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alastorsfuckassbob · 8 months

Text

Killing Me Softly- 4

AlastorxFem!Reader part 4

A/N: Ok so this is..uh LONG but its finally here!!! Val's text is in purple, yours is in blue, and Alastor's is red! As always bolded portions are the past..Yes I did revert to using another song sue me. As always: MINORS DNI

Plot: Valentino is a piece of shit You and Al are so shitty at feelings and communication..thats basically it.

⚠️Warnings:⚠️

-Sexual innuendos (they aren't graphic but they are spicy)

-Domestic abuse (this got a lot worse so please be mindful of that and use your own discretion- you are responsible for your internet consumption)

-Alcohol use AND abuse

-Violence!! ~mentions of blood~

-A LOT of cursing 🤠

You had decided to take “small nap” to rid your body of the final remnants of exhaustion from night before. That so called “small nap” somehow lasted a good ten hours, leaving you with only two before you needed to arrive at the club again. You sat on the edge of your bathroom counter, the excess silky fabric of your slip cascading over the edge. You grab a stray eyeshadow pallet and begin to apply your makeup. You had decided on an inky toned smoky eye and a lightly lined liquid lip. It was a bit different from your usual look, but it complemented your new wardrobe perfectly. You glanced over at the folded scarlet fabric, excited to wear it again.

You had decided to get ready at home today. Angel wasn’t working tonight, so there was no sense in being at the club earlier than you really needed to be. You snapped your fingers, and the shadow behind you began to style your h/c hair in his place. It wasn’t often Angel didn’t have to work on a Saturday night. Even in Hell, weekends came with higher foot traffic. Val insisted he had earned a break after yesterday’s long shoot. It was a rare occasion but not entirely out of character. Val couldn’t break his favorite toy.

After a few more pins, the shadow dawned a bright smile and jazz hands upon completing your hair. You looked absolutely gorgeous, the pitch black entity had done a fantastic job. Your hair was twisted into bouncy side swept curls adorned with tiny sparkling gems. You wanted to meticulously appreciate the effort it had so graciously put in, but your guilt riddled conscience kept you from any real form of enjoyment.

You needed to stop thinking of him. The more you let yourself fall back on memory, the more you would love him. The more you loved him ,the more it would hurt when he realized he couldn’t love you anymore. It wasn’t his fault, no one could. This was your penance. It wasn’t supposed to be easy.

Memory had sunk its claws into your wrist. It hopelessly dragged you along by its blood lined chains and scarlet stained fingertips like an old desperate beggar. The hold Valentino had on your soul was insubstantial in comparison to the grasp Alastor had on your heart. You didn’t understand why that was. Val was your whole life, and he would be until eternity itself figured out a way to die. It would make sense for him to reside in the core of your thought, but he didn’t, he never stayed there long.

Unlike Alastor, Val owned you.

Unlike Alastor, he was there

Unlike Alastor,

you could actually feel his lips on your skin.

He had a predictable consistency to him. It was always the same constant battle between his unquenchable hatred and guilty heart.

Val insisted he “loved” you in his own way. From the shackles on your wrists, he had tied you to the stake-All so that he could look for your love. He struck the match against your skin, and lit you both ablaze because he hated that he wanted it. In the end it would never matter how many times the heat touched your skin, it wasn’t going to feel like love.

You knew what that was supposed to feel like. You had shared your heart with a great many souls in your time on Earth. Love was bathed in forgiveness and brushed with magnolia petal kisses. That love didn’t see you through eyes lined with antagonism, sparkled with fury and blended out with shades of exasperation.

Valentino did.

His lips were colored in hot pink brutality. It would smear across your skin with every kiss. He would leave you haloed in messy lipstick stain bruises and be on his way.

His absence never lasted long. The color in his cheeks was permanently rouged with the lethality of your figure. Eventually, the guilt would seep through his pores, and the chemical reaction would wash his face of your blood. He would return with a silver plated tin bracelet and a few mangled words of affirmation.

“ Y/n, you know I love you. I didn’t mean a word of it Mi Amore. You are the most beautiful demon this side of hell. I just get so upset sometimes there’s nothing else I can do. I can’t control my anger Amorcito, you know that.”

It’s not that he couldn’t control his anger, he was fully capable. He just didn’t. He never thought it was important to try. Even in his time on Earth, he didn’t care to put forth the effort. He was born with distain and died with detestation. He had always been this way. The guilt he felt afterward would never amount to the freedom found in his bloodied hands. There wasn't a finite limit to the apologies he could patch the holes he punched into your heart with. In the end, it wouldn’t matter. Any remorse he felt would slip from his conscience like every instance before it. It made sense how quickly he was able to rise into over lord status.

Your focus shifts to the cherry fabric folded beside of you. You haphazardly grab the dress, lifting it over your head. Its crystal beads babbling in your ear as you slide it on. For a moment, the ghost of your human body silhouettes your demonic figure in the mirror. Distant memories began to bubble up to the surface. In the true spirit of avoidance, you hopelessly shut them out as you grabbed your satin purse and walked out the door.

As you left the building the newly warmed breeze swirled through your hair. The sunny weather practically lifting your wings for you as you flew towards the club. You reveled in the distance it granted you from your life. From the above clouds, Hell was actually rather pretty. The seemingly dull color scheme found a bit more variation the higher you flew. The different areas of the city blending into one. With each flap of your wings, the clouds whispered murmurs of freedom into your ears. For just a moment, it almost didn’t feel like hell.

The rest of the flight is relatively peaceful, excluding the occasional scream from the city below. Eventually you arrive at the club and head to your dressing room. You plop down on the velvety plush sofa seated against the wall. It was still a bit early for places, so you elected to read one of Angel’s trashy magazine to pass the time. A ginger knock at the door draws your focus from celebrity scandals and tv drama.

“Amorcito”

Valentino’s voice worms itself into your ear. He leans against the door frame looking for any indication of fear on your face. He didn’t want to scare you off before he had the chance to explain himself. You shoot him a tired glare and return to your magazine. Even if you wanted to answer it’s not like you had the ability to.

“Right, I forgot.” He muses, his smirk practically bleeding into his eyes. With a wave of his hand , the sigil on your wrist begins to spark in a hot pink glow. In a puff of smoke, your voice returns to you.

“Do you need something Val” you ask. It comes out a bit raspier than you had intended. Hopefully he didn't take it as a form of aggression. You had somehow landed yourself in his good graces, and you didn’t want to fall from them any sooner than you had to.

“I can’t have you sitting silent for your dear clients now can I y/n?”

You didn’t respond. Mentally, you rolled your eyes. The statement was laughable. He would tear your soul to pieces if he could hear the sarcasm racketing around your brain at the current moment.

“Mi amor, you know I didn’t mean it. I can’t have my favorite muñeca upset with me, can I?”

You stay silent. Your body still wept with the soreness of the night before, but he had come here with the expectation you would nurse his pride back to health.

“You know that I love you baby” His tone was permeated with an emotion you couldn't quite place. For the first time, the desperation on his face surpassed the bloodlust. It lacked his usual innuendos and crude curses. If you hadn't known better you might have believed he really did- yet something deep within you really did want to believe he could be good. Maybe he didn't love you but he did feel slightly sorry and maybe that would be enough. You stood up from the sofa and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I know you do Val. Don't worry about it" The words are sweet but the emotion behind them is entirely dead. His arm slinked around your waist, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips.

"I want to thank you, for the dress. Its really beautiful. You have great taste” You added. Your hand layered on top of his, a gentle, but very obviously fake smile curving into your lips. Val loved compliments, the antennae on his forehead usually perked up whenever he received one.

To your surprise, he started to laugh, his shoulders shaking in its ferocity. “ Y/n you can’t be serious.”

You didn’t really understand what was funny or why you were nervously laughing along with him. You didn’t have to know why, you just had to go along with it. If you had to guess, he was probably intoxicated in one way or another. Most of the other performers and employees constantly were on some level. It would make sense if he was too. “I’m almost insulted you would even pretend that I would put you in something that tacky, and not to mention conservative. I treat you better than that don’t I?”

With that, you were even more confused..Did he not gift you the dress? Where the hell else would it come from? You couldn't even begin to craft a response. You had to come up with something quickly, and improvisation(lying) was not your best skill. Your mind darted from one lame excuse to another. You didn’t have time to think critically about it you just had to say something.

“Yeah I thought it would be a funny joke, I agree it is a bit old fashioned, It definitely needs a little update..I liked the color though.” You lied straight through your teeth. It wasn't clear if he had bought into your practically incoherent rambling. As all good liars do, you dug the hole a few feet deeper with a few more details to seal the deal. “I wasn’t sure how to alter it so I thought I’d ask you for your opinion”.

Even if the excuse was lame, it covered all the bases.

“In my opinion we shred it” His quiet laugh sounded egotistical to say the least. If something or someone didn't fit his taste he saw no reason why it should exist.

Disappointment drapes your frame from the tips of your horns to the bottom of your heels. Even if the dress had apparently spawned from some freaky stalker, you really did like it.

“Are you sure I couldn’t just wear it as it is for one night? I could add a slit or something for the next time "Hope laced your bargain as you spoke. You knew he would probably say no but you couldn't help but ask.

“Y/n, Baby, as hot as I think you look in anything. This dress is going to need some serious alterations if you expect to wear it in front of our rowdy crowd. I can't let you go out there dressed like a nun, it would be awful for business” His face twists into a sly sneer. An idea bubbled on the surface of his thoughts.Before you can register what is happening, his hands are tracing the outline of your hips. Each separated claw of his fingers ran down your body until they stopped just above the outer edge of each thigh. On the surface the action didn't exhibit his typically harmful nature, but if you dared to look even a fraction of an inch closer you would see its minatory subtext.

“Don’t worry, I think we can figure out something simple out for tonight”. His fingers draw together into a unified line. He digs his nails in a little deeper into you as he drags them down your leg until they reach the floor. He had effectively sliced a high slit on both sides of the dress, with little to no effort. He had pushed a little too deeply in some areas, small pricks of blood leaked from a few irregularly shaped scratches in consequence.

“You look like perfection in red baby”, he breaths out. He stayed crouched on the floor for a moment. You couldn’t tell if he was admiring the surprisingly straight lines of his work or the dots of blood that speckled your skin. He takes your hand in his and places a wet kiss on your wrist where the sigil had been burned into your skin.

