprinting through the building, over to the front door. He could see her through the window, and lifted a brow at the sight. She smacked the door with her side, swinging it open, and hung half her body out the doorway.

"Are you Connor?" she asked, beaming with a wild grin.

"...yes," he replied, feeling strangely uneasy under her gaze.

The nurse stuck her head back inside and shouted, "I told you he was an android! You owe me twenty bucks!"

She turned back around to face Connor. "You can come inside - already a mess in here anyway," she said before immediately flinging herself back inside.

Connor hesitated for a moment before letting himself in; sure enough, the roof had leaked at the seam, which allowed water to come pouring in through a gap in the wall. There were puddles everywhere. The nurses for closing shift didn't seem the least bit perturbed by it.

"We've been dying to meet you," the nurse who had made a bet about him proclaimed.

Another nurse approached, a backpack slung over his shoulder. He fished his wallet out of his pocket and threw a folded twenty-dollar bill at the other nurse. It smacked her on the side of the head before fluttering to the ground.

She hastily snatched it off the floor and waved it in the air, laughing maniacally for a second. She shoved the crinkled bill in her pocket before turning her head to the android.

"Soooo, what do you do, Connor?" she asked sweetly.

"I'm a detective with the Detroit Police Department," Connor answered, his hand unconsciously lowering to straighten his tie. Considering it was sopping wet, it was a pointless effort.

"That puts a new meaning to 'blue blood', huh?" she teased, elbowing the other nurse.

"Sir, I want this woman arrested for shitty jokes," he said dryly. "It's physically hurting me."

"Tch. Shut up," she retorted, lacking any real spite. In fact, she was still smiling. "My jokes are amazing."

"They're criminal," he retorted, lip twitching.

You came around the corner, bag in tow, jacket zipped up over your scrubs, hair pulled back sloppily. Your eyes landed on Connor and-

-oh damn.

He had said he got caught in the rain; but, he wasn't just a little dampened, he was absolutely soaked, clothes clinging to his body. The best part was that Connor didn't seem the least bit perturbed by his state, standing there, completely unbothered by it.

"You're a little wet?" you chuckled as you walked up to him.

Connor's lip twitched into a nervous smile. "Sorry. I promise the car is dry - well, except for the driver's seat."

You looked up at Connor's freckled face like a lovestruck moron. A week and some odd days was way too long. He was more handsome than you remembered, gorgeous smile on his lips, brown eyes reflecting the shiny, obnoxious overhead lights. His LED was shining a magnificent blue.

"So, this is the one you've been keeping from us?" the female nurse teased as the party headed for the door. The male nurse took care of the light switches along the way.

"Everyone needs to be protected from you," the male nurse jutted in, loudly, to make sure she heard him.

"I haven't been keeping him from you," you laughed.

"You probably should," the female nurse teased. "He's way too cute."

You seemed embarrassed by that, a slight blush on your cheeks, trying to hold back soft laughter. You were forthcoming with how attracted you were to him in private; yet, Connor still felt pride bubble up inside him when that same attraction was presented in front of others.

Was that... normal?

"See you idiots tomorrow," you teased on the way out. The male nurse locked the door while the other stayed behind so they could walk to their car together.

Connor was prepared to open the umbrella, but realized the raining had stopped.

"Let's hurry before it picks back up," you said before starting a trot over to Connor's car.

As soon as you slid into the passenger, tossing your bag into the back, you realized it was still warm in the car.

"Did you...?" you uttered as Connor slid into the driver's seat. "-run the heater for me?"

"Yes," he replied plainly.

"Oh - thank you." You felt embarrassed knowing that he took the time to be mindful of things that, as an android, he was unaffected by.

Connor started the car and carefully peeled out of the parking lot.

"Your coworkers are very curious of me," Connor observed. You glanced over at him, perfect posture, hands on the wheel in the textbook locations they were supposed to be. You hadn't thought about it when he brought you to his apartment, but Connor drove a manual transmission. It made you wonder if he used his car for work more than he let on. Or maybe he just felt more comfortable like this?

"Yeah, they're just being dorks," you replied softly, tearing your eyes away from him.

"I hope they don't trouble you."

Connor left it unspoken; but, you knew what he was referring to.

"Oh - no, it's not - people are just like that. It has nothing to do with you being an android," you insisted. "You know - they're just being nosy."

"I understand. Officers at the precinct enjoy gossiping about each other's relationships," Connor said, some intrigue in his voice.

"Oh?" You hummed. "What kind of gossip goes on about you?"

"I don't believe they think I am capable of it," Connor explained.

Capable of dating? -of sex? His words brought a frown to your face, not that it was particularly surprising. You had wondered what kind of environment Connor worked in. Was he an equal part of the team or just another android? Somehow, you doubted it was the former. Hank was probably the only one who gave him any respect.

"It doesn't bother me," Connor added, sensing your frustration.

"Oh, I - I shouldn't butt into your job," you said.

"I don't see it as 'butting in'," Connor uttered. His eyes had been focused on the road; but, he let them shift to you for a second. "I like when you ask questions about me."

That made you smile. He said it as if it was something he wasn't quite used to experiencing. "Then, I have something I wanna ask - is there anything you've wanted to do? -something you were afraid to ask about? -or, just, didn't have the chance?"

Connor's LED shifted to yellow for a moment as he pondered your question.

"A concert," he blurted out. Not expecting that answer, you looked over at him, intrigued. He seemed really concentrated, taking your question very seriously.

"They seem overwhelming," he added on with some uncertainty. "But, I think it would be fun to experience something like that," he continued, sounding a bit more confident this time. His LED shifted back to blue.

"You know you said you wanted to treat me to something?" You asked. "Then, let's do a concert."

"Well, I - uhm - wanted it to be something that you wanted," he said, almost apologetically.

"I do," you said with a chuckle, shifting your eyes back to the road. "I haven't been to one since I was a kid. It'll be fun. -and, taking you to your first concert would be an honor."

"I'll do my best to make it enjoyable," he stated - no, promised.

"You don't have to-" you began, cutting yourself off when you realized he wasn't really going to listen. You grumbled quietly to yourself. When your eyes shifted to the android for a second, you caught him smiling.

Sometime later, the car slid into your driveway.

You remained seated, staring ahead like an idiot. Connor didn't say anything, either because he was polite, or because he didn't want to leave.

"Do you wanna come inside and dry off?" you blurted, turning to Connor.

He seemed surprised by your question, eyebrows lifting slightly.

"I - I mean-" you sputtered. Simultaneously, Connor answered, "yes."

You smacked your mouth shut, and Connor uttered, "I don't want to keep you up late?" not very convincingly.

"You wouldn't," you squeaked. "-and some towels to dry your car?"

"T-that would be nice," Connor stated, a little more confidently.

"Y-yea," you stammered before rotating around to slip out of the car. Connor shut it off while you fished your bag out of the backseat and scurried inside.

You tossed your bag onto the dining table - that was never actually used for dining - and made a dash for the master bathroom. After fishing out some towels, you returned to the entryway, where Connor had waited patiently.

"I might have something that fits you if you want a change of clothes?" you offered as you handed him the towels. "I could go look for - uhm..."

You could have smacked yourself being this way. You were dating, had sex, for fucks sake. This shouldn't be so damn hard.

"Thank you," Connor replied, caught off guard by the offer. "Are you s-?"

"It's no trouble," you interrupted him gently, giving him an encouraging nudge.

Connor returned to his car and you sprinted into your bedroom to rummage through your dressers. You definitely had some oversized lounge pants that would fit him. When you fished them out - light grey, strings missing - you tossed them onto the bed and kept digging.

Sure enough, you had a couple white T-shirts leftover from your days in uni. The course demanded white and you decided to buy men's because they were cheaper, and large was the only size they had left at the time. At least, they were going to come in handy again.

The android was waiting in your entryway again when you exited to look for him.

"Hope this is alright?" you offered, holding the clothes up.

He hardly glanced at them. "Anything would be adequate."

Anything? Well, geez, then wear nothing.

-you wanted to say.

"You can come inside," you laughed, gesturing to the hallway that led to your bedroom. Connor followed you through the living room to your bedroom and into the connected bathroom. You set the clothes on the countertop near the sink. When you turned around, Connor was already undressing.

It wasn't new, but-

-it still swarmed your tummy with butterflies.

To distract yourself, and so you wouldn't stare at him stupidly, you retreated to your bedroom to change out of your scrubs and into something more comfortable. Connor stepped out of the bathroom just in time to see you pull a shirt over your head and cover any exposed skin.

You turned to see him standing there, looking almost nervous, out of his element. Up until now, you had only seen Connor dressed prim and proper, or not dressed at all. He looked startlingly good in a plain white shirt and grey lounge pants, or maybe you just liked how domestic it was.

You were about to blurt out a question: to ask him if he was thirsty. When you remembered, he couldn't.

"Oh - uhm - I forgot something," you uttered, stepping towards him.

"What was it?" he asked, brow furrowing. "Do we need to go back to the-"

Connor silenced himself when he saw you leaning in, the look in your eyes ushering him closer. He met you halfway. It was brief, chaste, but enthusiastic. He closed his eyes, and let himself get swept away for a moment. It felt good, maybe better than it did last time because he was starving, something he didn't know he was capable of.

When you leaned back, you uttered against his mouth, "thank you for the ride."

Connor's LED flashed red as he contemplated leaning back in and claiming your mouth again. You were also standing between him and your bed. All it would take was a little nudge to get you falling onto the sheets.

No-

-that was-

-inappropriate.

His LED hummed to yellow and then back to blue as he calmed his processor.

"No need to thank me," he replied, almost robotically.

You turned away, saying over your shoulder, "gonna get a drink."

As Connor followed you into the kitchen, he looked around your house casually. It was simple, furnished lightly, hardly any decorations. Then again, you had just moved back here not too long ago.

In the kitchen, you poured some juice from a pitcher in the fridge, and sipped it. The android joined you in the kitchen and leaned against the counter, posture slouching, collar on the shirt wide enough that it exposed his collar bones.

"Not as fancy as your apartment," you commented, noticing he was looking around.

"I didn't realize it was," he replied, sincere. "Hank referred to it in that sense, as well."

You laughed quietly before chugging the rest of your drink. It was easy to see Hank saying something like that about Connor's apartment. He probably had a few other choice words that Connor decided not to mention.

"I bet you two had some crazy shenanigans when you first met," you said, beaming at Connor.

Connor chuckled warmly, looking down at the floor for a second. "The first night we met, I had - ugh - spilt Hank's drink and he threatened to attack me, and I informed him that I was 'worth a small fortune'."

"Oh?" you chuckled. "How much we talkin' here? I've got student loan debts," you teased, tapping your chin in faux consideration.

The corner of Connor's lip twitched. "Are you plotting to get rid of me for a profit?" he asked, voice lowering an octane. It was clear he was joking, but there was something a little dangerous to his tone.

"Maybe-" you laughed.

"Because that is very illegal," Connor explained. The laughter drained from your face and you stared at him, very much enjoying the change in tone in his voice. His eyes were the only indicator that he wasn't being serious. Something mischievous was in his gaze.

You saw his LED fade form blue to yellow as he continued, "as an officer of the law, I would have to arrest you for conspiring to comit a crime." His slight grin broke the tension in his voice.

"What if I said I was sorry?" you offered, stepping into his space. Connor looked down at you, crossed between predatory and innocent. Sometimes, it startled you how he managed to look like a seasoned detective and eager rookie at the same time.

He had a few inches on you. You loved how he had to crane his neck a little to catch your eyes.

"You can't bribe me," he uttered carefully.

You hummed, accepting the challenge that Connor had not realized he made. Your hands fell onto his chest, slowly falling down the material of the shirt, testing the waters. Connor let you, standing stiffly against the counter. He was staring at you fiercely.

What if-

Would he like it if-

Part of you was afraid he would be uncomfortable by the suggestion. Part of you wanted to take the risk.

The look in Connor's eyes changed drastically when you slowly sunk to the ground in front of him, like he suddenly had no idea what was going on.

"Ugh-" he stammered when your hands lowered to the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric up and out of the way to dig your fingers into the hem of his sweatpants. He was already pitching a tent, you realized, as your face lowered to crotch level.

Oh-

-he definitely knew what was going on.

Connor gripped the edge of the counter for dear life. "I-I was just joking," he stammered out. "You don't have to-"

"I know," you replied, giving him a very real smile.

Connor visibly relaxed, his panicked eyes shifting between your eyes and your mouth. You saw his adam's apple bob, a gesture that he had no need for, being an android.

"Do you want me to stop?" you asked, hands stopped at his waist.

His LED flashed to red for a second before returning to its golden hue. "No," he replied lowly.

Connor looked incredibly nervous despite the fact that this wasn't your first sexual encounter together. He had given you amazing lip service last time, and you were dying to return the favor. You didn't exactly get the opportunity to appreciate his anatomy properly.

You slipped the hem of his lounge pants down until his cock bobbed free. He wasn't fully hard yet, which surprised you because you didn't know that was an option. You had anticipated it would behave like an on and off switch; however, it seemed that you had misjudged the intricacies of his anatomy.

You pressed a kiss to the tip and heard Connor sharply suck a breath in through his nose.

"You okay?" you uttered, your lips still close, knowing full well he would feel your breath against his skin.

His LED flickered to red again for a brief second before back to yellow. You were tantalized by the thought of what exactly it was you were doing to him: what buttons were you pushing, what types of thoughts rushed through his mind.

His brown eyes were hypnotizing, more beautiful than anything you had ever seen before and expressive to a fault. They constantly changed between raw hunger and innocent passion.

"Yes," Connor eventually answered.

You ducked your head down to kiss at the base and slowly trailed back to the tip, taking your sweet ass time to mask the fact that you were admiring him.

You wrapped your dominant hand around him, reveling in the feel of his skin. It was smooth, velvety, dragged along the artificial organ beneath. It was easy, very easy, to forget that his cock wasn't real. It was indistinguishable from any human's.

He had freckles on his thighs, like sprinklings of spilt coffee, and freckles in the dip where his thigh met his torso. His pubes were neatly assembled around his base and trailed up to end beneath his belly button, soft but still wiry like real hair.

-somebody took the time to make him look this, you realized.

You had to force that thought away. This wasn't about that, this was about him.

You pushed those thoughts away by sucking the tip into your mouth and sinking halfway down, forcing a strangled grunt from the android. You felt him harden fully, stiffening in your mouth. It startled you a little. You shifted back to the tip, lapped your tongue at the underside, and sunk back down. Connor moaned, a staticky, broken sound.

Oh. You had missed those noises: his voice box going on the frits as his processor was too busy focusing on the feelings in his sex to simultaneously deliver proper audio output.

Eager, spurred on by his beautiful noises, you took in as much as you could and near choked, sputtering and coughing when you went too deep.

Connor's hand landed on your shoulder and he huffed out a weak, "a-are you okay?"

You hummed around his member - the vibration briefly putting him on edge - and slid back. Keeping your hand around the spot that you recognized as your limit, you bobbed your head back down, till your lips met your palm. You stroked what your mouth couldn't fit.

Connor's hand maneuvered off your shoulder to the back of your head, where he caressed you with the type of loose touch that suggested he was afraid to grab you too hard. He stared like he was possessed, awestruck at the sight of his cock disappearing past your lips, overwhelmed by the simple fact that you wanted to do this to him.

He wasn't sure why-

You had engaged in intercourse-

-but this-

-this was different.

Connor was released into the world with a different understanding of humans compared to most androids. While he was given instructions on who to obey and when, he wasn't exactly made to serve humans, at least not traditionally as most androids were.

That translated to having a knowledge for social issues that most androids did not.

As such, he knew full well that there was a power dynamic in this action, one that could be perceived as degrading. You were on your knees, servicing his phallus with your mouth-

-surrendering of power.

-giving of trust.

But, when he took in the sight of you, cheeks flushed pink, lips swollen from the friction, eyes closed peacefully and brow lowered in concentration - you seemed pleased at the opportunity to do this to him. Maybe Connor understood; after all, he had dived face first into your sex the second it was presented to him.

Lost in his thoughts - trying not to be lost in his thoughts - trying not to overanalyze, or analyze at all - Connor failed to realize he had been puffing out little noises through his mouth each time his cock slid back into your mouth. It was a faint sound that resembled an inhale.

You heard it, and you loved it - you loved that you could do that to him: this powerful android.

His fingers were tangled loosely in your hair, barely holding on, mostly as a gesture of praise than to maintain control. You did, however, notice the faint way his hips shifted forward slightly, urging you to continue when you sunk back down. You cupped your free hand over his hip and uselessly attempted to hold him down. He seemed to notice, eventually, and suddenly halted his movements.

In your enthusiasm, you managed to drool all over him. Excess saliva coated your palm, which aided in jerking him off. Your hand trailed behind your mouth when you slid back and forth, creating a symphony of lewd, wet noises. You paused to suction tightly around him and carefully draw back to the tip. Connor hissed out a loud, staticky, "aahhhh."

He was trying to watch you; but, as his orgasm approached, his optic sensor began to fail him. He could feel the tension rising in his core, his thirium pump overexerting to keep up with the demand on his processor. His sensor's focus was shifting to his cock, the feeling of the countertop digging into his back starting to go numb.

Connor's fingers suddenly tightened against the back of your head, the pads of his fingers gently digging into your skull. He seemed like he couldn't decide if he wanted to pull you off or push you down.

"W-wa - s-stop," he panted. "-m close-"

You pulled off with an obscene, wet sound, giving him just the slightest break, enough to refocus his eyes. Your hand lowered for a second to cup his sack. Of course, that felt as real as it looked. You squeezed gently and saw his jaw tighten.

"Why do you want me to stop?" you uttered, voice a little hoarse. You almost didn't recognize yourself, sounding so sinful.

"I want to..." he responded lowly, trailing off as you started stroking him again, tugging gently at his shaft. Connor didn't know what the correct answer was. He wanted to touch and please you, too; but, he wasn't being entirely selfless. He wanted to take you again.

"What's your refractory period?" you uttered, sounding quite debauched, lips wet and jaw tired.

Connor gawked at you for a moment, and you ate up that delicious expression. He looked fucked out of his mind, gaze hazy and cheeks red.

"4.27 seconds," he answered lowly.

You almost laughed. He definitely searched his manual for the answer to that.

"Then, come for me," you encouraged, immediately drawing him back into your mouth. It startled a moan out of him.

You were more enthusiastic this time, drawing in as much as you could and sliding back tightly, mouth hot and dripping wet with saliva. The sensation started to claw its way through him again.

He didn't have to obey humans anymore. He broke down every wall that his programming had built up around his free will. However, your gentle command, breathed like a plea on his skin, spurred him on. He doubted he could stop even if he wanted to.

Connor let go of your head and let his hand slide down your back, settling at the top of your spine. He hunched over, thighs trembling and groaning, something like the thrum of an engine rumbling in his chest, mingled with the voice of his audio output unit and the mechanical pieces in his chassis. He moaned hoarsely, a sound that wasn't quite human. His hips shifted, bucking gently into your mouth, as he chased the sensation.

It shouldn't have-

-but fuck if it didn't make your clit throb painfully.

You slid back to the tip so you could look up and catch the sight of him doubled over in pleasure. His eyes were squeezed shut, jaw clenched, LED shining magnificent crimson. There was a faint red tint to his cheeks and the tops of his ears. Fuck, he looked beautiful - and you, you did that.

You fluttered your eyes shut and continued working him over through his orgasm, until he relaxed against the counter, straightening his posture. His hand maneuvered around to cup your jaw and gently pull you off of him. He was huffing in air to cool his systems, eyes taking in your face with adoration.

"You okay?" you asked lowly, ignoring the ache in your jaw and the numbness in your mouth from the friction.

"Y-yeah," he breathed.

He reached for you with his other hand, bending over slightly to help you rise off your knees. As soon as you were standing, his arms wrapped around your back and tugged you in. He claimed your mouth hungrily. You reciprocated as best you could, feeling less like you were being kissed and more like you were being devoured, not that you minded.

Your hands gripped his shoulders for dear life while one of his hands maneuvered to the back of your neck, holding gently to keep you where he wanted you. He liked how puffy your lips felt, tasting you with the knowledge that you were just tasting him - that this sinful mouth brought him to completion - that you wanted to do that to him.

Rutting against each other in the kitchen, you realized he was still hard as steel between you. Either taking consideration for the question you had asked him... or, maybe, he decided that he just wasn't done with you yet.

Connor pulled back when you started huffing pathetic breaths of air through your nose. You gasped when your mouth was finally free.

"Sorry - sorry," he stammered out.

You huffed a short, breathless laugh. Sorry for wanting you so bad... the nerve.

Connor ducked his head down into your neck and lapped his tongue against your throat. You hummed at the sensation, letting your head fall back, easing into the touch.

"Please?" he pleaded into your neck. One of his hands was teasing the hem of your pajama bottoms, right at the base of your spine.

"Mhmm," you hummed pathetically.

The android's hand dipped down, past the hem of your panties and in between your thighs. His longest digit dipped between your folds. You were already dripping wet and slippery with arousal. His finger glided through your folds and found your entrance effortlessly, slipping in with ease.

"Oh," Connor breathed against your throat, surprised by how soaked you were. His breath was hot like the exhaust out of an engine and nearly burned your skin.

You were so, so warm on the inside, walls squishy and compliant to his intrusion. He almost couldn't believe that you had gotten this excited over sucking him off.

He crooked his finger and you cried out, "fuck!" breathless and desperate, clinging to him like you were afraid you were going to fall. He continued that gesture, stretching you tenderly. At this angle, he couldn't reach your clit. But, that was fine; right now, you just wanted him inside you.

"Okay - okay - that's enough," you urged, pushing at him until he let go. "Bed - bed - please."

You had intended for Connor to turn around and walk and you would follow behind him; you didn't expect the android to scoop you up and carry you effortlessly through the house.

"Wait - wait," you pleaded before he could set you on the bed. Connor complied and carefully set you down on your feet, looking at you with nervous eyes, as if he had made a mistake.

You gave him a soft smile and then a gentle push and then another, until he got the message and sat down at the edge of the bed. His palms fell into the sheets and he leaned back slightly, staring at you with bright, brown eyes and LED a vibrant gold hue.

You admired him as you slid your bottoms and underwear off, very much enjoying how he looked, seated at the edge of your bed, cock hanging out, hungry look in his eyes.

He was oozing lubrication from the tip in preparation for what was to follow. His eyes didn't leave yours when he reached down to smear it down his shaft. He didn't intend to make a show of it; but, you looked down and stared just a little longer than necessary.

When you approached, he stopped, and let that hand fall back into the sheets. You took hold of his shoulders and carefully climbed onto his lap, thighs on either side of his.

"Oh," Connor sighed, suddenly understanding why you had nudged him onto the bed.

You smiled, feeling like a seductress. Your forehead fell against his and a sigh slipped free when you felt that velvety tip brush against your folds. You shifted your hips and lowered, slowly impaling yourself on his length.

Connor's head fell back and he hummed, groaning low in his throat. The faint distortion in his sound lit a fire in your belly. His hands lifted to brush your thighs, sliding up to settle at your hips. He touched carefully, as if he wasn't sure if he was allowed to. The look he was giving you was tantalizing: hunger and adoration.

You gripped his shoulders for balance and slid up until his cock was only halfway inside you before rolling your hips back down. You moaned, fanning hot air over his cheeks. Again, he managed to leave you awestruck.

"Ohh, Connor," you breathed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to bring him in closer.

The android nuzzled his face into your neck, resisting the urge to thrust up into you. Your mouth was warm; but, your sex was burning hot, muscles fluttering around him.

Connor peppered kisses along your jaw, artificial breath heavy on your skin, expelling the heat generated from his processor. You could feel the texture change in his hands when his skin faded away to expose the android flesh beneath. It didn't bother you if he gained pleasure in analyzing you. It must have, for Connor groaned into the skin of your neck.

His hands lifted suddenly, curling beneath the hem of your shirt. You removed your arms from him briefly so he could pull the fabric through and toss it somewhere in the room to be forgotten. Connor's shirt followed soon after.

Your bodies clung together again, chest to chest. This time, Connor's mouth sought out yours. The kiss wasn't particularly wet; but, it was noisy, sloppy, fleshy sounds echoing between you. His hands continued to smooth up and down your back, the rough texture of his android skin leaving goosebumps.

"Is it uncomfortable?" he uttered, some insecurity in this tone. He was so close, his lips brushed yours when he spoke.

"Not at all," you panted against his mouth.

You nudged against him until he complied and leaned back, flat on the bed. You braced your hands on his chassis, palms flat on his chest. Connor stared up at you like he had no idea where he was. His hands continued tracing an invisible trail along your waist and thighs, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You rolled your hips, riding him a little more enthusiastically. "Oohh fuck," you uttered, low in your throat, breathlessly. Connor stared, awestruck at the sight of you above him, shifting your hips to take him in deeper, hands pressing down on him. The pleasured look on your face, eyes closed and mouth open, while you took and took was enough to drive him insane.

He was trying to be still, in case this was how you wanted him to be. But, he could sense your frustration, hear it in your voice, feel it in the way your hips shuddered, trying to grind down harder, to get him deeper.

"Please," you whimpered pathetically, eyes fluttering open to look down at him: freckles splattered down his body, muscles tight as the tension rose in his body, pleasure etched across his face.

Connor experimentally lifted his hips to meet yours. Your eyes fell shut and you moaned loudly. Well, he didn't have to be told twice.

After a few thrusts, your hands slipped and you fell on him, chest to chest. Your hands fell onto the sheets and you briefly attempted to sit back up; however, Connor kept the momentum going. Immediately, you gave up and went limp above him, letting him drive into you at the speed he wanted.

You lifted up onto your elbows to kiss him. You missed and pressed a sloppy wet kiss against his cheek. Thinking it was intentional, Connor kissed back against your cheek. You would have laughed if not for the fact that he was churning up your insides.

Your head fell into his hair where you uttered lewd encouragements . "Please - please - mm'close. Con - nor - fuck me - aghh. Don't - stop." He turned his head, lips falling against the shell of your ear. Likely, he intended to say something; however, all that came out was static. Of all things, it was that that pushed you over the edge. You panted and wheezed above him, shuddering violently. Connor could feel it in the thundering of your heartbeat and the way your walls tightened around him.

Connor's head tilted back, pressed down into the sheets, and his eyes pinched shut. His LED was a magnificent shade of crimson.

When he finally stilled, his hands were still holding your waist.

"Connor?" you breathed, finding the strength to lean up and look at him.

His eyes were closed and he wasn't moving.

"Connor?" you asked again, some panic rising in your voice. He turned his head with a small twitch, eyes blinking in tune with his LED. The color softened to blue. "Did you soft reboot?" you asked, concern heavy in your tone.

"N-no," the android replied quietly. "Was just..." he trailed off. "Really good."

You exhaled a heavy sigh of relief. "You worried me."

Slowly, carefully, you lifted off of him. The skin on Connor's hands returned, holding you to try to help. Your legs were sore; but, it was worth the hunger satiated in your core.

"What was it you were trying to say earlier?" you asked softly, taking a seat beside him to catch your breath.

Connor was watching you carefully, likely to make sure you were okay. His brow furrowed slightly at your question and he shifted his eyes nervously away from you.

"I wanted to... to say something that you would like," he offered.

"You mean, dirty talk?" you replied softly, voice dripping with interest.

"Yes," he confessed quietly.

"You did that last time, too," you commented, rising to your feet. Connor watched you curiously, waiting for an explanation. "You said there were things you wanted to do me, and when I asked what those were, you didn't answer."

"I'm... afraid I will say something you won't like," he confessed quietly.

"Connor," you said his name breathlessly. "I doubt there's anything you would say that I wouldn't like. Do you wanna run one by me?"

Connor was leaning up, seated at the edge of the bed. You stepped in close to him and caressed his cheek with your hand. Connor leaned into the touch. You loved the way his skin felt, like he had just shaved yesterday morning, even though that was impossible.

His eyes flickered up to yours, uncertainty in them.

"That... you're mine," he uttered quietly, so quietly that you almost didn't hear him. "It feels wrong."

"It can be," you said, honest, sincere. "But, I don't think you mean it that way. You don't ever try to control me or tell me what to do. You're protective and sometimes that can feel possessive and that isn't always a bad thing. You always know what's right and what's wrong, Connor."

"I don't think I always know what's right," he retorted gently. "I don't want to control you." He sounded almost pained by the mere thought of it. "But, sometimes, I feel like..."

"It's new and can be a little scary; but, I trust you, no matter what..."

Connor pressed a kiss against your palm before gently removing your hand from his face. "I don't want to hurt you..."

You rolled your eyes gently, fondly. "You said that last time, too." He was still holding your hand; so, you gently squeezed back. "You care so much about what I want," you breathed. "I know that you would stop if I asked you to. I want you to feel comfortable with me - that you can be yourself..."

Connor's eyes shot up to your face. "I do," he proclaimed, sounding almost insulted at the suggestion. "I just - I-... I don't want to lose control."

You returned beside him on the bed.

"-of myself," he added on.

"Connor," you began fiercely. He seemed a bit surprised by your tone change. "We all feel that way sometimes: afraid we'll lose ourselves. I'm not telling you to not be afraid, just that-... -that-... -that you aren't alone."

His LED shined yellow for a moment, eyes focused on yours as he pondered over your words. His LED shifted back to blue and his shoulders relaxed. The android leaned in and nuzzled his nose against your cheek. You smiled at the intrusion.

"Connor?" you whispered, questioning, hopeful.

"Thank you," he murmured against your skin.

“Are you okay?” you asked, leaning back to look into his eyes.

“I feel better,” he uttered.

You nodded, maintaining his gaze for a few seconds longer, hoping that he would tell you if something was wrong. He seemed more relaxed now, brown eyes warm and inviting. To further prove his point, Connor stole a quick kiss from your lips, then another, and one last one.

You pulled back with a smile and rose to your feet. "I better get to bed... You-... you can-... -whatever you'd like." You wanted to ask him to stay, but wanted him to make that decision without your interference.

"I'd like to stay?" he asked sincerely. “I’ll have to leave before you get up...”

You nodded with a smile and retreated into the bathroom to clean up and brush your teeth. When you returned, Connor was already tucked into the sheets, like he belonged there. You turned the lights off before joining him.

"Do you have a band you want to see?" you uttered tiredly into your pillow.

"Not in particular," he answered quietly, shuffling in close to nuzzle up against your back. His bare legs tangled with yours, having ditched the lounge pants. You smiled against your pillow, thinking that maybe there was no point in suggesting clothes since you had a track record of ending up this way.

"My favorite band is Starset if you want to try them out?" you offered, pausing halfway to yawn.

Connor nodded into the flesh of your shoulder. He waited patiently until your breathing pattern shifted, telling him that you were asleep.

He searched the internet for that band and immediately recognized one of the members as an android. He wondered if it was a coincidence that you enjoyed music made by an android. Or, maybe, all things considered, that made perfect sense.

The first song that came up was titled 'Starlight'. He listened to it in its entirety and found the lyrics left a strange hole in his chest.

♪ ♫ “So say the word and I'll be running back to find you...

A thousand armies won't stop me - I'll break through...

I'll soar the endless skies for only one sight...

Of your starlight...” ♫ ♪

[silver-embersss]

Broken Horns and Broken Hearts Chapter 9

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10

“Tommy!”

“The fuck you want?!”

The drowsy teen rubbed his eyes as someone dragged him out of his rickety bed, into the ravine proper. He wasn’t wearing pyjamas, since he ran away with only the clothes on his back and an inventory full of junk, so he just slept in the same muddy clothes.

“Tommy, we have to prepare!”

“Prepare for wha- Oh. The festival. It’s like, the middle of the night though!”

Wilbur grinned at him, but the manic smile died when he didn’t smile back.

“Will-”

The Ex-President grabbed his shoulders in an iron grip.

“What, is the famous TommyInnit not gonna fight on our side tomorrow?”

He tried to pull away, but Wilbur didn’t let go.

“No, I know what it is.

“You’re scared.”

Tommy shook his head.

“No, Will-”

“TommyInnit you’re scared! I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice- you’re terrified! And you’re terrified of people seeing through you, to the coward you are!”

“Wilbur come on, I thought we talked about this-”

His voice trembled, and he let out a shaky breath.

Wilbur leaned down so that his face was level with Tommy’s, and the teen had to stare right into his maniacal expression.

“Why not be the bad guys Tommy? Let’s blow this shit to smithereens!”

“Wilbur, this isn’t the way-”

He’d tried, over and over again, to dissuade his brother, pull him back from the cliff from which he was poised to jump. It never worked.

The arsonist just turned away from him with a wild laugh.

“Coward.”

Techno just watched, pretending he couldn’t see the tears that ran down his little brother’s face as he prepared for war.

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

[TW FOR BLOOD+GORE]

When he came back to himself, Tubbo couldn’t help but scream.

What have I done?!

Blood dripped down the handle of his axe, and he dropped it with a small cry. Fundy knelt in front of him, a large gash across his chest spraying blood. The fox looked up at him, terrified, breath hitching and half of his face bruising rapidly.

“F-Fundy, Oh god-”

His friend’s expression warred between fear and hatred as Tubbo stumbled back. Caught between trying to help Fundy or run away, the teen took another step back, slamming into someone behind him.

“Tubbo, what- Fundy!”

Niki pushed past him to tend to the shapeshifter. She stared fearfully at him, eyes darting between the blood on his hands and his horns, glinting in the moonlight. Tubbo tried to plead with them both.

God, what happened?!

“Niki, please-”

“You- I don’t- Tubbo, how could you?!”

Niki’s eyes filled with tears as she put herself protectively between him and Fundy.

Tubbo just stared, his own eyes stinging.

“I- I’m s-sorry…”

He whispered, throat hoarse.

What’s happening to me?!

With no options left, Tubbo turned and sprinted away, bloodstained shirt flapping behind him and tears whipped away by the wind.

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

Tubbo crashed through the undergrowth as he ran, tree trunks whizzing past him, dark shadows that loomed above his head like disapproving gods. Often, he stumbled, grazing his palms on the coarse dirt, but still the teen threw himself forward, sobs tearing themselves from his throat. The bloodied bandages he’d wrapped around the base of his horns were coming loose, and the end of one briefly touched his face before he brushed it away.

A bramble ripped through his thin dress shirt, scoring a gash across his arm. Another caught on one of his horns, leaving a thin scratch along the dark surface. The teen pushed through the thorns, not noticing the prickly vine curled around his ankle until it yanked him backward. Pain shot up his leg, and Tubbo faceplanted into the dewy grass with a raw sob. He curled up where he lay, ignoring the throbbing of his newly-sprained ankle, tears pooling on the earth beneath him.

“Schlatt?!”

Tubbo flinched at the sound of his best friend’s voice. He shifted, covering his face with his hands, but froze when he heard the sound of steel on leather.

“Don’t fuckin’ move! What the fuck are you doing here?!”

The teen bit his lip hard, knowing what was about to happen and beginning to tremble. Tommy was going to kill him, thinking he was Schlatt, and even after he saw his face he’d know he deserved it… What happened next was unexpected, though.

“Y-You’re hurt…?” His voice was strangely soft.

Tommy’s sword stayed leveled at his head, but the teen took a step closer, brow furrowing.

“Wait…”

Tubbo stopped breathing for a second.

So did Tommy.

“You’re not Schlatt!”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck- Every nerve in Tubbo’s body told him to run, cry, punch Tommy in the face and pretend this had never happened-

Too late.

Plus, he was tired of hiding.