“I can’t wait to see you shine tonight Amorcito”

He kissed up your arm as he rose from the floor. The way his tongue slithered around your forearm made you dreadfully uncomfortable. The feeling was slimy and otherwise indescribable. You were almost grateful you didn’t have the words to describe your disgust so that the feeling would die with you instead of being passed around to others by language.

You were eternally grateful when he finally walked through the exit. He was finished with his fun with you, at least for now.The club had opened a little more than ten minutes ago. As its owner, he had an obligation to fulfill his duties (flirt with hot guys) ,and supervise the club floor (get blackout drunk and fuck aforementioned hot guys ). Val loved to watch as sinners got down and dirty in the corners of his dimly lit clubs. It was a bit of an ego boost to know he had helped create an environment that led to that sort of thing. He enjoyed the epigrammatic conversations and miscellaneous substance his customers brought with them. He was great at sharing when it came to things that weren’t his own. He loved to hear them praise his accomplishments, and disclose the desire they shared for him and his performers almost as he loved to get high. By the look of tonights crowd, he was in for another pleasurable evening, or so he thought.

A curt laugh track interrupted the regularly scheduled cycle of conversation. Val’s head practically spun backwards upon noticing the deer eared demon lounging at the edge of the balcony.

"What the fuck is he doing here" Val grunted under his breath. He was supposed to be dead.

Alastor, apparently, never received the memo. He sat with a glass of indifferent whiskey in the VIP segment of the balcony above. He was fitted in a well cut vermilion pin stripe suit and a pair of wing tipped oxfords. Despite his polished exterior and perpetual smile, his eyes were glossed in boredom.

The conversations of lower demons never really intrigued him, they didn't speak much about anything outside of the bounds of recreational drug use. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he had spent time in that particular circle back in his younger days. Perhaps it was the drastic change of aesthetic, or maybe the culture surrounding it had just shifted too much for his liking, but it just didn’t appeal to him anymore. Alastor found the environment dreadfully exhausting. The distinct loud bump of electronic base and synthesized beats made it hard to hear his own thoughts. He was in for a long boring night. There really wasn’t anything more for him to do than pass judgment on the tasteless decor.

He looked around at the tacky overtly sexual paintings hung against the walls. It was one of Valentino’s classier clubs, but that doesn’t mean the interior designer wasn’t entirely delusional when they picked out its color pallet. For lack of a better word, it was just ugly. The Deep pinks and vibrant reds of the walls accented the white porcelain pillars that framed them. (Vaguely reminiscent of a tampon) The dark purple of the leathery chairs somehow blended in with the black marble tile in such a hideous way the word “unity” didn’t even begin to spark his mind.

With the exception of its more intimate performance space and higher end clientele, it wasn’t that much different than the typical club experience Valentino provided. It still featured his usual sex rooms and coke lined tables, despite its overall calmer energy. Alastor didn’t understand how you ended up in a place like this. It didn’t seem like you. He had instructed the newest soul under his contract to follow you and figure out your daily routine and “basic facts of life”. He would never admit it, but he was mostly curious to learn of your relationship status. He wanted to know if you had gotten married or if you had moved on. He had been dead for years ,it would make sense if you had. He didn’t want to step back into your life unless he knew everything.He needed to know what approach would work best on you. “Evidently” you weren’t just outwardly spouting that information into the hilltops. The poor soul came back with a list of two locations and not much else. Naturally, it didn’t get to live much longer. He was not a man to have his time wasted. If he wanted something done correctly the first time he should have just done it himself. So here he was, awaiting your performance.

Valentino walked across the crowded floor, his clenched fists glued to his sides. Alastor’s bored expression made his blood boil. He carelessly dodged dancing couples and trays of champagne in his quiet anger. Val never liked that old timey prick or his rickety dated voice. It grated his ears endlessly, not to mention he was just flat out annoying. If Val wanted to listen to some random lanky old man’s diet British accent and senseless uppity rambles; he would have turned on Downton Abby or some other old pretentious shit. Each step he took towards the radio demon deepened the scowling smirk growing on his face. If Alastor was going to ever so nonchalantly seat him self and a glass of whiskey in the VIP section of HIS club, at least one of them going to have his fun with it.

“I didn't take you to be a fan of my work Alastor, lovely to see you as always” Val slid into the booth across from him. The remaining groups still seated at the surrounding tables grabbed their drinks and found a better place to be. It was a well known fact the two of them weren’t friends

“I am most decidedly not! however the streets of hell will not stop praising a certain canary singing on your steps, and I am by far intrigued" His eyed narrowed as his grin grew wider.

“Oh really? It is my little siren you are interested in? Don’t let her pretty little face fool you, she’s a real bitch to work with. She thinks shes hot shit just because the sound of her voice is enough to chain any demon.” He feigned disinterest, flicking his nails to the side to observing their color.

“Oh really~Where ever did you find her? Surely if she is this talented I would have heard of her already" Agitation seethed through Alastor's voice. He had never liked Valentino, he found his methods to be crude and unseemly. The way he spoke of you hazed Alastor's vision in permanent red. He had killed far greater demons for far less than the disrespect he had sent your way. However, he knew he couldn't act on that urge quite yet. He was on a mission. He needed to know more about why you were here first in the first place. No one here would know better than the sleazy club owner himself.

“ I don’t really think that’s your business" Valentino accused, venom dripping from his tongue. He didn't really care why the radio demon had taken such a fast interest in a lowly sinner like you. It didn't matter. It gave him something to work with. He had something he didn’t. Pride is a fickle thing, he could use this to get under his skin.

He didn't want a physical altercation by any means, not in his own territory anyway. Vox would never let him live it down if he started a fight in his own club and accidentally tore it to the ground in the process. A verbal sparring session would have to do for now. Val loved starting any sort of argument he could conceive.

"My little dove tends to shy away from the limelight. She used to do all of her performances behind a mask, but don’t you worry I was able to coax her out of it." (are you secretly the masked singer?? omg) "You'll be in for a wonderful show tonight." Pride overtook Valentino's usually mendacious features as he spoke. He had something Alastor didn't. Val wanted nothing more than to spark jealousy in his heart. Alastor, wasn't oblivious to his intentions, it just wasn't his primary focus. More-so, he felt frustrated with questions he couldn't ask. You couldn't have been in Hell for more than a few days. How many performances had you really had time for? The possibility you had existed down here for any longer than that didn't exist to him.

"Now Valentino, there's no reason to be secretive, unless you have something to hide. Surely if this woman is as fantastic as you say she is, there is no need to hide the details of her origin, I'm sure it must be quite the story" A deceitful glimmer coruscated his smile, as he took another careless swig of whiskey. His pointed fingers gripped tighter around the glass, cracking its edge.

" Actually-it’s the opposite, trust me its not even worth mentioning” Val laughed. “Why not enjoy the present and focus on her current skillset a? Surely you must have seen her around somewhere, she’s a real star on film." His tone was maliciously sweet, but the dry rasp of his voice revealed the truth. A dark glint flashed in his eyes as he thought of your previous work.

Getting information out of "barney the big purple pimp" Valentino was going to be harder than Alastor had previously anticipated. Any information he might’ve had on you was under lock and key. At this point, he considered just ripping off Valentino's stupid little egg shaped head and calling it a day. He didn't understand what you saw in him or this dingy sweat stained bar. In your time on earth, the two of you had spent many nights dancing together in the speakeasies and glitzy clubs of New Orleans. This wasn't the type of establishment you would usually go in for. He had always known you to see the best in others, even if they so evidently didn't deserve it. You sharpened your sword for those you deemed worthy even if they despised you for it. If you were here it must meant you had seen something worth redemption within him.

"You must be very proud of her accomplishments to rave on about her in this way" Alastor’s voice was fitted in the same snarky tone you often took with Valentino, but unlike you, he could tear the whole club apart with a snap of his fingers. Val didn’t want to deal with that, not here. He would have to wait and slit the radio demon's throat outside of his territory.

"Enjoy the show Alastor.” He quipped promptly showing the conversation to its end. Valentino walked away before he could get in a word otherwise.

Val didn’t know the nature of Alastor’s apparent attraction towards you, but he personally knew the pain desperately wanting something you couldn't have caused. Ironically, Alastor was the indirect cause of that familiarity. Through Valentino's partnership with Vox, obsession had sprouted. Something about the way his televised voice distorted in anger drew him in. He had been caught on his snarky personality and quick wit almost as much as the pitiful reassurances the TV demon would occasionally throw his way. He knew the feelings he had amounted for Vox were never going to be reciprocated. He would never look his way so long as the radio demon walked the streets of hell. Even if Valentino couldn’t bring about his revenge in his typical violent way, he was determined to get it. You were the key he didn’t know he had. After all, no sinner could resist the call of your sweet song or the appeal of your hips. The radio demon would be no different.

Eventually, one of Val’s assistants called you to places. You walk through the backstage area, a trail of glittery red streaming behind you. You always loved the moment before the show began. It was typically quiet, everyone attended to their own business. They rarely stopped to bother you, it offered you a moment of order before the chaos this performance would plunge you into. You grab a sugar rimmed shot glass from underneath the bar cart left for the performers. You didn’t bother to read the labels on the bottle as you poured a heavy handed shot. As soon as the liquid touched your lips you realized it had been gin. Despite the burning in your throat, and the sour taste it left in your mouth, you refilled the glass a few more times. On some level, you felt guilty for the amount of alcohol you had just consumed.On a deeper level, you knew you couldn’t make it through a set without it. It was a means to an end, nothing more.

Valentino’s compulsion for revenge had led him towards the velvety amethyst curtains of the stage you stood behind. Whatever good mood he was in earlier had vanished, his disposition was dripped in murderous rage. He storms up to you, roughly taking your chin in his hand.

“I don't fucking know why or how but the radio demon is here. You better make me look good-I’ve already throughly sung your praises and I will not be embarrassed in front of that shit head” He paced as he spoke hostility following at his heels. “For some reason, he has taken an interest in you. I need you to give an extra little show to the balcony he’s seated in the center. Hes the lanky washed out red asshole with the bitchy little antlers, you can’t miss him.” The words he had spoken jumbled in your brain. You weren’t really paying attention, the calming aura of the alcohol had begun to hit your system.

“I thought he was dead, are you sure it’s him?” you mumbled as you picked of the remaining sugar crystals from your glass.