He raised his tear-stained face from the ground, and sat up.

“T-Tommy…”

“TUBBO!”

To his surprise, instead of running him through like a kebab, Tommy dropped his sword and seized Tubbo in a tight hug, grinning like crazy. Then Tubbo saw the inevitable falling of that joyous smile as his friend remembered why he’d thought it was Schlatt in the first place. He began to explain, but Tommy cut him off.

“Tommy, I-”

“-We gotta get you inside, Big T! It’s fuckin’ freezing out here!”

The teen picked up his sword and sliced through the brambles wound around his ankle, before hoisting Tubbo’s uninjured arm around his shoulders to take the weight off of the sprain. It only took a minute to get to the small hillside where the entrance was concealed, but now they faced the challenge of getting Tubbo down the narrow, winding stairs to the ravine. Luckily, Techno was on guard, and he didn’t ask questions, just unceremoniously slinging the teen over his shoulder and carrying him down in silence.

Tommy whispered something to the piglin before grabbing bandages and binding Tubbo’s ankle, neither of them speaking the whole time. He almost died from the tension, but finally it was done, and Tommy flopped down on the stone floor next to his friend.

“So…”

He said eventually.

“What’s with the fuckin’ Schlatt cosplay then?”

Tubbo couldn’t help himself.

He burst out laughing, and after a moment Tommy joined him.

“Schlatt… c-cosplay?!”

He giggled, and Tommy elbowed him hard.

“Sh-Shut... up!”

Suddenly, they both sobered, meeting each other’s eyes. Tubbo was the first to look away.

“You don’t have to-”

Tommy started to reassure him, but Tubbo cut him off with a gesture. He looked down at his hands in his lap, fiddling with the torn fabric of his shirt.

“I… Schlatt, he…

“Schlatt’s my dad. He’s- I have his horns.”

A minute passed in silence, before Tommy enfolded his friend in a side hug. The teen froze in surprise.

“But… don’t you hate me?”

“What- What are you on about? Why would I hate you?”

“You don’t think I’m on his side?”

“Are you?”

Tommy smirked.

“No! I mean…”

He bit his lip, avoiding eye contact.

“I don’t know.”

He whispered.

His friend cocked his head to the side, confused.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Tubbo didn’t answer for a moment, trying to think of what to say. In the end, he just blurted it out without thinking.

“I- I keep being horrible to people and I don’t remember it and I feel like I’m copying Schlatt and I imprisoned Niki and I hurt Fundy, I- I- I stabbed him, and there was so much blood but I don’t even remember how I got there but he- he could b-be d-dead and and I- I-”

His words broke down into sobs and tears burst forth anew. Tommy didn’t let go of him, just stared up at the high ceiling of the ravine. Eventually, he spoke.

“I mean, he was a bit of an arsehole anyway. I could say I’m upset, but that would be lying.”

Shocked for the second time at Tommy’s reaction, Tubbo just stared open-mouthed at his friend.

“You-”

“Tubso, you really think I’m gonna stop being friends with you just because you fuckin’ stabbed someone?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Then you’re a fuckin’ dumbass, clearly.”

“hEy-”

Tommy burst out laughing at the voice crack, and said cackling was contagious. Once again, they both dissolved into hysteria, the laughter echoing off of the stone walls.

“D’you wanna stay here tonight?” Tommy asked, with a chuckle that turned into jaw-cracking yawn.

“Wilbur said we were supposed to be preparing for tomorrow - well, later today, technically - but I could kill for some shut-eye.”

The teen leant back against a double chest, and Tubbo copied him.

“Well, I’m not exactly sure I could go back anyway… Niki-”

“Hey, it’s cool! So, Techno made some stew the other day and I don’t know about you but I am starving, wanna see if there’s some left?”

Without waiting for an answer, Tommy hooked Tubbo’s arm around his shoulders again, hoisting him up. Tubbo took a moment to consider, then frowned. He actually couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen food other than the cookies he sometimes brought to Schlatt with his coffee.

It turned out that there was stew left, and after heating it up by a precarious system of balancing bowls over a campfire and gobbling it down in three seconds flat as teenagers are wont to do, the two dragged blankets and pillows out to the main area. It was warmer there due to the fires, and there was more space than Tommy’s alcove - enough room for them to spread out, anyway. Tubbo was the king of taking up more space that should be physically possible for someone of his size, whereas Tommy tended to almost shrink in his sleep, so most of the time it worked out.

Tubbo was about to doze off when he remembered about Tommy’s frequent nightmares. Ever since Eret’s betrayal he’d wake up drenched in sweat, having re-lived the moment in his sleep, needing to make sure that neither of them were dead. He shivered at the thought of Tommy down in this dark ravine all alone, with both of his brothers off somewhere else. For all the teen’s bluster, Tubbo knew he feared being alone more than anything, and it worried him - but he seemed fine, right?

Right.

[wingsofkpop]

Hiraeth - I.V: Rise of the Primes

pairing(s):  Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre:  Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, heavy Angst, eventual Smut

warnings: Mature language, mentions of death and murder, violence, blood and gore, very brief depiction of magical torture, mentions of child abuse and other traumatic experiences, etc. 

word count: 8,1k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

Mark remembers a time when he was much younger, much, much more naive, and completely oblivious to his magical roots.  

And while he’s not usually one to look back into his past, nowadays, he can’t help but wonder about those clueless years where his sole care was passing dreaded calculus class and keeping his pot stash hidden from his mom. Sometimes Mark even misses those days—misses his mom.

Mark often wonders what would have happened if his mom wasn’t killed that night. He was only just beginning to learn the basics of witchcraft back then, barely able to keep his emotions in check without blasting a window to pieces. If his mom were still around, would he have done the stupid things he knew better than to do? Would he have sought for such ambitions he knew he could never achieve? Would he have been a better leader, witch, man…?

Yes. Mark knows that. He would be better. 

It’s been years since Mark tried to talk to his mother, having given up trying to summon her spirit when he received a personal message from her telling him to stop—to let her go. Even so, he wishes that he can just have one minute. One short minute to see her face, to look into her eyes, and to ask her the same question that has been haunting his mind since he found her body in a pool of her own blood in their home: 

‘What the fuck am I supposed to do now?’

As much as he plays the leader-card, and as much as he acts like he’s all-knowing—Mark has no clue what he’s doing. It’s as if he’s been inside a maze these past nine years, unable to find the right path that leads him to glory. Maybe if she was still here, holding his face in her wrinkled hands and speaking his name in her sweet voice, Mark would know what to do. He’d know how to get rid of the huntress and the witch without taking their lives. He’d know how to protect his people, and the rest of the town. 

He’d know how to be better—to do better. 

Mark shakes his mother’s face from his mind, attempting to focus on the passing scenery of the forest. He adjusts his grip on the steering wheel before reaching forward to turn his air conditioning on full blast, then adjusting his grip again.

It’s been months since he last traveled this way, yet all the sights are the same. The trees are the same trees. The shrubbery, the same shrubbery. Even the rocks haven’t changed save for a new crack or two. That thought actually spills anger through his veins. It’s as if the forest doesn’t realize something is missing—someone is missing.      

‘And it’s your fault.’ 

Mark shakes the intrusive thought away, peering at his companion through the corner of his eye. Jinyoung, like Mark, is merely staring at their surroundings, dark eyes flitting around in every direction. Before everything happened, Mark would have never predicted that one of the Primes would be riding in his passenger’s seat with no care in the world. To be honest, he’s still having a hard time believing him and Jinyoung are on decent terms at all. 

“My sisters and I used to play in these woods.” Mark is taken aback by the sudden, albeit casual comment from the vampire, nearly losing his footing on the gas pedal. He looks to the side once again, discovering Jinyoung’s gaze still fixated outside the window.

Mark clears his throat. “I… didn’t know you had siblings.” 

“It was a long, long time ago.” Jinyoung shrugs, “Besides, we weren’t close anyway.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

His question is answered with silence, and when he turns to the passenger, Jinyoung’s expression is blank, almost cold. Mark decides not to press and focuses back on the road. 

The cabin has not changed either, Mark notices as the structure comes into sight. A heaviness begins to settle within his chest as he parks in the gravel driveway, one that has his heart beating twice its normal speed and palms beginning to sweat. Trying not to dwell on it too much, Mark cuts out the engine and wipes his hands against his jeans. He’s prepared to exit the vehicle when a sudden realization enters his brain. 

Mark turns to Jinyoung and sighs, “I think it might be best for you to stay in the car.” 

“I was thinking the same thing.” Jinyoung agrees, granting the witch a rigid nod.

“Just don’t steal my truck, okay?” 

“This piece of junk?” Jinyoung chortles, “It’s practically falling apart.” 

“Don’t piss her off. She still has to get us home.” Mark finds his chest a little lighter as a result of their banter, something he would never admit aloud to the vampire. With a silent farewell, Mark shoves open his door and steps into the bright sunlight, cursing himself for forgetting his sunglasses back at the mausoleum. 

The log cabin casts a drowning shadow over Mark as he makes his way toward the figure waiting on the steps that lead up to a redwood porch. Overgrown vines and moss seem to inhabit every available spot of the cabin, winding around wooden supports and spilling down each roof tile. If it hadn’t been for the catch of the sunlight, Mark wouldn’t have been able to notice one of the grimey windows on the second floor had been cracked. 

“Long time no see, hyung.” Mark finds his chest tightening at the tired tone of the figure’s voice. 

He paints what he hopes to be a smile across his lips and nods. “It’s nice to see you, Gyeom.” 

Like the cabin, it has also been months since Mark has seen his younger friend. Yugyeom has always been a giant, towering over him and basically everyone else in town since he hit puberty, but if Mark didn’t know any better, he’d say the wolf had grown even more. His shoulders are broader, dark hair longer, hands calloused and slightly marred with the throes of hard work. He must still be working for the town’s lumber service. 

Yet another something that hasn’t changed. 

“How… How are things?” 

Yugyeom shrugs. “You know how it is out here. Not much excitement.” 

“Right.” The silence between them grows heavier and heavier with each passing second. Mark searches his brain for something to expel the awkwardness, but can’t seem to see past the guilt and suffocating self-loathing swirling through his gut. 

He thanks the universe when Yugyeom breaks the quiet himself. 

“I know you didn’t come just to check in, hyung.” His gut sinks at the younger’s painfully true observation. “What’s going on? And why can I smell a Prime in your passenger seat?” 

“I don’t if you’ve heard, but Nayeon was killed last week.” 

Yugyeom’s eyes soften. “I saw it on TV. I’m really sorry, hyung,” 

“The people who killed her—a witch and supernatural huntress—they’re after the rest of the coven.” Mark ignores Yugyeom’s sympathy, fiddling with a loose thread inside the pocket of his jeans. “Jinyoung has been helping us track them down. He’s gonna help us fight but…” 

“But you’re not sure if it will be enough.” 

“I know I have no right to show up here and ask for your help, Gyeom.” With a gulp, Mark dares to step closer to the small staircase. Even as far as scaling the first two steps to move closer to his younger companion. Mark shakes his head, “But—I’m desperate. My people are in danger and… and I don’t want anyone else to die.”  

Another moment of silence passes, save for the violent beating of Mark’s pulse. Yugyeom stares at Mark, his gaze a cross between pained and hopeful. Just when the latter feels like his lungs are going to explode, Yugyeom releases a helpless sigh and shakes his head. 

“I want to help you, hyung. I really do… but I can’t risk anyone in the pack. Especially against a hunter.” 

Mark’s heart drops to his stomach. 

Yugyeom sends him a sad expression. “I’m sorry. I really am.” 

“It’s okay. I get it.” Mark nods, taking a rather clumsy step backward off the porch steps. He manages to save himself from the embarrassment of collapsing into the gravel before offering Yugyeom a weak smile. “I… I would do the same thing. If it were my people.” 

“Hyung—” Yugyeom moves to follow Mark, descending a single stair just as the front door swings open. The embers of Mark’s self-loathing grow to flames at the sight of various familiar faces crowded in the doorway, and he wishes nothing more than to cast a spell that makes him completely disappear. 

“What’s going on?... Mark?” Chan emerges behind Yugyeom, his features a mixture of confusion and surprise. Another few bodies join the younger man, each set of eyes reopening a mess of old scars in Mark’s soul. 

“Mark-oppa!” He barely has time to prepare when a smaller figure dashes down the staircase and collides with his body. His arms catch the figure’s waist before her form falls to the ground, supporting her weight against his own form. 

He releases a heavy, yet silent breath. “Dahyun.” 

“Where the hell have you been!?” Dahyun pulls from the embrace with a fierce, yet playful spark within her dark eyes. “It’s been months, Mark! Months!” 

“I know… It’s just been kind of… weird lately.” 

“We’ve missed you… I’ve missed you.” 

He winces. “Yeah. Me too.” 

“What the hell is he doing here?” Mark recognizes the familiar gritty tone, turning his eyes from Dahyun to a seething Changbin. The animosity in his glare deepens Mark’s wounds. 

“Changbin. Don’t.” 

“He has no fucking right to be here.” Changbin ignores Chan’s warning, narrowing his eyes to poisonous slits. 

“Changbin! You asshole—”  

“It’s okay. I was… just leaving.” Mark interrupts Dahyun’s scold, peeling himself away from her arm like a bloodied bandage. He spares a glance and a nod to a pained Yugyeom, “Thanks, Gyeom. I’ll see you around, okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

Dahyun reaches for Mark again. “But you just got here. You can’t just—”  

“Dubu…” Dahyun turns at Yugyeom’s call, watching the sad shake of his head with glittering eyes. “Let him go…” 

Mark’s heart practically cries out at the pure devastation written across the younger woman’s face as she helplessly drops her arms to her sides. He chooses not to linger on her expression, nor Chan’s, nor Yugyeom’s, and with a final nod of his head, makes a break back to his beat-up, rusted truck. 

In mere seconds, Mark is driving away from the cabin—driving away from the pain. It’s not until the cabin is completely gone from his rear-view mirror is he able to inhale a full breath without his lungs screaming out. 

“No one else is going to die.”  

Jinyoung hadn’t said anything at his frantic entrance, nor that he hadn’t paused to throw on his seatbelt. In fact, Mark had almost forgotten the vampire was in the vehicle at all. He turns to find Jinyoung staring out the window, just as before. And if he hadn’t spoken again, Mark would have thought he imagined the voice himself. 

Jinyoung turns, sending chills down Mark’s spine at the intensity of his gaze. 

“You have my word.” 

Mark can’t find it in himself to respond, stuck between unwanted memories and the nostalgia of uncured heartbreak. He instead swallows the bile at the back of his throat, carefully throws on his seatbelt, and turns up the radio. 

The music does nothing to drown out the cruel thoughts raging through his mind. 

 ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

The scenery outside the car window passes by in verdant blurs, settling a slight wave of nausea in your gut. Not desiring to vomit up the Chinese you ate beforehand, you turn your attention to the young driver instead, meeting her starry-eyed gaze in the rearview mirror. 

“How much longer?” 

“The estate is just up this hill, miss.” The driver assures. “It should be no more than a couple minutes.” 

You nod your thanks, peering out the window before remembering your sickness in the first place. With a silent sigh, you abandon the prospect of any sight at all and close your eyes, leaning into the comfort of the headrest. The slight pressure actually somewhat relieves the throb in the back of your brain. The headache that has been present ever since you stormed out on Mark and Jinyoung. 

It’s been almost three days since you learned the truth about Moon Dye Bay and all its supernatural offerings. You’d think by now you’d be able to process the fact that your best friend is a witch, and the charming man that saved you from likely death is a vampire—one of the oldest vampires in existence at that. But alas, you’re still having a hard time believing any of this is possible. Even with all the evidence, and proof, and general rules of logic. 

Then again, vampires and witches and werewolves and hunters and whatever other creatures aren’t exactly logical… considering they go against everything that is the basis of nature. 

Anywho, neither Mark nor Jinyoung has even tried to reach out since that afternoon. In fact, Mark hasn’t returned any of your calls or texts. Though you’re not exactly surprised as both he and Jinyoung made it very clear of your position on the sidelines. 

Too bad you’ve never been much of a player who likes to miss the action. 

“We’ve arrived, miss.” Your eyelids snap open at the sound of the driver’s lilted voice, jaw almost dropping at the sight that awaits. You shimmy forward, greedily taking in the expanse outside the car window as the driver maneuvers the vehicle up the cobblestone-paved driveway. 

If you had to use one word to describe The Project Estate, it would be massive. Completely fucking massive.  With a single glance, you can only imagine how many acres of land make up the entire lot. The mansion itself is bigger than any building you’ve set foot inside, resembling that of a miniature castle without the turrets, walls and moat. You’re pretty sure it’s at least four times the size of your apartment building. 

“Beautiful place, isn’t it?” The driver marvels, craning her own head over the steering wheel to take in the view. “The Project Brothers are crazy loaded to be able to afford anything like this… What do you think they do?” 

Rob banks with their vampire super strength? Steal artifacts and masterpieces with their vampire super speed? Accumulate millions and millions of dollars in wealth after being alive for centuries?  

You shrug. “They probably own real estate or something.” 

Once the driver stops in front of what you hope to be the front door, you quickly bid her farewell with a generous tip and exit out onto the stone pathway. The purr of the engine grows fainter and fainter as the vehicle turns back the way you came in, leaving you stranded in the shadow of the towering mansion. You can only hope Jinyoung is home. 

An old fashioned, golden door knocker rests on the door, fashioned into the shape of a growling lion. You ignore the goosebumps forming across the skin underneath your jacket and pick up the knocker. It’s heavy in your palm, striking the door with such powerful strikes, it must be impossible for anyone inside not to hear. 

You visited the cemetery earlier, prepared to convince Mark of your resourceful and beneficial addition to whatever little team he’s gathering, but you only found an empty mausoleum, and an even emptier feeling inside your gut. So you figured you would pay Park Jinyoung a visit at his personal place of residence instead—the same residence him and his brother have resided since 1770.  

Your mind races as you wait, thinking over the long speech you prepared to argue your competence and readiness. You don’t know how long it will take, but you do know that you are not leaving until Jinyoung accepts your help, or at the very least, acknowledges your newfound importance in the situation. 

The killers are your roommate’s friends after all. 

After what seems like minutes, but is probably only a couple seconds, the large, mahogany door swings open. Although, the face that appears in the doorway is not the one you were hoping to see.

A young woman appears behind the door, her babyish features practically exuding the forefronts of her age. She couldn’t be older than twenty, you find, at least, definitely not with a face like that. Her eyes are rather bleary when they meet your own, borderline crimson red. You wonder if she just woke up from a deep sleep after a long night of drinking… 

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m looking for Jinyoung?” 

“Jinyoung is not home right now.” The woman’s voice is blank, monotone like your boss whenever he’s giving out a lecture. It deepens your concern. You’ve seen your fair share of hangovers between Jihyo and Sana’s party-animal habits, but never one that renders your body so… zombie-like. 

“Do you know where he went? Or maybe when he’ll be home?” 

The woman doesn’t blink. “No.”

“Okay, um…” You gnaw at your bottom lip, carefully thinking over the next plan of action. Due to the woman’s state, it’s pretty obvious you are not going to be able to get much out of her. Maybe you can try Youngjae’s cell, and eventually badger an answer out of him—

“What’s taking so long? Who’s at the door?” The woman steps aside to reveal a familiar face—one that sends gooseflesh budding across your skin.    

 Jaebeom’s eyes widen in surprise. “You…? What are you doing here…? ” His expression reminds you of your previous encounter outside the town hall, where he confirmed his and his brother’s vampiric nature. Beneath the surprise in his gaze, you can still make out what seems to be apprehension… almost fear. 

“Is Jinyoung here? I need to talk to him.” 

“He’s not here.” Jaebeom crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorway. “He went on some field trip with that Tuan kid. I have no clue where they went.” 

“Well… do you at least know when he’ll be back?” 

He narrows his eyes. “Why do you need to see my brother anyway?” 

“I told you. I need to speak with him.” 

“Are you sure he even wants to talk to you?” 

The agitation spreading through your veins grows at Jaebeom’s obvious indifference. You swallow down the frustration before sparing a glance back toward the silent woman. She’s staring in your direction, but her eyes don’t seem to be looking at you. Instead, they seem to be looking through you.  

“Is she… okay?” You ask softly, earning another wave of surprise from the Prime. 

Jaebeom leans down to murmur something into the woman’s ear, before she turns on her heel and disappears back inside the house. It might have only been a trick of your mind, but hidden beneath the collar of her shirt may be a wound—a wound that looks strangely like a bite mark. 

Your stomach violently turns as you’re reminded of the other night. Jaebeom was going to feed on you, possibly kill you… but he didn’t. 

You murmur aloud before you can think, “Why?...” 

“What?” 

“Why did you stop?” Jaebeom’s face pales at your questions, indicating he knows exactly what you’re talking about. His throat visibly gulps before he uncrosses his arms and steadies himself back on his own feet. 

“So you know…”

“Know you almost killed me?... Yeah. Kind of hard to forget something like that.” 

Jaebeom shrugs. “You’d be surprised what people can forget under mind compulsion.”   

“Mind compulsion?” Your eyebrows furrow as your head tilts in curiosity. “Don't tell me vampires can control minds?” 

Jaebeom raises his eyebrows, his surrounding features contorting to a mixture of shock and amazement. His eyes shine, lingering over the planes of your face. As if you activated a switch, a sly smirk pulls across his lips. Perfectly complimenting the dangerous mischief swirling inside his dark brown irises. 

“So you know what I am then…” Jaebeom chuckles. You don’t like the way his eyes seem to deviously flicker in the sunlight. “Your witch boyfriend must have you on vervain. That explains why my compulsion didn’t work.” 

You ignore his mention of Mark. “Vervain? What’s that?” 

“An herb. It’s poisonous to vampires.” He explains so casually. “It dulls our abilities, makes humans immune to compulsion, and burns like a fucking bitch.” 

“How do you stand in the sun? Shouldn’t you erupt into flames or something?” 

Jaebeom’s smirk seems to widen. “You ask a lot of questions, little dove. That can get you in trouble.” 

“You won’t hurt me.”

“And what makes you think that?” In a flash, Jaebeom is standing right in front of you, his hands threateningly cradling the sides of your head. His eyes bleed pure sadism and malice as he speaks, “I could break your sweet, fragile neck right here, and no one would even know…” 

Any other person would be scared to death. But you know better. 

“If you wanted to kill me, you would have in the alley.” You shake your head, reaching up to grab his wrists and tug his hands from your face. Prowess spills into your chest as his gaze grows surprised once again. 

You nod. “Now, since Jinyoung isn’t here and I really don’t want to pay another hundred dollars to haul my ass back to town, you’re gonna help me understand how this whole vampire thing works.” 

“I’m going to… what now?” 

“You heard me.” You step past Jaebeom and enter the mansion, following the same pathway the previous woman took. You’re barely able to hold back a gasp at the regal interior that greets your entrance. Swallowing your awe, you peer over your shoulder at a rather confused Im Jaebeom and hum delicately, “You don’t happen to drink coffee? Do you?” 

 ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I finished the boundary spell, Mark-hyung. No one can get step foot into the cemetery without us knowing.” Jinyoung watches Jisung step outside of his ritual circle, crafted from salt and the burning essence of various herbs. From across the way, Mark provides the younger witch a nod of encouragement before turning to face the Choi duo. 

“You stocked up on enough energy, Youngjae?” 

Youngjae disentangles his hand from Lia’s grasp, his skin ceasing the magical glow Jinyoung has seen many times in siphoners long before anyone in this particular coven was born. The witch hums, “Yes, hyung. I should have plenty to last.” 

“Don’t count on it.” Mark shakes his head, tossing another smoldering herb into the center of the salt boundary. “We have no idea what we’re up against. Everyone needs to keep on their toes, and stay together.”

“Have you… fought something like this before?...” It takes a whole moment of silence for Jinyoung to realize Jisung had directed the question at him. Peering at the youngest witch with his usual blank expression, Jinyoung inhales a deep breath, attempting to push away the whiplash of memories that rage through his head. 

Jinyoung answers, “I have faced many hunters and witches… but never as a pair.” 

“So you’ve fought dark witches?...” 

The inquiry surprises Jinyoung, but for what reason—he doesn’t know.   

“It is not the witches who are dark—it is the magic.” He finally sighs after a long period of silence. “Dark magic plagues the mind like a parasite, laying its eggs in the user’s morals and logicalities until it builds into an infestation, and completely takes over the witch’s sanity.”

Jisung’s face visibly pales. “Does it… kill the witch?” 

“In more ways than one.” Jinyoung catches Mark’s eyes. Inside them is an emotion he knows too well—guilt. 

“Don’t worry, Sung.” Lia sidles beside the youngest witch, weaving her fingers with his own to provide a comforting squeeze. “Everything’s gonna be fine… right, Mark?” 

Everyone’s eyes immediately trail to the head witch, and though he doubts anyone else could see, Jinyoung notices the aura of fear and apprehension oozing from Mark’s tense body. He can only imagine how Mark feels—terrified for the lives and wellbeing of the people he calls his family… Jinyoung hasn’t felt that pain in centuries, but it’s impossible to forget. 

Especially when it comes to those you love. 

With eyes of pure, determined fire, Mark nods.

“We do this for Nayeon.” He gathers the witches close, reaching across to take Lia and Jisung’s joint limbs in one hand while the other goes for Youngjae. Something inside Jinyoung’s chest seizes at the heartwarming sight… A memory of both him and Jaebeom suddenly rushes into his thoughts where their hands are tightly clasped between their bodies. Where they stand as brother’s united against the world. 

Where did those times go…? 

“—For Nayeon!” Jinyoung returns just in time to see the group disband from their minimal embrace. Lia and Jisung head back toward the mausoleum, probably to fetch more supplies for the battle just waiting over the horizon, while the remaining two witches approach Jinyoung. Each with a sullen expression along their features. 

Jinyoung clears his throat. “You’re certain they’ll attack tonight?” 

“It’s a new moon. Mina’s power will be it’s strongest.” Mark says, providing Jinyoung a grim frown. “Which is why all of us need to be careful. Like I said, we have no clue what to expect.” 

The corners of Jinyoung’s lips slightly turn. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were actually concerned for me.” 

Mark shakes his head, completely ignoring Jinyoung’s attempt at humor before shifting his focus to Youngjae. “Anything from Minho?” 

“No, hyung. But Jisung left him a message to tell him to stay far away from the cemetery tonight.” 

Mark releases a heavy breath and drags a hand down his face. “That douchebag is gonna get himself killed, goddamn it…” 

��They will be looking for the entire coven, not a lone witch.” Jinyoung assures, feeling the need to expel the head witch’s anxiety. “Minho will be safe. Wherever he is.” 

Mark meets Jinyoung’s gaze. “I hope you’re right.” 

“We should go over the plan of action again.” Abandoning the intensity of Mark’s stare, Jinyoung turns at Youngjae’s offer, discovering the siphoner to already be looking in his direction. 

There’s a subtle waver in Youngjae’s tone as he asks, “You remember what you have to do?” 

Jinyoung nods cooly. “Once you immobilize the witch, I go for the huntress.” 

“And you’re sure you can take her by yourself?” 

“I’ve encountered and destroyed dozens of supernatural hunters over the years.” Jinyoung replies to Youngjae, earning a silent, but visible eye roll from the other witch. He ignores Mark’s annoyance, nodding again at the younger siphoner. “I’m strong enough.” 

Jinyoung only hopes that will be true. 

“Good.” Youngjae turns to Mark. “Once Mina steps foot onto our grounds, the spell will immediately take effect… She’ll be in pain. Immense, torturous pain.” 

Jinyoung notices how Mark’s shoulders shiver at the description. 

He gulps. “This will work. It has to.” 

“It will.” Jinyoung offers again, placing a gentle hand against Mark’s elbow. The latter grows surprised for a moment, before a weak upturn of his lips signifies his gratitude. 

Jinyoung immediately pulls away from Mark as a loud shriek erupts through the graveyard. The first to wake out of the alarmed stupor is Mark, who immediately shifts on his heel and dashes for the entrance of the cemetery, where the noise had previously erupted. Youngjae runs after him, followed closely behind by Jinyoung. 

“Mark-hyung! Wait, don’t—” 

“There’s someone here! Get Lia and Jisung out here!” Jinyoung provides Youngjae a nod, assuring the witch to follow his leader’s demand. The siphoner makes a break for the mausoleum while Jinyoung scales the rest of the distance toward the head witch, who’s standing mere feet from the iron gate that acts as the only access point into Eclipse Cemetery—where a shadowy figure is helplessly squirming on the graveled-earth. 

Jinyoung grabs Mark’s wrist before he can lunge at the figure, frantically shaking his head. “Are you trying to get yourself killed!?” 

“That son of a bitch murdered my friend—” Mark hisses, wrenching his limb away from Jinyoung’s grasp and pushing his body away with a hefty shove. “You don’t want to test the reliability of my self-control right now… so I suggest you back off and do your own damn job!”

“Wait for the others, at least!” Jinyoung urges, “Be smart about this, Mark! Trust me—!” 

“Don’t tell me what to fucking—” 

“Mark-hyung!” Surprise mirrors itself along both Jinyoung and Mark’s features. The head witch quickly leaves Jinyoung to kneel beside the figure hidden beneath the darkness of the moonless night. Jinyoung hurries to Mark’s side, his eyes widening to saucers at the familiar features he can barely make out in the obscurity. 

Mark gapes. “Minho…?” 

“Wh-What is—ha!.. Hap-happening?...” Minho manages to spill through gritted teeth with much struggle. Jinyoung recognizes the writhing and twitching of his limbs, as well as the wild nature of his gaze—Youngjae wasn’t lying about the pain. 

“Shit, Minho—” Mark hurriedly mutters a counter-incantation beneath his breath, pulling the younger witch to lean against his chest. Even with the spell lifted, Minho continues to spasm and moan at the phantom waves that send pain through his form. 

Mark shakes his head. “What in the actual hell are you doing here!?” 

“What… What the fuck are you talking about?” Minho gasps, clutching onto the sleeves of Mark’s shirt as another wave passes through his veins. “You… called me, asshole!” 

“What the fu—? I never called you! Jisung told you to stay home!” 

“I-I… talked to you earlier.” Minho inhales something close to a wheeze before lightly poking Mark’s chest. “You told me to… to come to the ‘maus’ at mid-midnight…”  

Jinyoung feels his blood run cold, but his tone is even colder: 

“They knew it was a trap…” 

Mark’s eyes are wild with desperation and fright as he meets Jinyoung’s gaze. “The others—” A loud, high-pitched wail cuts off Mark’s speech. Neither him nor Jinyoung waste any time and make a mad dash for the mausoleum, Jinyoung’s heart racing in his throat. The first thing he notices is the door of the structure—wide open and practically torn off its hinges. 

“Youngjae! Lia! Jisung!” Mark screams, sprinting inside the mausoleum with no hesitation. Jinyoung pauses in the doorway, watching as the head witch frantically surveys the place, only to find it completely empty save for himself. Tears are glistening in his eyes as he shakes his head, “Where the fuck are they!? Oh my fucking god—”  

“If the boundary spell caught Minho, then they could have gotten in anywhere!” Jinyoung steps aside just in time for Mark to race outside again. “We need to be careful! Especially if they have—!” 

“Mark-hyung!” Youngjae’s call carries through the nightly breeze, brewing even more uncontrolled fear in Jinyoung’s chest. 

“Youngjae!” Jinyoung can barely keep up with Mark’s frantic pace as he tears deeper into the graveyard, skipping over headstones and rounding tall statues with the skill of a professional athlete. He somehow manages to keep up. Just in arms reach of the head witch. 

“Youngjae!? Youngjae!?” Mark sobs, pausing to peer through the continuous hills of graves and monuments for the forgotten. “Jisung!? Lia!? Where are you!?” 

Through the very corner of his eye, Jinyoung notices a speck of movement emerge from behind a nearby tree. Time seems to slow as he focuses closer on that tree, immediately noticing a human-like shadow holding something between stoic hands—holding a loaded crossbow pointed directly at Mark. 

Using every bout of vampiric strength in his possession, Jinyoung sprints toward the head witch just as the bolt leaves the barrel of the crossbow. 

“Mark! Get down!” 

“Jinyoung—!?” 

Jinyoung can hear nothing but screams and the ringing of his own ears as he shields Mark’s body with his own. Somewhere deep inside, as the crossbow bolt pierces his flesh, he can hear something that fills his soul with immense warmth… 

It’s your voice—telling him to go to hell, as he immediately succumbs to a violent wave of darkness. 

 ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“So you’re… a werewolf and a vampire?” Jaebeom watches your eyebrows raise to the heavens over the rim of his glass, swallowing the sweeter-than-sweet liquid before licking the remnants from his lips. He can’t remember the last time he sat down and had a cup of coffee, much less drank something that wasn’t straight from the vein. 

To be honest, he’d much rather be feeding from the blonde woman waiting in his bedroom. But something about being with you is too addicting to pass up… and that scares him. 

You shake your head. “Isn’t that like… ironic? Considering vampires and werewolves are sworn enemies?” 

An amused chuckle spills from his lips as you fumble with your own teacup, barely managing to save its matching saucer before it clatters to the floor. Your annoyed glare pulls more laughter out of him, and it takes a good portion of his self-control not to smile. 

After taking another sip of his coffee, Jaebeom shrugs. “I was born a werewolf, and it carried over when Jinyoung and I became vampires.” 

“How did that happen anyway?” You lean back in your seat, crossing your legs at the ankle with a tilt of your head. “I mean, did you and Jinyoung choose to become…what you are?” 

“Yes and no,” He hums. 

“So you chose to become monsters?” 

“You consider my brother and I monsters…?” 

Jaebeom doesn’t like the serious expression that pulls across your features. “I know you’ve killed a lot of people… and have done some pretty fucked up things.” 

“A millennium is a long time to be alive, little dove.” Your obvious distaste at the nickname fills his chest with comedic pleasure. He smirks, “You get a little bored after a while.” 

“Normal people read books when they’re bored, or find a new hobby.” 

“Killing isn’t a hobby then…?” 

Your response is a look of pure disgust. 

Jaebeom howls in laughter before inhaling the remainder of his coffee in one gulp. He heaves a sigh, peering out the large, stained-glass window. Partly to recollect his thoughts. Partly to allow the obvious tension to dissipate between his and your forms. 

Now inside his own head, Jaebeom wonders whether or not he should have said such a barbaric statement in the first place. If it were anyone else, Jaebeom would care less about protecting his image—but it’s you. And something inside him warns him to be careful around you… Very, very careful. 

“Jinyoung and I were children when we found each other.” Jaebeom sighs, feeling the weight of your surprised gaze on the side of his face. “After my own caregivers abandoned me, he convinced his parents to take me in… It wasn’t until I lived inside their home did I realize how cruel they were.” 

“Cruel…?” 

“Jinyoung was a bastard child.” He explains, “His mother had an affair with a village merchant. After his father found out, he murdered his wife’s lover and made Jinyoung’s life a living hell.” 

Jaebeom rises from his armchair and grabs his empty cup before heading for the liquor tray in front of the same window he was previously staring out. While pouring himself a drink, Jaebeom makes sure to raise his voice so you can still hear: 

“For years, I watched that asshole beat the shit out of Jinyoung while his mother and sisters sat back and didn’t do a goddamn thing.” He downs the brandy in one sweet gulp before selecting a stronger bottle of scotch. Not bothering with his cup, Jaebeom unscrews the cap and takes a long, drawn-out swig from the container. Fire erupts through his belly, sending the beginning of a pleasurable buzz through his veins. 