You had briefly heard of the radio demon in your time-He hadn’t been around for years, most demons speculated that someone finally managed to kill him. He disappeared three years after your arrival in hell, but his methods left a lasting impression. The agonizing screams he had broadcasted still echoed in your dreams occasionally. However, despite your deeply rooted fear, you admired him on some level. He was clever to say the least, and his morals weren’t entirely questionable either. He thought dealing in cheaper souls was crass and frankly unnecessary. He left weaker demons alone, unless they stepped in the way of his path.He wouldn’t pick a fight with anyone he didn’t deem strong enough to fight back.

His hands shoot against your throat, the force of the action drags you into sobriety. His fingers thrust deeper into your skin as he lifts you from the floor by your neck. He had a lot riding on this, and he wasn’t going to let your indifference ruin that. Your grasp on the shot glass loosens as your vision begins to spot from the lack of oxygen. It falls from your hand and shatters with the impact.

“Your job isn’t to ask questions, it’s to get out there and make me look good” he drags your body closer and growls into your ear.

He slams your body against the floor of fragmented glass. The sole of his foot makes contact with the palm of your hand, pushing the shards deeper into your skin. Crimson flowed through the wounds in a steady pour. Hot tears took residence in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

“ If you fuck this up for me, I’ll do a lot worse than just take your voice Y/n. You don’t want to see me angry. I promise you, you won’t like it.” His foot presses harder against your skin. His dark tone sends shivers down your spine. He had released his grasp on you, but the syllables that slithered out of his mouth constricted around your throat.

Despite your decision not to cry, the tears began to spill. They weren’t entirely motivated by the pain. The situation had become too similar to those that had existed in your life, and this was your body’s reaction to that. The heat from his glare could have cauterized your wounds. He removed his foot from your hand as he crouched down next to your tear stained figure. His fingers graze the edges of your cheek. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he wipes droplets from your face.

“I can’t wait to see you tonight Amorcito, you always put on such a good show for me.” He kisses your injured hand, the cuts begin to close as his lips come into contact with your skin. He licks the remaining blood from his lips and returns to the club floor- leaving you in a pool of maroon colored regret and splintering glass.

You watch the stage manager’s eyes roll as they grab a mop to clean up the mess. Whatever they were getting payed, it wasn’t enough. Although the ordeal wasn’t out of the ordinary, it was definitely inconvenient. You stand up from the floor brushing the remaining glass off of your dress and walk through the curtains and onto the stage. Even without a physical mask, you were still wearing one. You dawned a bright sultry smile and an uppity attitude as you waved to your adoring fans. At times the outlandishly theatric persona could be fun. The ecstatic cheers of the crowd after each movement made you feel powerful in an odd way. The attention often fueled your performance into the more seductive destination Val had wanted to begin with. It was a means to an end, nothing more.

“Good evening to all of my lovely sinners in the audience” The sound of your voice echoed over the endless chatter of the club. You sat down at the edge of the rounded stage, your legs dangling over its edge. The short demon in front of you practically drooled as your body edged a little more off the platform in his direction. You noticed his reaction and wanted to take things a step further. Your wings spread, taking you closer to the table he sat at, the edge of your finger tilting his head up to meet your own.

“I’ve got a wonderful show in store for just you tonight” Seduction over took your tone as you blew the demon a kiss leaving the entire table absolutely dumbfounded. You travel back to the stage with various sexual remarks towards the other inhabitants. You sit back on the stage, slowly extending your legs to the side, crossing them as you do. You tease the slits in your dress to the side revealing a bit more skin. The patrons erupt into a sea deafening screams.

The lights suddenly cut out, you dissipated with them. The shred of an electric guitar echoed throughout the space. An array of red and purple spotlights flood the center of the stage. You reappear in a puff of smoke as they do. The music was a bit “edgier” than what you’d usually go for. The genres you listened to spanned a vast array of styles, but you usually preferred to sing the softer tunes of the earlier decades. Valentino’s typical clientele however, needed a newer, rougher pop/rock sound. The drum set clicks in tandem with the percussive click of your heels as you begin your dance.

A wickedly wide grin stretches across your face, you were ready to start the show. You began to sing.

“I heard he sang a good song

I heard he had a style”

This was your compromise. You could sing anything you wanted to so long as you updated the instrumentals. Most of the people in the club were too wasted to listen to the lyrics anyway. It didn’t really matter what you sang as long as you sounded good and looked hot doing it. Hell’s population would eat up anything you served them. Their mouths began to water as you drop to the floor, arching your back away from them. The music flowed through you, awakening a deep sensuality in your movement . Each twist of your hips accented the intense chords and high hat hits of the accompaniment. Your hair formed a halo around you as you turned onto your back. Your legs extend into the air earning an influx of vulgar cheers from the surrounding demons. Any softness your voice had once held disappeared as growled into the next phrase.

“And so I came to see him

To listen for a while”

You slowly slid up from the floor, your hands following the shape of your curves until they reached pit of your neck. Your fingers splayed against its circumference as you rolled your eyes back into your head. You glanced up to the balcony to make sure the radio demon was watching, the dim lighting prevented you from seeing anything more than his silhouette.

Alastor wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the glance you threw him, or your performance. On the one hand, he was endlessly enamored with you. Alastor would have dedicated the rest of his life to sing your praises in that moment if you had just asked him to. He loved to listen to you sing and watch you dance in any context.

On the other hand however, it made him extraordinarily jealous. He hated the lewd comments and desire filled glances of the other demons around him. It made sense they were attracted to someone like you, but that doesn’t mean he liked that they were. He would remember each face that dared utter such filthy things about you, and deal with them later. His attention shifted back to your voice as you spun your voice into a decadent riff.

“And there he was this young boy

A stranger to my eyes”

You turned upstage to the silver pole that spun in its center. Hundreds of eyes glazed over in pure lust as your spine pressed against the pole. You were practically suffocated with screams as your form flipped upside down. You dropped one arm from the pole, the tips of your wings grazing the floor as your newly freed hand followed the lines of your body.

Your exaggerated and frankly pornographic expressions as you twisted against the pole made Alastor apprehensive. The feeling of unease was not caused by disgust but concern. As much as he loved to listen to you sing, this didn’t feel right for him to watch. It felt too fake. You looked far too uncomfortable for his liking.He had seen you in a more intimate light before. Even decades later the mere thought of your gentle gasps and fluttering lashes dragged him up from hell and sent him straight to heaven. He was familiar with the grind of your hips against his own, and the feeling of your hands in his. He knew every freckle on your body and the exact degree of your spine’s curvature. He loved nothing more than to worship each fold in your figure. He adored the gentle light that always seemed to flicker in your eyes in those sensitive moments. He reveled in your loving glances and gentle touches he was not bothered with the sexuality of it all but rather its performative nature. This felt too over the top. Despite your energetic movements and sensual smile, your eyes were cold and dead. He didn’t want his memory caught on your legs wrapped around his waist or his head between your thighs if it was just a performance. It didn’t feel right to. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and focused on the sound of your voice. Even with its dolorous tamber the whisper of your gentle heart found its way to seep through.

"Strumming my pain with his fingers

Singing my life with his words

Killing me softly with his song"

You notice Val seated between two tall blonde demons with their legs crossed over his. He was very clearly not impressed with them or your movements on the pole. His disinterest grew with each sip of his drink. He gives you a pressing look. In that moment you knew exactly what he wanted. He had had enough of your stalling. You looked good but you needed to look better.

"Killing me softly with his song

Telling my whole life with his words

Killing me softly with his song"

With a slight roll of your eyes, you fly up to the balcony. You place yourself onto the thick marbled railing with your back to the radio demon. With a quick twist your of your hips, you straddle the banister your body rolling against it ever so slightly. You make direct eye contact with the patron in the center booth. He wore a mask crafted in wilted black rose petals and the scent of death, but underneath he held your late lover’s face. His deep red eyes meet your own e/c ones The glimmer of his previously golden swirled dark brown eyes clashed against his current ghostly red ones He brushed a strand of his straightened two toned hair to the side of his face. He carried the same nose, body, and expression as Alastor- Your Alastor. You turn upstage to compose yourself. You sway your hips to the beat of the music in order to keep up appearances. You turn your weary head behind you to his table to make sure you hadn’t imagined it. Even in its outstretched state, his smile gave him away. It really was him. After years of searching, you had finally found him, or better yet, he found you. For just a moment, you had forgotten your penance and your heart flowed with oceans of love. You floated within them in pure ecstasy. In that moment, and animosity you held for him faded away with the weight of your excitement.

"I felt all flushed with fever

Embarrassed by the crowd"

Abruptly the realization hits you, he was seated where the radio demon should have been- that must mean that Alastor; Your Alastor, was the radio demon. Your mind flipped to the initial radio broadcast he first spoke to you with, as well as the note signed “yours truly”. Alastor had used that phrase so often as a sign off from the radio show…..Perhaps you weren’t the sharpest little crayon in the demon filled box- considering the embarrassingly long time it took you to put the pieces together.

"I felt he found my letters

And read each one out loud"

Realizing this sent a wave of relief through you. Perhaps he could free you from this life, he was one of the strongest demons in hell. If anyone could break your contract with Valentino, it would be him...Would he even consider it? Your mind swirled in a storm of questions. Why the sudden change? As the relief of the initial realization began to fade and a new understanding took root. He had left you in life, why would he want to help you now?

You couldn’t help but wonder why he was really here. Considering his previous track record, nothing made sense. Why would he speak to you within his broadcast, or gift you the dress, or show up to your workplace if he hadn’t payed you any mind in such a long time?

He must have wanted something from you. That would be the only logical reason for his sudden appearance. If he truly had always been the radio demon, he held power. He had all of the necessary resources to find you and he never did. He didn’t need to.

"I prayed that he would finish

But he just kept right on"

You think back to the various gifts he would purchase you before he asked something of you, or the roses he would send to your apartment if you two had an argument in your life together. Your years of wondering why he had left boiled down to one simplistic answer…He had always just needed something. The more you thought on this, the more painfully obvious it became. He wasn’t here because he loved you. He was only here because you had become convenient again.The second he deemed you impractical, he would leave you as he had before.

"Strumming my pain with his fingers

Singing my life with his words"

You fly away from the balcony, sliding down the metal pole in the center of the stage to reach the floor. You were thankful the stage lights blinded you from his pressing gaze once you were on the ground. You would ignore the balcony entirely for the remainder of the performance. It didn’t matter if Valentino would be upset, you couldn’t bear to look at Alastor anymore- Yet even with your newfound distance, he had chained you to memory. You were transported back to the downtown apartment in which you had previously spent so many hours with him in.