“One day I got fed up with it all, and when the fucker tried to lash Jinyoung for refusing to shoot a fawn, I took that belt right out of his hands, wrapped it around his neck, and squeezed and squeezed until the light left his eyes…” 

Through the corner of his eye, Jaebeom notices how your body grows tense at his confession. 

He whirls around to meet your gaze, pushing away the pestering emotions without so much as a blink before continuing, “We were banished by his family and the other villagers, but we didn’t care—we had each other, and we needed no one else.

“We encountered a witch one day, as we were walking through the forest.” Jaebeom says after another sip, “She told us she could give us a gift like no other: Eternal life. We only had to take part in a ritual, and death would never come for us.” 

You shake your head. “Why? Why would you want to live forever?” 

“If you were given the chance to be invincible against everything, even time, wouldn’t a small part of you be somewhat interested?” 

He allows you a moment to ponder his question. After maybe a minute or so, you release a silent huff and gesture for him to continue. 

“The witch tricked us though, and in trade for immortality, we were forced to sacrifice our humanity.” 

Your eyes widen. “So you didn’t… choose to become vampires?” 

“No.” Jaebeom sets down his bottle with one hand while carding his fingers through his hair with the other. “Anyway, Jinyoung and I spent decades learning how to manage our newfound abilities, and even longer on how to handle the lifestyle.” 

“If you and Jinyoung were the first—the Prime Two—did you create more vampires?” 

He chuckles with a sigh, “Yes. Though it was by accident how we found out.

“Fledgling vampires branched off from our bloodline are different. They’re not as fast, nor as strong, nor as powerful as us.” Jaebeom explains, “Jinyoung and I can compel humans and other vampires, but vampires can only compel humans.” 

“Are fledglings immortal too?” 

“To some extent.” Crossing back across the room, Jaebeom lowers into the armchair beside your own. Now close enough to see the curious spark of wonder in your irises. “It is possible for a fledgling to live forever, but unlike Jinyoung and I, fledglings can be killed with a wooden stake through the heart.” 

“Nice to know that much is true.” Jaebeom relishes the borderline amused chuckle that leaves your lips, playing the odd elation off as the effects of the alcohol. “Is it also true that a bite from a vampire turns you into a vampire?” 

He snorts, “Let me guess… Got that from Twilight?

“Just answer the question.” 

“The only way to become a vampire is if you die with vampire blood in your system.” He hums, “After you die, you’ll wake up in transition, and will need to drink human blood to complete the transformation.” 

“And if you choose not to complete it?” 

“Then you die for real.” 

You shift at his answer, finding interest in the chipped edge of your cup. Jaebeom wonders whether he should change the topic of interest, but before he can think up some possible options, you steer the conversation yourself: 

“You never told me why.” 

His eyebrows raise in confusion. “What?” 

“Why you left me in that alleyway.” 

For the first time, Jaebeom feels vulnerable underneath the scrutiny of your eyes. He fidgets uncomfortably, and like you, searches the room for another object to hold his attention. However, whether it’s because of the whiskey, or something else, his gaze returns to and remains rooted on your own. 

What is it about you? The thought spirals through his thoughts like a 2-seater plane with broken wings. Maybe he should have listened to Jinyoung, and stayed away from you in the first place. Because whatever game you’re playing, whatever spell you have him under… it’s messing with his head.  

And he doesn’t like to be fucked around with. 

Finally, after what seems like hours, Jaebeom shakes his head. “I don’t kn—” 

A sudden crash emerges from the foyer, effectively interrupting his explanation. Jaebeom leaps from his seat and speeds in front of where you’re sitting, shielding your form from the entryway where the noise sounded. His protective stance vanishes, however, at the figure that appears in the doorway. 

Jaebeom tsks. “Oh. Look who finally decided to show up.” 

“Jinyoung…?” Jaebeom steps aside to allow you to step forward, rolling his eyes in annoyance. He moves to fetch himself another drink when your exclaim stops him, “Holy shit! What the hell happened to you!?” 

Upon taking care to really look at his brother, Jaebeom understands the reason for your concern. Jinyoung’s usual clean-cut and formal appearance is nonexistent. From head to toe, he’s covered in dirt, and his dark hair is far past disheveled. His clothes are badly torn and wrinkled, and practically soaked in fresh blood. Jaebeom quickly realizes the blood does belong to Jinyoung, noticing the large, thick bolt protruding from his chest. 

Jinyoung winces, “It’s a long story… but if you don’t mind, I’d like to sit down first.” 

 ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

The gleam of the awakening sun rising over the horizon sears Yugyeom’s eyes, but he keeps his gaze fixated on the entryway of the cemetery. No matter how much the newfound sunlight burns his eyes, he continues to watch the shadows of the night disperse in fear of the approaching morning. He knows pain all too well. 

“Gyeom?” 

Yugyeom greets Chan silently, with a curt nod. His stare remains frozen on the gate. 

Chan sidles up beside him until they are shoulder to shoulder. His own gaze glances at Yugyeom’s point of interest for a moment before he turns to look at his companion in the early morning glow. Through his peripheral vision, Yugyeom can spot Chan’s grim expression. 

 “How’s the coven?” Yugyeom asks after a long bout of silence.

Chan shrugs, “Minho, Jisung and Lia were all sleeping when I left. And Youngjae, he’s…” When his voice trails off, Yugyeom doesn’t urge Chan to finish his sentence. He knows exactly how Youngjae is right now. 

Terrified. 

“What should we do with the body?” 

Yugyeom barely blinks. “Probably best to burn it. Can’t leave anything up to chance.” 

Chan hums in agreement, seemingly ready to return to the mausoleum, but to Yugyeom’s surprise, Chan remains in place. Another long, tense round of silence carries between them, filling Yugyeom’s head with even more heart wrenching memories. After another mind-spiralling hurricane or two, Chan breaks the silence again:

“We made the right decision. If we got here any later, that huntress would have killed everyone.”  

Yugyeom shakes his head, “The huntress was working with a witch, and we only found the one… We should have gotten here sooner.” 

“Youngjae thinks the huntress was working alone tonight.” Chan says, lifting his palm to shield his eyes from the blinding sunrise. “There were no traces of unfamiliar magic… nor did we catch anyone else’s scent in the cemetery.” 

“Then where is the witch?” Yugyeom moves his attention away from the graveyard entrance, and with aching eyes, turns to meet his Alpha’s downcast gaze, “And more importantly, where the hell is Mark-hyung…?”  

 ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

You hold back a wince as Jaebeom literally tears the bolt from Jinyoung’s chest, earning a pained grunt from said victim. Dark blood splatters from the now open wound, painting across Jaebeom’s skin and adding even more stains to Jinyoung’s unsalvageable shirt. Disgust fills your gut as Jaebeom offers Jinyoung what seems to be a glass of blood—probably from that blonde woman you encountered at the door. 

Jinyoung shakes his head and pushes the drink away. “No. I’m alright.” 

“You would have healed by now if you were.” Jaebeom tries again, “Just take a sip.” 

“No.” 

“Suit yourself.” Your eyes widen in both surprise and revulsion, watching Jaebeom knock back the glass and down the blood in one large gulp. Fighting back a wave of nausea, you carefully approach the wounded vampire, holding forth a clean towel. 

Jinyoung takes the garment and sends a grateful smile in return. “Thank you, (Y/N).” 

You nod, “Sure.” 

Jinyoung presses the bunched fabric to his gaping wound, hissing through gritted teeth at the sudden pressure. You wonder whether or not you should grab the emergency Tylenol from your bag… Does pain medication even work on vampires? Aren’t they technically dead?

“We were ambushed at the cemetery.” Jinyoung explains, pulling you from your foolish thoughts. “After the huntress shot me, I must have hit my head and knocked myself out.”

“Sounds like a pretty unfortunate story.” 

Jinyoung chuckles at your joke before continuing, “When I came to, the wolf pack had killed her and Mark was gone.” 

Panic immediately spreads through your veins like flames to dry wood. “Mark? What do you mean he’s gone?” 

“I’m not sure. We searched the entire graveyard, but there was no sign of him.” 

You open your mouth to inquire further, but Jaebeom’s loud exhale cuts you off. Both you and Jinyoung turn to peer at the hybrid, finding him staring out the large window while drumming his fingertips against the red- and blue-stained glass. After a quiet moment filled with the rhythm of his fingers and Jinyoung’s marred breathing, Jaebeom peers over his shoulder—his eyes glaring daggers straight at his brother. 

Jinyoung shakes his head. “Hyung—” 

“I told you not to get involved with Tuan.” The dark, bitter tone that leaves Jaebeom’s lips sends a harsh shiver down your spine, more so since the comment included mention of your best friend.

“And I told you I’m taking care of it.” 

“Can you not just do what you’re fucking told just once? Just one goddamn time—?” 

To both your and Jaebeom’s surprise, Jinyoung suddenly leans forward in his seat and retches violently. You rush forward, splaying your hands across his back while asking about his condition. Your response is another retching noise, and in just the nick of time, you manage to step out of the way before Jinyoung vomits red across the carpet. 

“Fucking god, Jinyoung! What the hell is wrong with him!?” You call out to Jaebeom, squeezing Jinyoung’s shoulders as he heaves again. After another gag or two, you help Jinyoung to lean back into the armchair, wiping the bloody remnants from his lip with a towelette. Your knuckles brush the arch of his cheekbone—his skin is hot to the touch. 

“He’s burning up! What do we do!?” 

“It’s… werewolf venom.” Jinyoung gasps, weakly pulling your wrist away from his face.  

You shake your head, “W-Werewolf venom?” 

“A werewolf’s bite is deadly to vampires.” Jaebeom explains, barely batting an eyelash as Jinyoung lurches forward with another gag. 

“But he wasn’t bitten? How the hell—?” 

“The crossbow bolts must have been poisoned.” Your anxiety skyrockets, worriedly staring as Jinyoung begins to choke on his own blood. Jaebeom glances outside the window again, murmuring, “He won’t die… The effects will pass in a day or so.” 

“But can’t you heal him!?” You jump to your feet, narrowly avoiding a puddle of dark blood before dashing over to Jaebeom. Your fingers desperately latch onto the lapels of his leather jackets, tugging him down to meet your eyes. “You’re a hybrid, so your blood should technically flush the venom out of his system? Right?” 

Jaebeom’s lips twitch. “You’re smart, little dove. I’ll give you that.” 

“So you’ll heal him?” 

You wait in utter agony as the hybrid considers your request, staring blankly at the features of your face. You can only imagine how much you resemble a crazed, mad woman, but you can care less. Right now, your sole focus is on Jinyoung and ending whatever horrible fate awaits. Jaebeom wouldn’t let his best friend—the man he calls his brother—suffer in absolute anguish… 

Not when he killed Jinyoung’s own father to protect him. 

After a miserable moment of silence, Jaebeom releases a heavy exhale through his nose before meeting your gaze. The bubble of hope expands inside your chest when the hybrid offers a weak smile, lifting a hand to brush a stray hair from your forehead. You shiver as that same hand lightly grasps your chin, guiding your face closer until you can taste the alcohol on Jaebeom’s breath. 

All in a matter of seconds, that bubble of hope pops at Jaebeom’s curt answer: 

“No.” 

You watch in horror as Jaebeom releases your chin, turns on his heel, and leaves you by your lonesome with a wounded Jinyoung, and even more wounded soul.

[imagineteller1]

Horror Night

Warnings: language, gore.

Pairings: Daryl x reader x Negan.

My heart felt heavy on my chest. I choked in every breath I took. I watched, what used to be Abraham, crushed in the floor. Everything was ringing. The tears blinding my vision.

Negan talked but I didn't pay attention, I couldn't. He was in front of Rosita, trying to get her to see the bloody bat of the man she loved. In a second, Daryl took a swing at Negan.

"Daryl! No!" I screamed and ran towards him, my hands extended in an attempt to grab him. Before I could reach him, some of Negan's men were already holding me down as well as Daryl.

"No!" Negan yelled pointing his bat at Daryl. "That- oh," he chuckled. "That is a no no. The whole thing, not one bit of that shit flies here." He now kneeled in front of me. His rough hand was pulling on my chin to look up at him. "Brave little thing here, eh?"

I pulled my face away from his grasp. He stood back up. A blonde man held Daryl's crossbow at his face.

"You want me to kill him? Right here?"

"No!" I screamed. Trashing my body in the men's grip, I kicked around.

"Hey! Hey, what part of staying quiet do you not get?" Negan turned to me with his bat.

"Please, please, don't kill him. I'm begging you." I sobbed and I felt like I couldn't breath. My breath was stuck in my throat. I felt like I was having a panic attack. When I started shaking more violently I knew I was. My limbs felt as if they weren't there. I felt heavy but at the same time lite.

I heard Negan say something and then Daryl was thrown back in line. He approached me and kneeled back down. I tried to push the men away but they just gripped tighter. "I c-an't brea-th." I stuttered.

"What did you say again, darlin'"

"I-I can't br-eath." He signalled his men and I was dropped. My palms were on the ground as I tried to calm down. My chest heaved violently as I gasped for air. I felt like I was drowning.

"Holy fucking shit, she is having an attack." He joked.

New tears reamed down my face and fell to the dirt. This could be it. I looked at Daryl. He was looking at me, I saw a tear flow down his cheek. He tried to walked towards me but he was pushed down.

I closed my eyes and tried to calm my breathing. Deep breaths. I could feel the oxygen make its way to my lungs. I heard Daryl's voice telling me to calm down like he had done countless of time, but in difference, he wasn't holding me this time.

After what felt like hours I opened my eyes and felt like I could breathe again.

"Still with us, doll?" Negan asked jokingly. "Both of you are so impulsive, not surprised you two are fucking." He took my face in his hand forcefully.

I glared up at him and he chuckled. "Get her back in line." Like that I was thrown in my back and dragged to where I had been kneeling before.

"Anyway... that's not how it works. Now, I already told you people, first one's free. Then what did I say, I said I would shut that shit down." He had a maniac smile on his face. "No exceptions. Now I don't know what kind of lying assholes you've been dealing with, but I'm a man of my word. First impressions are important." Short silence. "I need you to know me. So, back to it."

In a second Negan's bat connected with Glenn's head. I blinked a few times. Not being able to believe this was really happening. We had just lost two of the strongest men of our group in a couple of minutes. I looked at Maggie and saw her sobbing.

I looked back at Glenn. You could see his skull and one of his eyes was bulging out of its socket.

My heart was beating out of my chest and I could hear every beat thumping.

"Buddy, you still there?" Negan asked mockingly. He muttered something and then exclaimed. "You are trying to speak! But you just took a hell of a hit. I just popped your skull so hard your eyeball just popped out. This is as gross as shit."

"Maggie I-I'll find yo-u." Glenn finally was able to mutter out.

"Oh, hell." Negan spoke. His voice was calm and serious. Like he actually felt sorry. "I can see this is hard, amiga. I am sorry. I truly am. But, I did say..." a smile now played in his lips. "No exceptions." He swinged at Glenn again. I jumped back in place.

No, no, no.

"You bunch of pussies... I'm just getting started. Lucille is thirsty." He kept hitting and hitting. There was nothing left to hit yet he kept swinging his bat. After he got tired he stepped away and joked. "She is a vampire bat."

The only sound was Negan's boot and our cries.

"What? Was the joke that bad?"

Rick looked up from his spot with a trembling yet determined look in his eyes. "I'm gonna kill you."

"What? I didn't quite catch that. You're gonna have to speak up." Negan mocked.

"Not today... not tomorrow... but I'm gonna kill you."

"Jesus," Negan scoffed. "Simon, what did he have? Knife?"

"He had a hatchet."

"Hatchet?" He smiled.

"An axe."

Negan laughed. "Simon, is my right hand man. Having one of those is important. I mean, what do you have left without 'em. A whole pile of work. You have one? Maybe one of these fine people still breathing. Oh, or did I-" he made a clock sound with his tongue.

Rick remained silent. Negan sighed. "Sure, yeah. Give me his axe."

Who I believed was Simon, stepped up with axe in hand and gave it to Negan. He stood up and grabbed Rick by the shoulder. "We'll be right back, maybe Rick will be with me. If not, well we can just turn these people's inside out. I mean, the ones that are left."

With that he shut the trailer's door closed and drove away.

I looked at Daryl. He was shaking. His gunshot wound could get infected with all the trauma his body was going through right now. I went to stand up but was held in place.

"I'm not gonna do anything. You have all of our weapons, what could I do?" I tried to reason with the men.

"You stay on your knees, bitch. Unless you want to end up like your friends over there." He signalled to the bodies that laid on the floor. With a thud I sat back in the ground, pulling my legs to my chest.

--

Hours had passed and the sun had come up when the trailer came back. No one came out for a couple of minutes. The air was full of tension as we hoped to see Rick still alive. When the door finally opened, Rick was pushed to the ground and Negan came out, he dragged Rick back to us.

"Here we are. Let me ask you something, Rick. You even know what that little trip was about?"

Rick remained silence.

"Speak when you're spoken to."

"Okay... okay."

"That trip was about the way you looked at me. I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand. But you're still looking at me the same damn way... like I shit in your scrambled eggs, and that's not gonna work." He paced around and then kneeled next to Rick. "So... do I give you another chance?"

"Yeah. Yes. Yes."

Patting Rick's shoulder he stood up. "Okay." He chuckled. "All right. And here it is- the grand prize game. What you do now will decide whether your crap day becomes everyone's last crap day or just another crap day. Get some guns to the back of their heads.”

Guns cocked from behind us.

"Good. Now... level with their noses, so if you have to fire..." he imitates an explosion. "It'll be a real mess."

Silence.

"Kid." He said looking at Carl. "Right here." He pointed to the ground beside Rick. Carl was frozen in place. "Kid... now." Carl took slow steps. Negan took of his belt. "You a southpaw?"

"Am I a what?"

"You a lefty?"

"No."

"Good." He smiled as he took Carl's arm and tied the belt around it, cutting the circulation. "That hurt?"

"No."

"Should. It's supposed to." He finished tying the belt. "All right. Get down on the ground, kid, next to daddy. Spread them wings." He took Carl's hat off.

Carl did as told. "Simon, you got a pen?"

"Yeah." He threw it at Negan. He took of the cap with his teeth and kneeled next to Carl.

"Sorry, kid. This is gonna be as cold as a warlock's ballsack, just like he was hanging his ballsack above you and dragging it across the forearm." We all watched in horror as Negan drew a line in Carl's arm. "There you go. Gives you a little leverage."

"Please. Please. Please don't. Please don't." Rick begged.

"Me?" Negan chuckled. "I ain't doing shit." He stood up. "Ah. Rick, I want you to take your axe... cut of your son's left arm off, right on that line. Now I know- I know. You're gonna have to process that for a second. That makes sense. Still, though, I'm gonna need you to do it, or all these people are gonna die. Then Carl dies, then the people back home die... and then you, eventually. I'm gonna keep you breathing for a few years, just so you can stew on it."

"You- you don't have to do this. We understand. We understand." Michonne spoke.

"You understand. Yeah. I'm not sure Rick does." He advertido his attention back to Rick. "I'm gonna need a clean cut right there on that line. Now, I know this is a screwed up thing to ask, but it's gonna have to be like a salami slice- nothing messy, clean, forty five degrees- give us something to fold over. We got a great doctor. The kid'll be fine. Probably. Rick this needs to happen now- chop, chop- or I will crush the little fella's skull myself."

"Please, we all understand. Rick understands. We all work for you, stop this. You don't need to prove a point because you already did." I tried. This was my family. I wasn't gonna stay quiet and not try anything. My arms pointed at the fallen bodies.

I felt a gun press against the back of my head.

"It can- it can- it can be me." Rick stuttered out. "It can be me. Y-you can do it to me. I c- I can go with- with you."

"No. This is the only way. Rick... pick up the axe." Rick didn't move. "Not making a decision is a big decision." Negan's voice raised. "You really want to see all these people die? You will. You will see every ugly thing." He still didn't move. "Oh, my god." He groaned. "Are you gonna make me count? Okay, Rick. You win. I am counting."

"Three!"

"Please." Rick cried out. "Please. It can be me. Please!"

"Two!" He kneeled next to Rick.

"Please, don't do-" Rick sobbed and I looked away.

"This is it."

Rick screamed. I shut my eyes closed. Tears running down my cheeks.

"One!"

"Dad... just do it. Just do it." I heard Carl whisper.

I looked back at the scene.

Rick held the axe high, preparing to cut his son's arm.

"Rick." Negan stopped him. "You answer to me. You provide for me. You belong to me. Right?" Rick nodded hastily. "Speak when you're spoken to!" Negan's voice beamed making everyone jump. "You answer to me. You provide for me."

"Provide for you." Rick answered shakily.

"You belong to me, right?!"

"Right." Rick breathed heavy.

"Right. That... is the look I wanted to see." He stood up and took the axe. "We did it... all of us, together... even the dead ones on the ground. Hell, they get the spirit award, for sure." He sighed. "Today was a productive damn day! Now, I hope, for all your sake... that you get it now... that you understand how this work. Things have changed. Whatever you had going for you... that is over now." He chuckled.

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. "Ah, Dwight... load him up." He signalled to Daryl who struggled in, who I suppose was Dwight's, arms.

"What are you gonna do to him?" I asked. Trying to sound as strong as I could. Negan turned to me.

"How could I forget about you?" He took long yet calming strides towards me. "You, darlin', are coming with me too."

"Why?" I sounded more panicked than I wanted to.

"Because..." he smiled. "You've got a mouth on you and I really, really like it. Keeps me on my feet. I have a proposal for you..." he waited for my name.

"Lucia."

He smiled and licked his lips. "You hear that, Lucille? They sound similar... okay, Lucia. I have this proposal for you. You come with me, be one of my wives, and I, won't kill another one of your group, for your blabbing mouth. How does that sound, hm?"

Shock was written all over my face. "It's your choice, Lucia. Either you come with me or... I kill another one of your friends. So, what will it be?" He passed his finger along my jawline. I looked at the truck where Daryl was in.

Maybe, if I went with him I could find a way to help Daryl escape. I looked around the group. I wasn't gonna let anyone else die, much less because of my fault.

"Okay." I said. Turning off all my emotions.

"Great." He smiled. "You and I are gonna have a lot of fun together." He licked his lips while scanning my body. "Fan-fucking-tastic. Simon, put her in my truck. I still have some words to say to our new pal Rick."

As Simon grabbed my arm and led me to a truck I looked back and saw Rick watching me. I gave him a slight nod with my head, telling him I had a plan.

I wrote this a some time ago but hadn’t posted it here. Requests are open ❤️

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xi: what kind of man

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~8.2k (I’M SORRY)

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Gore/violence, Still Under The Influencer of drugs, uhhhh blood. There's a lot of mentions of blood and death and what have you. Elliot has a meltdown (surprise). Joseph is creepy (surprise pt. 2 electric boogaloo). People are confused about How To Feel. I don't understand how laws work and so I'm just literally out here trying my best, you know? Don't @ me.

Notes: I wanted to start off by saying THANK YOU everyone for your feedback! I was having a real hard time hitting my stride with the last chapter but all of your kind words has given me life. There's some still in these old bones yet and I really hope that you enjoy this one.

 Anyway I'm a clown and I'm sorry this chapter took so long. Joke's on you, it's always clown hour here! Thank you forever and always to @starcrier ​ for being the best proof-reader and somehow managing to make my incoherency readable?? Manageable??? You're an angel and ily! Also, @empirics ​, my writing aspiration forever, and @baeogorath ​ who makes me cry literally every time I read anything they have to say about my writing. Thank you thank you thank you!

John had never seen a person’s head blown in with a shotgun, and he wasn’t sure that he really needed to.

Ase’s blood had splattered when Jacob fired the shotgun at what he was sure could be considered point-blank range, the spray of it nearly catching them in the process. But no, it was mostly on Elliot, like she was some Carrie at her first prom, a real tried-and-true Scream Queen.

“I knew you’d find a way to fuck it up,” Jacob said, no absence of venom in his voice as he stepped away from Ase’s dead body like she was nothing—and sure, she was nothing, and John didn’t necessarily have any qualms with getting rid of her (he had blown a shell straight through her spine), but that wasn’t what was making him nauseated.

It was Elliot. Baby-blues eaten away by her pupils, blown wide with hallucinogens, drenched in blood, making a noise something close to a rabbit that thought it was going to die.

He didn’t have the energy to tell Jacob that the blow to her skull had been unnecessary, that there was no way someone could walk away from their entire stomach being blown through by a shotgun. That Jacob’s idea of “fucked up” was greatly, massively warped if he thought that Ase hadn’t been finished after shot number one. Even if he’d had the energy it wouldn’t have mattered, because the next words out of Jacob’s mouth were, “You put Faith at risk going back for her.”

The eldest Seed didn’t need to say what it was he meant; John knew. The words were “you put Faith at risk going back for her”, but what he meant was, Joseph’s going to be furious when he finds out.

“Get your pet,” Jacob bit out, “and let’s fucking move.”

John’s limbs moved of their own volition, kneeling down in front of Elliot and turning her face away from the grisly scene laid out next to her. If she recognized him, it didn’t show; she trembled, and her eyes never stayed fixed for very long, as though everything in the entire world was assaulting her senses at every second.

“Elliot,” he said, pulling her to her feet as the sound of voices rising in the distance peppered the air, “we have to move.”

Some kind of guttural sorrow welled up and out of her as he pulled her along and down the hill, her feet stumbling. Around them, the night hummed with gunfire and shouting. John was certain that he heard something like grief wracking the air at the hilltop above them, and he couldn’t bring himself to look back, afraid of what he’d see—that redheaded monster of Ase’s bent over her nearly-decapitated corpse, or worse: coming after them.

He kept one hand on Elliot’s arm and the other out in front of her case she tried to plummet headfirst down the hill—whether by chance or accident—and by the time they had reached the bottom, the strange agony sounds that had tried to burrow out of her had mostly ceased; her gaze was still glassy and dark, and there was an odd sway about her, but she looked only shell-shocked now.

Oh, John thought, absently, if that’s all.

Joey’s dark gaze darted between the two of them. He released Elliot to her without a word, his hand dropping from the blonde as Joey fussed over her. Faith swayed dreamily just a few steps away from Joey, humming a song mostly to herself; beyond her, Jacob stood, his arms crossed over his chest while he toted the shotgun in one of his hands, before he apparently got tired of waiting and grabbed Faith’s hand.

“If you want to stand around down here and chit chat, that’s fine,” he said, tugging Faith—clearly still drugged, clearly unaware of the carnage occurring around them—off to the trail that led away from the lake. “ We’re leaving.”

“Jacob—” John started. It was too late. The redhead had set for himself and for Faith a brutal and punishing pace to return them to wherever it was Joseph waited, and though he was loathe to admit it, Jacob was on the right track; pretty soon, the members of Eden’s Gate that had been sent up to wreak havoc on the Family would be dead, and he was certain that once Ase’s death was fully recognized, someone would want revenge.

“Are we going home?” Faith asked, giggling as she toddled after Jacob, barely able to keep herself upright. “That lady said John was going to come and rescue me.”

John’s chest tightened at the sound of her laughter. She was so completely unperturbed by everything—everything she had been through, had seen. He wondered how heavily they’d had to drug her, and if she would even remember half of it come the moment that she sobered up.

He exhaled, glancing at the top of the ridge above them where the lights of the cabins and flashlights and whatever-the-fuck-else those monsters had at their disposal glimmered.

“When,” Elliot said, the word grinding out of her mouth haltingly, “when... did Jacob-”

“Drink some water,” Joey murmured. She uncapped the half-drank water bottle and pushed it into Elliot’s hand and added, “And we’ll talk about it later, but right now we need to move, Elli.”

Elli, John thought, and felt a faint glimmer of amusement at the absurdity of such a soft, round nickname for a girl who was only sharp edges. Well, but she wasn’t so sharp now, was she? As he led them along the dark trail, her fingers brushing his on occasion, he would glance over at her and find her staring at him like he was a stranger, like she didn’t recognize him. Maybe she didn’t; he wasn’t familiar with the drugs they’d put her on, anyway.

“What the fuck happened up there?” Joey hissed, her hand firmly rooted in Elliot’s as she tugged her along—not unlike the way Jacob was pulling Faith. She had taken the water bottle back when it became apparent Elliot wasn’t interested in it. “Why is Elliot covered in blood —”

“She’s alive,” John snapped, “isn’t that what’s important?”

“I suppose you’ll be wanting a fucking award.”

“Stop it,” Elliot managed out. “Stop arguing. You both are so fucking loud.”

Joey’s lips pressed into a thin line. They ducked into the treeline far below Sacred Skies Camp, picking their way as quickly as they could through the underbrush, but the journey was slow and arduous; guiding Elliot through the trees had, in the last twenty minutes, become no easier than guiding a toddler. A blind, deaf toddler, who spared no interest in staying upright, and also had a metric fuck ton of psychotropic drugs in her system.

The walk there seemed to take much longer than it had going up, but John was sure that was his own adrenaline crash happening. He’d been stressed—about getting Faith out, about what he’d find, if he’d find anything at all or if they’d have done away with Elliot seconds after getting her.

Fuck . The thought filtered through his brain with dismay at the realization that he had been worried about her. Jacob was right; he’d really only needed to get Faith. But Elliot had been—she’d gone in there for them , and Joseph wanted her alive, and—

“Tired,” Elliot said, her voice hoarse and cracking with exhaustion as she took agonizing step after agonizing step. “I’m so tired, J—”

“I know,” John and Joey said, both cutting Elliot off and overlapping each other at the same time. Of course, John already knew what it was like to handle Elliot like this. They’d toddled through one field with Elliot clutching him like an anchor, drugged to the gills, once already; this was new territory for the other deputy.

Joey gave him a dark, turbulent look—the kind that implied murderous intent—and John turned his attention back to the task at hand: getting the fuck out of there.

As soon as the truck came into sight, running with the lights off, John let himself breathe a sigh of relief. He hadn’t thought Jacob would really up and leave them, but it also wasn’t impossible that he would have insisted and said fuck off if Joseph had protested. His eldest brother had been notorious for pushing back, for picking fights, and maybe—just maybe—he was pissed enough to follow through this time.

“About time,” Jacob said from the driver’s seat. Joseph did not give his input, which only served to further John’s personal unease as he opened the tailgate of the truck. Joey climbed in first, swaying just a little. He’d noticed that her pupils looked blown, too, though not quite as much as Elliot’s, so it must not have been fully out of her system yet.

John glanced up the hill absently. The sound of Eden’s Gate members still echoed. Not quite done yet, he thought absently, and then said, “Alright, Deputy, let’s get a move on.”

“Too high,” Elliot sighed, and he wasn’t sure if she meant the tailgate or herself. John turned her around from trying to clamber into the back and gripped her hips; her hands fluttered unsteadily before holding onto his arms.

“Don’t throw up on me,” he said.

She looked tired. Each second her eyes spent open seemed to demand more and more energy from her. “Expensive shirt, huh?”

“That’s right.”

He hoisted her into the back of the truck; she sat on the tailgate for a second only, and swayed forward like she was going to tumble right off; she steadied her hands on his shoulders, fingers gripping his shirt and bleeding warm against his skin.

“You did it too fast,” Elliot muttered, her voice verging on spoiled brat. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, John climbed in after her as she scooted to the farthest spot away from the tailgate. Jacob didn’t wait for the tailgate to close before he pulled out of the brush; the truck hit the dirt road with a heavy thunk that had his teeth rattling around in his skull. Fucker, he thought, slamming the tailgate shut before the dust kicked up beneath them.

Elliot had her back pressed against the window into the truck. Blood covered her face and matted strands of her hair where they’d stuck to her cheeks; the vicious edge to her was dulled, whittled down to the bone until she was just a small girl folded up into the side of Joey Hudson.

When her eyes had fluttered shut and the night had settled a chill over them, Joey’s gaze flickered across John for a moment before landing on his face. She was silent, studying him—in a most infuriating way, wordlessly —before she finally said, “What happened?”

John glanced out at the Montana wilderness stretching out behind her, late into the night; he thought about the way Elliot had balked at the sight of the treeline, like there was something in there only she could see, something horrible.

“Well, the boys and I thought it’d be a nice night to go out,” he replied flatly, cocking his head before looking at Joey. “It’s been a while since we’ve done anything fun, you know, so it was nice to get the gang all together again for a little fun .”

The brunette’s expression flattened. “The devil rebuking sin.”

“I shot the psycho and I got Elliot out of there,” John bit out. “What did you expect?”

“You, to leave her,” Joey snapped. “That’s what I would have expected out of you.”

The words shouldn’t have stung. They were coming from Joey Hudson, after all, the only person that Elliot really cared about and so clearly the only person that John could use against her. But these facts were minor details to him now, carefully pinned out somewhere in the back of his mind—always accessible, but no longer important. Hudson had stopped being very important at all when she stopped being something to dangle in front of Elliot. Now they stung for a different reason, something that John couldn’t put his thumb on.

That’s not very true, something in him said, rattling against the bones of his rib cage. You know exactly why that bothers you.

“Well, that’s on you, isn’t it?” John replied, keeping his voice sickly sweet. “I’ll have you know I took very good care of your hellcat.”

“Yeah,” Joey ventured dryly, “having her shoved into a cult that shot her so full of poison it was coming out of her eyes really showed some TLC.”

“I’m sure she told you the plan was different,” John bit out.

“She tried. Which is why I’m wondering why you even fucking came back for us at all, Seed.”

Though Joey’s voice was soft so as not to rustle Elliot, it was pounding with venom. Hatred. That was to be expected, he thought; after all, in the short time that she’d been his ward, he’d done his very hardest to lure Elliot in with her fear and then passed her off almost immediately to Faith. But still, the wording struck him—it was the same sentiment that Jacob had flung in his face after blowing Ase’s brains out.

You put Faith at risk going back for her.

I’m wondering why you even fucking came back for us at all.

It was never the plan to save Elliot. It was always: get Faith, get out, and if you can get the deputy too—sure. Why not? She’d be indebted to them. Even more so if they got Joey out with her. But Faith should have been the absolute priority first, and he’d left her down at the lake to go back up into the middle of a firefight to get Elliot and Joey out.

If we’re partners, you have to trust me.

“I don’t know why it bothers you so much,” he managed out, trying to keep his voice as clipped as he could. “Normally, when people are rescued, they’re thankful. ”

“You did kidnap me,” Joey snapped, “so you’re closer to us being equal than my being grateful, and even that’s pushing it. I just don’t know if the rescuing still counts as a good deed if you only did it for yourself.”

John stared at her, eyes narrowing and jaw setting, tense and tight until pain radiated up into his skull. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Deputy Hudson —”

“Then you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

Elliot stirred, eyelashes fluttering. She coughed into Joey’s shoulder—the gesture not lost on the brunette, who grimaced a little—and when her eyes landed on John there was an eerieness about them, like she was trying to pull him open and peer inside, peel back the vibrating tension and hostility that Joey Hudson’s interrogation brought of him.

“What?” John asked, barely masking his irritation. It shouldn’t have bothered him so much, but it did because he couldn’t get the way she’d said, John? out of his head, small and wounded so very afraid, with Ase’s blood drenching her.

“Just trying to figure out which John you are,” Elliot replied, her voice slick with exhaustion and the words rolling out of her mouth in something close to a slur. They sent an uneasy jolt through him. It was the drugs, surely—she probably said all kinds of weird shit while she was high. He didn’t know what she was seeing, anyway.