1930 New Orleans: Your apartment

The candlelit room was a patchwork of miscellaneous vintage furnishings and modern decorative trinkets. You had moved into your apartment not long after your father had passed. Most of the items within it were gifted to you upon his death. He preferred victorian architecture over all else, it was natural his taste in interior design would follow. You leaned against the sage patterned love seat with a cooling cup of tea in hand. The star speckled sky, and tepid air of late April seep through your opened window.

You awaited the arrival of your lover. Alastor wasn’t a man to be late. He was meticulously early and always prepared. His absence had begun to torment you in anxiety. The grandfather clock stationed in the corner of the room struck midnight, furthering your worries. He was supposed to arrive at 7:30, obviously it was long past that.

He had promised to take you out dancing to make up for the late hours he had begun to keep at the studio. He had become more withdrawn than you cared to admit. He disappeared for days at a time. On the few days you managed to get ahold of him, he dismissed you, insisting he needed to keep working on his show. It aggravated you to no end, but you would never want to be another obstacle on the way to his dreams. It was easier to let it go and enjoy the time you did have with him.

You had the bad habit of jumping to the worst scenario.You didn’t live in the safest sector of the city, it was entirely possible he had been attacked along the way. Your mind shifts to the uprising of missing person’s cases New Orleans had been plagued with. The media speculated a killer of some kind, but the police department denied those theories. They hadn’t found any of the bodies, and refused to believe they were going to.

If he wasn’t here within the next hour, you were going to search for him yourself.

"Killing me softly with his song

Killing me softly with his song"

An abrupt knock steals you from your worries, you rush to its source without a second thought. You open the door to the dark curly haired man you had been waiting for. To your surprise, his usually tidy hair was unkempt and rumpled around his newly bruised face. His disheveled blood stained clothing reflected the crimson pouring from his nose. You froze like a deer in headlights, it was one hell of a way to show up for a date.

"Killing me softly with his song

Killing me softly with his song"

“Oh my god” you whispered under your breath. Your hands appear at the sides of his face tracing each little scratch and the deep bruise forming around his eye. “Love..what happened? Are you okay?” You stuttered out.

He sent you a sheepish smile, not wanting to raise any concerns.“May I come in” he asked placing his hand on top of your own.

His “previous activities” were rather impromptu. Usually, his targets were much better thought out, and handled much more methodically. Although he enjoyed the anguished screams of his victims, he would never hurt anyone who wasn’t actively or indirectly hurting you, the same applied to this kill. The timing wasn’t ideal but it was a necessity.

He had decided to walk to the flower shop from the station so he could surprise you with a fresh bouquet before your date. He felt tremendously guilty for his recent absences, and wanted to alleviate that with a gift. Even if he missed you dreadfully, New Orleans birthed the scum of the earth. It was more important to keep you protected than to keep long expanses of your company. He would never forgive himself if something he could have prevented happened to you.

Upon his arrival into the shop, he was rather annoyed with the short brutish man that held up the line. He shamelessly flirted with the owner of the shop, who very clearly did not care for his advances. Alastor wouldn’t stand for such behavior. It was better to deal with the issue then instead of allowing you to continue to exist in a world full of degenerates. He would do anything to keep you safe.

Once the man had finally left, he followed him until they reached a quiet alley. He pulled the knife from his coat pocket, ready to strike. He stabbed the man’s back and twisted the knife in as far as it would go. However, the man was a bit stronger than he anticipated. It was the first time anyone had bothered to fight back.

His most recent kill had gotten sloppy, and here he was covered in blood on your doorstep in consequence. He never wanted any of the evidence to be tied to you, so he had learned to keep his distance. On this particular occasion however, he didn’t have much of a choice. He had dismembered the body and left it tucked in an alleyway, to be disposed of later. The only evidence remaining was the blood staining his clothes. If someone saw him walking through town in his disorderly state, that would raise questions; questions that could indirectly put you into harms way. Although this wasn’t ideal, it was the only option. -Besides, he had accidentally missed your date, you were probably worried sick over him.

“Yes of course I’m sorry, please follow me” You stammer out grasping his hand and leading him to the bathroom. You weren’t entirely sure of the nature of his bedraggled state, but you were determined to fix it. You reach under the sink and dig out the first aid kit you kept on hand.

You reach for the bandages and a dampen a small cloth. You press it against his bloodied nose and place a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“Are you alright” You ask hesitantly. Your mind burned with questions, what had happened to bring him here in such a state?

“It’s nothing I can’t manage I’m sorry to drag you into this.” He replied, remorse seeping into his tone.

“No it’s alright I’m just glad you’re okay.” You responded as you began to bandage the scuffs on his hands. From his demeanor, you gathered he didn’t really want to talk about this, but you couldn’t help but ask.

“What happened Al?” You questioned. Your shoulders were slumped in his direction while you carefully washed the cuts on his face.

“It’s not important my dear.” He responded with a nonchalant smile.

"Telling my whole life with his words

Killing me softly with his song"

His indifferent attitude did anything but calm you.

“You can’t show up on my doorstep like this, and not expect me to be concerned for you. Please, just tell me what happened love” You begged.

“I had something to take care of. It’s not important” He dismissed you again as you unbuttoned the clasps of his shirt to tend to anything below the surface. Through his bloodied exterior, you couldn’t discern what stemmed from him or another person.

“Clearly-" you huffed. You examined the small contusions that littered his chest. “Please don’t run from me Al” Even though his injuries are less severe than you’d thought your lips contorted into a deep frown. “I’m worried about you.” Your e/c eyes bore into his smooth brown ones.

“I just.. got involved with the wrong person y/n, please save your worries for a worthy cause.” He murmured. He attempted to dissuade your worries with another smile, it only multiplied them.

“We should report this to the police Alastor I don’t care who you got involved with they don’t have a right to leave you like this” You urge, your fingers mindlessly trace the edges of each forming bruise.

“Y/n just drop it.” He finally snapped, his voice is intense and almost feral. His shoulders tense up almost as quickly as they release.

“Please”. He softens, pressing a tender kiss against your lips.

"He sang as if he knew me

In all my dark despair"

1930: New Orleans: Your apartment, six months later

Another pressing knock awakens you from your sleep. You didn’t even have it in you to be upset anymore. It had become habitual, he would show up on your doorstep a little before four in the morning speckled in bright red blood; just as he had done every few weeks for the last six months. It wasn’t worth asking for explanation anymore. He would ramble out the same tepid excuses and unconcerned reassurances.

You opened the door to his typical scarlet splatted clothing. The longer his little escapade expanded, the less injuries he sustained afterwards. It was a double edged sword. You were glad he never walked in branded in bruises or dripping his own blood, but it also made you apprehensive. How was he able to hurt another so easily with no more damage than the occasional scrape on his knuckles? Nothing about the entire affair made sense. You recall the vague details he had mentioned after the first incident. If he truly had been accidentally whisked into the company of the wrong individuals, why didn’t he just leave? He worked in radio, theoretically he could accomplish the same goal in a different location. There wasn’t anything to stop him. You had assured him you would drop everything and go with him if he only asked you to. New Orleans had no reason to hold onto you in his absence. You were a matching set.

With a small kiss between your drowsy eyes, he walked into your bedroom to shed his dirtied clothes. Upon his return, he flitted about your kitchen collecting the necessary materials to make you both a cup of tea. It was routine at this point. Accompanied by the smooth lull of the radio, you would drink your tea and chat. He was never at a loss for words, and you loved to listen. You didn’t really talk about anything meaningful, just whatever happened to cross his mind. You sit curled into his arms tea in hand. You couldn’t help but wonder why this was all happening. You wanted him to open up to you. It didn’t matter what the circumstances were. Maybe if he told you, you could find a way to help him out of this

“Al..why don’t we just leave here? I don’t like that you keep showing up like this. I promise I won’t be upset with whatever details it holds…I just want to know that you’re being safe.” You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, as you speak.

“My dear, we have been over this, it is nothing I can’t handle. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it” He smiles down at you and presses another kiss against your forehead. He admired your care, but he feared your judgement too harshly to admit the true details of his actions.

"And then he looked right through me

As if I wasn't there"

“This is the second time this week Alastor. I’ll support you through anything but I deserve to know the details”. You plead, lifting your head to better observe his features. He looked completely and entirely unbothered.

"And he just kept on singing

Singing clear and strong"

"y/n I'm telling you to drop it" His hand cups your cheek.

"No you don't get to tell me that anymore. I'm concerned for you Alastor.” Your voice gets louder as you pull away from his touch.

"I've told you before darling, you needn't worry" He tucks a stray loc of your hair behind your ear. "I promise I would never hide anything from you for longer than I needed to dear.I will always be truthful with you y/n” He pulls your body back into his lap as he speaks.

“ I just can’t tell you yet… It wouldn’t be right to involve you in this.” His voice is indistinct and distant, as his arms wrap around you into a tight hug.

“ I can’t risk you getting hurt, You are my perfection dear”

Your heart falls from your recollection as your body finally drops to the from the spinning pole. Alastor didn't end up keeping his promise of eventually veracity. How many other things did he simply “not tell you yet”.

"Strumming my pain with his fingers

Singing my life with his words"

You were convenient and gullible, you had loved him too much to even consider that he might have been hurting others and not a victim himself . You lived in the middle of the city, giving him a central location to act from. He hadn’t lied when he said you were perfect.

"Killing me softly with his song

Killing me softly with his song"

It was much deeper than you previously thought. You weren’t just someone he kept around for the occasional favor or entertainment. It was deeper than that. The bloodied clothes and unexplained absences finally made sense. He would’ve needed to harm a lot of people to hold such an astute amount of power upon his arrival in hell. You were the unknown tool that helped him reach that status.

"Telling my whole life with his words"

No wonder you ended up in hell. Any sinful actions you may have taken or blood on your hands was nothing in comparison to the amount he spilled with your help. You were nothing more than an accessory to his crimes. You had wasted your life on counterfeit kisses and meaningless utterances of love. You had wasted your afterlife believing they held some merit.

"Killing me softly with his song"

He didn’t come for you because he didn’t need anything from you. He never actually loved you enough to search for you beyond that.

The music crescendos into its final note. You take a slight bow as the crowd exploded into a sea of cheers.

“Thank you for being such a darling audience, I’ll be out to speak with you soon” you announce as you blow a kiss in their direction. Val would have to be mad later. You needed to get out of there

As soon you walked off stage, the lively armor of your theatrical persona was thrown aside, leaving nothing to guard your wounded heart. You stumble down the hall towards your dressing room ,a freshly opened bottle of wine in tow. You wanted nothing more than a moment of clear unfeeling peace. Valentino preferred you to mingle after a performance, but you needed to collect yourself and dampen your anger before you had to speak with your untamable fans. Alastor’s appearance had shaken you to your core in ways you weren’t prepared to confront. You didn’t have time to accurately process those emotions so you would settle for a second alone to compartmentalize. By the time you reach the dressing room’s door, the bottle in your hand is nearly empty. You turn the knob to reveal to a vase of crimson roses reflected in your mirror and the shadow of his antlers on your face.

“Why are you here.” You asked pointedly. Your voice held the typical icey air of a frigid hellish morning. You had no intention of letting him stay long enough to propose whatever twisted favor had brought him back to your door.

“It was you that contacted me dearest” He ignored the frostbite forming on his finger tips from your cold shoulder- His frankly untrue statement struck more than a few of your nerves.

“If I had, don’t you think I would have done it sooner?” You seethed with aggravation. Alastor hadn’t a clue as to why you were so cross with him. Perhaps guilt motivated your responses and he was simply caught in the overtly anguished crossfire. You had always been slightly oversensitive to your effect on him- maybe that was it?

“Now my dear you haven’t been in hell very long, you mustn’t blame yourself for needing a bit of extra time to understand your skillset. I was pleasantly surprised to hear your sweet voice interrupt my usual broadcast- Although, I must say I wasn’t aware you were so interested in continuing show business after death. Had you asked before finding your own way, I could have connected you with a classier establishment"

“A bit of extra time is the understatement of the hour” you huff under your breath.

“Most demons take weeks to learn control, you on the other hand managed to do so in a couple of days you really should be proud” He sent you a reassuring smile.

You laugh dryly, confusion overtakes his features and seeps into his smile.

“Oh sure you’re absolutely right! I should be proud it only took a day or so- give or take a few years” The sarcasm radiating from your response would have slit the throat of a lesser demon. This confused Alastor even further.

“y/n, how long have you been in hell.”Bewilderment etches across his lips, he had never considered the possibility you weren’t another new arrival before then.

“Ten years, eleven next week.” you admit. His eyes grow wide in remorse.

“Dear I am so very sorry I didn’t find you sooner. Between your anonymity and my little leave of absence, we must have just missed each other. I assure you had I known you were here I would have been chasing at your heels.” Despite his deeply genuine intentions, you perceived his words as nothing more than another manipulative tactic to persuade you into whatever twisted plan he had in store.

“Please- Al, you can cut the act already. To be entirely frank, I don’t need any more of your sweetly worded lies, I know who you’ve always really been now. I’m telling you it’s not going to work anymore- I’m not that stupid.” Your retort was accompanied by the roll of his eyes.

“You left me without a care in the world, and with a child for that matter. It stands to reason your sentiment wouldn’t change, even in hell. I don’t care for whatever old favor you’re trying to call in. I’m not helping you.” Even across the room, the edges of his raven tipped hair practically singed at the weight of your words. For the first time in his hellish existence, his everlasting smile dropped. He didn’t know he was a father. He had died before you had chance to tell him.

“ We had a child?” His voice is weak and raw, entirely devoid of its usual crackle. His eyes hold a deep sadness you had only ever seen in your own reflection. Your posture visibly softens at his sorrowful reaction. The realization hit you: He never got to meet his son. At least you were granted a moment with your baby swaddled in your arms. Alastor hadn't been so lucky.

“ Yes.. his name is Eugene. He turned 50 last year...He was such a beautiful baby. He had your brown eyes and curly hair. I swear I could almost hear you in his laughter.” The corners of your mouth begin to peak up in response to the remembrance. Despite the short time he had been a part of your life, Eugene was everything you lived for. You endured every sleazy comment and blood splattered old fashioned in the hopes you could see him again. You even went as far to marry the bar’s immoral owner. You suffered a lifetime of abuse and the plight of that man's own children on the half hearted promise you might have been able to regain custody in your newfound stability.

“Did he live a good life?” He was overtaken with dream-like sun spotted snapshots of you and his son. The hypothetical moments alleviated his guilt slightly. At least in his absence you weren’t entirely alone. Alastor's legs carried him to your side. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the melancholy from your face and offer you comfort. His hand gently outstretched to your shoulder. The silence that overtook the room was hinted in comfort instead of animosity.

“ Yes..he did" you finally respond.

Your mind wanders to the flower shop he owned downtown and its painted green exterior. The lavender cursive of the sign above it read "Eugene's Fanciful Flowers". He was a complete and total dork, just like his father. The older you got, the more you found yourself walking past it. He had sent you a bouquet of daffodils once. You kept them in the vase next to your bed long after they had begun to wilt and shrivel. You weren't sure how he knew of your existence or even where you lived. He was only 18 months old the last time you had held him in your arms. You weren't really his mother, just a circumstance of his birth. You never had the chance to watch him grow.

"I just never got to see it” You snap out of your memory inspired daze.

He never got to meet his son because he chose not to. Any remorse you felt was quickly scrapped from your system. You could have watched your son’s mind grow and learned the nuances of his little voice if Alastor had just stayed. That’s all he had to do. You didn’t care if your eventual marriage with him would have crumbled in the process. For all you cared, he could continue his distant nature and whatever wicked deeds he pleased, just as long as he stayed…He made his choice to walk that crestfallen path alone, separating you from him and your son in the process. You shrugged off his soothing hand and turned away, effectively burning a fire flecked wall between the two of you.

“I had to give him up. The radio show shut down in your absence. I couldn’t support the both of us with what little I made at the bar.” Bitterness seeps into your previously softened voice. You weren’t going to allow yourself to be manipulated by his falsified concern. The mirage of imagined moments you had collected of your son over the years flashed through your mind all at once. You were devastated by the memories you didn’t get the chance to make.

“Y/n.. I am so sorry.” He is nearly frozen in place, shocked by the sudden shift in your demeanor. If you weren’t so angry, the pathetic broken string of words would have shattered your desolate heart.

“ You can stop pretend to care Alastor. You had no issue leaving us then- What do you really want from me? Just get it over with so I can go back to forgetting you exist.” The short horns peaking out from your hair nearly doubled in size. You were growing frustrated with his half assed excuses and blatant lies. In that moment, you didn’t care if he disappeared entirely. The deserted lovesick island you had so often found yourself stuck on burned to the ground in the back of your mind.

“Why would I, an overlord, want something from a weaker demon such as yourself. I don’t know who placed that foolish notion into your head, but I assure you, I don’t want anything from you” Anguish accented the pungent inflection of each word. Alastor was growing tired with your antics he didn’t want anything from you other than your forgiveness. He had apologized for the first time in decades, and meant it. Why couldn’t you just accept that? Your resentful resolve exasperated him to no end.

“ I just wanted to see you again, I thought you might like the same, evidently I was wrong.” His typical smile pressed into an uncharacteristic sharp line.

“Will you please just stop?” Your voice raised far more than a few decibels. He couldn’t take the hint, and you were not sober enough to keep reiterating it.

“Darling it has been agony sitting around waiting for you here, only to find out you’re cavorting around with Valentino. Leaving you wasn’t my fault, you can’t blame me for something I didn’t wish to do. As much as I wish to I can’t control my circumstances. I’ve already apologized I don’t know what else you want me to do." He would gladly do anything you asked to mend the bridges you had set ablaze in your unreasonable fury. He hadn’t meant to die, it just sort of happened. Were you really blame him for his untimely demise?

“Didn’t wish to do? How stupid do you think I am?” You scoffed.

“The only thing I want you to do is leave.” Your voice wavered but the sentiment was strong. He could almost see the fighting spirit that traced your form. Alastor couldn’t help but laugh. He had done nothing but answer your call, and you had the audacity to reject his answer. If you wanted to fight, he would fight with you. If nothing else, it kept you talking to him.

“Naturally, because you are just so much happier leashed to Valentino and spinning around that pole” He taunted, his scornful sneer seeping into his cadence.

"Believe me I'd rather be anywhere else-" You snapped. He had added fuel to the fire and the weight of its introduction flooded you with spite.

“Don’t pretend that you’re any different from him Alastor. You are two sides of the same coin- except unlike you, Valentino actually owns my soul. I have to put up with this shit from him. I’m under no obligation to take it from you. I am not a toy for you to pick up and put down whenever you need something to play with- I’m not some tool for you to use whenever decide you need a favor.”

You didn’t really believe the words coming from you, you just wanted to hurt him the way he hurt you. Evidently it worked a little better than you anticipated. His eyes contorted into the shape of radio dials, the static erupting from his core in tandem. His height over you nearly tripled, as the horns on his head wept out jet black roots that stretched into the ceiling. His voice distorts into a vicious growl.

“You don’t get to stand here and pretend that I am entirely to blame. It isn’t my fault your life went so poorly. Let’s think reasonably for a moment, provided you haven’t completely lost it. You could have made any number of different choices, but you went with the easiest option, just as you always have. As for your current situation, you did the same. Although I regret not finding you sooner, you clearly had the ability to reach out if you truly needed something. You don’t get to blame me because you finally started to regret your careless mistakes. You have no right to be angry with me for your own choices. Look at how pathetic you’ve become y/n.” He grasps your chin, tilting it to meet your eyes in the mirror.

“I don’t know how I ever managed to love someone stupid enough to waste their soul on nothing more cheap liquor and lust rolled cigarettes.”

The radio static that had permeated the room just seconds before fizzled out leaving you alone in the silent pit. His antlers returned to their normal size as he observed the void that replaced your sparkling eyes. As soon as he saw the tears welling up within you, he realized what he had said.

In actuality, he didn’t mean a word of it. In his time in hell, he had grown too accustomed to uncovering the insecurity of his opponents. In that moment, he had forgotten you really weren’t one.

He didn’t truly blame you for anything that had happened. How could he? He knew he was mostly at fault for the more unfortunate aspects of your life. His heart incessantly throbbed with guilt just thinking of what you must have gone through. He hadn’t known what he left you with in such an unforgiving world. If he had, he would have found some way to pluck the bullet from his skull and return home to you.