(—fucking hate you, John Seed, John Duncan, whatever the fuck your name is, whoever the fuck you are—)

The blonde sighed again. The breath sounded like some kind of exertion for her; she squirmed and tried to get more comfortable against Joey’s shoulder, the blood on her face staining the forest-green of the deputy’s shirt. John’s head ached. The memory of Joseph, silent while Jacob debated the logistics of getting a killing shot through Elliot, flickered through his mind, venomous.

(—should see yourself whenever Joseph says anything. You practically fall over to kiss the ground he fucking walks on—)

“Well,” he replied, settling more comfortably in his spot across from the two women, “let me know when you find out, why don’t you, Rook?” He let his head loll back against the lip of the truck bed, a dark, cloudless night spreading out above him. He wanted to brush aside the way Elliot looked at him, but he had learned long ago that was the quickest way to underestimate her.

“I’m just dying to know.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The truck came to a halting stop. John hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until the strange inertia-pull of the truck stilling rustled him from his sleep. It was hard to say how long they had been on the road, but if he had to guess—and, taking into consideration how Jacob liked to drive—he’d wager it had been only thirty minutes.

Across from him, Elliot was awake, murmuring something to Joey that he couldn’t hear over the sound of the engine giving one last kick before Jacob turned it off. There was a higher clarity about the blonde, now, one that implied that sleep had done her well—though the pupils of her eyes stayed wide, there was now a sliver of baby blue that he could see, if he looked close enough.

He grimaced as exhaustion burned through his body, and for a brief second, their eyes met; like before, they pried at him, tried to see something that maybe he didn’t want her to. 

As he lowered the tailgate of the truck and slid out, John turned around and instinctively reached to steady Elliot as she tried to climb down.

“I’m fine,” she said, more biting than he anticipated. Just coming down, John thought absently, his hands only remaining in the air for a second after her assertion before dropping to his sides again.

“Oh, yeah,” John replied, “I forgot that you’d rather I let you eat shit than keep you from falling over.”

She’s always been willful, he mused. The thought occurred as though John had known Elliot for a long time. In a way, he supposed that he did; fuck, he’d tried every goddamn trick in the book to lure her in, and she’d still spit her venom into her walkie at every chance she’d gotten. There was nothing that John didn’t try and dig up, nothing that he hadn’t racked his brain for in the brief moment that they’d visited all those years ago. And still— and still, and still —she—

“Hudson,” John said, offering his hand to her because he was a gentleman and certainly not because he enjoyed the way the gesture made her squirm.

“Fuck off, John,” Joey replied tersely, sliding off the truck bed as well. John smiled dryly.

He said, the needling coming to him like second nature, “So nice to have both of you here at one time. It’s what I always wanted, you know.”

Elliot shot him a look, one that sucked the wind right out of his sails. It was a wounded look, like he had suddenly reminded her of the things he had done, and John felt an uncomfortable twist in his stomach. He didn’t know why the words came out—a force of habit, maybe, or the way that Joey Hudson’s animosity (and closeness ) to Elliot made his hackles raise. As though Joey’s presence made a choice immediately clear for her, and she chose Joey.

The clench of his jaw sent pain radiating up into his skull. He thought that things had been much simpler pre-Joey Hudson, and he was regretting having helped her.

“I knew you’d come and save me,” Faith said, her voice breaking him out of the turmoil of his thoughts. She smiled at him, and it would have almost been endearing if her pupils weren’t absolutely blown to hell, reminding him that they’d probably done more than just drug her with some weird hallucinogen—the way she’d been acting when he’d seen her on the road had been something more akin to the kinds of things Faith had partaken of before.

He reached up, pulling her into a one-armed hug. “Yeah?” he replied. “You listened to those crazies?”

“They’re not crazy,” Faith sighed. Her voice bloomed with something like affection, and when she looked at him, there was a startling clarity about her expression—keen, and a little sly. Not so innocent, our Faith, he thought absently. “Just different, John. And you came, didn’t you?”

A prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck. John glanced away from Faith, his gaze meeting Joseph’s from where he stood in front of the car; per usual, his expression was unreadable, obscured behind a mask of tranquility that provided no insight on what his brother was thinking or feeling.

“Go on,” John said, patting Faith’s back, “get some sleep. You’re going to feel like hell in a few hours, you know.”

She laughed, like maybe she didn’t quite hear what he actually said, and slid out of his half-embrace to wander around to the front of the car where Joseph was waiting. He turned his gaze away, swallowing back the feeling that he’d somehow failed a test—something that only Joseph knew the meters and results of, that he’d have to sweat until he found out about.

Elliot had already started walking away with Joey, taking her back to the same bunkhouse that she’d been holding up in prior to their little excursion. They spoke in low voices to one another; Elliot’s expression was even soft, softer than it had been when he’d found her sobbing into the grass in the field, when she’d been terrified out of her skin. Softer than when she’d had Ase’s brains splattered all over her.

John sucked his teeth, pushing the tailgate of the truck up until it latched. The adrenaline crash was starting to hit him hard, now. Every muscle in his body ached with the effort of moving, as though they’d all tensed and held for hours at a time; maybe they had. Gunfire and screaming still echoed in his head, while corpse after corpse, and Ase’s shattered head, lingered just behind his eyelids. They didn’t bother him, these images of glory and gore—but he couldn’t shake the way that Elliot had looked at him from the ground, drenched in blood, terrified.

Terrified of him.

“It’s always going to be like that, you know.” It was Jacob’s hard, steely voice that pulled him now, like his siblings wanted to take turns interrupting his train of thought. “She’s always going to pick Hudson over us.” His brother leveled him with one swift, hard look. “Over you .”

“Funny,” John muttered, “I didn’t realize you were a psych professional, Jacob.”

“Faith could have died because you went back for that girl,” Jacob bit out, his voice low but vibrating with something more venomous. “I know you know that, you aren’t stupid. And you went back for her anyway. So—”

“So, what?” he interrupted, trying not to let the frustrated venom from watching Elliot take Joey’s hand and walk off bubble out of him. “Faith’s alive, that crazy bitch is dead. What else do you want?”

“For you to get your shit together,” Jacob snapped. “Like I said, I know you’re not stupid, but do yourself the favor and prove it to me anyway. That girl —”

That girl, Jacob said, like the words didn’t suddenly fill John with some kind of poison. The eldest Seed gestured toward the bunkhouse, where inevitably, Elliot and Joey were conspiring; to leave, to kill. At this point, John wasn’t sure, and he didn’t think that either would surprise him.

“—is nothing. Don’t let nothing fuck everything up for us.” Jacob’s words were hard and cold. He gripped John’s shoulder and added, “Don’t let nothing fuck everything up for Joseph.”

That’s what it really boiled down to at the end of it all: that Joseph had seen like he always did, because nothing went without Joseph’s seeing, and maybe he wasn’t sure that Elliot was really worth the trouble anymore. Before, Joseph had wanted her to add to their little collection of misfits, just like he’d added the sheriff’s receptionist, just like he’d picked up Faith when she was Rachel, just like when he let Jacob tap into the worst parts of him for use, just like just like just like . Joseph was hard-pressed to find a vicious misfit that he didn’t want for himself, and Elliot Honeysett had been no different.

But a hard-to-break will cost time, and resources, and maybe with these locusts in their garden, that just wasn’t going to cut it anymore. Not for Joseph. Not right now. Where was this, anyway, back at the start of it all? Back when John had wanted to do things his way?

“Whatever Joseph’s opinion on the usefulness of the deputy, Burke’s gone,” John said after a minute. Jacob’s hand still sat heavy on his shoulder; he passed a hand over his face and sighed. “That marshal, the one that was—”

“I remember.”

John grimaced. “He was with Faith, and Hudson, but he wasn’t at the camp that I could see.” He paused again. “Jacob, if he got out and he made it out of Hope County, he’ll be a problem.”

The red-headed nodded once, brisk. “A big fucking problem.” Another pause, and then: “Tell me you’ll get this whole issue with the deputy wrapped up.”

John’s jaw clenched. Tell me you can do this, Joseph had said. Tell me you’ll get this whole issue wrapped up. Hadn’t he proven he was capable of handling her? Hadn’t Joseph himself said that?

“There’s no issue,” he replied flatly, stepping around Jacob and heading to the church. “Never was.”

“Good.”

It was easy to say, and harder to believe. He knew—the rational part of his brain, somewhere inside of him—knew that he was jealous of Hudson. That he knew exactly what Hudson thought of him, and he hated that someone who hated him had Elliot immediately trailing after her like a puppy, as though the last three days—all of those moments hadn’t meant—

And what was he supposed to think, then, about the way that her lashes had fluttered when his fingers brushed her skin, the way the heat crawled under her freckles when he slid into her planetary pull? That it was just—passing? Nothing?

Does it matter?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  

Elliot was having a hard time.

That was to say, there were a lot of conflicting emotions that were welling up inside of her, crashing down like tidal waves. Normally, she’d be able to bottle those pesky things up and bury them deep inside her, to access later (which could be minutes, or days, or years—whenever); but with the drugs still wreaking havoc on her, she felt like all of her normal defenses were crashed and battered, maybe even beyond repair. Maybe even permanently decimated.

It was lucky that she had Joey, she supposed as she closed the bunkhouse door behind them, letting the noise of it soothe her over-worked senses; lucky, because Joey had always been her lighthouse in the times that she needed it the most.

“We have to get out of here,” Joey said, and the words immediately exhausted Elliot further. She took in a long, suffering breath and sat down on the edge of one of the bunk beds, rubbing her hands against her face. She was far from out of the woods; she thought maybe she was starting to come down, or even crash, because it felt like electrical pulses kept ricocheting through her body and they wouldn’t stop.

Elliot managed out, “I’m in no shape to go anywhere, Joey, you know that I—”

She saw the look on Joey’s face. Distress. John had kidnapped her, and terrorized her with whatever it was he had originally planned to do to her, and now they were here, in the compound, where it had all began. And yes; John had kidnapped Joey, and her, and yes, he was a fucking psycho, and—

And yes, he knew her well enough to shove a cigarette in her hands when she was stressed, and he didn’t complain when her nails dug into him when she thought the world was going to split in two around her, and yes, he did come back for her when he didn’t have to, and yes and yes —

‘And yes’ what? A nasty voice inside of her head said. A man so much as looks at you and all of a sudden you’re on the other side?

“I can try,” she offered weakly. “I can try, if you want to go now, but I don’t know where Boomer is and everyone from Hope County is—hopefully—already gone. I don’t have anything.”

When the words came out of her mouth, she felt the last thread holding herself together snap. I don’t have anything, the words echoing hollow inside of her, reminding her that everyone was gone, maybe they were dead, that she didn’t know where her dog or her mama were and maybe that meant that she didn’t have anything left inside of her, either, nothing left to give. That she had scraped and scraped to the bottom of the barrel and now she’d have to start breaking herself into pieces to have anything worthwhile to give anyone.

“I don’t have anything, Joey,” she said again, her voice wobbling and wet and fuck, she hated it so much, the burning of her eyes stinging against blood and viscera collecting in the tears. “I don’t, I’m sorry—I’m really sorry—”

Joey crossed the small space of the bunkhouse to crouch in front of her. She pressed her hands into Elliot’s shoulders, and she was saying something, but Elliot couldn’t hear it over the pounding of blood in her head.

She pressed the heels of her palms against her eye sockets, but the gesture brought no comfort; each time she closed her eyes, she kept seeing Ase, skull caved in. Surely, one shot had been enough? Surely, the second shot to her head was just—

Just John being himself.

“God, he fucking—he mutilated her, Joey,” Elliot managed out, her voice breaking on something like agony as the panic started to set in. Her hands trembled and she pushed the hair from her face, a movement that she was sure was just packing the dried blood in. She couldn’t get her eyes to focus on anything; everywhere she looked, she thought she could see the dark flicker of Ase’s clothing, the haunting corpse come to finish what she started. “She was dead—all of her, just falling—spilling out of her, like she’d been gutted, and I thought that he was done, and we’d go home, but then he shot her again—God, fuck, Joey, she’s all over me—”

“Hey,” Joey said firmly. “El. Take a breath and look at me.”

“I am.”

“A bigger breath,” Joey insisted, taking her hands away from her face and pulling her to a stand. “Just one.”

She did. I see, she thought and failed. I smell, I hear, I feel, but nothing came. She was drowning in it, whatever it was; Ase’s blood and guts on her, the memory of her glassy eyes as Ase reached for her, the feeling of Kian’s hands on her neck, the horrific monster lurking in the woods, and…

“Take another,” Joey reiterated. “Just one more.”

Elliot knew this trick. It was the oldest trick in Joey’s book. Just ask for one, and then just one more, and then just one more, until she was breathing like normal. She did as the brunette bid her anyway, and because her normal grounding methods had failed her, she instead thought, I’ll just count to ten. If I can make it for ten more seconds… And then another ten…

“You’re still sweating hallucinogen,” Joey murmured, squeezing her hands to help bring her back down. “You should take a shower. Come on.”

The journey between the main room of the bunkhouse and the felt both like it took years and happened without her knowing, as though she’d blinked and suddenly found herself standing in the bathroom, the fluorescent on the ceiling digging into her irises.

Her gaze flickered up to the mirror hanging over the sink. The person that looked back was a stranger to her; blood splattered every inch of her skin, matted in her hair, staining her in dark, carmine gore. Elliot thought about the strange voice in the woods, crackling and snapping and trying her on for size as it slid under her skin.

As the glass of the mirror seemed to pulse and stretch, the sound of running water snapped her attention elsewhere, hands limp at her sides. Joey pulled the knob that turned the water into a shower and said, “Okay, Elli, you call if you need me.”

“Okay,” Elliot murmured tiredly.

“Okay,” Joey repeated, watching her for a moment. And then she pulled her into a tight hug, and whispered, “For the record, I never doubted you’d be able to get me out. From John, or from the other place.”

The words didn’t offer her any comfort, but they were nice, nonetheless. She nodded her head and waited until the brunette had left the room before she started to undress, her movements methodical but unsteady; it wasn’t until water hit her skin and she saw the streams of thinned blood touching down on the floor of the bathtub that she finally felt some relief.

Even if it was only a little.

I don’t have anything, she thought tiredly, her eyes closing as she ducked her face under the stream of the shower. I don’t have anything left. What am I supposed to do now?

She had Joey. She didn’t have any idea of how to find Boomer. Hope County was gone, if they were lucky, and dead if they weren’t. She hadn’t heard from her own mother in--weeks? Or was it days? How long had this been going on?

It felt strange, to not be able to trust her own memory—to not know when the last time was that she got a full night’s sleep, or the last time that she curled up in her own bed, or the last time that she spent doing something that she enjoyed. As Elliot scrubbed the blood off of her face and out of her hair, staining her fingernails rusted-red, she thought that the idea of continuing on , of doing more, was so very exhausting.

They didn’t hurt you? John had asked, his fingers brushing the bruises on her throat where Kian’s fingers had gripped. It bothered her, when people touched her—grabbed her like they owned her, like she wasn’t in control of her own body—but when John did it, it was different. Even when he’d dragged his finger under her collarbone and said, I think it’ll fit nicely right here, don’t you? Just over your heart.

John was only doing what he was meant to do all along: draw her in, keep her there, and Ase’s gruesome death was just a reminder of the person that he really was. She had forgotten that.

But she wouldn’t again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The night felt sticky, sitting like a second skin on him. When John stepped into the church to find Jacob and Joseph talking in low voices, he felt a strange sensation prickle down his spine. It was anticipation, he realized, nearly a moment too late; by the time he was bracing himself, Jacob had turned and walked out the side door, leaving himself and Joseph alone.

“How is our deputy?” Joseph asked, his voice light and mild. John tried to lessen the tension in his jaw.

“Which one?” he replied dryly. “She’s fine.”

Joseph said, “You were worried about her.”

“Well, I did work really fucking hard not to kill her,” he bit out, and then sighed at the way Joseph’s brow arched, a visible change in his expression even in the dim, intimate lighting of the chapel. “Look, Jacob already gave me the whole speech about—”

“I think you’re doing a great job with the deputy,” Joseph interrupted, firm but not unkind, “and I want you to continue.”

John stopped. Maybe it was the adrenaline crash, or the way that he’d come into the conversation at what appeared to be the end of it, but he couldn’t wrap his head around what Joseph was telling him; especially after what Jacob had said to him.

So he said, very intelligently, “What?”

“Our friend the marshal got out,” Joseph supplied. “Hope County has evacuated, if they’re lucky. But you know, John, even if they come for us—even if they arrest us—there are…”

A pause lingered between them, just long enough for something close to dread to knot and writhe between his ribs.

“... ways,” his brother continued, placing each word meticulously, “to make a legal case like this one fall apart.”

I don’t know what you mean, John wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out of him. If Hope County was on the run, they might not ever look back; if the U.S. Marshal brought his buddies back, that would make Elliot the key witness in their case, while the other members of Hope County and the Resistance were…

“It’ll be all of them testifying against us,” John said after a moment. “I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, but—”

“You can convince people not to talk,” Joseph replied. He paced away from the table at the center of the chapel’s front room, absently scratching at his jaw, as though he were only just coming up with this idea; John knew that wasn’t the case. It wasn’t ever the case with Joseph. Nothing went without careful deliberation. “There are particular brands of persuasion that work better than others. But we’ll need more than just silencing our neighbors. We’ll need…”

Positive testimony, John thought, when the words didn’t come out of Joseph’s mouth.

“Yeah,” John murmured tiredly. “I know.”

“Good.” Joseph gave him a small smile. He reached out, gripping John’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, John.”

He stared at the wood paneling of the floor. Maybe he was tired; maybe it was the exhaustion from the last few hours, but Joseph’s words didn’t strike the same match in him that they had before. If Joseph noticed—and he almost certainly had—he didn’t let it show; rather, he let the distance between them grow, hand dropping from his shoulder as he walked for the door.

“You were going to let Jacob kill her.” The words came out of John’s mouth before he could think to stop them, before he could say to himself, it’s not worth the fight. He’s your brother, John. He gave you everything. Don’t you always say that you waited your whole life for something to say yes to?

He felt, more than he saw, Joseph pause in the doorway leading out of the chapel. A strange silence stretched between them; it was one where John thought he might have felt the scrutiny of his older brother’s gaze on him.

And then, in a voice casual and light, Joseph said, “You’re tired, John. You’ve had a long day. Get some rest, won’t you?”

John was tired. Tired enough to think that he might fall asleep standing up if he wasn’t careful. “You’re right,” he said after a moment, turning his head to look at Joseph over his shoulder with a small smile. “I will.”

“Goodnight, John.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Night passed more quickly than he would have liked. By the time morning had arrived, he thought maybe his conversation with Joseph was a dream; that he’d hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe some of the Family’s weird drugs had rubbed off on him while he was in there.

By the time early morning had rolled around, he’d dragged himself through a shower and into cleaner clothes. He half expected to find the bunkhouse completely vacated by Elliot and Hudson by the time he walked out with an armful of clothes, pleasantly surprised that Elliot was leaned against the door. Smoking, naturally.

“You look more like yourself,” John said as he approached. Her gaze flickered over him absently. She looked tired, but had since washed the blood and guts off of her face and out of her hair; as she took a drag of her cigarette and tapped the ash out of the end of it, her eyes turned away from him. Weird, he thought. He added, “I know you’ve got the whole blood-stained look, but I thought you might like to get into some clothes that are a bit cleaner.”

Elliot smoothed her boot over some ash on the ground, waiting for a heartbeat longer than normal before she said, “Thanks.” She sounded sour , like John’s mere existence was a chore for her, and not the way that it had been before—like she really meant it.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, watching her curiously. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, and the sickly rasp in her voice—it had probably felt nice to be high in that regard—she looked clear-headed. Normal. “How are you feeling?”

“John,” Elliot sighed, “let’s not.”

“Fine,” John snipped. “Where’s Hudson?”

“She went to walk the perimeter to try and call Boomer,” Elliot replied tiredly. “And then we’re leaving.”

Fuck, he thought, remembering his conversation with Joseph. Fuck fuck fuck. “Well, isn’t that lovely.” The biting venom welled up in his voice. There was a strange panic setting in now. She wouldn’t look at him, not for longer than a second, and her tone rang hollow and empty. He swallowed thickly, teeth clenching as he continued, “And how do you intend to leave, then? On foot? You sure seem like you’re in peak physical condition to be walking cross-country, Elliot. But I suppose if you have Hudson, then it won’t matter, because Hudson rescued you from those cultists and—”

“I don’t know, John ,” Elliot bit out, a real flex in her voice this time. It was comforting, to have her be anything—anything but ambivalent, anything but absent from their conversation. “I think I could get pretty far if I decide to start blowing people’s fucking skulls in with a shotgun, don’t you?”

John stared at her. “Pardon?”

“Oh, fuck off,” the blonde snipped, dropping what remained of the cigarette and stomping it out with her shoe. “Don’t give me your fucking clothes. If I change out of these I might forget that you splattered me with that woman’s brains.”

She turned and opened the door to the bunkhouse, going to close it, but John shoved his foot in the doorway to stop her, tossing the clothes onto the bed the second he got inside. 

“I didn’t ,” John seethed. “Maybe you were too fucking high out of your mind to tell—”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Elliot’s voice was flinty. “It completely slipped my mind that you’re incapable of taking responsibility for yourself. Remember, John, that time you rubbed it in my face that your fucking family made me into a murderer? Because I do, and the pure fucking irony —” She jabbed a finger into his chest, the anger seeping out of her now. “—of you trying to make me feel like shit for killing your idiotic little cultists and then obliterating a woman’s skull onto my face is palpable!”

“Are you deaf?” John snapped, snagging her wrist before she could turn and try to walk somewhere else again. “I didn’t shoot Ase in the head, Jacob did. I put both my fucking hands on you to get you off the ground. How am I going to do that holding a fucking shotgun, Elliot?”

“I don’t know!” she replied furiously. There was a reckless, high-color in her cheeks, her voice cracking and breaking on something that John couldn’t quite pin down, couldn’t quite get his hands on. Even now, he thought, even when she was spitting her venom she was so — 

“I don’t fucking know, John, you do—crazy fucking things all the time,” she insisted, and there was an uncomfortable wobble in her voice as her lashes fluttered. “Half the time I don’t know which John is going to open his fucking mouth—I don’t know if it’s—if it’s the John that kidnapped my best friend or if it’s the John that… That can be… With me, he’s...”

Her voice trailed off, weaker now, her fire spitting furiously as it tried to stay alight. John’s fingers loosened around her wrist, but didn’t let her go.

“There’s only one John,” he said, and his voice came out hoarse. “It’s just me.”

“I hate you,” the blonde managed out weakly, her lashes dark with unshed tears, soft and doe-like. “I’ve never—”

“Elliot,” John, tugging on her wrist, pulling her forward until she was in his space, until he could feel the warmth of her body and smell the wild on her—pine trees and ash and the mild shampoo she had used, “you’re going to have to come up with a new slogan that you actually believe.”

“John,” she tried again, and she was soft, soft and tired, “please, I’m—so tired of trying to figure you out—”

He closed what little space remained between them to kiss her; for a second, her entire body tensed like an animal ready for flight, stony and immovable against the affection, but he let her wrist slide from his hand, concerned that any moment he might spook her, that she was frozen because she was deciding when to run.

Her wrist slipped through his grip, catching at the base of her hand. She knotted her fingers into the front of his shirt and when his hand came up to the slope of her jaw, she leaned —like a flower to sunlight, blooming under his touch, just like that. Just that easy. John’s other arm slid around her waist to tug her up closer, and her mouth parted against his like instinct, like it had never not been this way between them.

The moment stretched; reality swung back in, the warmth of her mouth against his leaning back until a bit of space stretched between them. Not a lot, just enough for their noses to brush, and Elliot said, “I don’t know which—”

“I told you,” he replied, threading his fingers through her hair, “there’s just the one. This one, El, me. I want—”

“John,” she started, her voice overlapping his, "tell me that you're not lying when—"

He went to say, I want you to stay, I want to kiss you again, you hellcat, I’ve wanted to kiss you for days, but he didn’t get the chance because the sound of Joey’s voice outside the front door had broken the magic of the moment.

“Elliot,” Hudson called, “guess who I...”

The door opened, followed quickly by a scattering of dog nails as Boomer came racing inside. Without a second thought, Elliot had crouched down to wrap her arms around the dog John immediately took a step back and cleared his throat, feeling as though he’d been caught-out. Maybe, in a way, he had. He wouldn’t have cared, if he didn’t think that the idea of Hudson catching them would have made Elliot bolt instantly.

I should have kissed her again, he thought absently, watching Elliot fawn over Boomer with the kind of delight that she reserved only for him, her lips kiss-reddened. Before Hudson.

“He must have followed you here and waited,” Hudson said, looking at John with a narrowed, suspicious gaze. “Everything okay, Elliot?” she asked, even when she was looking at John. “I heard arguing.”

“Fine,” Elliot insisted, crouched on the floor to get as close to the Heeler as possible. “Everything’s fine. John was just—”

“Just dropping off some clean clothes for the deputy,” John interjected, despite the anxiety he felt sliding around inside of him when Elliot looked at him. The flush in her cheeks remained, and he knew that it wasn’t just anger there, anymore. Not really. 

Joey crossed her arms over her chest. “Great. So you can leave, then? We’re done with you.”

We’re, she said, like she spoke for the both of him, both herself and Elliot. We’re, like just seconds ago, John hadn’t been thinking about the way Elliot’s breath hitched when his fingers brushed her skin.

“Sure thing,” he drawled, taking a few steps toward the door. He almost walked right out the door, even with his hands itching for her again, but he stopped. I should just say it, he thought. I should just out it right now.

“What is it?” Joey prompted, her voice hard and flinty.

Elliot wouldn’t ever forgive him if he did.

“Nothing,” John replied after a moment. A little smile ticked the corners of his mouth upward, and for a second his gaze met Elliot’s. “Hope you get some well-deserved rest, you two.”

The brunette watched him with a dark, inscrutable gaze, and he stepped out of the bunkhouse, letting the door swing shut behind him. For just a moment, he paused outside the door; long enough to hear Joey go, “What was that about?”, and he started off across the yard.

Not done with me yet, deputy.

[maruzzewrites]

If you’re still doing these I got Alpha Obsessive Hitman for the prompt thingy and whOO boy that fits for anyone in La Squadra tbh,, maybe Risotto specifically?

I will never be able to make Risotto soft with these type of prompts. I mean, he isn’t soft anyway so we can accept that. Warning for kidnapping, obsessive behavior, violence and gore.

When you're simply strolling around your city, the last thing you would think was that you would be held hostage. When you aren't even a celebrity or politician's child, that thought is even less reoccurring, assuming no one would really be interested in your existence for something more than interpersonal relationships. Yet, there you were, held hostage; once the huge man dressed in black, with eyes to match, approached you while you were returning home, you should have known that willing your mind to trust the menacing figure would not be a good idea.

For some odd reason, after a few days of captivity, he revealed his name to you. Risotto Nero. You had a hard time believing that was his actual name, but you didn't dare to contrast him, trembling under his scrutiny. You, admittedly, had no idea how kidnappings and hostage situations worked in real life, and you were fine when you didn't need to know, but you were sure this instance was quite odd: Risotto didn't ask for your family's name, didn't record a video or took photos to send to your loved ones to prove you were really in his hands, and he didn't do anything resembling torture besides dragging on encounters in extreme, heavy silence.

He would come to see you pretty often, actually, but when he couldn't be present for a day or two, he made sure you were in good company. Well, not really, his companions were odd at best and plain horrible at worst; you were sure you were under the care of his most trusted friends or comrades, because only the same three men came around in his absence. Two of them, for how mean and sinister they were, you could stand; the third one, however, was a nightmare of chats, flirts and black humor. Maybe, if you met him in different circumstances, you'd spare him a giggle at his jokes, but in that situation you really didn't care to hear about how odd it is to see a sickly thin person severed limbs, with bones barely smaller than the flesh around it.

Yet, he was the only one who was willing to strike up a conversation. You even dared to question why you were in that situation to being with, seeing the man eyes almost bulge out for the surprise. He then let out a bark of laughs, latched with malice, before recomposing himself enough to answer you curiosity, "He didn't try anything yet? Dude has been talking about you for fucking months!"

Your confused look gave him the possibility to dive into a story. About how Risotto saw you, for the first time, when he was supposed to complete a simple hit, an easy target. You remembered that night, as you witnessed an assault just when the killer was running away. You stopped to help the poor victim, but when the ambulance came, it was too late and you were bawling your eyes out for the tension and the horror, covered in blood that wasn't yours. Apparently, the man you watched running away was Risotto, and he took an interest in you after your odd kindness, extended to a man in an alley you didn't know, when you were exposed to the risk of being killed yourself. As the man in front of you continued to explain how annoying it was that their boss was fawning over a civilian, a simple person he met casually, you could only stare in disbelief and terror.

If the toll that revelation wasn't enough, you didn't see anyone but Risotto for a few days. Still locked away, still in complete silence, he was trying to pry you open to reveal why, why, why were you even more skittish and frightened. You never attempted to answer him, but you could see he was putting together the pieces, just reading you with his dark eyes in the cold silence surrounding the both of you. One day, you felt the haunting premonition that something wrong would happen soon.

And you hated being right, as Risotto came in the next day, dragging the other man - the one who spoke to you- on shaky, broken legs. His tanned skin was littered of cuts, dirty with dry blood, his cheeks a mess of faded red where his tears fell down. His jaw was still trembling, his teeth clashing against each other with each clench and pained whine. Risotto was keeping him up with a single arm, staring down at you with hard eyes, but then he shook the man in his grip until he cried out his understanding and looked at you, directly, his gaze blank, "I'm sorry. I didn't want to scare you."

As soon as he said those words, so mechanic and insincere, he was thrown on the ground. You saw him crawl away, wincing when he attempted to use his feet, and opting to drag himself away on hands and knees - and yet, you could see him hold in a breath for the pain. You didn't dare to raise your eyes to meet Risotto's gaze, even after the other man was out of the picture, leaving you alone with him. You saw his body move, close the door behind him and stalking closer in the same stillness he usually left behind him. Then his voice came, and you didn't know how you managed to keep in the sobs.

"You made me hurt one of my best men, now make it worth it."

[anarchy-lives-eternal]

Charlastor Week Day 2: Human AU!

(This will be the start of a series of continuous one shots following Charlastor Week, all part of the same universe!)

Losing Your Soul (By Accident)

Contains mentions of Blood and Gore

Alastor LaCroix was having a strange night. The scene in front of him was something he never could have expected, and never thought possible. On the ground was the dead body of a corrupt official, bloody and broken. But for Alastor, that wasn’t the odd part.

No, the oddness of the night began with the appearance of a demon. Now, most people would maybe say this should have been expected, What with all the bloody symbols Alastor had carved into the corpse and drawn in blood on the ground, but Alastor didn’t believe in such nonsense. Well, he supposed he might have to now.

You see, Alastor is a killer. A good one at that. He had even gotten into the habit of carving religious symbols into his kills and drawing them around the area in order to throw the police off his trail, not that they were looking too hard. What with the fact that usually his victims were some particularly nasty individuals. He never expected anything to come of it; after all, he hadn’t believed in God or any religion really. His highest power was his craving for the hunt.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on who you talked to, on this night he was proven utterly, completely, wrong.

“Oh! This is so exciting! My very first one! Oh, I can’t wait to tell daddy. He’ll be so proud!”

In front of Alastor stood a woman. But not just any ol’ dame. No, in front of him stood a demoness, her ivory skin off set by onyx lips. She had long, wavy blonde hair parted with large sharp horns protruding from her head, and her eyes were the most unique of all: her sclera were blood red, her irises a poisonous shade of yellow, and her pupils were slit like a fox or snakes.

That’s when she jumped forward, leaning down and getting into Alastor’s face (which was strange in and of itself because Alastor’s impressive height of 6’4” was nothing to sneeze at, and it was a rare occurrence that a man could get in his face, much less a woman).

“You’re absolutely adorable! And positively human! I’ve never seen one before, so I’m very excited!”

Alastor took a large step back, he was not used to people actively getting in his personal space. Is this how others felt when he did it? It didn’t help any that the demon was a good few inches taller than him, “I’m sorry, my dear, there must be a misunderstanding!”

The demoness stayed where she was, but shook her head excitedly, “Oh no! No misunderstanding! You see these symbols here? This is you pledging your undying soul to me! Isn’t that so exciting? I mean, from the looks of it,” she looked down distastefully at Alastors kill, “You’d’ve come to Hell anyways, so really it’s no huge issue! I promise I’ll be a kind master!”

Alastor froze. The word “master” was replaying over and over in his head. What had he done? Was this God laughing in his face for murdering people? What cruel irony had befallen him!

“Anyways! What’s your name? Where am I? You know, I didn’t expect you humans to be this tall! Dad always talks about you like you’re absolutely tiny. Then again, this isn’t as big as I actually get... hmmm.”

Alastor latched onto the only concept he could process at that moment, “Dad?”

“Oh yes! It was rude of me to ask your name without giving mine, wasn’t it?” The demon laughed, embarrassed, “My name is Charlotte Magne, Princess of Hell, Heir to the Fallen’s Throne, but I go by Charlie for short. My dad is Lucifer, King of Hell, ruler of the Fallen’s Kingdom, or as we nicknamed it, Hell. Now, what’s your name?”

Alastor immediately regretted his question. Until a thought occurred to him, “Why, my name is Alastor LaCroix! Say, since I’m supposedly pledged to you, does that mean it’s in your best interest to keep me safe and intact?”

The princess, Charlie, narrowed her eyes, her wide energetic smile shrinking to one of cool calculation, and Alastor almost felt tempted to fidget. Maybe it was just the knowledge of who, and what, she was, but something about Charlie seemed to connect with him on a predatory level: like a lion and a tiger meeting.

“Well, there is no ‘supposedly’ about it, Alastor. But I suppose I can humor you. After all, now that your soul belongs to me, there is no where in the three realms you could run that I could not find you.”

Alastor still maintained his grin, despite his annoyance at the correction, “Well, darling, I don’t know the official rules, but I was hoping to make a deal with you!”

Alastor was praying this worked. He figured that as the daughter of the Devil, she would have a predisposition towards deals. He hoped.

“A deal? With me? You’ve already made one and lost your soul! Daddy really wasn’t kidding when he said humans were stupid little things, was he?”

Alastor felt his eye twitch wildly, “I take personal offense to that.”

Charlie once more stepped forward, leaning into Alastors space with her hands behind her back and a bright smile on her face again, “Fine then, Alastor. What deal do you have for me? If it’s something silly to try and wiggle out of your commitment, I would recommend not bothering. Also, know that if I don’t accept your deal, and counter it, and you decline my counter, I’ll be taking you straight to Hell with me tonight.”

Alastor withheld the urge to swallow, “Well, dear, on that note, I did have a single question to ask before I proposed my deal!”

“Then what is your question?”

He took a steadying breath, “Why, I wanted to know if you were going to kill me, or if I wouldn’t see you you again until I died naturally, of course.”

Charlie hummed thoughtfully, her hand holding her chin, “Well, it would depend entirely on what I feel like doing. I don’t have many friends in Hell, as you could imagine, and having some company would be nice. Then again, forty or fifty years really isn’t that long of a wait.”

Alastor nearly choked at that, ‘not that long of a wait! How old is she?’

“Of course, of course, my dear! However, I do recall you saying that you had never seen a human before. How would you like to meet more?”

Now this piqued Charlie’s interest, and Alastor noticed. His grin widened just a tad.