As for the quality of your after-life, he knew the blame belonged entirely to Valentino. You had always been strong, but you had never been cruel. To survive in this hellish landscape, you had to be on some level. You probably would have ended up just another lifeless body bloodying up the street if you hadn’t taken the offer. Valentino had taken advantage of that, and Alastor hadn't been there to help you find another solution. Even if you didn’t want his help, he would never forgive himself if he didn’t find a way to break the deal you had made.

“Get out.” You didn’t have enough strength for anything more than a whisper.

His eyes bore into yours as a single tear slipped down your face. He hadn’t noticed the deep scratches that decorated your cheeks or the dark purple bruises that formed under your contour until that moment. They had been hastily covered in concealer and he hadn’t been close enough to notice the jagged indentations until then. The ears perched atop his head began to twitch as his mind sparked with an entirely different form of rage...As soon as he figured out what twisted soul had dared to lay a hand on you, all of hell would hear their screams.

His grasp on your chin softens as he traced the edge of each scratch with his free hand.

“Who did this to you”

“Get out.” You tear your face from his hold.

“No I’m not leaving you here” he stated, the desperation of his tone rimmed the edges his lanky frame. He took a step towards you and you took a step away.

“Get the fuck out Alastor. Now.” Your eyes began to glow a familiar pink.

“Y/n, I didn’t mean t-“

“Just go” you cut him off before he has the chance to put a word in edgewise. You had been through enough. You didn’t need his excuses to confuse you more. Your eyes squeeze shut as the objects in the room began to float. All you wanted was for him to go away.

“I won’t leave you again” He stood his ground.

“Leave me alone” You were practically screaming at this point. If he couldn’t listen to your request, you would just have to be louder to make him listen. Your voice reverberates throughout the room, effectively shattering both the light bulbs surrounding your mirror and the mirror itself. The residual glass scattered through the space and into your hair.

To your surprise, he doesn't respond. The remaining floating objects fall to the ground in a piercing clatter. Your eyes shoot open at the sudden noise.

Other than the abundant mess, there was no trace he had ever been there to begin with. Even the roses he had brought for you had dissipated. You stood alone in the glass covered room, thankful he had taken his leave. The swirling overload of emotion made you feel ill. You replayed the conversation a few times in your head, each replay inspired a deeper feeling of regret and a plethora of questions you no longer had the opportunity to ask.

A/N:

Hey yall thank you sm for the support I adore each and every one of you!!

Also a note about the content revolving around abusive relationships: This is going to be a bit long winded but I feel it's important to be said. The content in this chapter as well as chapter 2 features some pretty awful depictions of abuse. I want to check in and make sure that this isn't coming off as an overly done cliche or a cheap plot device to further the story. In no way is that my intention. I know that I am a very small writing page but it's important to me that I dont accidentally wind down the same path a lot of larger entertainment companies follow. I've drawn from the experiences of my friends who have gone through similar things as well as my own to try and prevent that. However I am also aware my writing style is a bit..dramatic? If you find that it is coming across negatively, and if you feel comfortable, don't hesitate to message me normally or anonymously. I will gladly listen to anything you have to say!!

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #valentino being a nasty fucker #Alastor really just can't communicate well and you are lowkey stupid #like ok ms girl jump to conclusions #tbh if i was her id give him a lap dance and forget everything #why am i like this #valentino #...can die #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #you best believe the shitty song fic titles are coming back next chapter #omg theyre back!#i was high off my ass writingn this so no guarantee its good.

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thetomorrowshow · 1 year

Text

Joel thinks it’s stupid, really.

Once they figure it out.

Soulmates, Grian messages them all. I think it’s soulmates.

Which makes sense, with the random pains shooting through his legs that he feels on occasion. He’s sharing a life with someone—or, three lives—and they feel each others’ pain.

Which is dumb. Because Joel doesn’t need or want a soulmate, and he doesn’t care much for the idea of having to share his life with someone and make sure they’re safe. He’s not here to be babysitting another player.

That’s what he would be doing, he’s sure. Babysitting someone. Not that everyone would be, of course—there are some players that he knows instantly will be paired up, because if such a thing as real soulmates exist, they would be them. Grian and Scar. Scott and Jimmy. Bdubs and Etho.

No one for him.

No one for Joel because he’s always been a loner. For as long as he can remember he’s been on his own in these games—in the first one he had his cottage on the hill (so long ago that he can barely remember what it looked like, he can only remember it burning and the flames licking up at him and melting his skin and the smell of his hair and he has to put it out—), and in the games since, he’s been alone. Alliances that last little more than a week, here and there, and somehow he always ends up at Grian’s side at the end of things, but he’s never actually teamed up with anyone else.

He doesn’t want a soulmate. He doesn’t want another player going through his things, walking through his space, just being near him when he’s angry and needs time alone to cool off.

But there’s a morbid curiosity, he supposes. Because he can’t help but wonder who on earth the universe would think to pair him with.

So every person he sees, he socks in the arm (and if he hits a little harder than is considered friendly, he can blame it on adrenaline).

He actually witnesses a soulmate pair find each other before he finds his own.

And, strangely, it’s Bdubs and Impulse.

For a moment, he thinks that can’t be right—he can envision Bdubs with Etho, or Cleo, but not Impulse. And while Impulse is easygoing enough, Bdubs is a wildcard. Impulse’s sense of order is going to be completely upturned by Bdubs and his harebrained ideals.

Maybe. It’s not like Joel actually knows either of them very well.

And then they’re all mining together, and Etho trips.

And Joel feels his knees sting.

Joel doesn’t want to settle down anywhere, at all ever, but after a bunch of fooling around with Grian and Scar (soulmates, just as he’d predicted, of course), he starts. . . .

Not laying down roots. He really ought to get something started, just like everyone else, but that’s just it: everyone else has something started. Everyone else has planted crops and fenced in some animals and set out to get building blocks.

Prime opportunity for raiding some new farms, and to his surprise, Etho absolutely agrees.

For a moment, Joel can forget that they’re linked—he’s just hanging out with a group of friends, laughing at Jimmy, stealing a bit of wheat when nobody’s looking, the norm. Then Etho takes an absurd amount of damage—Joel definitely doesn’t fall back against the crafting table they’ve set up for making armor, definitely doesn’t gasp and clutch at his chest, like he can stop his heart from leaping out of it—and he’s rather rudely reminded that his life isn’t solely his own.

Oh, he hates this already.

Etho calls an apology, but Joel can’t see him through the woods—if they die here and it’s Etho’s fault, he’s never going to forgive him, soulbond or no—so he heads forward, only to find Etho panting beside an enderman in a boat.

“Tricky getting him to walk into it,” Etho says offhandedly, and this could be ender pearls for them if they play their cards right.

Ender pearls are perfect for quick escapes, and if they decide to go with Scar’s absolutely insane plan of trying to take over that outpost, he and Etho are going to need an escape.

He swings with his axe at the angry creature. Easy. Easy pearls, the thing stuck in the boat like a sitting duck.

And then he swings again.

And he hits the boat.

Within seconds, he’s dead.

It’s dark at spawn, and Joel can barely keep from crying in frustration. The enderman had been in the blummin’ boat! All he had to do was hit it a couple of times and they were set!

“I’m so sorry, Etho,” he says, and he hates it. He hates that he has to say that.

He’d been worried about having to babysit another player, keep his lives safe in their hands, but here he is, having stolen a person’s life from them.

He lost Etho their first life, smart Etho who would never mess up killing an enderman in a boat, and now he has to own up to it and live with it.

“I know I messed up first,” Etho says, his eyes crinkling a bit in a way that, combined with the flat tone of his voice, tells Joel he’s definitely frowning. “But I think you messed up way worse there.”

Joel’s familiar with anger—very familiar—but it feels foreign coming from Etho. He ducks his head, runs back through the darkness to wherever it was that they’d died. Something akin to shame is curdling in his stomach, and it’s his fault that they died and Etho’s being weird about it and not yelling, meaning he’s the type to go all cold and calm with anger.

They gather their things from Impulse and Bdubs, then mess around a bit with boats—and maybe he’s just hiding it really well, but Etho doesn’t seem angry, it’s the strangest thing and Joel almost dreads the moment they’re alone together—before joining Grian and Scar on that horribly stupid plan to take over the outpost. It fails, of course, but no one gets seriously hurt and they get to lure a bunch of Pillagers into Bdubs’s stupid little house that he’s building for Impulse.

They hop around for probably a week, never alone, just watching everyone else start on their bases, before they finally set down a couple of chests and furnaces and get to work.

And Etho . . . isn’t mad.

In fact, as Joel starts laying out the foundation for his—their base, Etho comes up beside him, silently surveying, hands in his pockets.

“I don’t blame you for us being Yellow, by the way,” he says casually, and Joel almost chokes on his own spit.

“Sorry, what?”

Etho shrugs. “It was going to happen to one of us at some point,” he says. “And in my eyes? Better you than me, ‘cuz now I get to tease you for it.”

Is that. . . .

Was that a joke?

Etho leaves, and Joel’s left alone with his thoughts and a bunch of wood planks.

He’d thought Etho was boring. He’s always been the quiet, redstone-y kind of guy that Joel can’t stand—not that there’s anything wrong with that! Joel just needs somebody fast-moving, on his level, ready to burn down a building without questions or hesitation.

It’s just one joke. Anyone can make a joke, that doesn’t mean anything about their personality or character. For instance, Joel makes jokes all the time, and he’s a total jerk.

Etho can’t be likable. Sure, he was fine to wander around with for the past couple of days, causing general chaos, but he’s a bore and likes redstone. He won’t be able to keep up with Joel.

But Etho hovers there while he works, occasionally giving little suggestions to the build, and after he wanders off for the afternoon, he comes back with his eyes crinkled over his mask and bragging about some wool farm he’d built.

He doesn’t need help to build this ship. He doesn’t need to depend on anyone to get wool. He especially doesn’t need to depend on Etho, all dry looks and gloating and frowns.

Joel works alone. He always has.

But his indifference to Etho isn’t making him leave, so Joel decides to do what he does best.

Be annoying.

“I’m his biggest fan,” Joel boasts to anyone who’ll listen. “You guys know I looove redstone. Just like Etho. He’s perfect.”

Grian gives Scar a look. Scar doesn’t notice.

“We’re very happy—we have a lovely ‘Relation’ship, you know. I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re the best pair on the server, actually.”

Scott gives Cleo a look. Cleo does notice.

“Etho’s probably the best at everything in the world. He’s so good at . . . redstone. And . . . all the stuff you do with it. That’s why we’re practically made for each other.”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, you sound kind of. . . .” Jimmy trails off, glancing over at Tango for support.