“What do you mean? Meet more?”

“Yes indeedy! How about this: if you allow me to live, and cut my time that I am pledged to you in half, I will let you stay with me here! On Earth! And you can see the sights, meet the people, really just have a jolly good time!”

Charlie tilted her head, and looked at him oddly for a moment, “You can’t cut eternity in half, Alastor.”

For what felt like the millionth time that night, Alastor froze again, “Eternity?”

“Well yes, Alastor. What did you think these symbols meant? And not only that, but that deal weighs heavily in your favor. Did you really think it’d be that easy to fool me? The daughter of the King of One-sided deals?”

Alastor scratched the back of his head with a sheepish smile, not really willing to say ‘yes, I did’.

The princess laughed, brilliant peels of laughter seeming to cascade from her black lips, “You did! Oh, you humans are so cute! Now I believe it’s my turn to counter your deal, yes?”

Charlie grins widely, showing off razor sharp teeth, eyes glowing viciously in the moonless bayou, “I allow you to live out the rest of your fated time here on Earth, and in turn, I am allowed to come topside anytime I so please to... check on you, as my investment. How does that sound?”

Alastor’s grin dimmed a bit, “That deal does not involve any mention of my time being reduced.”

Charlie smiled slyly, “I never said it would.”

Now Alastor has a choice to make: take her deal, and live out his natural life with the guarantee of her being able to do as she pleases, so long as she isn’t the one that kills him; or die and go to Hell with her right now. Regardless of his decision, his soul was owned, and he was going to Hell for all eternity at her side.

“Well, I guess I don’t really have a choice then. I’ll take your offer.”

“Good! I was actually hoping you would!” And then she leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips. His eyes were open the entire time, so he noticed the burning red light that emitted from them when she did, as well as felt heat surround him. It felt like fire had bloomed all around them.

He reared back quickly, sputtering, “What the devil was that?”

Charlie giggled lightly, finding his flustered state rather endearing, “The deal is struck! Now, did you need any help... cleaning up? I don’t mind helping out, if need be!”

Alastor stared at her with eyes wide as dinner plates, “You would just... help me get away with murder?”

Charlie shrugged her shoulders, her smile dropping for the first time that evening, “Well, I don’t like it, and I find it rather horrid, if I’m entirely honest. But, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Alastor was silent for a few moments, staring in wonder at this demoness, “You’re the princess of Hell, but... you don’t like murder? I was only asking because I thought you’d think it below you. Disliking it though? What wacky nonsense!”

Charlie stiffened, narrowing her eyes at Alastor, and he felt the air around them heat to near unbearable temperatures, “Did you have a problem with it?”

Waving his hands in front of him he quickly corrected himself, “None at all! Just a tad bit surprised, dear.”

Immediately the air cooled down, leaving Alastor to tug a bit at his bow tie.

“So are we done here or do you need to clean up?”

“Ah, I was done anyways, darling.”

“Sweet! Then let’s go! I want to see your world. Ooh, are we in a swamp or something? This is water? It’s so cold!”

Alastor couldn’t help the chuckle as the demoness in front of him ran wildly from one place to another, marveling at all the things she had apparently never seen.

“It’s called a Bayou, around these parts. Yes, that’s water, and it’s not cold, it’s actually quite warm for water. If I may, if you want to come with me to where all the other humans are you’ll have to blend in a little more. Suffice to say, most people aren’t used to seeing demons on the streets, sweetheart!”

“Oh yes! You are right. Well I suppose I could just change quickly!” And then she snapped her fingers and now in front of him stood a woman of average height with Blond hair, pale skin, but not the ivory white it had been, and black eyes, the sclera now a normal human shade of white. She wore a black and pink flapper dress, that Alastor could admit looked rather charming on her, and a pair of low black heels.

Alastor blinked for a moment, “Well that’ll work.”

“Let’s go!” And she grabbed him by the hand, almost literally dragging him towards Lord knows where.

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Well, no, but I want to see everything.”

Alastor smiled. He was still peeved that this had happened at all, but at least the gal was rather charming, and had allowed him to live.

Oh, who was he kidding? He was going to do everything he could to get out of this, no matter how adorable the princess of Hell was!

‘Wait... adorable?’

Aaaaaaand Cut scene! Hope you all enjoyed!

[jasntodds]

Hamartia [9]

Pairing: Dark!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Words: 4,585

Warnings: Swearing, hurt/comfort, fluff, mention of past depression and body image issues, mentions of injuries, description of injuries, mentions of addiction, some description of gore I gues??????????

Summary: Now that the trust’s been broken, where’s that leave you and Peter?

A/N: Bold italics are thoughts! Yeah, there’s no actual angst, basically just hurt/comfort start to finish. I’m surprised, too. Also, tags have been really weird lately, so if y’all could please reblog this chapter since not a single tag worked for chapter 8, I would really appreciate it!! But I hope you guys like it!! Please lemme know what y’all think!!

ch. 8 || ch. 9 || ch. 10

series masterlist // masterlist

Peter's eyes watch as his feet walk across the tiled floor of the tower, hearing the quiet sound of a TV playing from somewhere down the hallway, likely still playing from someone falling asleep and not making it to their room. He still knows this tower like the back of his hand, having spent so much time here and living here half the time. While, it's a little awkward and a little scary to be here, not quite feeling like he belongs anymore, there is almost this sense of comfort as he walks alone.

As far as he knows, no one is awake, or at least, awake and near him. It's been about three maybe four hours since he last saw you, since he last saw anyone besides Bruce and it's reaching half-past three now so of course, everyone should be asleep. Clint and Tony might be awake, the only ones awake somewhere but Clint's probably awake in his own room with Nat or he might be the one in the approaching living room and Tony would be down in the labs, working on new tech or trying to find a way to stabilize the extremis. But, here, walking through the halls, it's just Peter. It brings him back to nights when he'd sneak into your room late at night.

The sneaking really became unnecessary as you both got older as you didn't actually have a time for "lights out" anymore but it never stopped Peter from climbing the walls and crawling on the ceiling to avoid making noise and being seen just to get to your room. It always made you laugh and maybe that's why he always did it. From kids to college students, it just always made you laugh and after you were attacked by Doc Ock, it was one of the only things that really got you to laugh for awhile, especially in Peter's presence. But, either way, when Peter would get to your room, all you ever did was talk or turn on a movie, sharing a bag of gummy worms. Sometimes a little bit of tradition and routine is good, safe for memories

But, tonight isn't like those other nights. It's not Peter crawling on walls and the ceiling to split a bag of gummy candy. It's not getting caught by Tony who just questions why Peter was crawling on the ceiling when he could just walk. It's a night of hopeless steps with tired eyes and aching bones, heart in his stomach and broken trust. Tonight, is a whole new night of Peter walking down the hallway and catching a glimpse of you on the couch as he reaches the living room, your eyes on the screen, blue light illuminating your face.

He pauses, stops in his tracks as he sees you and he should probably keep walking to sleep off the night. You probably want nothing to do with him anyway, not tonight. And it's late and he's had a hard day between getting shot and having to fight off the skeleton in his head. He's exhausted but you’re still awake and that just doesn't seem right. But, the last he talked to you, you didn't trust him and it didn't go well so why would you want him around right now?

Maybe he shouldn’t have stopped, should've just kept walking, pretend like he didn't see you. But seeing you awake at this hour, not in a lab or your room, it's a reflex for him to stop. After all of this time, it's still a reflex. If anyone deserves proper sleep, especially after tonight, it's you. But, despite Peter wanting to ask why you’re still awake, this is your time so Peter starts walking, keeping his steps quiet but as he starts walking past, you catch sight of him, eyes flicking in his direction.

Your brows furrow as you see him in the dark, black shorts cutting at the knee of the prosthetic and white shirt barely reflecting the backlight of the TV. "Hey? Peter?" You call and Peter stops again, turning to face you with a nervous huff.

"Um....hey?" Peter bites his lip, his eyes look to the side before going to you.

"What're you doing?" You ask, pausing your TV. "It's late."

"Yeah..." He glances to the floor with a shallow breath. "B-banner, he uh, he just got done with some tests." Peter looks back to you, scars a reflecting blue from the light of the TV reflecting off of your face. "What're you doing awake?"

You fidget in your seat and how are you supposed to tell him that despite what you said earlier, you’re only awake in this living room to see him. You know his room is right down the hall and that he'd have to bypass this living room in order to get there. How are you supposed to tell him that you can't sleep without knowing he's okay?

"Couldn't sleep." You shrug, words nonchalant.

Peter nods softly before he furrows his brows and takes one step back. "I-I'm sorry." Peter swallows thickly and you open your mouth but Peter keeps talking. "For....everything. And that you can't sleep but for everything," Peter lets out a breath and whispers. "Today." His hands move in front of him, fingers of his right hand picking at the calluses of his left hand.

"I know." Your voice candid but your eyes fill touches of sorrow, still torn on the events and just wanting him.

You’re in a war with yourself over it. You could have died and it would have been his fault but he's so far underwater that he's just dragging people down with him and it's not even his fault. It's just a reflex, involuntary, it happens and if he were better, if he got better it'd all be fine but he's not. So, you just keep going back and forth with being hurt and pissed and scared.

And there's a horrible silence that surrounds the two of you, almost like it's wanting to swallow you both whole. And Peter's thoughts are running around, back and forth, screaming to start talking, spill everything that's running through his head. He already talks when he's nervous but he has so much to say and you’re barely even looking at him and you can't sleep and he's so sorry for everything. And you have to know that.

Peter moves forward a little, his words rushing out. "I never was gonna leave you, I promise. I-I-I-I...I was gonna just....sit on top of a roof and make sure you were okay. I never would have let them do anything to you.....I wouldn't do that to you." Peter's voice is a bit frantic like he knows that's what's got you awake, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking without you having to tell him but maybe that's because it's eating him up just as much as it's eating at you or maybe it's the history between you, maybe it's both.

You chew on your lip, hands fiddling with the blanket over your lap. He's broken. Broken and fragile and he just can't watch anyone else get hurt and he can't do the hero thing. It's too much and if anyone understands, understands what he's trying to do, it's you. In some backwards logic kind of way, maybe you would have tried something similar. It's not as forgivable as other things, but hearing that Peter never planned to leave you in the frantic voice that begs and pleads for you to believe him, you know he's not lying. He regrets it.

He's making an effort, give him a little slack.

"You wanna come sit?" You offer, your eyes dating to the spot beside you.

Peter's eyes widen and he wants to run away as he usually does - too close, too much, too fast - but his feet don't turn him around. His head says run but his heart says move forward. And for once, Peter's body listens to his heart. His feet move forward. You’re that light at the end of the tunnel and while the darkness is calming and comfortable, familiar, the light you hold is so warm and beautiful that Peter just needs to move forward.

You offer him a tender smile, moving over and lending him some of your blanket while he takes a seat. He pulls his left leg up and under his right thigh, trying to get himself comfortable as his eyes go to the TV and see that you’ve got Black Mirror on. And silence consumes you both as you turn the TV back on.

You both watch and listen but neither of you are fully paying attention to what's happening. You're both lost in your heads, thousands of questions and apologies wanting to sputter out with every passing second. It's just been so long and all of this maybe could have been prevented. Maybe if one of you tried harder sooner or if one took the blame one more time rather than the other, maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe it's all just one big mistake of the both of you.

"Why do you do it?" You break the silence, unable to stand the stiffness of the air between you and Peter."You know....the crime. You never stood by it before and now it's all you do." You continue, looking at Peter through the corner of your eye.

"I dunno." Peter huffs, head hanging. "I...I thought maybe it was....easier I guess. If-if I do this, uh, maybe you won't want to be around me and then....you won't, um, you won't end up like Flash or MJ or May." Peter swallows thickly, feeling his chest tighten with his words. "It's all my fault, everything. I-I thought maybe if you hated me, you'd be safe."

Peter's head remains hung with his fragile words. Everyone would be safer not around Peter. That's what it always comes down to and he just can't lose you, too. It doesn't matter how many times he repeats it to himself, it just needs to be repeated. He needs to remind himself what you mean to him and how he couldn't handle it. If you died, he would literally go out of his freaking mind and if you died because of him...

You turn and face him without a thought, your legs crossing. "Peter, I could never hate you. Ever. I care about you, Pete." Your eyes search his with your breathy words.

Peter's eyes flicker around to you. He looks over you, starting from where your hands lay clasped in your lap, making their way up to your torso. You’re wearing a tank top and it almost accentuates the old scars on your shoulders. Your chest moves up and down with every breath, the blood on your neck gone, no longer a reminder of the night's events. And Peter's eyes finally reach your face, the scars just seem too bright tonight and it's probably just the blue light from the TV or maybe it's Peter just focusing too much on them. He notices every crevice that seems to fade off from the long and deeper scars, he notices where Doc Ock's claw dug into your face and caused the most damage. That area a lighter shade and visibly more rigid from the tear of flesh. And it all just burns. It burns every part of Peter's body as he looks at you. How can you not hate him for that?

You watch his eyes and suddenly, you’re very aware of your scars again. You’re put in that position Peter's been in all night, having to show his back to you and his leg to Bruce. Exposure and vulnerability. But, you push your own insecurities away and let your heart ache for him, wanting to lift that blame and guilt off of him because he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve any of this. None of this could ever be his fault. That isn't Peter. Even when he tries to be some form of a criminal, it's still not him.

"None of this is your fault." Peter pulls his eyes away from the scars and his eyes meet yours. "That?" You gesture a finger around yourself. "That's on Doc Ock. That's his fault, not yours. You needed to protect to MJ. Not me, I can handle myself and I think we both know that damn well. He should have gone after MJ but he didn't as spite and arrogance. I don't blame you." You move a little closer to him, your voice a type of gentle plea. "I had to be in recovery for months and you were there the whole time. I never blamed you, not for a second. I know...." You pause and it's you that starts to get consumed with guilt. "I know I said it was your fault before, when it happened and I know I apologized for it later but...I don't think I ever told you I didn't blame you. And Pete, I am so sorry." You swallow the lump in your throat with your words.

Just like Peter, you needed someone to blame when things got rough. Scarred and beaten and bloody and bruised. Broken. You needed someone to blame and who better than Peter Parker. Your best friend who chose his girlfriend over you. It was shallow. A low-blow. And you knew that, a fire burning in the pit of your stomach whenever you said you blamed Peter but you were just angry at the situation, you couldn't help it.

Depression hit with having to be laid up in bed and going to physical therapy, giving up lab time and school and cheerleading. And body image issues surfaced from the wounds that would scar after multiple surgeries. It never was about Peter, it was about you not being able to cope properly and yet Peter never left because he knew that. He knew it wasn't about him.

You had taken out your problems on Peter for months but the initial blow of blame came in the first week, after that it was mostly just your bad days. Not that that's an excuse but like you said, you did apologize for blaming him. It was just your bad days that got you, the bad days where you couldn't see the light of your own mind. And Peter got that. He let you blame him when you were bad and he was there for you like he always was on your good days. Friends with a shared bag of gummy worms.

"I know you didn't." Peter says quietly. "You should have though." His eyes are back on your scars and he wants to reach out and run his hands over them, something to just solidify his words but he can't. That's just too much. Too heavy. "I should have saved you." His head tilts to the left, brows knitting together while his mouth purses.

"You did." You let out a breath, a sad smile twitching onto your face. "Peter, I'm alive because you did save me. You showed up. So, what I have scars. So, do you. So, does my dad. That's just a thing that happens."

Peter nods and lets himself face the TV again. You’re right even if it's hard for Peter to accept. He did swing in and he defeated Doc Ock, got you to a hospital in time, he did save you. The scars you sustained from Doc Ock grabbing you would have happened no matter what Peter would have done. The point is that he saved you. That's what matters and you just need him to know that and maybe if it weren't for everything else that's happened, maybe he would have never second-guessed it. You just want him to stop beating himself up so you move closer, closing the distance between you, your knees touching his left leg, your torso still facing him.

Peter turns his torso towards you, his leg on fire with you barely touching him and you're so close again. His breath hitches in his throat and he has this love/hate relationship with this close proximity. You’re warm and comfortable and you just make everything cold and dark melt and hide. You keep him calm without even trying. You being only a few inches from his face is enough to get him nervous but get the self-hatred and blame to ease, enough for his head to be a little clearer. The chaos calms with your bright eyes looking at him. You’re a type of clarity and Peter doesn't really know how or why you do it and it might scare him to no end but maybe that's okay. It's okay to be scared.

"Can I ask you something?" You ask in a hushed whisper. Peter nods, not wanting to speak, afraid of what his voice might sound like. "Why didn't you tell anyone you were clean?" It's eaten at you since Bruce told you and it's after four in the morning. All bits of rational thinking have gone out the window.

Peter closes his eyes for a second before they meet with yours, a mist almost forming over them, his chin wrinkling slightly. "No one ever asked." The fragile and hollow tone shatters every part of your heart.

You should have asked. Every part of your body is bellowing and hollering at you, berating you because you should have fucking asked. All you had to do was ask Peter. That's what friends do, right? They make sure their friends are clean. They make sure they're alright and you didn't do that, not in that way. And yeah, maybe it's because after a few years of having to watch Peter high out of his mind, it became harder and harder for you to watch and witness but you could have asked him. Someone could have asked him.

"I'm so sorry." You croaked. "I...I should have asked. I'm sorry." Peter nods because he gets it. He doesn't blame you for it. He wouldn't have asked either. You lean forward and your hands move to his face slowly, Peter's breath stopping in his throat with the contact. Your thumbs run over his cheeks and your eyes are so distressed and devastated, it's enough to make Peter look away from you but not enough to pull away. "How long?"

"Since May died." Peter whispers, looking back to you. "I...uh, I quit the day after because if I wasn't high.....I could have gotten there in time. Guess my-my healing factor was still....working so I didn't have any of the serious withdrawal symptoms." Peter explains, tears starting to fill the rims of his eyes.

"Peter, I'm so sorry." You whisper and Peter's chin wrinkles in response while he places his hands on your wrists.

His hands wrap around your wrists, pulling your hands away from his face, needing something more because he's about to fall apart. "I-I-I-I just miss her, y/n." Peter's voice breaks as tears start to fall down his cheeks.

"Pete--"

"I...I just really miss her and MJ and I...." Peter sobs and makes the first move with hot and salty tears streaming down his cheeks.

He leans forward, his forehead falling onto your shoulder and you don't even take one second to think before your arms come around his body, pulling him into you as much as you can. And with that comforting hug, Peter's hands reach to your sides and grip your shirt, something to help ground him. His body shakes with every sob that leaves his lips and you find yourself biting your tongue and looking to the ceiling, trying to hold back your own tears from falling, begging everyone who might be out there, the universe, something, for a break.

Make it all stop. Just give Peter a break. Let him breathe, for everything that might be good, let him breathe because despite everything, Peter is good and he deserves better.

Everything is so broken and how broken can things get before they're simply not fixable anymore? Things can only be broken so much before there are pieces missing and it's impossible to put back together whole, like the way it was before. And your biggest fear is that that's what's happening with Peter.

He's missing all of these pieces and he needs help to try and find them, put them back together and glue them in the right places but what if they're just too gone? They're disintegrated from the weight of the guilt and blame from everything else that's happened to him? Can he get new pieces to fill those spots? Because he deserves to be okay and to be healed and glued back together with indestructible glue.

He is one of the good ones. Let him be okay again,

Peter's sobs start to subside with your hand running up and down his back, your head leaning against his. And his tears slow until there's no more left and his heart pounds and aches with every beat and his eyes are puffy and burn. He misses May and MJ and he misses being himself. He wants himself back again. He wants you back, he just wants his damn life back again.

"Y/n?" Peter picks his head up, tear-stained cheeks meeting your gaze before he rubs his eyes. "Um...is...is it okay if I stay...in here until you go to bed?" He asks with a croaky voice, desperation in every word. I can't be alone tonight.

"Yeah," You nod with a fragile and small smile, one hand pushing Peter's messy hair away from his face. "Of course, you can, Pete."

Truthfully, you’re pretty tired but hell, you don't plan on moving even a little bit if it'll give Peter some type of comfort. You will stay up for the next three days if that's what it takes. You can sleep when you’re dead.

So, the two of you resituate, sitting leg to leg and you offer Peter your hand, not wanting to really overstep but still wanting to offer him something and your hand worked on the way here, so maybe holding his hand now will help. And he interlocks your fingers, this time with no hesitation and grants you a smile, one that only you could tell was a smile with the faintness of it but it's enough. And soon enough, you're sat in a comfortable silence with the TV playing, your thumb rubbing soft circles over the top of Peter's hand, Peter slowly falling into the same rhythm against yours.

The episode plays on and Peter's heart doesn't ache as bad as it has over the past two years. It's like it's a little easier to breathe, like he's not completely drowning anymore. He can gasp a little and his head feels a little lighter. It just feels a little bit better, just enough to give him hope that this isn't completely impossible. And he is so thankful for this, for you who's nodding off beside him, your head starting to fall onto his shoulder and he doesn't have it in him to leave you yet. You make him feel something good. Something warm that doesn't burn like sulfuric acid. You make him a type of whole again and it's a little selfish but he doesn't want to go yet. You keep him calm.

"Y/n?" Peter calls and you jerk back to reality, looking up to him with hooded eyes and raised brows.

"I'm just....I'm getting a little tired." Peter sucks in a nervous breath. "C-can we lay down....please?"

Your eyes widen as much as they can in your tired state, almost thinking you didn't hear him right but hoping you did. "Yeah, sure." You give him a gentle smile, moving to the other end of the couch so Peter can lay down and get comfortable and there's this space between him and the edge of the couch, like he's waiting for you to join him and he did say "we".

We is an invitation but he could have meant in general like the two of you on either side of the couch, how you usually fell asleep if you fell asleep in any of the living rooms. Maybe that's what he meant but maybe you should test the waters. He's looking at you and it's like he wants to ask you to lay with him but he doesn't know how. Like maybe he just can't bring himself to say the words. And he said we so you decide to ask instead of putting pressure on just moving.

"Can I lay with you?" You ask, voice a little shaky with nerves as you ask. "You're just really warm." Heat creeps onto your face. "I get cold." Your eyes are on Peter's, a blush creeps onto his cheeks as well, nodding and almost completely through the roof you asked because he did not have it in him to specify he wanted you to lay with him.

You move over to him and you make yourself comfortable with Peter's arm wrapping around your shoulder, one of your arms moving over his torso and your leg just barely laying on top of his, careful not to move it too close to the metal one. And it's like you both can just exhale with the position, wrapped in each other under a blanket in the middle of the night. Like you're both fully safe right here and right now, just the two of you against the world. How it used to be.

And your hand holds onto the loose fabric of his old t-shirt while you listen to his heartbeat, wondering if that's what Peter hears all the time with everyone. A constant string of thunder, some different from others. If so, you understand a little why he'd always be listening to yours because this, this is one of the most calming things you’ve ever listened to. Hearing his heartbeat as confirmation he's alive. He's breathing under you and it's like the most beautiful melody you’ve ever heard and you never want it to stop.

Peter's rubbing soft circles over your exposed shoulder, careful not to touch the scar, every now and again looking over to make sure he hasn't touched it before his attention goes back to the TV. And there's something comforting with doing it, just having you lay on him and his fingers just moving along your skin. It's been ages since he's had contact with someone, like this, and he's happy. For the first time since he doesn't know when, he feels happy. And Peter is so happy this is with you.

"You can touch it if you want." You whisper, your eyes barely open on the screen as you feel Peter look down to you. "The scar, I don't care. Doesn't hurt." The words are slightly slurred as they leave your lips, making Peter's heart swell.

In another world, maybe he would have kissed the top of your head and whispered something kind or loving but in this world, he doesn't. He just nods with only the hint of a smile and his eyes go to the scar, fingers lightly fanning over it. You drift off with every movement of his fingers and it's like this is a sign of hope, big and bright neon letters of hope and healing flashing above Peter.

A/n: Tags have been screwy lately so please, please, please reblog this to spread it around!!! You don’t have to comment or anything (although comments are amazing and I love them with my whole heart) just please, reblog as a signal boost!! Thank you in advance ❤

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[yeet-me-dad-dy]

Help a Zomboy Out

@dapperappleton​ asked:  Heyo! If you do Robbie, can you do one with him and the reader where the reader comforts him after Anti is mean to him or something? If not that’s fine since I know Robbie isn’t that popular. Love your stuff!🖤💚

Summary: Anti hurts Robbie and you help stitch the poor boy back together.

Warnings: Gore, swearing

Characters: Robbie + Reader, Anti

Words: 1,451

Midday sunlight filtered through the pale kitchen curtains of Jack’s house and fell softly onto the dark marble countertop of the island where you were making yourself some lunch. You were mostly focused on the sandwich in front of you, but you had one ear focused on the sounds coming from the living room adjacent. Only a few minutes ago, you heard Anti glitch in and plop himself down on the couch in front of the TV. He didn’t turn it on, he rarely did. More than likely, he was sitting, enjoying the silence, and twirling his knife around. As long as he was doing that, he wasn’t a danger to anyone, but it didn’t hurt to keep an eye on him anyway. Or, in this case, an ear.

You heard the back door close, accompanied by the shuffling footsteps of your favorite zombie. 

“Aaantiii,” he moaned, and your brow furrowed in confusion. Robbie and Anti didn’t get along in the slightest, and the undead usually did everything in his power to avoid the demon, so why was he calling out for him? 

You put your butter knife down and wiped your hands, then stepped around the island and into the hall just in time to see Robbie disappear through the living room archway. He was leaving a trail of blood and bile in his wake. That was never a good sign.

“Aaantiii,” he moaned again.

“Ew!” you heard the demon exclaim in reply. “What the fuck!?”

You rushed forward, hopping over the mess and into the room. Robbie was slowly stalking toward Anti, holding something in arms. His back was to you, so you couldn’t see what he had, but if the string of intestines dragging along behind him was anything to go by, you could make a guess that it probably wasn’t a lovely bouquet of flowers.

Anti was brandishing his knife at Rob, holding it defensively in front of him in an attempt to stop the zombie. Why he thought that would work was beyond you. Robbie couldn’t feel pain, so being stabbed wasn’t much of a threat.

“Aaantiii. Heeelp…” Robbie wailed pitifully. 

“Get away from me, freak!” Anti warned. “That’s fucking disgusting!” 

Rob tripped over the entrails at his feet and lurched forward, falling into Anti who pushed him away with a string of colorful swears. Zombies aren’t known for having good balance, so that one firm shove sent the zombie toppling backward. His feet came out from under him and he crashed to the floor, his entrails slipping from his arms and spilling out all over him and onto the floor.

The zombie let out the most heart-wrenching moan you had ever heard in your life, a culmination of all the pain that Anti has put him through vocalized in a wail. You were sure that sound was the closest Robbie could get to sobbing, and it made your heart break for him. 

“What the fuck, Anti?” you snapped as you closed the distance between you and knelt down next to Rob. “He needs help, you prick.”

Anti scoffed and scowled down at you, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping his blade. “Well he doesn’t fucking need it from me,” he growled, and then glitched violently before disappearing.

“Jackass,” you cursed him under your breath as you turned your attention to Robbie.

He was sitting with his legs outstretched in front of him, desperately trying to gather his intestines. 

“Don’t worry, bud, I’ll help you out. Hang tight.” 

You jumped to your feet and rushed out of the room toward what Schneep referred to as “The Infirmary”. It would have the supplies you needed to patch up your friend.

You pushed the thick wooden door into the infirmary open and stepped inside, reaching over to switch on the light. The soft yellow glow from the ceiling light was pleasantly different from the bright fluorescents that hospitals usually used, but the pristine nature of the room was almost the same. Everything was spotless - clinical - and the air smelled faintly of antiseptic. 

Your eyes swept over the room, taking in the twin bed with crisp sheets in the corner, next to which stood a metal tray on wheels. There was a wooden desk against the far wall, and on the wall to the right stood a large metal cabinet. There were various other cupboards hanging on the walls, as well as a couple of landscape paintings, a counter with sink, and some other medical supplies here and there, such as an aneroid monitor and a heart rate monitor. 

You strode over to the large metal cabinet and pushed around the supplies on the shelves, looking for thread. It took you a few minutes, and multiple cabinets, but you finally found a small wooden chest in one of the bottom desk drawers. You pulled it out and set it on the desk, flicking the latch and opening it up to find a colorful assortment of carpet thread stored within, as well as a couple of clean pairs of gloves, some scissors, and a collection of needles.

You closed the chest and tucked it under your arm, then made your way out of the room, making sure to close the door behind you. Schneep hated when people left the infirmary door open. You jogged back to the living room to find Robbie sitting with his legs crossed, hunched forward, and looking utterly downtrodden.

“I’m back!” you called cheerfully in an attempt to brighten his mood somewhat.

You sat in front of him and slightly to the side so that you weren’t on his intestines, and opened the box once more.

“Let’s get you put back together,” you said, turning the chest around so that he could see inside. “What color would you like me to use?” you asked him.

He scanned the assortment of thread slowly, his dead eyes barely moving, and then he reached a rotting hand up to point at a spool of dark purple thread. You plucked it from the container and held it up to make sure that was the correct one. He nodded.

“Alright, can you lay on your back for me so I can put all this back where it goes?”

It took him a moment to register what you had said, but finally, he shifted his weight and slid down to lay on his back, perpendicular to you. You grabbed a pair of clean gloves and pulled them on, then started sorting through his entrails, untangling them and tucking them back into his abdomen. You worked diligently, pulling and unraveling and tucking. Occasionally, Robbie would grab a handful of entrails and hand them to you. You would accept them with a “thank you”, brush them off as best you could, and put them back in place.

Once everything was back where it was supposed to be, you peeled off the gloves and exchanged them for a clean pair, then threaded a needle with Robbie’s chosen thread. You pinched the wound closed and patiently sewed him back together, all the while being watched by milky, dead eyes. Somehow, he got a horizontal cut across his belly. It was fairly clean, so he must have stumbled into something sharp. You wouldn’t be surprised if Anti himself had cut the poor zombie open. That would also explain why Robbie had tried to get him to fix it instead of coming to you in the first place.

“Hey Robs, how did this happen?” you asked, glancing over at him as you worked. He caught your eye, and you could see your reflection in his glass-like gaze.

“Plaaaaay…” he moaned.

“You were playing?” you asked to confirm.

“Yeeessss. Plaaaaay.”

“Were you playing alone?”

“Aaaantiii…”

You sighed. Of course it was Anti. Just once, you were hoping it wasn’t.

“You were playing with Anti.”

He nodded the best a zombie could.

“Did Anti cut you open?”

He nodded again. “Robbie… wanted… plaaaay…”

You finished closing his wound, tied off the thread and used the small scissors included in the “stitch Robbie together” kit to snip the line.

“I’m sorry Anti hurt you, Robs,” you said, tucking a hand under his back to help him sit up. “I’ll talk to him. He can’t do things like that.”

“Thank… youuu,” he groaned running his fingers over the new stitches.

“Of course, Robbie.”

He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around your neck. He reeked of death, but you didn’t mind. You hugged him back, squeezing him tight, but not enough to make anything else fall off. 

“I… love… youuu…” he said, nuzzling into your neck.

You chuckled and rubbed his back.

“I love you, too, bud.”

[ladybugsfanfics]

Seven Days [1/7]

→ Pairing: prince!Loki Odinson x pirate!reader 

(eventually prince!Loki x pirate!Steve Rogers x pirate!reader)

→ WC:  3.1k

→ Warnings: Smut, some blood gore, idk, awkwardness, nightmares, (countless) sexual innuendos

→ Summary: Prince Loki has run sick of not feeling welcome at the palace and asks to join you and your life forever. You give him seven days to try the new life, seven days to realize how much he loves you. And in those seven days, he learns to know you, and himself (and the first mate) a little better… In the end, he only has one question left to answer. Will he stay?

A/N: I’m so excited for this, and it’s finally here. This was originally a part of @nastybuckybarnes​ writing challenge but that ended in september so I think that ship’s sailed (still tagging you tho, i’m sorry). anyways, i hope you like it as much as i do ^_^

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

PROLOGUE

His cloak flutters as the wind brushes past him. It nips at his exposed skin and nearly drags off the hood covering his face. He wraps the cloak tighter around him, tells his rapidly beating heart he’s making the right decision. 

The night life of Asgard is full, he notes, as he walks into the market square. Most of the booths have closed shop for the evening, yet people walk in hushed whispers and loud yells across the cobblestones. Heels clank against the rough surface, his own along with everyone else’s. The air smells of booze and saltwater, of sweat and perfume. 

He walks past an open inn. Loud noises of music, games, and drinks clattering against each other in celebration fills the open streets. He rushes past, the inn being too close for someone not to recognize him. 

Moments later, the port welcomes him. The booths and a few inns exchanged with taverns and ships lining the docks. Seawater fills his nose as he grows closer. The sounds of earlier fades into the background to leave space for the louder noise of drunk sailors and maids having their fun. A smile tugs at his lips at the sound of the ocean splashing against the stones of the dock. 

A deep breath gives him the courage to walk past the numerous amounts of people around him. He avoids eye contact, keeping his head low as he weaves through the crowd. The wind tugs at his hood again. Trembling fingers pulls it back over his head. His heart beats faster, making its presence in his rib cage known. 

Finally, he sees it. 

In the dark of the night, the ebony wood that lines the ship mixes into the dark blue of the water. The masts rise into the air, sails wrapped around them waiting to be let loose and feel the wind push against them. His eyes scan the people, seeing a few walking the gangplank onto it. 

One person catches his eyes, standing at the helm. The shadow moves along the railing, looking out at the sea. Hair blows in the wind, creating the image of a captain ready to get back on the water. 

His breath hitches at the sight, and he moves his feet faster. Boots clank against the stones, a rhythm he doesn’t mean to make. He stops by the gangplank, waiting for the acceptance to be let on. 

You smile as you catch his eyes in the dark. Not the typical teasing smirk that usually spreads across your features when you meet. Not the happy one you sport when you tell him you love him. Not the sad one you have when you let him know it’s time to leave. 

No. 

This one is special. This smile lights up in your eyes, tells him to take those few steps aboard. Your smile is one he hasn’t seen before. It covers all your emotions. The happiness of him coming. The disappointment of him coming. The excitement for the coming seven days. 

He takes the last step onto the ship. His boot connects with the ships wood, making that one sound he has been dying to hear. Your hands are clasped behind your back. You stand straight and, despite the smile on your face, the authority reeks of you. 

He likes this new image he can see. 

He doesn’t regret it one bit that he asked the question. Seven days is what he has to prove that he can survive on a pirate ship. Seven days to prove that he does love you. Seven days to prove that, even if it’s hell on Earth, it’s hell on Earth with you and he wants to spend every moment in your presence. 

Seven days to prove himself worthy.  

 DAY ONE

Compared to what Loki is used to, everything about the little food he got tastes stale. He drowns the bread down with a glass of wine, and it still leaves his tongue dry and itchy. He’d gotten an old apple at the side, too. ( “A little something on me since it’s your first day,” was what the first mate had added when the man placed the apple next to him. He’d given him a tight, fake smile and patted his back a little hard.)

The apple tastes nothing like apples are supposed to. The usual juicy and sweet bite he expects is bitter, dry and soft. His first reaction would be to spit it out and demand another, but he can’t do that now. He swallows the bite, pinching his eyes shut at the sour taste, and takes a sip of wine to drown out what lingers on his tongue. 

And then he repeats the process until the whole apple, save the core, is gone. His shoulders slump and he takes the last of the wine in one big gulp, in a desperate attempt to completely rid of the dry aftertaste of the apple and the bread that remains in his mouth. 

“Easy there, bud,” says a voice behind him, “wouldn’t want you to down everything on the first day.” 

Loki turns his head. Behind him stands a male clad in a loose shirt and a pair of pants―no shoes. The man has unusually well-groomed, brown hair and a goatee. He smiles at Loki, a lopsided smile that doesn’t really tell Loki anything other than let him know this man might not be of that much importance. 

“I’m Tony,” he says, “most people ‘round here call me Stark.” 

“I’m Loki Odinson, the―” He cuts himself off before he says his title. Not only did he get on this ship to escape that life, it also holds no authority. Maybe he should have dropped the Odinson? It would be an easy connection. 

Tony nods. “I know, everyone knows. Welcome aboard Vicious Storm, prince. Don’t expect special treatment.” He smiles, or smirks? “Or, maybe you should?” 

“Stop bothering him, Stark.” Your voice drags Loki’s attention away from the man in front of him. You stop at Loki’s side, a small smile on your lips as you divert your gaze to Tony. The man does a salute, which has you roll your eyes. The smile stays, though. “Go do something useful.” 

“Will do,” replies Tony. He smirks as he walks down to the other end of the ship. 

Loki looks to you. “What’s in that direction?” 

You widen your eyes, as if you realised something. “Oh, you don’t know where things are yet.” You shake your head. “Down that end you find our surgeon, Dr. Strange. Would recommend saying hi to him every once in a while, though the man doesn’t talk too much with anyone but Stark.”

“Why?”

“Oh, you know, he doesn’t really want to be here.” You shrug. “But, that’s not why I’m here now. You done eating?” 

Loki nods. 

“Good.” You nod. “Come with me. Gonna introduce you to some people, though I hear you’ve already met Rogers?”

Loki makes a grimace at the sound of the first mate’s name. “It is not something I would like to repeat.”

You chuckle. “I’m not even sorry when I say that that’s gonna be hard.” You take Loki’s hand in yours, dragging him up from where he sits and with you out into the sunshine that bathes the main deck. 

You walk over to the end (it’s the rear since it has the wheel, right?―Loki notes to learn more about what things are called). In a huddle stands five people, talking and laughing with each other. You cough to get their attention and they all stand up straight.

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask, a frown coating your face as your gaze drags over the five people saluting you. 

The first mate relaxes, shooting you a smile (and winks at Loki). “You said to have manners. Ain’t this manners?” 

“This,” ―you gesture at the other four who all relax back into normal postures― “is not what I talked about.”

Rogers smiles. “Sorry, I tried my best.”

You roll your eyes, but an amused smile plays on your lips. Loki finds he rather likes the look in your eyes, only he wishes it wasn’t directed at the first mate―he tries to drown the sting in his heart at your playfulness with him, but he can’t deny the jealousy that comes with you being close to someone as good looking as Rogers. 

“Anyways,” says one of the other men, “why’d you ask us to meet you here?” The male is bald, with a dark complexion Loki hasn’t seen with many other’s of the crew. He noticed a few, but for the most part, there are crew with the same pale, white skin as he himself has.

“Yeah, I want to introduce you.” You nudge Loki a little closer to you and the group, hand still holding onto his. He’s grateful to rely on some of your strength. Being in a different environment than he’s used to makes for interesting jabs at his pride and confidence, jabs he hadn’t thought would come when he’d asked to join you. 

“Loki, this is Wilson. He’s our pilot.” Loki hides his surprise as the man holds out a hand for him to shake―the first one to do so in the little time he’d been aboard the ship. He takes the man’s hand, giving a curt nod to the smile the male sends him. “Bet you’ll get along, at least a little.”

The next person is a male with longer, brown hair that flows around his head and lands past his shoulders. Loki notes that one of his arms is metal, but he decides not to comment and makes a mental note to ask you later. “Barnes.” He doesn’t hold out his hand, but gives a nod which Loki returns. 

“Welcome aboard Vicious Storm, my prince.” The red-headed woman makes a mock-curtsy, looking up at him through her lashes with a bright smirk. The men around her snicker. Loki makes no reaction. 

You roll your eyes. “Mature, Nat, mature.” 

Nat stands up. She gives Loki a more genuine smile, which he returns with a tight-lipped one (that gives away his ‘poker’ face). “Call me anything but Romanoff and I’ll make sure you regret it.” 

Based on her tone, Loki believes her. “Noted.”

“Clint,” says the male next to Romanoff and holds out a hand for Loki to shake. The man, though with a slightly lighter brown shade, has the same styled hair as Tony. Clint also has a goatee, though less prominent. Loki takes the man’s hand and shakes it. He returns the grin Clint gives him, though a little hesitantly. “We’ll be best friends, promise.”

Loki glances at you, and you roll your eyes with a small smile. Of the four he’s been properly introduced to, he has to admit he likes Clint the best. 

And then he turns to the first mate, who eagerly holds out his hand for Loki to shake. “Steve Rogers,” he says, a wicked grin coating his (stupidly handsome) face―jawline covered with a full beard that suits him very well, and longer, blonde hair slicked back (he looks too well-groomed for a pirate). 

Loki, who was raised with manners, takes Rogers’s hand and shakes it. The pressure is slightly harder than Wilson’s and Clint’s, but surprisingly lighter than Loki expected. Rogers leans in, the wicked grin still on his lips. His breath is hot on Loki’s ear. “Please, call me Steve,” he whispers and pulls back. 

You and the four other people raise your brows at the first mate’s behaviour. Loki tries to steady his beating heart (to be honest, Steve gives him a ...weird and almost frightening vibe). 

“Okay,” you say, “that was… I don’t know what that was but I ain’t gon’ ask either an’ now we’re gon’ go before more happens.” You tug on Loki’s hand―the one that has been holding onto his this whole time it’s weird you haven’t pulled away by how clammy it has gotten―and Loki swallows the lump in his throat as he pulls his gaze away from Steve. 

As the two of you walk, Loki takes a glance back at the group. Steve looks after you and Loki, and the other four whisper with each other whilst looking at Steve―had that behaviour been that odd? Loki vows not to be alone with the first mate.

Ever. 

 ---

He’d noticed the smell when he’d first stepped on board the ship. The mixed stench of human sweat and rotting fish, an odor that gets a little better at the main deck where the breeze filled with the smell of sea can take away some of the vile one that hurts his nose. 

It’s first now, bored to death as he leans against the railing trying to tame his queasy stomach that he really notices it. Loki can’t say it helps very much to how he’s feeling. 

He swallows the little that makes its way up his throat, though quickly regrets it as it only heightens the feeling and he leans over to rid himself off it. His throat hurts as he uses his sleeve to wipe away the excess. 

“We’ve all been there, buddy.” Clint pats his back and nods. “Heck, most o’ us are still there. Does get a lil’ better, but everyone’s emptyin’ their guts every now and then.”

Loki swallows―something he quickly regrets―and rubs his temples. “I have to admit, when I asked I thought the worst part would be the blood and gore, not… sea sickness.”

Clint nods. “Trust me, thought so, too.” He gives Loki a tiny smile. “But instead o’ this, what’cha say to a round? Got some mates up there, bettin’ some good money. And I’ll give you somethin’ to wash that taste down with.”

“A round of what?” 

A mischievous glint lights up in Clint’s eyes. “A round o’ whatever.” He winks. “Won’t give up an opportunity to beat Rogers, now would you?”

Loki nods. “He’s playing?” 

Clint nods. 

“Well, lead the way.”

They make their way to the helm (Loki asked you what the back with the wheel is called, the answer; the helm). Where he got introduced to some of the crew earlier in the day, is now a group―bigger than the five he was introduced to―sitting in a ring. In the middle he sees a pair of dice. 

“Ey, look who decided to join.” The first mate smirks in Loki’s direction and makes room for him to sit down next to him. “Time to place our bets, gentlemen.” Steve winks at Loki and looks onto the crowd around him as Loki sits down in the space made for him.

Everyone holler out a number between five and nine. Loki keeps his mouth shut, not sure what they’re playing. Steve picks up the dice and rolls them, creating a total of seven. A few men groan and move out of the circle to stand and watch. 

The remaining men holler out another set of numbers. Steve rolls the dice again. Five. Two of the men move out of the circle. There are five men left, each holler out a number. Steve rolls; eight. Two men remain in the circle. They give each other a wicked grin, and yell out a new number. 

Steve rolls the dice. As they spin around on the deck, the silence is deafening. The wind brushes past Loki, nipping at his cheeks. It makes his hair flap around him, annoyingly slap his face. He tucks it away, eyes still glued to the dice that come still on the ebony wood of the deck. 

Nine.

Both men groan and glare at Steve, who shrugs with a smirk. “Hand it over, boys.” His voice is cocky, too arrogant for someone surrounded by a gang of annoyed pirates. But, Steve himself is a pirate. And the men pay up, putting down different sets of things in front of Steve. 

The first mate picks some of the things, putting them in his pockets and then pushes the rest of the heap into the center. “Play me for it?” 

Loki is well aware of the little glance the male gives his way, as if the question is directly meant for him. He nods as the men come back to form a new circle. Everyone hollers out a number. 

Steve rolls the dice. Eight. Loki keeps his place, though he suppresses the smirk he wants―so he doesn’t have that good a poker face, this is rather a game of luck. 

They holler out a new number. Steve rolls. The dice spins on the deck. Stop. Six. Loki can feel the tug of his lips as he lets his shoulders fall down. 

They six men seated in the circle holler out a new number. Steve throws the dice; eight. Loki can feel the glares stare daggers in his back; already heated by the scorching sun the glares only add to the feeling of finally being somewhere else. 

They’re three men left now. All three yell different numbers. Steve rolls the dice. One lands quickly at a four. The other spins, and spins, and spins. It loses momentum and Loki can see the number it’s going to land on; one. Subtly, he flicks his wrist, giving the little extra it needs to fall on the two he needs. 

All eyes land on him as he lets the smirk color his face. Steve shakes his head, though if Loki doesn’t see hallucinations he believes he saw the hint of an amused smile before the man went back to his rather teasing look. 

“Who won?” 

Loki perks up at the sound of your voice. 

“Your toy,” replies Steve, though nothing layers his voice as Loki would have thought. 

As he sorts through the pile of garbage they played about, Loki can feel you roll your eyes behind him. He smiles and, finding something of value, he leaves the heap and stands up. He turns to you raising a brow in his direction. 

“Having fun?” you ask.

Loki smiles. “I will be in a moment.” A little ‘ooooh’ goes through the crowd of men as he takes your hand and tugs you with him. Newfound energy can do a lot. 

Also, he would rather have you in his arms where he can trade the rotting stench he’d forgotten a little with your smell. He wishes to trade the sound of grown men groaning at losing a game designed for them to lose, to the sound of your voice hoarsely and breathlessly whispering his name. 

So far, he’d made the right decision. 

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Ch. 31

May the Wind Be At Your Back 

Warnings: I guarantee you will cry (I sobbed writing this), swearing, blood, gore. 

Word count: ~10,700 (sorry it’s long!) 

Masterlist

Read on AO3

The next morning, you wake to an empty tent. You rub the tiredness from your eyes and get out, finding Arthur setting down the percolator to make coffee. He smiles and stands up when he sees you, folding you in his arms. He’s changed from his blue shirt to his black one with the red vest and green shotgun coat. He must know you love seeing him in it. The scent of leather and pine envelopes you. 

“Reckon we oughta make a quick breakfast and head out,” Arthur says, letting you go. You nod and join him by the fire, pulling out a can of peaches. He adds a small loaf of bread and some salted, dried beef to the mix. As you eat, you make easy talk. It feels more normal than you expected it to be, but that in itself is a comfort. 

Arthur douses the fire while you fold down the tent and pack it into Artemis’s saddlebag. She’s standing particularly close to Rannoch, has been since you made camp. Arthur walks over, smiling. 

“Think she missed him,” he says, rubbing Rannoch’s neck and feeding him a sugarcube. 

You pat her fondly. “Well, I’m sure he missed her too. When I was at Charlotte’s and he was loose in her pasture, he used to watch the trail as if waiting for her to show up. Was kind of sad, really.” 

Arthur smiles down at you and loops an arm behind you, bending down for a brief kiss. “Well, they won’t ever be parted again.” 

He lets you go and you mount up, heading slowly to Beaver Hollow. It’s clear Arthur doesn’t want to go back again either, not that you blame him. You can only imagine the rage he must feel towards Dutch for being abandoned. You’re angry about it too. If things have digressed to the point that Dutch no longer sees Arthur as someone worth having around after everything he’s done for the gang, then it’s hard to say how he will feel about you coming back. 

It’s midday by the time you and Arthur arrive. The camp is even more empty and quiet than before you left. The wagon that sheltered Mary-Beth and Karen is gone. As you and Arthur walk towards your shared tent, there seems to be fewer people. It appears that Mary-Beth, Karen, Uncle, and Charles are gone. You already know Charles left; Arthur explained how he stayed to help the Wapiti. You’re surprised about the others though. 

Your eyes drift over to Dutch’s tent, where he sits inside. Micah’s at the table, which isn’t unusual. He’s never far from Dutch anymore. However, two new figures sit beside the tent, looking out of place. One of them is rather thin and lanky, his face too long under his blond hair. When you see the other, your heart drops. You recognize the flabby, long face, the drooping jowls, the dull eyes hidden underneath moppy brown hair. He’s one of the men who attacked you. 

You latch onto Arthur’s arm, your eyes glued to the man, who hasn’t seen you so far. Arthur stops and looks down at you. 

“What is it?” 

“Him,” you whisper. “He-he gave me this.” Your hand reaches up to touch your face where the cut is. Arthur glares across the clearing at them.

“That son of a bitch, what’s he doin’ here?” Arthur growls. He’s about to stomp over to him when you grip his arm harder. 

“Don’t, Arthur. It’s not wise to kill him here. Let’s find out what he’s doing here in the first place.” 

Arthur raises his lip in disgust but agrees. He gently instructs you to stay in the tent, away from the man, while he goes and talks with Dutch. You sit on the cot and watch him leave, but when he’s far enough away, you get up and follow him, skirting along the sides of the mountain towards the cavern’s mouth where Dutch’s tent sits. Arthur throws the strangers a foul look and then stands at the opening of the tent. 

“Well at least you ain’t run off,” Dutch growls from inside. “Pearson left, old Uncle, the traitors. Both gone, took some of the girls with them. But I see you brought your girl back.” You hear the venom in his voice as he talks about you. “Micah brought in a couple of friends of his to help with some things. Anyways, Pearson and Uncle told young Tilly they were runnin’ to save themselves.” 

“So it goes,” Arthur says. 

“They are goddamn cowards, Arthur. Cowards. After all the time we spent, just to run off.” Dutch saunters out of the tent. 

“Well, I guess they don’t wanna die, Dutch.” 

“Ain’t nobody gonna…” Dutch grabs Arthur’s shoulder and guides him around the tent to where you’re standing. You quickly dart to the back of the tent that stares down into the mouth of the cave. The stench of decay floods your nose, choking you and an overwhelming feeling of being trapped envelops you. You force down the desire to run as you listen and peak around the tent. 

“This is a tough time,” Dutch continues. “But we, our community, we will survive. They will not crush us.” 

“I hope so,” Arthur pauses and looks out at the camp. “But if we let Jack and the women free then maybe we can-” 

Dutch cuts him off. “There ain’t no freedom for no one in this country no more, Arthur. One more big score, we got enough money to leave. All this turmoil has the army and the Pinkertons spinning. We take a boat and slip away.” 

“I don’t know what you’re saying, Dutch, but it sounds like I heard it all before.”

“Just one more train-” 

“Yeah, there’s always a goddamn train!” Arthur’s voice raises loudly. 

“Arthur! This is different.” Dutch puts his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “We know this is full of cash. Army payroll. Money and supplies to repair the bridge that you blew. This is all going to plan. We rob Uncle Sam and we leave. What do you think?” 

“It sounds wonderful, Dutch. However, I think it should be just us. None of Micah’s friends. You know, Y/N said one of them fellers is the one who attacked her on the road a week back. She said he was told to try and kill her. Now I know what you think of her lately, Dutch, but that don’t change the fact that she’s gonna be my wife soon and I don’t want those men around.” 

Dutch gives him a hard look. “We need their help, Arthur. With how many folks have left, we need their gun power. Now as soon as we have the money from the train, I’ll send them off. Does that suit you?” 

Arthur sighs heavily. “I suppose. But if I end up putting a bullet in his head-” 

“That ain’t gonna happen. Perhaps Y/N is mistaken and he’s not the same man. Even if he is, he’d be a damn fool to touch her here. Like I said, they won’t be here much longer, so just keep your head.” 

“Fine, but…” Arthur gestures to the camp. “You know the women and the children, and John and his family, I’m afraid I have to insist. We gotta let ‘em go, because if the Pinkertons find us again, they will kill everyone.” 

“John? Insist?” Dutch says quietly. 

“Yes,” Arthur says resolutely. “Insist.” 

Dutch pauses and takes in a deep breath. When he speaks, his voice is higher than usual, giving you a sense of unease. Has Arthur stepped an invisible line? 

“Of course, pal. Whatever you think is best. I will see to it. Now, we gonna rob a train?” 

“Sure,” Arthur growls. 

Dutch pats him on the arm and starts walking away. Arthur follows him and you take the opportunity to slip out of the cavern and towards your own tent, sitting down on the cot as if you’ve been there all along. 

Dutch approaches the fire where most of the remaining gang have settled. “Alright everyone, we have work to do. We are gonna borrow a little money from Uncle Sam and be out of his hair once and for all.” 

Dutch walks over to the horses. The way his shoulders move and the speed of his step, you can tell he’s angry. Arthur beckons for you to come to him, so you do, avoiding the gaze of the strangers. Despite trying to not see him, you can’t help but keep an eye on him. The one who cut you and you lock eyes. You can tell he’s trying to act like he doesn’t recognize you, but his eyes give him away. He says nothing however as he and the other stranger mount onto their horses. 

“Let’s go, gentlemen!” Dutch hollers from the back of the Count, ignoring the fact that you and Sadie are among the group going along for the robbery. He leads the gang south, past Butcher’s Creek and towards Lemoyne

You wish Arthur was riding next to you, still feeling nervous about the strangers. He’s riding up near Dutch though, probably trying to ease him into complacency about letting you and the other women and Jack go. Sadie gallops beside you, her horse sweating as heavily as Rannoch in the humid heat. 

As you’re approaching the border of Lemoyne, Dutch calls out behind him that the train is due in Saint Denis in an hour. Arthur automatically questions the wisdom of robbing a train in the middle of the city. Dutch explains the gang won’t be robbing them there, just hopping aboard and hiding until it gets closer to the bridge Arthur and John destroyed. Micah adds in; he must have had a hand in planning this robbery. How could he not, with how close he’s kept himself to Dutch. 

Dutch orders John to grab the remaining dynamite left and Arthur volunteers to go with him. You almost go with him but realize that to do so would be a mistake. You’re sure you’re not back in Dutch’s good graces for leaving, not that you’ve been in them recently anyways. It’s clear he hasn’t liked your relationship with Arthur since he proposed to you, convinced you’ve been trying to take Arthur away from him. You watch John and Arthur ride off into a woodland as the gang continues south. 

As you’re riding along, you realize how much things have changed with how Dutch runs things. On previous jobs, Dutch never let any of the gang leave in groups of more than four, even if the whole gang was involved in the job. Now there’s only one group, being more conspicuous than ever. 

When the group reaches the train tracks just outside Saint Denis, Dutch stops in order to wait for Arthur and John. Only a few minutes pass before they regroup. Arthur glances at you and then takes his spot beside you, nodding to you in order to reassure you. You nod in return. After this is done, you and he will be abandoning the gang, heading off to begin your new lives. With any luck, things will go smoothly. Of course, you’re not too optimistic when it comes to luck, not with the way things have been going.

Dutch throws the cigar he’d been smoking while waiting and leads the gang into the farms lying on the outskirts of the city. 

“One last time, gentlemen!” he calls out. “I got us a riverboat, it’ll be waiting for us at Annesburg. We’ll head up to New York or Chicago and get a real boat from there out to the tropics. It will be paradise.”

“It’s all coming together, Dutch,” Micah simpers at him. “Just like we planned.” 

“I hope that’s okay with you John, and you Arthur. Or do you insist on something different?” He puts a particular emphasis on the word that makes you even more nervous. 

“Sounds about as good now as every time I heard it before,” John says. 

“Abigail must be real excited, all packed up the way she is,” Micah retorts. “I can just see her and Y/N and the other girls in little grass skirts.”

Dread fills your stomach. While today’s been your first day back in camp, you did notice Abigail had packed her things up. How long has Micah known about them leaving? Does he know about you and Arthur as well? And if he does, is he planning on stopping you, or worse? Questions begin running through your mind until John cuts them off. 

“Don’t talk to me, you son of a bitch.” 

“That’s enough, boys,” Dutch commands. “Let’s keep it down for now, don’t want to be attracting any attention.” 

“Any more attention, you mean,” you say before you get the chance to stop yourself. You haven’t been back in this shit-hole of a city since Hosea died, and you wouldn’t be surprised if your face, along with everyone who was involved, is plastered on a wanted poster in every corner of the city. You hate being back here, too much bad has happened. 

“Just take it nice and easy, fellers,” Dutch says, but his voice portrays that he’s irritated with your comment. 

“Ah, Saint Denis. Good to be back. Happy memories, huh John?” Micah says. 

“Will you shut up, Micah?” Arthur snaps. 

“Enough!” Dutch says. “Quiet, all of you.” 

The gang falls silent as you trot in single file down the main street of the city. This all feels wrong. There’s so many of you riding along like this, the first person who’s seen you must already be reporting your suspicious activities. You just pray that no one else dies. Well, maybe Micah or the strangers, but no one else. 

Dutch pulls to a stop at the trolley station just across the street from the railroad tracks. He hops off and addresses Sadie along with the blond stranger, who he calls Cleet. He instructs them to board half way along the train, and then he tells John, Arthur and you to board at the back. The rest will be riding along with him as they tail the train on horseback. The gang nods their heads and approach the tracks.

After a few seconds, the distant rumble and bell from the train echo, signaling its approach. You sniff a little and stand close to Arthur, glaring down the tracks. The train chugs down the track, going far too fast. The horn bellows and the train passes the group without stopping. Has the engineer been tipped off about a possible robbery in the city? Arthur looks as confused as you do as he looks down the passing cars. 

“Should I just sneak on now?” he asks Dutch in a gruff voice. 

“Goddammit,” Dutch says. “Everybody mount up. We’ll do this on horseback.” 

“We still going through with this?” John asks. 

“Of course we are.” 

The gang quickly get on their horses. You give Rannoch a reassuring pat before kicking him hard into a gallop, joining the others as they trail the train. It hasn’t slowed down at all, in fact it seems to have sped up even more now that it’s leaving the city. John calls back at you and Arthur, stating you can jump onto a flat car from the side. 

Just as the train’s passing the farms outside the city, you and Arthur ride alongside the last car, which happens to be a flatbed. You’ve never jumped onto a train like this, which makes you nervous. Despite your anxiety, you position your feet on the saddle and leap towards the car with as much strength as your legs can muster. Surprisingly, you feel your shoulder slam onto the flatbed. Arthur lands beside you with a heavy thud. He pulls you to your feet and slides the rifle from his shoulder. In your overthinking of how to jump onto the train, you’d forgotten to grab one of your own. Your pistol and sawed-off will have to do. 

Just as John’s slamming down on the flatbed, guards come out of the boxcar ahead and begin shooting. You and Arthur take cover behind some of the cargo, returning fire. The men go down quickly, allowing you and the other two to head up. The next car is another flatbed, and the one after is another boxcar. You watch as Sadie jumps onto the boxcar. Cleet, the blond stranger, leaps on and Sadie offers her arm to pull him up. More men are coming out of the boxcar and you fire at them, continuing to move up. John keeps hollering to push up. 

Just as you’re climbing up to the top of the boxcar after Arthur, you hear him yell, “This is crazy.” 

“You feel like ditching?” John responds.

“Of course not. We gotta get this done.” 

As you’re straightening up from climbing up the ladder, a man climbs up on the other end. He’s barely put his hands on the roof when a bullet slams into his forehead. Arthur reloads his rifle as you whip out your revolver again. You and Arthur hop onto the next car and then drop down to another flatbed, followed by John. 

“Where the hell is Dutch and Micah?” Arthur roars, shooting more guards. 

“I don’t see ‘em!” John answers. 

“Who knows, this might have been their goddamn plan all along,” you say as you shoot a guard on the roof of the next car. 

As you and Arthur run through the cars, a guard at the end pops out and fires quickly. You’d seen him before Arthur so you push him as hard as you can into the wall. The bullet glides above your arm, missing you and Arthur’s chest by inches. You raise your revolver and shoot the guard in the neck. 

Arthur hardly has any time to say anything before two more guards barrel in your direction, raising their rifles. As you and Arthur take them down; John calls up. 

“Just like the old days huh, Arthur?” 

“This ain’t nothin’ like the old days,” Arthur growls, heading up with you. 

There’s nearly half a dozen men ahead, so you pull out your sawed-off and fire, causing the head of one of the men to explode. You and Arthur push up, taking down more men with John’s help. 

One guard is left standing in the doorway of the next car. Arthur shoots him in the chest and he stumbles back. As he lands on the floor, he fires again but his bullet strikes a lantern hanging from the ceiling. Bits of burning glass and metal fall onto his body, the fire spreading quickly since the hot oil from the lantern splattered onto him and the floor. The fire spreads to some of the cargo and a crate suddenly explodes, making the car completely impassable. 

John runs to the side of the flatbed you’re all on and waves towards the back of the train. “Come on, we can’t get through!” 

Micah, Dutch and the mop-headed stranger gallop up to the side of the car. John hops behind Micah. Dutch yells at Arthur to jump onto his horse, but Arthur ignores him and leaps onto the stranger’s horse, allowing you to take Dutch’s mount. 

You’re nervous once again about jumping, but you kick off the car as hard as you can, landing on the Count’s narrow hind quarters. You fold your arms around Dutch’s waist as he gallops ahead, passing the burning car to the next flatbed. Sadie and Cleet are already waiting on it. You carefully position your legs and leap onto the flatbed. A heavy thud tells you Arthur’s landed. 

As Arthur gets up, he points to the burning car and yells to John. “Uncouple that carriage before it blows us all up!” 

John runs to where the cars are connected. You look down, trying to catch your breath and see in an open crate the components of a gatling gun. You call Arthur’s attention, but he’s staring out at a cliff the train’s passing. You follow his gaze and see a man standing on top of it. He looks behind him and hollers something, waving his arm. 

“Shit, I think that was a lookout,” Arthur says. “They must have known the train was gonna get hit.” 

“Come on, Arthur,” you say. “Let’s get this going.” 

You lift up the heavy tripod that holds the gun up and slam it onto the ground, spreading the three legs as Arthur grabs the barrel, the chamber and the pin. He puts the gun together quickly. 

“Get behind me,” he tells you, taking position behind the gun. Just as you stand behind him, John gets the burning car uncoupled. The three of you watch as the car slows down and then explodes after the cars behind it crash into it, causing whatever was inside to blow. 

After watching the cars derail, Bill hops onto the flatbed after Dutch tells him to go stop the train. As you turn to watch him, a guard on top of the boxcar ahead appears. He aims his gun and shoots, the bullet striking John in the shoulder. Before you or Arthur can do anything, he stumbles back and falls off the flatbed. 

“John!” Arthur screams. 

The guard shoots again, causing you all to flinch. You and the others aim at him, but it’s Arthur’s bullet that takes him down. 

Dutch, galloping alongside the train, calls to Arthur. “I’ll get John, you protect that money.” He and Micah fall back, turning down the tracks. 

“Man the gun, Arthur, I’ll go stop the train!” Bill calls.

“No! Whatever you do, do not stop the train!” Arthur yells back. “You secure up ahead, but keep us moving. I’ll deal with that patrol when they come through.” 

He finishes putting the gatling gun together and then turns to you. “Go with them, see if you can find that money.” 

You nod and approach Sadie when you hear the gatling gun begin firing. The patrol has arrived. You and the others take cover behind the cargo on the flatbed, firing at the horsemen. Your revolver does little at this distance, so you run over to Arthur and tug on his rifle, removing it from his back and hiding behind him as you reload it. 

“Take cover!” he yells at you. Quickly, you slide back behind the crate again, taking down two riders with the rifle. Of course, Arthur does a much more thorough job with his gun. 

“You sure you can handle that gun?” Cleet shoots at Arthur, “‘Cause I can take over if you want.” 

“Just shut up and kill these bastards,” you snap. 

“Hey, we all gotta work together on this.” 

“And that’s what we’re doing, now just shut the hell up and shoot!” 

Arthur continues firing at the riders, but they just seem to keep coming. 

“How the hell I get saddled up with you two girls?” Cleet snarls. 

“Watch your goddamn mouth!” Sadie says. 

The next several moments are filled with you and the others shooting the patrol, Arthur taking down the majority. It seems like every moment or two, Cleet says something to antagonize you or Sadie. It takes all your willpower to not point your rifle at him and you tell him so.

“I ain’t afraid of you, woman.”

“You should be!” Arthur hollers over the gunfire. “She’s already got your friend tagged for murder. Hope you ain’t close to him.” 

Cleet says something that’s drowned out by the engine’s horn as it approaches a short tunnel. Your car is temporarily covered in cool, damp darkness before bursting back out into the hot sunlight. The few riders remaining suddenly scamper off, probably figuring it’s a lost cause at this point. 

“Get off the gun, we need to go for the money,” Cleet says. You and the others follow him over two more boxcars and then another flatbed. The last car before the engine is another box but Cleet says it should have the money inside it. Arthur runs up to it and slides a stick of dynamite in the door handle. He lights it and you all take cover behind some crates and barrels. The metal door is blown free with a loud shriek of wrenching metal. Just as the smoke clears, the train enters a long and dark tunnel. Arthur pulls out his lantern as he runs up to the doorway. 

The train exits the tunnel just as Arthur comes out, snuffing his lantern. “We got somethin’!” He goes back inside and then exits again, tossing a large burlap sack to Cleet. He throws another at Sadie and one more at you. The heavy weight of coins and stacks of bills inside the sack pounds against your chest as you catch it. 

Just as you’re setting down the sack to catch another, Bill climbs down from the car. 

“Morgan! The driver’s dead, we gotta get off this train, it ain’t stoppin’!” 

“Let’s go, then!” Sadie says, grabbing her sack and throwing it over the side of the train and leaping off. Cleet and Bill do the same. Arthur comes out of the carriage, hauling another large bag. Slightly breathless, he gestures for you to jump. You heave the sack onto your shoulder and toss it onto the grass, painfully aware of the quickly approaching chasm with the broken bridge. You breathe out and jump, your feet landing painfully on the grass and your knees buckling, slamming you down. Arthur grunts loudly as he lands.

You and the others get up and watch as the train barrels down the tracks, falling down the broken bridge and crashing into the canyon below. The engine breaks apart, crushed under the weight of the cars and then the canyon finally falls silent. 

“Jesus,” Bill says quietly. Arthur agrees and tells you and the others to move. You go back to where you’d dropped your sack, heaving it onto your shoulder just as Dutch, Micah and the stranger trot up, followed by everyone else’s horses. The trotting is oddly quiet after having heard the loud chugging of the train and the screeching of shredding metal. However, as you and the others walk up to Dutch, John is nowhere in sight. 

“Where’s John?” Arthur asks. 

“I tried,” Dutch says heavily. “I tried.” 

“He didn’t make it. That patrol killed him. We had to run.” Micah says. Something about the way he says this feels off to you.

Arthur puts down his sack and looks down, his face hard. You can feel his grief rolling off of him, but when he looks up, he almost seems disbelieving. 

“Come on,” Dutch orders. “Let’s go, before another patrol turns up.” 

You take Arthur’s free hand in yours after he lifts up his sack again. He only responds with a gentle squeeze. The two of you throw your sacks over your horses. He sighs heavily as he mounts up on Artemis. You understand why. The two of you only came back in order to save John and his family, and now he’s dead. You just hope Abigail has enough sense to leave with her son for good. 

Arthur kicks Artemis into a gallop, Rannoch rushing to keep up, as the gang begins heading back to Beaver Hollow. You’re glad that you and Arthur are only returning to pack your belongings and then, when things are quiet, you’ll disappear with Arthur, taking one of the sacks of money you’ve just stolen.

The gang rolls pass O’Creagh’s Run. You glance to Hamish’s cabin, spotting Buell standing in the small paddock beside it. He lifts his head from grazing as your horses thunder by. 

As the gang approaches the hills marking that you’re close to Beaver Hollow, a horse comes over the rise and a shrill voice calls out. 

“They came and took Abigail!” 

Dutch stops his horse at the head of the group as Tilly rides over with Jack in front of her. 

“We hid, but they took her!”  

“Who did?” Arthur demands, walking his horse to stand next to the Count. 

“Agent Milton and his men took her to Van Horn to be put on a boat and tried for murder.” 

“I am sorry to hear that,” Dutch says with no warmth in his voice.

“We gotta let her go,” Micah says. “John’s um, well sorry son.” He looks pointedly at Jack with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Without John, she’s just bait. Got a bunch of money, Dutch, she’s just a girl. They won’t do nothing to her, but me, Cleet and Joe know we need to keep riding on this one, Dutch.” 

Cleet and the other stranger Joe nod behind Micah. 

“So we just gonna let this boy be made an orphan?” Arthur says. 

“It ain’t like that!” Dutch shoots, waving his arm at Arthur. 

“What is it like?” 

“I wanna live, cowpoke!” Micah sneers. “Dutch, it’s just a girl.” 

Dutch pauses and then nods. “You’re right.”

“Dutch!” Arthur yells, dismounting and standing near Dutch’s leg. His eyes beg him to see reason. 

“It pains me to say it, Arthur, but Micah is right.” 

“Dutch!”

“Now come on boys,” Dutch says, taking a tighter hold of his horse’s reins. He kicks the Count into a gallop and Arthur is forced to take a quick step back to avoid being trampled. He glares at Dutch’s shrinking form as everyone except for you and Sadie follow him. 

“Well I guess that’s that then,” Arthur growls. He looks over at Tilly, who looks confused and scared. “All them goddamn years.” 

“Come on, Arthur,” Sadie says heavily. “Let’s go get her. Us three is all we need.” 

He nods and glances at you before addressing Tilly. He heaves the sack of money from Artemis and throws it over Tilly’s horse. 

“Take this,” he says heavily. “Take Jack and wait at Copperhead Landing for Abigail and Mrs. Adler.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” she says a bit breathlessly. 

“You’re a good girl,” he says. “You live a good life now you hear?” 

“And you too, Arthur. I’ll miss…” 

“Me too, sweetheart. Me too.” His eyes flick down momentarily. You feel like crying as he smiles at her and then turns to Jack. “Be brave, son, I’m gonna go get your mama.” He takes Jack’s hands in his and looks him hard in the eyes as he says this. Finally, he lets them go and turns to you and Sadie. “Mrs. Adler, Ms. Y/L/N, ride with me.” 

He kicks Artemis into a run and you and Sadie follow. You glance behind and raise a hand in farewell to Tilly, painfully aware that you’ll probably never see her again. Your heart grows heavy at the thought of how much your family has fallen apart. You swallow tears at the thought that you didn’t even have a chance to say good-bye to Mary-Beth, Pearson or even old Uncle, useless as he was. 