“Like you’re compensating for something? Unhappy? Inadequate?” Tango suggests helpfully.

“A-absolutely untrue!” Joel sputters, then clears his throat and turns away, nose high. “I’m going to get back to working on me and Etho’s perfect ‘Relation’ship, thank you very much.”

“You’re short!” Jimmy calls as parting words. Joel ignores him.

In total opposition to what he’s been spending the past couple of days declaring, once he finishes the bedroom space of the ship, he places his bed and Etho’s bed on opposite sides of the room.

“You stay over there, and I stay over here, all right?” Joel says that night, pointing to their respective beds. “I’m not a cuddler. I don’t like people in my space.”

“But Joel, I thought you were my biggest fan!” Etho wheedles. There’s a glint in those crinkled eyes that tells Joel he’s heard the stuff Joel’s been saying.

Which is frustrating, and immediately takes all the fun out of it. He’d wanted Etho to be mad about his obnoxiousness, to refuse to speak to him, to mock him in return until their partnership inevitably dissolved.

But Etho—his eyes are crinkling, the way they did back when they first died and when he finished the wool farm and then later, when Joel showed him around the ship’s process and he silently nodded before walking off.

“It’s okay, Joel, I know you love me even if you need space,” Etho tells him now, mirth clear in his voice, and Joel realizes that maybe that look isn’t one of anger or disapproval, as he’d first thought. Maybe Etho is . . . smiling.

That’s not good.

It’s not good at all, because if Etho likes him, then Joel. . . .

Joel has to at least try to like him back, doesn’t he? It’s not like he’s the worst guy to be around, after all. He was actually a lot of fun in that first week, running around and stealing and bothering people together.

Maybe he was wrong.

As it turns out, when Joel decides he can like Etho, Etho becomes a whole lot more likable.

Etho’s brave—he goes out and enchants his stuff, and Impulse tells the story of them being chased by no less than three Wardens and Etho somehow surviving (Joel’s heart skips a beat in his chest at the most tense moments of the story, and Etho casually slugs his shoulder when he looks up to check his soulmate’s okay). He’s strong—not everyone can just run around the Deep Dark all day in full armor and live to tell the tale.

And he totally gets Joel’s sense of humor. He snorts at Joel’s contrived puns, mocks Martyn’s house relentlessly, finds Jimmy’s failures just as hilarious as they actually are.

Joel can’t remember, in recent memory, ever having someone like this. Someone he actually enjoys the company of, someone whom he appreciates and who appreciates him in turn. Someone to talk to, to listen to—and while Etho is a bit quiet, it’s not because he’s boring and isn’t thinking about anything. Joel thinks he just forgets to speak sometimes, and will gladly talk about anything if Joel asks him to.

Sure, he’s had friends. He’s always gotten along with Grian and Jimmy and, really, everyone on the server, when pressed. But none of them are Etho, exactly.

Which is bad. It’s bad because Joel is getting attached, he’s getting complacent, he’s getting happy—

That’s dangerous. This is a death game.

And maybe all that emotional-friend-love stuff works for the likes of Scott, but that’s just not Joel’s modus operandi. He can’t—he can’t be like that. He can’t get close.

“Redstoners and builders don’t work out together, you know,” he says to Etho early one morning. They’d both risen before the sun, for some reason (anxiety, perhaps, as more players become Yellow and fire proves to be a very useful tool) and had decided, without discussion, to sit in the crow’s nest, legs swinging in the air.

Etho hums quietly in that way that means he’s listening, the way he always does when Joel comes over to bother him. Patient, mellow, waiting to see where he’s going with it.

“Seriously, it never works,” Joel continues. “Their brains are too different. You’d think they’d work well, ‘cuz they cover different bases and all that, but it’s the opposite. They just butt heads all the time. It never works.”

“What about Bdubs and Impulse?”

Joel shrugs. “I mean, they both know a good amount of both, right? That’s different.”

There’s a smile to Etho’s voice when he speaks. “Tango and Jimmy?”

“Only if you’re calling Jimmy a builder,” Joel snorts. “In which case, you’re dead wrong.”

Etho makes a show of thinking—he props his chin up on his hand, taps his finger against his cheek. “Hm. You must be right. I can’t think of any other redstone-builder pairs.”

For some reason, something painful sinks through Joel’s stomach. He swallows it back, lets triumph color his tone. “Exactly. They’re too different.”

Etho drops his hand, lightly elbows Joel in the ribs. “Except for you and me, of course. We’re the exception.”

Joel’s mouth goes dry. He clears his throat. The pain vanishes, healed over with hope, surprise, a desperate need for attention filled—and he can’t even make himself disagree and argue, like he’d intended. Instead, all he can do is repeat it.

“We’re the exception.”

As he goes about his day, he barely even processes his actions—Etho thinks they work well together. Etho thinks they’re a match. Etho likes him, and his company, and his building skills, and his humor, and his bluntness, and everything about him.

And Joel’s really starting to think that he likes everything about Etho as well, as hard as he’d tried not to at the beginning.

They go down to the Deep Dark together the next day, and Joel’s trying very hard to ignore whatever his feelings may be on Etho. They can just—they can just be friends, right?

Friends who install proper stairs, of course. The way down takes forever.

“Creeper, behind you!”

Joel spins around, axe up, ready to defend—nothing. Etho huffs a little (again something now familiar that Joel had once taken to be a sign of disapproval), eyes crinkled almost all the way shut when Joel whips back around to him.

“Just kidding.”

“Oh, you cheeky devil—we need to trust each other,” Joel says, no real anger behind the way he shoves Etho lightly.

His palms seem to burn at the contact.

“I just need to make sure you’ll pay attention to me,” Etho says, and Joel has to wonder for a moment if he’ll ever have the problem of not paying attention to Etho again.

He doesn’t think he’s properly ignored his soulmate once all game, and in recent days, he can’t seem to pay attention to anything but Etho. He feels like he’s constantly thinking of him, wondering whether or not he’ll like the touches on the ship, wondering if he’s safe and who he’s with and if he’ll come home all right.

He hopes, a little enviously, perhaps, that Etho has similar worries.

“I am paying attention,” Joel says, and it’s perhaps the most honest thing he’s ever said, in all the games. “I always pay attention.”

When Etho responds, the mirth feels forced, and for a moment Joel feels almost as if he’s seeing Etho without his mask on. “You won’t ignore me in our ‘Relation’ship?”

“No, no, no. I never do.”

It’s true.

It’s so true, it hurts.

Joel—he doesn’t trust people. He can’t. And he’s sick of having to tell himself it again and again, but this just isn’t meant for him.

And then he forgets about it all, because they go into the Deep Dark and it’s bloody terrifying.

(Well, mostly forgets. Because he does walk behind Etho most of the way through the city and Etho—well. It’s a good angle for him, is all.)

That night, Joel lies in his bed on his side of the ship, and stares at the other side of the room. Etho’s sleeping—he hopes, at least—curled up on his side, a blanket pulled up over his head despite the summer heat.

Etho’s always cold, it’s practically his trademark. He’s always got that coat of his on, and gloves, and a mask.

He doesn’t wear the mask to sleep—Joel’s caught glimpses of his face while getting into bed, but he always looks away quickly—, but Joel has no clue if he wears the rest of his ensemble. Just the covers alone ought to be sweltering. Imagine a coat on top of all of that.

If they shared a bed, Etho would have to do away with that extra blanket. Joel could maybe tolerate a bedsheet, that’s it.

If they shared a—where did that thought come from?

But . . . well, Etho’s asleep. And thought isn’t a crime.

So Joel lies there, staring across the room at his soulmate, and wonders. Wonders about what it feels like to hold Etho in his arms, whether his elbows and knees are as bony as they look. Wonders if his hair is quite long enough to grasp between his fingers. Wonders if he’d still be all smooth words after Joel pulled down his mask, grabbed his jaw, and kissed him on the mouth.

Joel falls asleep a little red in the face, and the next morning when Etho does that silent crinkly-eyed laugh, he can’t help but stare and turn red all over again.

He pushes it out of his mind, and it’s through a feverish haze that he even gets through the week, even as they sneak around looking for sugarcane and messing with Scar and running from a Warden on the surface, of all places. He’s really quite occupied, but none of it quite computes when Etho’s right there, being devilishly handsome with that quirked eyebrow and white hair ruffled by the wind.

And the night after they’ve run from the Warden, Joel comes in a bit later than Etho—he’d been out gathering wheat a bit longer—to find that his soulmate has pushed their beds together.

His brain short-circuits as he blinks at the sight: Etho, one hand on the back of his neck sheepishly; the other still holding the blanket he’d been throwing across both beds.

“Is this all right?” Etho asks. Joel turns his blinking gaze toward him. “I just. I wouldn’t mind a bit of cuddling.”

There’s something in the way his eyebrows raise that tells Joel Etho knows exactly what he’s saying, exactly how Joel feels. The part of him that realizes that, that knows that Etho knows, wants to clap and holler and kiss that sexy man.

The rest of Joel, the main part of him, is trained to survive.

“Sure, whatever,” Joel shrugs, trying to affect an air of nonchalance. Etho can’t know. Etho can never know—and not that Etho can’t know just because he has a crush and it’s awkward, but because liking Etho is a weakness and Joel doesn’t have weaknesses, thank you very much.

And if Etho’s shoulders slump a bit at the response, Joel pretends he doesn’t notice.

And then the problem is, Etho doesn’t stop.

Joel makes it clear that he wants his space in bed, and Etho doesn’t encroach on that. But he does steal bites of Joel’s food, and sling an arm around his shoulder when they’re visiting the others, and boop his nose playfully when Joel starts to get angry at Grian for hoarding the sugarcane, and slowly look him up and down with a wink whenever he gets up for breakfast—

It’s maddening. It’s maddening, and every single night Joel lies there stiff as a board, inches away from Etho, trying to not let his thoughts wander to where they have so many times before.

He’s right there.

Every time Joel gets away on his own, he lets out a short, frustrated scream. And then he jumps off a hill that’s maybe a bit too high, if only to try and get Etho back for his teasing.

The fishing rods are possibly the stupidest thing they’ve ever done.

Not surprising, seeing as Grian’s at the head of this whole thing.

But Joel’s never been one for playing things safe, so he stabs the hook through the back of his shirt (he tugs on the line a few times, just to make sure it’s secure), then waits for Grian’s signal.