As you and the other two ride, Sadie and Arthur discuss the best way to get into Van Horn since it’s been overrun by Pinkertons. It’s decided you’ll go in on the south end near the lighthouse. 

“Those goddamn bastards,” Arthur growls. “Now he don’t care if he orphans his friend’s child so long as he gets rich? All his goddamn talk all them years. Seems like it was always a lie, or he went crazy. Goddamn this mess.” 

“Sure,” you say. “Guess he began to believe he was God or something.”

“The Dutch we know now is not the Dutch who put a blanket on my shoulders in the snow all them weeks ago,” Sadie adds. 

Arthur sighs. “I’m sorry you both got dragged into this, into us.” 

“Listen, if you hadn’t shown up at my house that night, I’d be dead.”

“As would I, Arthur. I don’t think I would have lasted much longer if you hadn’t found me when you did. Even this bullshit beats dead.” 

“I thought I could find a way to get John, Abigail and Jack out of this mess,” Arthur says. “To try and give them a life. Seems like I left it too late.”

“Let’s just get Abigail, they could still have a chance,” you say. 

Arthur sighs again. “John, Hosea, Mac, Davey, Jenny, Sean, Lenny. We have to put an end to this! And Eagle Flies. Another angry fool he used, just like he did with the rest of us. No one else is dying for Dutch’s crazy dreams. ” 

“Like I said, Arthur,” Sadie growls. “We don’t need them. We’re gonna make this right.” 

The three of you run on to Van Horn. Once the lighthouse comes into view, you dismount and send the horses off. Sadie asks Arthur to take point in the lighthouse with his scoped rifle and keep watch while you and she run up to the boathouse where Abigail’s likely to be held. He clearly doesn’t like you two doing the most dangerous part of the job, but he agrees when you tell him he’s the better shot and that  you and Sadie are the faster runners.

As he runs over to the lighthouse, you and Sadie take cover behind a broken wagon. You look over the edge, counting at least a dozen Pinkertons standing at different spots on the street. The way they’re glancing at each other and the points of the road, it seems Micah was right about one thing: they’re holding Abigail as bait. 

You check your rifle quickly and then the Pinkerton standing closest to you and Sadie is suddenly thrown back, blood gushing from his head. The Pinkerton standing closest to him yells out, pointing his gun in your direction. You raise your rifle and shoot him. 

“Come on!” Sadie yells, moving forward as more Pinkertons fall from Arthur’s shots. You skirt around a crumbling brick building close to the river since it is harder for the Pinkertons to shoot you from this spot. You and Sadie continue shooting at them, moving up considerably fast, thanks to Arthur’s keen aim. 

Within moments, you’re running up the deck towards the boathouse. Sadie slams the butt of her rifle into a Pinkerton’s face and then goes to the door. You’re suddenly slammed into the ground by a heavy weight and realize a Pinkerton must have been hiding and grabbed you when you passed him. He’s suddenly wrenched off you as Arthur’s bullet rips through him. You stand up and find Sadie gone. She must already be in the boathouse, so you run inside it. 

As soon as you step in, you know something’s wrong. Abigail’s tied to a chair, her mouth covered by a thick bandana. A Pinkerton is tying Sadie up and your vision suddenly flashes white as something hard slams into your head. You fall back and the breath is knocked from your lungs as you land. You blink and your vision clears, showing Milton standing above you. 

“Ah, Ms. Y/L/N, I had a feeling I’d be running into you. By the way, I failed to send my congratulations for your wedding announcement.” 

You’re about to ask him how the hell he knows about that when you’re rolled roughly onto your stomach and tied up and gagged by another Pinkerton. He picks you up and throws you into the corner of the room near Sadie. She looks at you, but there’s no fear in her eyes. You doubt you can say the same about yourself. 

Milton walks around the room slowly. “Alright, men, now we wait. I doubt these two ladies were alone, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the men comes charging in, guns blazing. Prepare yourselves.” 

He slides into a storeroom behind the counter, which blocks your view of him.

Gunfire suddenly echoes from outside. Arthur must know you and Sadie are in trouble and is advancing. You wish you could yell for him to run the other direction. You and Sadie can find another way easy enough to save yourselves and Abigail. Of course, you know better than anyone that’s the last thing Arthur would do. 

The door slams open, revealing Arthur, bathed in sunlight. He pulls the hammer of his pistol, which he’s already unholstered, and shoots the two Pinkertons waiting by Abigail. They fall heavily and Arthur marches in, pulling out his knife to free Abigail. 

“Okay, ladies,” he says as he removes Abigail’s gag and begins cutting the bonds around her right wrist. “Let’s get out of here.” 

You try yelling through your gag, but the click of a hammer comes from behind Arthur. He stops and straightens up. 

“Calm down, Mr. Morgan,” Milton says. 

Arthur clenches his jaw and lifts his hands, turning to face Milton. 

“Game’s over, Mr. Morgan. I was honestly hoping you’d be the one to come to the rescue. I had a feeling Dutch wouldn’t fall for the trap, he isn’t that foolish. But I’ve heard about your… habit of swooping in to the rescue.” 

“Then I guess I’ll be dead soon, and you with me, Mr. Milton.” 

“Oh you’ll be dead, but I’m gonna be just fine. We offered you a deal, Mr. Morgan, you should have taken it.” 

“I’m a fool, Mr. Milton, like you said.”

“Sure, but not all you boys have quite so many scruples. Old Micah Bell-”

“Micah?” Arthur cuts him off. “You mean Molly.” 

“Molly O’Shea? We sweated her a couple of times, never spoke a word so we had to let her go. But Micah Bell, we picked him up quite some time ago. Just before Dutch’s famous failed attempt to rob the Blackwater ferry. I’m sure you’ll be surprised to hear he wasn’t completely compliant until you and the others came back from the Caribbean. He was particularly stubborn about the bank job in Saint Denis, but he’s been a good boy ever since we picked him up from the boat.”

You can hear Arthur breathing harder. Micah Bell, the goddamn rat. Now you understand why he started spouting that there must be one when the gang moved up to Beaver Hollow, he was trying to point the focus from his own ass. Worse, he’s been playing the gang for fools the entire time. He’s responsible for Jenny and the Callendar boys and Hosea and Lenny’s deaths. Rage burns in your chest and you strain against your binds. 

Arthur bends down as though personally struck by this news. “Okay,” he says. Suddenly he launches himself at Milton, grappling for the gun in his hands. The two men struggle for a moment, but Arthur has a poor grip on the gun and Milton begins overpowering him. You scream his name through the gag as the barrel lines up with his head. The sound of a gun fires, making your heart stop and a body thuds. You crane your neck, trying to see who’s left standing. 

Abigail lowers the gun she’d taken from one of the dead Pinkertons. You hadn’t even noticed her freeing herself. Arthur must have cut the ropes enough so she could do so. She raises a lip and throws the revolver at the body. “Horrible man.” She picks up Arthur’s knife and cuts you and Sadie free, then approaches the wall. 

“Now come on, all of you.” Arthur’s hand reaches up and takes the knife before he stands up as you untie your feet. You stand up and clutch him, pulling him close. 

“God, Arthur, I thought he got you.” 

His breathing is heavy but he pats your back. “I know, darlin’, I know. But come on, we got work to do.” 

He pulls himself free from your grip and the four of you run out of the boathouse. As you’re running down the deck with the others, shots ring out. You look to the path and find a patrol of Pinkertons running up on horseback. One aims at you and shoots, ripping the hat from your head. You flinch and aim, but he’s already falling from Arthur’s bullet. 

Sadie whistles loudly and the horses come running down the path as you and the others continue trading gunfire. You notice the sack of money you put on Rannoch’s back is gone. It probably fell off at some point, but you can’t worry about that now. 

“Where’s Jack?” Abigail yells as she runs towards the horses. 

“Tilly’s got him, he’s safe,” you respond, shooting again. She breathes a sigh of relief as Arthur tells her to hop onto his horse. Sadie mounts up and Arthur climbs up behind you on Rannoch. You kick Rannoch into a gallop, following Sadie and Abigail out  of Van Horn, pursued by the Pinkerton’s. They seem to come out at you at every turn in the trail, but Arthur’s more than a match for them. 

The group gallops up towards Annesburg, but the path gets blocked by a troop of Pinkertons. They even flank you from the train tracks, forcing you to take the trail heading west. You run along with Sadie and Abigail for several moments, Arthur gripping your waist almost painfully as he shoots. You shoot as much as you can as well, but the fighting is hotter than you’ve ever experienced and you have to carefully guide Rannoch down the twisting trail. Finally, as the road heads in the direction of the river, the Pinkertons finally seem to stop appearing. 

Abigail speaks up from the front of the group. “Bastards grabbed me outside camp. I was with Tilly and Jack, it happened so fast I couldn’t do anything.”

“It’s alright, Jack and Tilly are fine.” 

Arthur suddenly squeezes your waist. “Ladies, we need to stop. Stop!” 

Abigail and Sadie do so, looking back at him. You pull Rannoch to a halt and Arthur lets go of you. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

He dismounts as Sadie says, “Arthur, there’s no time.” 

He puts a hand up to her. He takes off his hat and then goes to Abigail, puts his hat in his saddle bag and then lifts his arms to signal he wants to bring her down. 

She looks at him almost as though worried. “What happened to John? Where’s John?”

“I don’t… I think…” Arthur stumbles. He gestures to her again and she humors him, sliding off Artemis’s back and letting him catch her. 

“Arthur?” she says.

“He, um, he got killed or he got captured.” 

“No!” Abigail cries out.”

“I’m really sorry, Abigail,” Arthur says as Sadie dismounts and hugs her as she begins to cry. “I was on the train and I didn’t see it.”

He pauses as Abigail continues to cry. You dismount and walk to his side.

“Listen,” he says, “we got Jack, he’s safe. Mrs. Adler will take you to him, but John… I want you to know this: he loved you. He loved you and Jack, he did.” 

She looks away as she sobs as though torn between wanting to believe it and not being able to.  

“He wasn’t perfect, but he did. Now you gotta go get that boy.”

She looks at him and her head twitches in a slight nod. Arthur looks to Sadie and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Now go on, get outta here.”

“Arthur, what are you doing?” Sadie says as she climbs onto her horse. 

“I gotta go have a little chat with Dutch, try one last time to turn his head to reason.”

He walks over to Abigail to pick her up, but as she’s still distraught over John, she cries out, “Oh Arthur!” 

“Don’t you ‘oh Arthur’ me. I’ll be fine.” He picks her up and places her on the horse behind Sadie. “Y/N will go with you and take you to Jack-”

“No I’m not,” you say, staring hard at him. “I’m not letting you go back there alone to get shot by Micah, not when you’re going to point out how much of a rat bastard he is. He ain’t gonna like it.” 

“Y/N-”

“Don’t, Arthur! You asked me to be your wife and I agreed, that means that where you go, I go, remember? And I just got you back, I’m not going to lose you again. Not like this.” 

“Dutch won’t kill me-”

“He already left you to die, Arthur! I’m not banking on that chance. Now I’m going with you, whether you like it or not. We’re in this together and we’ll get out together or we’ll die together.” 

He stops and looks at you, his mouth pulled down in a frown. “Okay,” he finally says. He looks back up at Sadie and Abigail. “You’re good women, good people. The best. You go get that boy. They’ll be time for good-byes later.” 

He starts to turn away when Abigail speaks up. “Since you’re headed back there, Arthur, take this.” She breaks a chain necklace she’d been wearing and removes the key hanging from it. “I don’t need it anymore. There’s a chest in them caves. Dutch’s chest. With all our money.” She tells him where to find it in the cavern at Beaver Hollow and then pauses as a fresh wave of tears comes.

“Why, Abigail Roberts,” he takes the key from her as she starts to cry. For some reason, the emotions hit you and you have to wipe your cheek.

“I always been a good thief.”  

“That you was. Now go on, get outta here.” He pockets the key and then turns to you. As Sadie rides off, he helps you onto Rannoch and then he climbs onto Artemis. He pauses a moment, almost as though the weight of everything has finally hit him. He pulls his hat out of his saddlebag and puts it on, his face set. He glances at you and then kicks Artemis into a run. 

Rannoch follows obediently, but you say nothing. The heaviness of what’s about to happen rushes through you and it feels like everything you’ve done comes to you. You remember your parents, the things they said, your grandmother, watching Rain being born and then dying. The day you found out your grandmother passed. 

Just as you’re passing Butcher’s Creek, you remember finding out your father paid James to marry you, the cruelties he put you through. Murdering him and then your parents. The loneliness of the year you spent alone. Arthur finally finding you and how you created a family with the gang, only to watch it fall apart. You wonder what it all means and if it could have been stopped. 

Artemis runs down the path heading to Beaver Hollow. Arthur hasn’t said anything the entire ride, but you feel he’s in the same mindframe as you, wondering if it could have been different, what everything he’s done really comes down to. 

Rannoch slows to a trot and you see the few remaining gang members milling about, packing up as quickly as they can. Cleet and Joe are still here, unlike what Dutch said, not that you’re surprised. 

As you and Arthur dismount, you hear Micah bark across the clearing. “Get them bags packed up quick, Miss Grimshaw. Hurry up, we ain’t got long!” 

“We’re doing our best!” Grimshaw snaps. 

“We got plenty of time, Micah,” Arthur growls, walking slowly into the clearing. Micah looks at him, almost as though surprised to see him. You follow, glaring at him, your hand on the butt of your revolver in its holster. “We all need to have a little chat.” 

 “Cowpoke, you’re back. Hooray.”

Arthur ignores this and glares at Dutch, who’s doing his duty by standing in his tent. “I just saw Agent Milton, Dutch. Abigail shot him. She’s okay, not that you care. You rats.” He glowers at Micah and his friends. “Seems old Micah was pretty close with Milton.”

“What the hell you talking about?” Micah demands. 

“You talked. Been talkin’ to Milton for some time.” 

“That’s a goddamn lie.”

“Milton told me.” 

“And you believe him, cowpoke?”

Arthur narrows his eyes and shakes his head. “It all makes sense now.” 

“No, it damn well doesn’t,” Micah hisses. 

Suddenly he and Arthur whip out their pistols and point them at each other. Cleet and Joe point theirs at Arthur and you point yours at Joe. Dutch doesn’t move from his tent, just stares between the two groups.   

“Dutch, think, just think!” Arthur says without taking his eyes from Micah. 

“Dutch,” Micah simpers, “be practical now.”

Your finger traces the hammer just as another voice calls out Dutch’s name. The group looks and down the path walks John, clutching his shoulder and limping along. 

“You left me. You left me to die!” he screams. 

“My boy,” Dutch says, finally taking a few steps away from his tent. “I didn’t have a choice. John, I didn’t have a-” 

“You left me!”

Dutch glares at him. You wonder now how genuine Dutch was being when he said he tried to help John. You’ve no doubt that he abandoned him just as he did with Arthur. 

“All of you,” Arthur demands. “You pick your side now, because this is over.” He glances at Dutch and shakes his head as John stands beside him and pulls out his gun. “All them years, Dutch, all the things we sacrificed. For this snake?”

“Be quiet, cowpoke.” 

“No!” Grimshaw says, walking up to your side, holding a shotgun. She cocks it. “You be quiet, Mr. Bell. Put down your gun.” 

Javier rushes in suddenly, calling out, “There’s Pinkertons coming fast.” 

Grimshaw looks to him, distracted and Micah takes his chance, shooting her. His bullet strikes her in the stomach and she cries out.

“Susan!” you say, dropping to her side as she cries out again. You look up again, pointing your revolver at Micah, your other hand on Susan’s shoulder. 

“Now!” Dutch yells out, whipping out both pistols and pointing them both at Micah and Arthur. “Who amongst you is with me and who is betraying me?” 

He walks between yours and Micah’s group. Bill now also points his gun at Arthur while Javier, looking confused, points his pistol up in the air. John and Arthur back up towards the cavern. You stand up slowly, realizing Grimshaw’s dead. You can’t think about that now as you back up to Arthur’s side, still pointing your revolver. 

“Bill, Javier, think!” Arthur pleads. “Think for yourselves.”

“He’s lying,” Micah says. “He’s lying!”  

Just as it seems like Dutch is about to pull the trigger, a voice echoes down the pathway. “Put your guns down!” Shots ring out suddenly as men dart between the trees.

“Goddamn it, move!” Arthur shouts, grabbing you roughly and shoving you behind a table. He tips it to act as a barricade as John takes cover behind Dutch’s tent. 

“This is Agent Ross with the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Put your guns down!” 

“Everyone get into cover!” Dutch hollers. He and the others disappear from your view as you, Arthur and John open fire upon the Pinkertons. The fading light makes it more difficult, but you keep shooting. More and more Pinkertons seem to arrive. 

“Dutch, we gotta move!” Micah yells. “There all yours, Morgan!” 

“Come on, we need to get out of here!” John screams at you both. Without hesitating, you and Arthur follow him into the cavern. You ignore the pungent stench of decay and the sight of the cage you’d been kept in when you were a captive here. Arthur runs behind you, shooting the few Pinkertons who run into the cave. 

As you and the others run deeper, Ross’s voice echoes through the cavern. “Mr. Morgan, Mr. Marston, Ms. Y/L/N, stop! You’re trapped. Surrender and we will take you alive.” 

You and the others ignore him, heading to the back of the cave. You see the wagon where Abigail said Dutch’s chest is hidden under. You’re tempted to stop and grab it, but a shot rings through, the bullet whizzing past your elbow. 

“Come on!” John says, climbing up a ladder to a ledge. “Those bastards left me for dead.” 

“Seems that’s what they do now.” Arthur says as he pushes you to the ladder. You climb up as quickly as you can and you run down a ledge after John, climbing up another ladder and over a bundle of rickety boards to another ladder. There’s light flooding in from the top of it, signalling you’re almost out as you hear the Pinkertons hollering from down below.

“Stay with me, Arthur!” you yell.

“I’m here,” he replies. “Micah was the rat, John. Milton told me.” 

John reaches the last ladder. “We should have killed him months ago.”

You reach the top of the ladder as you hear Ross snarl from the ground below, stating he doesn’t care if you all end up dead. Arthur climbs up and then leads you and John down the slope of the hillside. He whistles for Artemis and the other horses, and then looks to John, panting hard. 

“Abigail, she’s safe. So’s Jack. They’re with Sadie at Copperhead landing.”

John grabs Arthur’s hand. “Thank you, brother.” He looks over at you. “Thank you. Both of you.” 

Just as he begins to let go of Arthur’s hand to run to the horses, Arthur stops him. 

“I want you to not look back on any of this, okay?” 

“You’re co-” John’s suddenly cut off by another round of shots in your direction. Glancing briefly, you see Micah leading the charge, his pistols aiming at you. You and the others run and mount up, kicking them into a gallop as Dutch sends a bullet your way. 

“After all these years, boys!” Dutch calls. “I took you in! Y/N, you’d be dead without me!” 

“Arthur saved me!” you call back. He replies by shooting again, but the bullet slams into a tree trunk. 

“Pinkertons!” John cries out. Ahead, more men on horseback come down towards you. Arthur and John open fire and the path is clear again. 

You weave down the trails as the darkness deepens, making it even harder to spot your quarries. Micah and Dutch still follow, continuing to holler up, but their taunts go ignored. Pinkertons keep coming from every turn in the trail again, guiding where you and the others go. The horses climb out of Roanoke Valley into the Grizzlies East, grunting and sweating as they’re kicked to go faster. 

The path ahead gets blocked again by a wall of horses and Pinkertons, forcing the three of you off the trail and up the foot of a small mountain. Just as you leave the cover of the trees, Rannoch grunts and he takes an odd step. Before you even have the chance to wonder what’s wrong with him, he collapses just as Artemis rears up and falls. John’s horse suddenly crashes to the ground. 

When Rannoch lands, he pins your knee between the saddle and the ground. Your shoulders slam down, knocking the wind out of you. Because of the continuing gunfire, you quickly sit up and shoot the arriving Pinkertons. They go down and the gunfire pauses, but you know it’s temporary. 

You try pulling your leg out from under Rannoch, but it’s pinned and he’s not moving. You pat his neck as hard as you can, crying out his name. Not another horse, you think, not another one. But no matter how hard you smack him or how loud you cry his name, he doesn’t move. 

As the realization that Rannoch is dead hits you, your eyes find Arthur. He’s dropping to his knees beside Artemis’s head. She’s grunting and struggling to breath, her legs twitching. He pats her neck gently, trying to calm her. 

“Come on, Arthur!” John says, rushing over to you to try and help pull you free. “Brother, let’s go!” 

“Gimme a minute,” Arthur says. He pats Artemis’s neck again and she nickers softly. He bends low and says in her ear, “Thank you.” 

“Arthur!” John calls again. “Help me get her!” 

Arthur finally looks up at you. Even from where you’re sitting, you can see the tears in his eyes. He gets up and runs over to you and John, lifting Rannoch’s body up as John grabs your shoulders and pulls you out. When you’re free, you start to stand up, but struggle due to the pain in your knee. Arthur takes your arm and drapes it across his shoulders, then wraps an arm around your waist. 

“Come on, let’s go,” John says. 

“What-what about the money?” you ask. Without the money you stole from the train, you and Arthur will struggle to start a  new life. In order to escape, you have to have money. 

Arthur nods a little. “Abigail gave me the key to Dutch’s chest.” 

“I head down there, I’m a dead man, no question,” John says. “I got a family. I care about them more.” 

“Ah, maybe you’re right but…”

“You want the money? Go get it, but I’m going to my family.” 

Arthur looks at you. By his eyes, you can tell he’d rather help John. He silently asks the question and you nod. At this point, you’d be surprised if any of you make it out of here alive. The least you can do now is try and get John back to his family. They need him more than you need money. 

Arthur puts his hat back on. “We’re coming with you. Gonna get you out of this bullshit if it’s the last thing I do.” He pauses and looks at you. “Can you walk, sweetheart?” 

You nod and let go of him, putting weight on your knee. It twinges angrily but you ignore it. With the adrenaline still pumping in your blood, you’ll be able to keep you going. 

“Thank you, both of you,” John says, running up the hillside. You and Arthur chase after him, trying to ignore the pain in your knee. 

Shots begin ringing out again, plummeting into the rockbed as you continue to run alongside the bend of the mountain. There’s a small break in the cliffs of the mountain, forming a gorge and you run through it, climbing up the next hillside just as the Pinkertons show up. 

You and the others take cover behind some boulders. Arthur’s behind the shortest one and he stands up to get a better aim at some of the Pinkertons. He takes down four of them and then is suddenly thrown backwards, grunting in pain. 

“Arthur!” 

He starts sitting up and then cries out in pain. Staying hunched over, you run over to him and see blood seeping from just above his left hip.

“Oh God, Arthur!” you cry out.

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” He pushes you away and stands up, despite the bulletwound. He puts his free hand over it and shoots again, taking down another Pinkerton. You begin reloading when white hot pain skids across your upper left arm and shoulder as a bullet grazes you, causing you to drop your sawed-off. 

“Come on, we need to get out of here!” Arthur roars as John takes down the last visible Pinkerton. John runs up the hillside to a ledge that levels out. You chase him, clutching your bleeding arm, and Arthur hobbles after you. He only takes a few steps towards the ledge when he stops, clearly in tremendous pain. 

“Come on, Arthur, let’s go!” John calls back. You stop, wincing from the pain in your arm and knee. 

“You go,” Arthur grunts, clutching his hip. 

“Keep pushing, Arthur.” 

“No. No, I think I’ve pushed what I can for now. Now go on, take Y/N and go, I’ll hold them off and then when the bleeding stops, I’ll follow you.” 

“Arthur!” you cry out. “Where you go, I go! I’m not leaving you.” 

“Don’t, Y/N! Please, I don’t wanna split up either, but I ain’t letting you die.” 

“We’ll die together.” 

Arthur looks up at John. “You gotta take her. Even if you have to pick her up and run, do it.” 

He pauses and takes off his hat before gazing at you again. “Sweetheart, you gotta go. Please. I… I’ll never forgive myself if you die with me. Now come here.” 

“Arthur-” you start, your voice shaking. He grabs you by the shoulder and puts his hat on your head. 

“I’ll see you again, darlin’, alright? Maybe in a few days, or maybe in the next life. I promise, I’ll find you. But please, please for me. Go with John. It would mean a lot to me.” 

Your heart breaks as you realize you haven’t got a choice. It becomes painfully obvious that he doesn’t plan on leaving this mountain alive, and there’s nothing either of you can do about it. You sob and nod your head. He smiles at you. 

“I love you, Y/N. You’re a good girl. You saved my life, least I can do is return the favor.” 

He pulls you close and kisses you hard. 

“I’ll always love you, Arthur. No matter what happens, I won’t stop loving you.” 

“I know, sweetheart. I wish it could be different, but this is the way it is.” 

He lets you go and looks at John. “Now get her out of here, John. There ain’t no more time for talk.” He removes his satchel and throws it to John. “Now go.” 

From the other side of the mountain, shots begin ringing out again, warning of the approaching Pinkertons yet again. 

“Arthur…” John says. 

“Go to your family, John and save mine while you’re at it.” 

“Arthur!” you call out. You can’t leave him now, not after he’s called you his family. 

“Come on, keep pushing, Arthur. We’re almost out-” 

“Get her out of here and be a goddamn man!” Arthur roars, clutching his hip again. Despite his wound, he starts climbing up to the top of the mountain. 

John pauses and gazes at him, torn as you. “You’re my brother,” he finally says. 

“I know.” 

“Arthur. No. No! Arthur!” You’re about to take a step to him when John grabs your right arm, dragging you along. You continue to cry out his name, tears streaming down your face. 

“Come on, Y/N, you heard him. We gotta go!” 

“Arthur!” 

John growls and suddenly picks you up, throwing you over his uninjured shoulder. You begin screaming at him, throwing as many insults as you can and poudning his back and sides, but he ignores you. 

“This would be a lot easier if you would just shut up and run with me, Y/N!” 

“Fuck you, John Marston! Put me down!” 

He stops and throws you down, your injured arm slamming onto the ground, making you cry out.

“I got a family, Y/N! I don’t know about you, but I want to see Jack grow up! Now I thought you and Arthur promised to help me. So help me, goddamnit!” 

You begin sobbing, folding your arms around yourself. John’s patience is waning, you can feel it. When you look up at him, you see the sky through the trees beginning to lighten as dawn approaches. He glares down at you. 

“You gonna help me or what?” 

You clench your jaw and get up painfully to your feet. “Alright, let’s go, John. Arthur and I made a promise. Guess all I can do is try to keep it.” 

John nods, his face relaxing. “Thank you, Y/N. Now come on.” 

He begins running through the forest again, heading south. You limp after him, your knee, arm and lungs burning from the night’s activities. You just hope you have the strength to make it. 

You seem to run for a lifetime, pain shooting through every inch of your body. It’s nothing compared to the agony of your heart. All you want to do is fall to the ground and lie still, let nature grow over your body, but you keep pushing with John’s encouragement. You both burst through the trees, the river greeting you as it glitters with the light of the glowing horizon. You stop for a moment to try and catch your breath. After a moment, you straighten up to see the rising sun, bathing everything in gold. It truly is stunning.

[xxwritemeastoryxx]

Transitioning

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Requested By:  Anon -   Could I get an Elijah and reader with prompts 2. You lied to me and 9. I needed you. Please (From this prompt list)

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings:  Mentions of torture, normal blood and gore, mentions of death, nightmares, emotional breakdown. That pretty much covers it. 

Author’s Note:  Well look at me getting to things in my inbox. I knew eventually I was gonna get to some angsty things with future posts but with this prompts I figured I might as well get to it now. As always, prompts are in bold. 

(Credit of gif goes to rightful owner)

Things were going to be different now. As much as you tried to wrap your mind around it, you couldn’t quite believe it. But no matter how many times in the last several hours that you drank from a blood bag, that you watched your face change in the mirror, or how many times you twirled the ring on your finger, you couldn’t bring yourself to believe that you were a vampire.

This was something you never wanted, at least not yet. You had loved your human life, even if it wasn’t the best. It was a work in progress and you wanted to experience several other things while human, not as a vampire. You could have easily denied the human blood and not go through with the transition, but you weren’t ready to die.

Your death came because of your association with the Mikaelsons. You knew who and what they were from the moment they came into the city, but it never stopped your curiosity about the original family. You befriended them, and grew to love them. Most importantly you had formed a close bond with Elijah that soon grew into a relationship.

You were content on being human for a few more years and Elijah never dissuaded you from that idea. It was how you kept some sense of control of your life, to have that choice. When you were ready, it’d be Elijah’s blood that would turn you. A vial of his blood had been close by just in case you decided it was time while Elijah hadn’t been around. Of course earlier, it had either been to take the blood or die without it in your system.

While the Mikaelsons had been out of the city to deal with an enemy, you had been left alone in the compound. What was supposed to be the safest place to you in that moment turned into last place you wanted to be at.

The enemy had sent the Mikaelsons out of the city with a distraction with the hopes of finding any of the weapons that could put them down. While they didn’t find any of the weapons, they had found you. And they weren’t about to let you go so easily. It was their voices and their actions that had made you glad you had taken the vial of blood at the first crash you heard in the compound.

Hours later you were here, staring out of the window of one of the guest rooms. Your death still fresh in your mind. While you wanted to erase it all from your memory, you knew you had to work through it. You knew every impulse and emotion was going to be heightened and it was going to get worse before any of it got better.

Even as you stood there looking out the window, this new experience was your curse and a blessing. The jazz that you loved listening to sounds too loud in your ears as the band parades through the streets. You could hear things you never heard before and you wanted to know where they were coming from. But the one thing that threw you off was that you could hear the familiar Bently pull up followed by the sound of car doors slamming shut.

It felt strange to be able to hear Elijah’s voice downstairs before hearing his footsteps as he made his way upstairs. You had been able to track his movements through the compound even as he came to a stop just outside your guest room. You could even pick up on the way his hand lifted and hesitated to knock.

“Come in Elijah.” You said never taking your eyes off the window before you.

Only a second later you could hear the doorknob turn and the door begin to open as if it was right there by your ear. You could hear Elijah take a step into the room while looking for you. When his eyes landed on you, you could hear the release in the breath he seemed to be holding.

“What happened?” He asked as he took a few more steps closer. Each step had been hesitant. He didn’t want to overwhelm you in anyway. Especially now that you were a newly turned vampire.

Your eyes watched as the band below continued to play, never missing a beat, completely oblivious to the hidden world around them. “The compound was attacked.” You said it as if it was nothing, almost mechanical. That it had just been another day in New Orleans. “I was able to drink the vial of your blood before they killed me.” You said skipping the gory details that happened.

While you couldn’t voice them, you could easily see them play through your head. You could see the vampires making their way through the compound looking for what they came there for. You could see and feel the way they had grabbed a hold of you from your hiding spot. How they tortured you to give any information on the weapons they were there for. All of that before they slice your throat open and let you bleed to death as they left.

“How did they-”

“You lied to me.” You said cutting him off. You could feel the emotions bubbling up inside of you. You had been fine one moment and the next you were ready to break down and cry. “You said I’d be safe here while you were gone.”

You finally looked away from the window and turned towards him. Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at the man before you. Even through the tears you could see the worried look on his face, the guilt in his eyes as he looked at you.

He should have been there with you. He should have stayed behind while everyone else went ahead. But he hadn’t figured out that it had only been a distraction until they had been there waiting. It was a photo message that he received of you that had confirmed it.

By the time they reached the compound, you had already transitioned with the help of Davina, who had been called to check in on you. She had been the one to make the daylight ring for you.

“Y/N…” He began as he took a few more steps closer to you. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have left you behind. You would have been by my side away from harm.”

“But I wasn’t.” You said as you shook your head as you watched him. “You left and I was killed, Elijah. I wasn’t supposed to be a vampire yet.”

It hurt Elijah to see you this way. It hurt him to hear the way your voice broke at the end. He knew you were upset but with the heightened emotions you were currently feeling, he knew that it must have felt so much worse to you. He closed the distance between the two of you, wrapping his arms around you, wanting to bring you comfort.

“I’m truly sorry, Y/N.” He said as he gently rubbed your back. There would never be any words to express how sorry he had been. This had been his fault. He had been the one to suggest you stay behind. He had been afraid that taking you along would get you injured in some way, but he had been wrong. The threat wasn’t there, it was right there in their home.

The apology had triggered something with in you. You knew it was tied in with the anger you felt towards Elijah and the rest of the Mikaelsons for leaving you alone as they had. While you knew it wasn’t intentional and they had no idea that you’d die, it still angered you. A second passed and your hand landed hard against his chest.

The action had surprised Elijah. But he knew the pent up emotions weren’t going to do you any good until they were released. It was why he just allowed you to take your anger out on him in that moment. When slapping his chest wasn’t enough, you began to ball your fists hoping that the force of the hit would be easier.

“I needed you!” You yelled as your fists began to hit his chest as he still held you. “I needed you to save me.” A sob passed your lips before grabbing a hold of the lapels of his suit and pulling yourself closer to him. You felt his arms tighten around you and felt his lips at the top of your head as you let everything out of your system.

At some point the tears had stopped though you never let go of Elijah. There was a part of you that was afraid if you let go, he’d disappear from your sight. You just needed him to be there with you. You barely registered that Elijah had adjusted you slightly before he was able to pick you up and gently place you on the bed with him.

He could tell by the way your fists had never loosened around the fabric of his suit jacket that you wanted to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere. As he made it so you both would be comfortable, it wasn’t long before you had began to drift off to sleep.

“How is she?” Freya asked as she peeked her head into the room. The words had sounded like whispers to your half asleep brain.

“As can be expected for a new vampire.” Elijah replied to his sister. “If tonight is any indication of what is to come, the three of you will have to handle things. I won’t be leaving her alone for a while.”

“I’ll let them know.” Freya said with a nod before closing the door.

Hours later, you shot up in bed. Your dreams had been plagued with the memories of your death. A reminder that you were in fact a vampire. While you didn’t want to be one just yet, you knew it was going to take some getting used to.

“Y/N?” Elijah’s voice was soft as his hand ran up your arm softly. He had heard and felt you having a nightmare and sat up the moment you shot up in your spot. “A nightmare?”

You nodded your head knowing that even in the dark, he’d be able to see it. If you could easily see things around you clearly, you know he could as well. After a moment you turned to look towards him. “Will any of this get easier?”

Elijah sighed softly as he placed his hand against your cheek. “With time and practice, it will become easier.”

You leaned into his touch before nodding your head slightly. Placing your hand on top of his, you pulled it away only to interlock your hands together as the both of you laid back down. “Just promise me you wont leave me behind again.” You said softly. You kissed his cheek before laying your head to rest on his chest.

“You have my word.” He said as he kissed the top of your head. There was no way he was going to let you leave his sight anytime soon. After the events of the day, he had no intention of leaving you for more than a few moments. It was going to either a dagger or a white oak stake to keep him from being with you.

Always & Forever Tag: @rissyrapp20 @taylordrunkonwhiskey @thewolf-and-thesheep @wayward-dan @neeadinghugs @hawaiianohana15 @fafulous @vibhati123 @cassienoble2000 @kenmen02 @elizamonet @dora-the-grownup

Stag Tag:  @elejah-wonderland @cheers-my-dears-16 @xxsoveriegnsarayaxx

The Originals Tag: @zillahvathek

Bold tags mean for one reason or another I cannot tag you in this. Bold tags will be removed on the 1st of July. If you would like to be added, or taken off, the taglists please let me know!

[indigosandviolets]

Flashes of Pain

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x OC x George Luz

Summary: The Battle at Nuenen takes place, and memories come back to haunt Andrew. Andrew and Luz are interrupted by a promotion, and Babe needs to get something out.

Word Count: 2,287

TW: Flashbacks, gore, f-slur is used

Part Nine of We Happy Few

Nuenen, Holland

Andrew was still reeling from what happened at Eindhoven as they all sat on the tanks, riding into Nuenen. Andrew wasn’t sure when they had arrived in Eindhoven, maybe it was during...yeah. It was probably during that.

He had stayed particularly close to Luz, resisting the urge to lean his head on the older man’s shoulder. It was so tempting, the need to be comforted, but he instead sat beside him, staring out into the fields as the tanks seemed to crawl across the countryside road.

“Vincent van Gogh was born in Nuenen,” Andrew hears Luz say.

“Where’d you learn that?” Andrew asks in response.

“Webster.”

“Ah, Harvard.”

Andrew and Luz share a small laugh. “What did he even study, anyway?”

Andrew shrugs. “I don’t know. He doesn’t seem like a lawyer, but that’s the only thing that can come to my mind when I think about --”

Andrew cuts himself off as they pass a woman on the side of the road. She’s barely dressed, her hair shaved off, cradling a baby in her arms. The lump is back, but Luz grabs onto Andrew’s arm, grounding him. Andrew looks over to him, and Luz mouths out, “Breathe, you’re okay.”

Andrew nods and does as he’s told, and before he knows it they’ve passed the woman. He’s calm again, and almost back to his normal self. The tanks slow to a halt as this happens, and Andrew turns to look out at the road, past the tank in front of him. He can’t see too much, but he does see someone walking out, looking through binoculars into Nuenen.

“What’s going on?” Luz aks quietly. Andrew shakes his head in response.

“I don’t know, something happened.”

As Andrew lets out the words, he hears Bull call out, “Lieutenant!” He turns to look at Bull, dropping his binoculars so they hang down, but as he does so, he’s hit in the neck just as Andrew recognizes him as Lieutenant Brewer.

“Shit!” Andrew says, looking out into the field and away from Brewer. He can’t see anything.

“What?” Luz asks. “What happened?”

“Lieutenant Brewer got hit!” Andrew answered, moving his gun down, getting ready to fire. “Sniper.”

“Shit!” Luz repeats, and soon enough they’re off the tank and in the ditches, ready to fight. “How did Brewer get hit? How the hell could a sniper get him?”

“I have no idea!” Andrew tells him. “I just saw him go down!”

“Then where the hell is the sniper?”

“I don’t know!”

Andrew, for one, hated ditch fighting. It wasn’t that it was messy, he could care less about that, but it was that he felt like a sitting duck. At any point, a kraut could run up and mow down a platoon before anyone had a chance to react. Or, maybe, a mortar could hit the ditch and they’d lose at least fifteen guys, on the spot.

Then again, it did provide them cover from an enemy they couldn’t see, so what could he do?

Andrew moved out with Buck, pulling around the town as they clearly couldn’t enter the way they all had planned unless you were inside one of the tanks. The mission was to take Nuenen, and dammit, they were going to do it.

Buck had them behind a brick wall, firing at the Germans they could at least see. They were held up everywhere in the town -- barns, houses, sheds, bushes, everything. Andrew fired with his M-1, standing by Buck as he shouted out orders to the men he was in command of.

“Marin, grenade, eleven o’clock!” Buck shouted, and Andrew complied, unhooking the grenade from himself and taking out the pin before throwing it. The blast wasn’t that big, but it was enough to take back the kraut whose feet it landed at.

And while it did take back one kraut, more kept coming. For every German they took out in this town, two more seemed to replace it. Andrew never thought that he would admit it, but for the first time, he actually felt like there might be too many to take on.

Mainly children and old men my ass, Andrew thought to himself as he fired. Better than ditch fighting.

Andrew felt the air of a bullet that whizzed past him and into the ground just behind him. He looked back to the front of him, to a building that he thought they had already taken out. Andrew moved his aim to a window, looking through to see two krauts inside. It was like he was making eye contact with them.

He’s just a kid! He’s just a kid and I fucking killed him, Luz!

Andrew lowered the M-1, the memories of D-Day suddenly flooding through his mind. He shook his head, trying to clear it as he again focuses on the two Germans.

He wasn’t even going to shoot us! He’s just a kid!

“Marin, fire!” He heard Buck shout.

Andrew knew these two were armed, though. They were going to kill him and Buck and Guarnere and everyone they could hit. He fired, despite the protest in his mind. One German, two Germans down and he was back at the attacking Germans.

To put it simply, there were too many of them. Far too many. So, that meant that Easy had to pull out. As they were doing so, though, Andrew realized that his Lieutenant wasn’t anywhere that he could see.

“Buck?” Andrew called out. “Buck!”

“Just go, Marin!” Someone said, but he couldn’t quite identify who. Something was wrong, and he couldn’t see Buck. “Marin, move!”

Reluctantly, Andrew turned away from the town, pulling back. He could feel the pit of uncertainty grow in his stomach as he continued to search. Maybe Buck had moved quickly and was already with the others, but as Andrew looked and couldn’t see the tall blonde man, that pit only grew bigger as he began to panic.

“Andrew!” A familiar voice said, and he turned to see Luz in full radio-op mode. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find Buck,” Andrew says. “He was right there with me when we were pulling out, and he’s gone. I don’t know where the hell he is.”

“It’s okay, they’re gonna get him, don’t worry about it,” Luz tells him as they begin to climb up into the trucks. “What about you, were you hit?”

Andrew shook his head. “No, no I’m okay, it’s just Buck that’s worrying the hell out of me.” The helmet. Glassy eyes. The blood, spilling from his mouth. But it’s not the young soldier anymore, it’s Buck and Andrew can’t move, he’s killed him. Buck is dead and it’s his fault. “What about you?”

“Just fine.”

-

The reason as to why Andrew couldn’t find Bull was because he had gotten shot in the ass, the bullet going through and out his skin twice, meaning he had four total wounds. Another contributor to Andrew feeling like something was wrong was that they had lost Bull, but Andrew refused to believe he was dead. No one believed that he was dead, they couldn’t. Bull was a mentor, one of the wisest figures that Easy Company had ever seen.

And, being Bull, he wasn’t dead. He had been injured and survived a night in Nuenen in a barn surrounded by krauts. Even killed one of them, all with shrapnel in his back.

Officially retreating from Nuenen, though, meant that Market Garden had been a failure, simply put. There was no way around not addressing it like it was. They had lost men, more men they would’ve liked, and lost hold of a line they had been trying hard to start, to try and push back the Germans into their own land.

Andrew came to terms with this as he sat beside Luz, a cup of coffee in hand.

“We’re not gonna be home by Christmas,” Andrew says out loud. “I was getting excited, too.”

Luz shrugs. “Not so bad, it’s not a guarantee that we’re gonna be fighting on Christmas.”

“I know, I know, but it would’ve been nice to spend it back home,” Andrew says, drinking from his cup. “Would’ve been nice to turn twenty-three without being shot at.”

“What makes you so lucky?” Luz says, nudging Andrew’s shoulder. “If I had to suffer, so do you.”

Andrew chuckles. “You know I didn’t mean anything like that,” Andrew tells him. “Plus, I got you a good birthday.”

“It wasn’t that good,” Luz says. “You were injured.”

“You didn’t worry over me too much, at least I didn’t let you.”

“You were still injured.”

“And I’m still missing a piece of my ear, but here we are.”

Luz pauses, thinks, and then laughs. He’s laughing and laughing, harder and harder, enough for Andrew to ask him what it was about.

“Your ear is in the middle of France, and someone’s gotta find it sometime,” Luz barely gets out. “I just--the poor kid who finds a chunk of the ear is going to be scared shitless when he finds that shit.”

Andrew didn’t understand what was so funny about it, it was only an ear. Not even a whole one.

“Luz, you amaze me sometimes.”

Luz immediately stopped laughing. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Andrew replies. “Nothing bad, at least.”

“How very reassuring. The man I love won’t tell me what makes me so damn amazing after he doesn’t laugh.”

Andrew chuckles, and pauses. Oh, oh shit. “Luz?”

“Yeah?”

“You love me?”

Luz hesitates. “Uh, shit, I did say love, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah you did.”

“Oh, fuck,” Luz says, leaning over and crossing his body to kiss Andrew, who doesn’t protest in the slightest. “I meant it.”

Andrew nods. “I, uh-“

“You don’t have to say anything, Andrew. It’s okay.”

“No, Luz-“

“Marin!”

Andrew sighs and stands up, looking back to Luz and mouthing, “Sorry,” before heading in the direction he was called. It was Winters who wanted him.

“Yes, sir?” Andrew asks, moving to stand at attention, but Winters motions for him to cut it out.

“It’s okay, Marin, you don’t have to.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sink has, well, upper command has been impressed with you recently.”

“Sir?”

“You’re being promoted to technician corporal.”

Andrew nodded, slightly shocked. “What did I do to get that?”

Winters pauses. “Marin, you’re one of the best shots we have. I’m surprised you’re not a sniper yet, but I can’t change that, now can I?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve just been doing my job,” Andrew says.

“And you’ve been doing a good job at it,” Winters says, handing over the new chevrons. “You know, Marin, I never took you to be so humble.”

“Can I ask why, sir?”

“Not a lot of men are, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“It is hard to be humble, sir.”

Winters chuckles a little bit. “That’ll be all, Marin.”

Andrew nods, stands at attention, and they salute each other before Andrew leaves, rubbing the new patch over with his fingers.

-

“Andrew?”

Andrew looked up from his stitching. He was halfway through putting on his patch when he saw that it was Babe who was standing at the end of his bed, a stark contrast from the usual Liebgott or Luz.

“Hey, Babe, what’s going on?”

“I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Andrew sighed, immediately knowing what it was. He motioned for Babe to sit down, and he did, as Andrew stuck his needle through the patch to hold it in place.

“Uh, before the drop, when I went to the bathroom,” Babe starts. “Did you...what I saw, were you and Liebgott…?”

“Yes, we were, uh, making out.”

Babe nods. “Are you and Liebgott together?”

Andrew had to think for a moment. “I, uh, I’m not sure, to be honest with you. We haven’t really talked about it.” We haven’t even gotten close to talking about it.

Babe nods again. “Have you two, y’ know-”

“No, Babe, we haven’t. We haven’t gotten that far.”

“But how long have you and Liebgott been doin’ that?”

“D-Day, before we dropped.”

Babe’s eyes go wide. “Who else knows?”

“No one, and we’re gonna keep it like that, alright?” Andrew hadn’t realized he had started pointing to Babe, almost aggressively. “The only people who need to know are me and Lieb. You just happened to walk in at the right time.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just I never seen anything like that before, alright?” Babe says. “I mean, I’ve heard of people like you but I haven’t exactly heard good things about them.”

“You’re from Philly, Babe, you don’t exactly hear good things about anybody.”

Babe rolls his eyes. “Andrew, I’m just, I don’t know how to process it all, is what I’m trying to tell you.”

“Why’s that?”

Babe sticks his tongue into his cheek, thinking for a moment before speaking. “I haven’t really seen, uh, what’s the word?”

“Fairies?”

“Yeah. Well, I’ve seen them, but I haven’t seen them in the army. Never even thought about it.”

“Let me know if you find a few more.”

“Andrew.”

“Sorry.”

“The last time I saw someone like you and Liebgott, it wasn’t pretty.” Andrew nodded slowly. “I just, uh...I’m worried is all, I guess.”

“You don’t have to worry about me and Lieb, Babe. I think we’ll be just fine.”

Babe nods and stands up, turning to leave, but he stops and looks back at Andrew. “We’re not gonna tell anyone about this, yeah?”

Andrew nods, picking up his needle again. “About what?” He replies. Babe smiles at him and leaves.

Lord, give me the strength to deal with whatever the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

-

tag list: @alienoresimagines @fromcrossroadstoking @easyroses

[demonsofhunting]

All My Sins - Chapter 16

Pairing: priest!Cas x demon!Dean 

Summary: Things are getting really bad for our desperate lovers. How the hell are they supposed to fight these hellhounds, including the one demon that is left? Everything is falling apart...

Warnings: sweet aaaaaand terrifying ANGST, lots of blood, the strong violence continues once more...XD

Words: about 1200

A/N: I`M BACK OMG AHAHAHAHAHAHA! :D I know that I left you at a horrible cliffhanger last chapter and I'm so sorry for that. XD I just needed to take a break. ;) But now everything is coming back together, and I'm heading in a great direction. I hope you forgive me haha, and I'm sending tons of hugs your way once more! <3 Soooo, another chapter of sweet torture. *evil laughter* They almost made it through, don't worry. XD From now on I will update normally, so every Friday. I love u guys! <3

PS: I know that there are three hellhounds in the gif, but only two in the fic. But the gif captures this chapter perfectly, so...we have to deal with that XD

Catch up here ( Masterlist ) :D

I hope you`ll like it! Enjoy! Aaaaand let me know what you think! <3

Dean Winchester closes his eyes. He inhales, deeply, followed by a slow exhale. He doesn't want to open them again. Ever. But he does anyway. Ready to fight. I have to. "What up, asshole?" he mutters, slowly walking backwards. The hellhound growls, low and terrifying. Dean's heart skips a beat and he stops breathing for a moment. Well shit. The hand, in which he still holds Meg's blade, starts to shake, uncontrollably. Suddenly, it seems small and unnecessary. It's way too small to beat the hounds of hell...I'm fucked. There are two of them, still just having a strange kind of staring contest with him - while growling and drooling onto the ground. They wait for me to make my next move. They want me to run away, want to hunt me down...want to feast on my flesh. Or not. In this exact moment, the bigger one of them crouches down, just to jump into Dean's direction, who cries out in surprise and attacks the monster in hurry. The young man even manages to stab the beast right into one of its red eyes. Black blood spills on his clothes, and he quickly makes a run for it, as the other hellhound begins to approach him too. The adrenaline, that pumped through his veins before, is suddenly just gone without a trace. Trembling fear takes its place. "CAS!" He doesn't even care anymore. Just wants to save the only thing he has left. I have to get him. What if the other demon already got to him. What - He can feel his throat getting all sore like he's about to cry. But he doesn't. There is no time. He just runs as fast as he can. Runs for his life. Once again. "CAAAAASSSS!" Am I that for away from the place where I lost him...? I don't even know anymore. Everything looks the same! Then he hears a familiar voice shouting in the distance, desperately. "DEAN!" Relief makes his muscles relax for a stupid second.                                                Cas is okay. And that's everything that matters. I wanted to get away - just to save him. But I can't do that. I need him. He needs me. I'm gonna - He is so happy to hear his love's voice that he suddenly forgets everything around him...and stumbles. He falls to the ground, tasting the dirt and mud with sudden brutality. "Fuck!" That's all he can say, but it's already too late. Suddenly, huge claws are everywhere, ripping him apart... He never felt that much pain in his whole life. But all he can think about is Castiel Novak, the man who did everything for him - until the very end. I just wish that I could say goodbye to him... --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"CAAAAAAASSS!" Castiel hears Dean's scream and freezes, immediately. Keep running, idiot! He escalates again, even though he is more than just a little out of breath. Dean... "Angel...where did you go, honey?" the demon mocks way behind him. At least Cas managed to get some room between him and his enemy. Yay. His chest feels like his skin is getting ripped off, slowly, and it gets worse with every single step he takes. Nothing compared to the screams that he hears out of Dean's direction, though. He can't help it. "DEAN!" A few more meters...almost done... Every step takes an eternity. "Angel...I'm coming to get you! I'm gonna eat your heart!" the demon screams, his voice echoing through the dark trees. He is getting closer and closer...looks like he finally understood that he might actually lose Cas if he doesn't try harder. "WHERE ARE YOU?!" Oh no. Now he's getting angry. The priest opens his mouth again. "D - " In the moment, he hears the most terrifying scream he ever heard. Filled with unbelievable pain and sorrow...absolute despair. It makes his eyes water and his blood run icy cold. His limbs are numb, he just somehow stumbles forward. A few more steps, made like he's captured in a horrible trance of death and gore. Then he sees it. Them. Dean is lying on the ground, fighting against two horrible monsters. They look like big dogs...monstrous dogs. And they are literally ripping him into shreds. His clothes are nothing more than bloody materials without any shape, his chest is covered in claw marks. Blood is streaming out of several wounds. An hour ago, Dean Winchester had it all together somehow, even though the situation was that what you could call pure shit. But now he is screaming like...well, like he is getting skinned. Castiel is about to just pass out, but he fights it.                                     Dean...I'm...I have to do something! He sprints forward, tackling the biggest monster of them. He doesn't even think about it, not even a bloody second. Just does it. Recklessly. His mind has been shut off, to exhausted by all the traumatic things he had to go through during the last days...weeks. The priest collides with the living monstrosity. It hurts, god, it hurts so bad. Like he ran right against a stone wall. "C - Cas!" Then the other big dog hits him in the face, brutally. It smacks him to the ground - obviously, not before throwing him backwards against a tree to cause more damage to him. Castiel could swear that he just heard his spine break as his back collided with the hard wood. Now he lies on the ground, unable to move. I...I can't breathe. His face feels like it's on fire. He can't see anything. There is just a dark, disgusting red. Dean... Cas makes a weak attempt to get on his feet, or at least crawl away...but he doesn't make it. Before he can realise anything - or gain his sight back - two firm hands grab him, and pull him up, violently. He tries to get free, but the demon is way to strong for him to handle. Especially in this poor condition. "Gotcha!" the creature purrs, then the priest feels a sharp pain in his shoulder and screams. "And? How does it feel, huh? Actually, we wanted to kill you in front of Winchester, but things have changed, I guess. Let's just improve" the demon giggles, and turns the knife around that is sticking out of Castiel's flesh. The cut is deep. That's it. At least I tried. Tears are streaming down his face as he bites his bottom lip until he can taste his own blood. Then so it be.. At least Dean and I can be together when I'll join him in hell...

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

"Enough!" A firm voice, followed by a loud gun shot. Two shots. Three. Four. Five. Then the demon begins to scream, terrifyingly. He loses his grip, and the priest sinks to the ground, almost about to pass out. He blinks, trying his best to clear his sight. "D - Dean...?" he rasps. But it's an unfamiliar voice that answers. "He's badly hurt, but he's strong enough to make it. Don't worry. He's going to be okay. The hell are you guys doing out here?!" 

( A/N: Next chapter on Januray 24, 2020 <3 )

That was chapter 16! Thank you so much for reading, and if you would like to leave a comment or reblog this shit, I will ove you forever! <3

Tag lists are open!

Destiel/Forever Tags: @adoptdontshoppets​ @rebeloftheseas @ablavalba​ @smodernlife​ @ignis-glaciesque​ @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel​ @xsghn @helpmeluci​ @trenchcoatsandfreckles​ @legendary-destiel​ @leahslovelyibrary

'All My Sins' Tags: @emodestielshipper​ @emumag​ @waywardtricksterangel​ @didntwanderstillgotlost​ @angel-e-v-a​ @too-old-for-fangirling-but-idc​ @justanotherfangirl511​

[eternaljouska]

The Third Life, pt.01 - Lee Jihoon

Pairing: Jihoon x Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Soulmate!AU, supernatural!AU

Warning: Strong language, a little bit of gore (?)

Chapter: 01 - The Ghost of the Past

Previous Chapter: 00 - The Encounter

Word Count: 3553

Note: I’m sorry if this sucks. I’ve edited this 3-4 times. This is my best. I’m just bad at background story, so I’m sorry if it feels like too much random info’s thrown together. I’m sorry for the late update too. To end this in a happy note, Happy Birthday JjongJjongie!!

“You really can do it alone?” you hear your co-worker shouts, a grunt taking over the last part of his sentence.

“Yes, don’t worry about me! Just drives safely,” you shout back and immediately slouches into one of the chairs in the diner after your other co-worker replies with a short take care! However small a diner is, the closing shift can never be easy. And now you have to do it alone. All because your manager decided to drink herself into oblivion when she accepted the fact that Hansol will be absent from work for the rest of her employment. They were together for a short period, and seeing that Hansol has skipped work for five consecutive days, you’ve figured that it ended up poorly. You don’t know much about their relationship, only bits and pieces, and that’s because the night shift is so small you can’t help but be included in the prying conversation of your other co-workers this past week. But you don’t talk; you refuse to. Mijoo and Subin, they love gossips. And Mingyu, Mingyu talks because he cares, you believe that. He’s merely voicing out his worries. After all, aside from the fact that he’s Hansol’s best friend, it’s in his nature to take care of others. Even tonight, it was him who found Hyejin, your manager, unconscious in her office and alerted everyone else in the diner.

Here’s another thing that you believe: he could have taken care of the situation alone. Mingyu is that capable. As a matter of fact, that’s his original plan until Mijoo stormed in and took your manager’s hand hostage around her shoulder. She only cares about leaving her shift early, but you don’t blame her.

The night shift consists of six: you, Hyejin, Mingyu, Mijoo, AWOL Hansol, and sick Subin. Usually, you and Hansol tend to the tables, Mingyu cooks, Mijoo on the cash register, and Subin on the dishes. And then when closing time comes, Hyejin would assign whatever task available to the person closest to her—although, working together for quite some time has made everyone know what their regular task is. There used to be another cook, but he left just a few weeks prior, saying that he got back in his night schedule of college. The diner opens at one and closes at ten, but it rarely gets any visitor beyond nine. It gets hectic from six-thirty, just thirty minutes after the workers shift, to seven-thirty. People bustle in and out: couples needing the privacy of the dim light in their small dining cube, small families sticking to their weekly routine, and workers nearby enjoying the delicious meals suiting their pockets. But tonight, as though noting the short of people in the crew, many faces only passed the diner front and off their ways instead of going in and taking their seat.

You rise to your feet with a heavy sigh, dusting your skirt from the invisible dirt and then shuffling your way to grab the cleaning equipment. You’re not going to mop the floor—there’s no way. You can’t use it’s already late for mopping as an excuse since you’re closing early and it’s not even close to ten yet. And it’s not like you’re eager to go to your decrepit apartment and make good of the situation to get some additional rest that your body deserves—the situation, in case you forget, is your manager probably getting alcohol poisoning. But despite all, you’re not going to mop the floor, not that anyone would notice anyway. Sweeping would just do.

After the floor, the tables, and the glasses are clean, you go to check the situation in the kitchen. Regardless of some of his questionable and gross actions, Mingyu loves his neat and clean working space, so it’s not a surprise that you see an impeccable kitchen spread out in front of you. What surprising is that all the dishes are done. Mijoo is supposed to handle Subin’s part of the job, which is doing the dishes, and everyone knows she’s not very delighted about that. And seeing that she’s been keen on following Mingyu out, you thought it’s because she wanted to escape her additional task, but as it turns out, she didn’t. But then yeah, she hasn’t finished her main task on the cash register.

It’s only several minutes past ten when you walk out of the diner, contemplating about what you feel towards your manager. When you heard Mingyu yelling out for help, your heart had been beating a little bit faster, but as your running steps stopped in front of Hyejin’s office, your heartbeat drowned in static noise as your mind went blank at the sight of her inert body. Even when Mijoo barged into the room to the second she and Mingyu exited the diner, you could only watch as if you were not—and could not be—part of the scene. You only see Hyejin as your boss and nothing more. You only see Mingyu, Mijoo, Subin, and Hansol as your co-workers and nothing more—even though you would admit that you appreciate the guys a little more than everyone else. Mingyu for the leftovers he packed in advance for you to take home, and Hansol for the wonder that is his thought and words.

Hyejin. It’s stupid, really, to endanger oneself just because their heart is broken. You would know, oh, how you know that all too well. You thought your days in the orphanage has made you proficient in the matter of broken things, but you thought wrong. It was Jisoo, half of your knowledge was all from him—and the rest you learned the hard way after he’s gone. You found out only that evening that broken knuckles couldn’t patch your shattered heart. After some time, you’d still let your brittle heart decides your ways. So maybe it’s only expected that Hyejin does too.

After she started dating Hansol, you felt that her purpose to go to the diner has changed, the diner’s business started to slip out of her mind. You thought the others would notice that too, and they did, but they evidently missed your point since nobody has said anything about adding new members to the night shift. As the day went by, the little respect you have for Hyejin was gradually dissipating with her faltering professionalism. And now, walking through one dark alley after another, the darker side of you resurfaces and you can’t help but look back and see your passive demeanor as a sign that deep down, you want Hyejin to be gone. You know that’s not true, but your mind at this time around might be as clouded as the sky above.

It’s going to rain soon, and you forget your umbrella—no, you left it at home since the last few times you tried to use it, it stuck and wouldn’t open and when it does, it would flip inside out from the heavy wind. You need a new one, but you can’t bother with an umbrella if you can’t even sleep without worrying about what you have to eat for breakfast. You quicken your pace, if possible, trying to cut your twenty-minute walk into a ten-minute one. You’ve done this a lot, walking through small and dark alleys that beggars would call home, but before, you used to walk the first ten minutes with Hansol until you both part ways and you need to go into the harsher part of the city. He would be so kind as to walk you home at nights when the moon doesn’t shine brightly enough. He’s a nice guy, Hansol. He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, you always find the need to stop what you’re doing and give him your undivided attention.

Your stomach churns. Why hadn’t you cared enough to ask Mingyu how Hansol’s been doing? Were you angry that he’d been abandoning you to go home with Hyejin instead? Is that why you fail to empathize with Hyejin? That’s not true. Yes, that’s not true; you’re not that shallow. Maybe it’s because somehow, when he agreed to be Hyejin’s boyfriend, you just felt betrayed. You didn’t expect that and the news perplexes you out of your mind. You always adore Hansol and his way of seeing the world, and you don’t understand why he would date someone who isn’t his soul mate. What is the point of loving someone who isn’t supposed to be with you and stay with you for the rest of your life? It’s just setting yourself for a definite heartbreak, which is foolish. And Hansol is certainly not a fool. But you’re certainly wrong in your assumption about him. Maybe that’s why—maybe that’s why you’re upset. Yes, maybe that’s why.

The roar of thunder jolts you out of your thought, and only then do you realize that you’re walking in an unfamiliar alley, an alley so narrow that three people your size couldn’t possibly pass through it side by side. “Shit,” you mutter under your breath. When you part ways with Hansol, he’s supposed to turn left while you take the second road on your right, not the first one. And tonight, you must’ve taken that wrong road. You’ve always been alert when walking home alone from your shift because of this. Once, you’ve walked three-minute into this dead alley with Hansol and it’s not nice. You should’ve been able to notice the difference between the two roads if only your mind doesn’t stray away from your head.

“Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic,” you murmur. You don’t know how deep you are into the alley, and the only way you want to find out is by turning around and running back into the main street. Your breathing starts to become irregular, all due to the narrowness of the alleyway, which sends you back to the horror of your orphanage days. Back when in your best days, you’d feel extremely grateful that your heart was the only thing that’s broken. The memory still lives and prospers, of those days you spent under your bed bunk to escape flogging, of those days you spent locked inside the small wardrobe only because you’re too sick to receive more physical punishment.

You close your eyes and shake your head vigorously, willing the memories to disappear even for a while, as long as you can go back to your street, that’s fine. You can humor those memories later in the safety of your apartment. Tiny and run-down as it is, your humble apartment is your home where you can live without being told how to live. You know well enough that there’s not much for you to live for and you’ve come to terms that you’re only biding your time in this world. But you don’t want to die from such stupid acts such as alcohol poisoning or taking the wrong road home—that would be a laugh.

You walk and you walk, cursing every time the sky growls from above you. But then you stop on your track, for when a flash of lightning illuminates the whole area for a split second, you notice a second shadow beside your own. The thunder that follows reverberates through your whole body, leaving your fingers shaking and your legs weak. You bolt up running only to be yanked backward by your hair a few seconds later. You gasp. Your vision is fogged by your tears as the familiar strain calls the worst of your memory and let it surrounds your every sense. “Please, don’t, please. Stop it. Stop, you’re hurting him. Please, stop. I beg you,” you mumble, your voice barely audible.

“What you talking about, stupid girl?” the stranger says, pulling at your hair further so he can see your face. “Who am I hurtin’? You crazy or what?”

In your head, there are only flashes of flesh and blood. Only screaming and shouts. Your neck aches from where the housemother yanks your hair, forcing you to watch Jisoo’s motionless and bloodied body. You cry out and ready yourself for what’s going to happen as you draw your head back and strike it forward even faster than the previous lightning, hitting the face in front of you straight on the nose. Your attacker recoils, causing you to fall to your knees. You crawl forward, Jisoo’s name spilling out your mouth incessantly.

“You, bitch!”

You only register the stranger’s words as an incoherent bark, your mind still set on one thing. “Jisoo,” you breathe out.

The stranger flips your body roughly so that you’re lying on your back. He pins you down with his knee on your stomach and his palm gripping the column of your neck. “Who is he, huh, your boyfriend? Too bad he’s not here, isn’t it? Huh? Answer me, bitch!” His hold around you gradually tightens. He watches you carefully, observing the changes in your expression as his hand obstructs your airway. Your body is jerking and your hands are clawing at his in futile attempt to stop him.

“You like it? You like that, bitch? Do you hear me? I said fucking answer me!” his hand moves from your neck to your jaw. He leans closer to your face as he takes your head to meet his midway, and you gasp as all the air makes its way into your depraved lungs. But that relief is short-lived. “I said fucking answer me, you deaf bitch!” he drives your head back onto the ground, the blow knocking your breath out of your body. Black dots tint your vision, but he doesn’t stop there. He repeats his action three more times as he tries to send his point across.

“Fucking. Answer. Me!”

The last blow is harder than the rest. You feel it—something—cracks. And suddenly your fear is replaced by a calmness so foreign you thought you’re awake in the midst of some dreamless sleep. Cold seeps out of you. It’s coming from the back of your head, slowly making its way to your ear and your neck and your back. Your eyes are wide and your mouth is the same. You meet the stranger’s eyes with uncertainty. His eyes, they reflect the fear you had for Jisoo merely months ago. Jisoo. Oh, how you miss him. You blink. Is it time? Will you finally meet him again? If that’s the case, you’d have to express your gratitude before the darkness claims you. You want to laugh. Jisoo will surely laugh, seeing you die ungraciously like this. Jisoo didn’t die graciously either, but at least, his death is valiant in your eyes. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that the stranger drops your head and scurries away from your sight. It doesn’t matter. Only Jisoo. Only Jisoo.

Shadow fills your vision and you tug your numb lips in a minuscule smile. Your time is near. You can already see Jisoo’s angelic face, a piece of memory unlike any other. The one you cherish in your every breath. His gentle smile that encouraged you to live through your pains—the pains that he shared with you, the pains that he bore for you. His gentle fingers that tended to your wounds and scars. His gentle voice that sang you to sleep and warded your nightmares afar. Gentle Jisoo who loved you with all of his heart, you’ll meet him once again.

Just when you think the darkness will engulf you, the line of the shadow in your sight gets clearer. And you see it: a figure, blurry in your teary eyes but unmistakably, a man. Jisoo?

“Hang in there,” the figure says, his voice too deep to belong to your gentle Jisoo.

He’s not Jisoo.

Tears trickle down your eyes, but in spite of that, your vision becomes clearer and clearer. Unknown warmth slowly embraces your body, replacing the numb feeling from your previous blows. You frown, your head getting lighter as the second go and the memory of Jisoo abandons you. You can’t wrap your head around what’s happening. The figure has one hand under your head and another hovering above your chest, and now you realize, the warmth, it’s emanating from his palms.

“What- What are you doing?” You are surprised to hear your hoarse voice, and it hasn’t occurred to you why.

“I’m saving you. It’s not your time yet, and the hospital would be tricky.”

“No!” you croak out, suddenly cognizant of who the figure must be—if all those folk stories Jisoo narrated is of any truth at all. “No, I don’t want to be saved.” Groaning, you try to move your head from his hand while bracing yourself for the pain that’s going to follow. But there’s no pain, nothing at all.

“It’s too late. You are saved.”

Shivers run through you, spreading the panic that was concentrating in your heart. “No, no, no, no! Just—Fuck! The wound, the- the wound, where is it? Why is it gone? Why- Why can’t you just let me die? I- I- Jisoo, I need to meet Jisoo! You can’t- Why did you save me? Aren’t you supposed to take me? Isn’t that your job?”

“You can’t die yet. It’s not your time.”

“Who are you to tell me when it’s my time or not?! You should’ve just let me die! I need to meet Jisoo.” In the end, your cry gives out to your tears. But it’s his next words that give you something to hold on to.

“Even if you die, you don’t know if you can actually meet the one you want to meet or not. It’s improbable.”

“I can take improbable,” you burst out. “There- there’s zero chance of me meeting him here. At least if I die, I’ll have that slightest chance. I can use improbable.”

“Are you sure?”

“He died for me.”

“If only you knew about the one who didn’t die for you.” The dreary tone he maintained had fallen with his three-word question, but now you can hear the sympathy in his voice.

“What are you—“

“Four weeks,” he interrupts, “I’ll give you four more weeks to live, that’s the minimum I need to give for a deal. And since you might not meet your soul mate after you die, I’ll allow you more conditions to make.”

“I- My—“ you stutter, your thought still lost in his vague words. It doesn’t make sense. And now, he’s talking about the remaining of your time and meeting your soul mate. And none of that plants itself inside your brain quite well. All of a sudden, Hansol weasels his way in your thought and you’re struck with an epiphany. The reason you’re mad is that you’ve done it before, loving someone who isn’t your soul mate. And you realize you care about Hansol, enough to be scared that he’ll need to endure the definite heartbreak of loving. That’s why you don’t check on him. You don’t want to know if he’s broken, the way that you were after Jisoo’s gone. And perhaps that’s why you don’t favor Hyejin anymore—because she might be the person who caused that harm for Hansol. Or perhaps, it’s because she reminds you of the past self you have yet to forget—your past self you have yet to forgive.

Then, it’s Jisoo you’re thinking about. If you can’t meet Jisoo—if it’s not Jisoo, what do you want? It’s love, isn’t it? The unconditional love that you’ve never had—no, that’s not true. Jisoo loved you unconditionally. Lord, he is your whole life, how could you forget the gigantic void he left inside you when he’s gone? He’s the only one that you have, your love, your family. Right. Jisoo was as closest as you got for a family. He filled all the roles everyone in the orphanage was supposed to play. So yes, if it’s not Jisoo, then that’s what you want—what you need.

You raise your head to meet the gaze of the cold-eyed figure. “A family. In the next life, I want to be born into a loving family,” you pause, considering the words you’ve uttered. “Yeah, I want that.” Another tear streaks down your cheek as you imagine what it would be like to be loved and taken care of. It would be nice. It would be so nice.

“Is that—“

“And a purpose,” you add hurriedly, not really knowing where that comes from, “If that’s acceptable.”

“It is. I hope you don’t regret your decision. Live your four weeks well, and later, receive his gift well also. You’re lucky it’s him.” The figure holds your stare for a few more moments before he moves forward. He reaches out for you and places his fingers in front of your forehead to trace two vertical lines in the space between your eyebrows, all the while you—you are still stuck within the blurry picture you draw in your head, of Jisoo, you, a woman with a sweet smile and a man with a stern but warm eyes. “Close your eyes,” he lastly whispers.

And with that, the dark finally devour you whole. It’s strange, you think you’re dying, but you know you’re still alive.