The first time is thrilling. The first time he flies up into the air, lands hard and laughs from the sheer adrenaline. Then he hooks Pearl, and Pearl hooks Etho, and they go up—

And Joel knows he’s in trouble for a split second before he’s dead on the ground.

He wakes up gasping, and there’s fire in his veins, there’s fire spreading all across his body and he wants—he needs to kill Pearl, needs her blood—

He rolls out of bed, scrambling for his chest and spare stuff, and then he hears someone else roll out of bed with a groan.

Joel turns, and Etho’s there, hungry fire in his eyes, and Joel needs him.

He practically tackles Etho, yanking down his mask—his lips are pink and soft and hot against Joel’s mouth, molten and perfect and everything he needs to stoke the burning inside—

Etho pushes him off (gently, somehow), and holds up a hand. Joel, somehow, manages to hold himself back. Etho’s—Etho’s right there—

Etho takes in a deep breath, and when he looks up, his eyes are crinkled in that perfect way and he’s smiling.

“Took you long enough,” he teases, and Joel lunges for him again.

Their next kiss is slower than that.

After they kill Pearl, and the pounding bloodlust in his head has quelled a bit, Joel leads the way back to the ship. He leans against the railing—and Etho leans next to him—and they kiss.

It’s lazy, Joel thinks he would say. But not lazy in the way he might be with a build—skipping details and panning over mistakes—, lazy in a comfortable, staying-in-bed-late kind of way.

He kisses Etho, lazy and lovely, warm in the evening sun. And he really, really doesn’t care if anyone’s watching.

Let them watch, he thinks, with an almost vicious pleasure. Etho’s mine.

That makes something deep in his chest silently purr, almost, and when he pulls away to breathe, he clears his throat in a contented kind of way (not a growl, not a purr, but the closest he can get without outright embarrassing himself). Etho perks up at the sound.

“I forgot to tell you, I figured out what that sound you make reminds me of,” he says, and even the excited way he speaks sounds lazy and perfect.

Joel clears his throat again—and yeah, he does do it a lot, come to think of it. “Yeah? What’s that?”

Etho sighs a little bit, tips his head onto Joel’s shoulder. “A tiger. Have you ever heard a tiger chuff?”

Joel laughs at that—his soulmate thinks he sounds like a tiger chuffing, and it’s the most stupidly adorable thing ever.

“Why are you laughing?” Etho asks playfully, nudging Joel. Joel doesn’t answer, just chuckles and clears his throat—or, chuffs like a tiger—and plants a kiss on Etho’s head.

“We could go threaten Scar,” Joel offers after a moment. His blood is starting to boil again, and he knows from lonely experience that only violence can scratch the itch.

Well. Probably only violence. He does notice that it’s a decent bit quieter when he’s aggressively kissing Etho.

Etho stands up straight—taller than Joel when he does that, which is blummin’ obnoxious of him—and slowly, gently, lazily kisses Joel. It’s warm and measured, his tongue teasing at Joel’s slightly parted lips, and it seems to Joel that he only pulls away when he’s memorized the feel of Joel’s lips.

“That sounds like a good date,” he murmurs.

Joel grins, and Etho grins back, his eyes all crinkled, and Joel takes off at a run to swing himself over the opposite railing and climb down the ladder.

Etho catches up moments later, mask fixed back on his face, and Joel pulls out his spyglass to check out where the residents of that giant cake-thing are.

They’re right beside it, as it turns out.

“Scar’s holding a flint n’ steel,” Joel warns, shoving his spyglass in his pocket. “He already took down the Ranch, we might want to be careful of that.”

Etho only scoffs. “If the ship burns, everything burns.”

Unsurprisingly, Joel finds he agrees with that—not that he can ever imagine disagreeing with Etho. He nods.

“If the ship burns, everything burns.”

And after everything burns, they burn too.

They’re dying, Joel had come through the portal to find lava and pain, and he screams for Etho to turn back but even if he had they’d still be dead—

He doesn’t even have the chance to glance back at his lover before he burns.

He drifts for a little while, the bitter disappointment of his loss somehow distant when compared to the loss of Etho. The next game will start eventually, and when it does, there’s no way of knowing that Etho will even be there. After all, it’s picked up new players and dropped others as time passed. Joel can’t even remember the original line-up, it’s shifted so much and so many times.

When he lands in the next game, he doesn’t even check his comm before punching apart a tree.

The gimmick isn’t soulmates again, he knows instantly. He’d grown so accustomed to the pull in his chest of Etho that it aches now to not feel him.

(Or maybe that’s just his heart. Same difference, really.)

So Joel tries to put Etho out of his mind and move on with his life. They were never meant to last, anyway. That’s the thing about redstoners and builders—they never work out.

He knew that. He knew they never work out, and he tried to do something with Etho, anyway.

It had been fun while it lasted, of course. It had been . . . perfect, even.

But Joel’s always been a loner, and now that he’s got that Green-life clarity, he can go back to it.

He takes down another tree and has a crafting table and some basic tools put together when someone clears their throat behind him.

Joel jumps, spins around—

Etho’s there, leaning lazily against a tree, and—his eyes are crinkled in that way—

“Miss me?” he teases, and Joel barely has time to drop his wooden pick before he’s storming over, pushing Etho against the tree, tearing his mask down—

The kiss is hard and messy, teeth clicking together and lips sliding apart, and when Joel pulls away to gasp in some air, Etho’s cheeks are flushed and lips bruised and he’s still got that blummin’ smile.

“Right,” Joel breathes.

“Wanna build us a house while I go mining?” Etho offers, and forget whatever loser thoughts Joel had been moping about with! He’s got Etho, there’s no need to be on his own anymore.

Maybe they can even win it, this time. After all, they’re together from the start here. No more acting like an idiot about wanting to be alone or whatever.

Joel watches Etho head off into a cave, stone pick hefted over his shoulder, and can’t help the way his heart skips a beat.

Etho’s his, and when everything burns, they burn together.

#double life smp #traffic smp #trafficblr #smalletho #THE SMALLETHO IS ROMANTIC!!#BEFORE YOU CONTINUE READING THEY MAKE OUT A LOT!#double life fanfic #mas writes #061323 #this will be uploaded to ao3 under the title 'when everything burns'#idk why but after a dlsmp rewatch i had a bad smalletho itch #dlsmp #again this was queued in december #so while i very much appreciate comments and will love you forever #i won't see em immediately #and also i'm not back yet from my break #but lmk what you think!#love you guys

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metalnecklace · 1 year

Text

Forgive My Northern Attitude

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Words: 6298

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Blood and Gore, Minor Character Death, Smut, Unprotected Sex (p in v, wrap it up folks), Oral (f receiving)

Notes: Here’s a little something I wrote today to take a break from my Javi fic! I have a part two already planned but won’t get to it for a little while (who knows, though. This just happened on a whim). Title is inspired by Northern Attitude by Noah Kahan, he is also who inspired my other fic title. I was just listening to the song and this entire fic mapped itself out in my head.

Summary: Joel is a man of few words, with only so much room in his heart.

Masterlist

Part II

2003

Six thirty. It was six thirty and he was late.

I was exhausted, the sun was too much for me that day, and Joel was supposed to pick up his truck half an hour ago.

When I was about to reach for the phone to give him a call I heard the telltale rumble of Tommy’s truck. I rolled my eyes and walked out to the parking lot, waving my hand in front of my face to clear the dust his tires kicked up as Tommy rolled down the window of his truck.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he drawled as Joel got out of the passenger side. “How are you this fine evening?”

“I’d be much better if you assholes weren’t late!” I scolded, but the smile on my face betrayed my annoyance.

Joel sauntered over and clapped me on the shoulder. “Sorry, (Y/N). The job didn’t go as planned today, is all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I continued to fake my frustration with the older man in front of me. “Just don’t let it happen again. You know I got a longer drive home than you.”

Joel laughed, and Tommy piped up, “that’s your own fault for wanting to live, how did you put it? ‘Among nature’?”

“Oh, screw off, Tommy!” I called out. “Beats living anywhere near your ass!”

I ignored anymore comments from Tommy and held Joel’s keys up for him to take. “How’s it runnin’ now?”

I shrugged. “Pretty smooth. I changed out the right front calipers and rebalanced the tires. Should feel good as new. If only it smelled like it.”

He smiled at me, my heart stuttering. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” I smiled back.

Tommy got out of his truck, fed up with us ignoring him. “How’s Freddy doing?”

My older brother, Freddy, was how I met Joel and Tommy. They had worked together for years after him and Tommy fought together. The three of them were quite close, and when Tommy’s truck broke down one day Freddy suggested they take it to me, a new up and coming mechanic in the town. I had just started my own business and although most men were too ashamed to bring their vehicles in for a woman to fix them, Joel and Tommy didn’t give a shit. It didn’t hurt that Joel was easy on the eyes, too.

The four of us had continued to grow closer through barbecues, broken down trucks, baked goods, and especially when Freddy was diagnosed with lung cancer a year ago. I had moved him in with me so he was surrounded by fresh air and nature, and we took turns taking care of him when he needed it. Trips to the hospital, company on rainy days, walks when he felt up to it. Joel and Tommy were just as patient with him and his recovery as I was, if not more.

“Not too bad. He’s quite tired these days with the chemo, but he stays pretty hopeful!” I took a clean rag out of my back pocket and used it to wipe the sweat from the back of my neck. “I was actually wondering if you guys would like to come over for a barbecue this weekend. Freddy would love to see you.”

“That’d be great! We can do a belated birthday celebration!” Tommy exclaimed, clapping Joel on the back which caused him to roll his eyes.

I laughed at Joel’s exasperation. “That’s right. Any plans for the big day tomorrow?”

Joel shook his head, shooting his brother a glare. “Nah, I gotta work. Sarah wants to do something but you know how it is.”

“Sure do,” I said. “Well, we’ll have to celebrate more this weekend, then.”

We said our goodbyes and the boys left me to close up the shop. The thirty minute drive home was peaceful, my broken radio leaving me in a nice silence until I pulled into my driveway. My house was modest, a bungalow which was perfect for Freddy’s energy levels, but I had moved mostly for the scenery. There was something about being surrounded by trees that made me feel at peace.

Freddy was washing up a few dishes when I walked in. The house smelled strongly of fresh bread and my mouth watered immediately upon entry. Because of long hours of rest, Freddy had started baking to pass the time. He found it was low enough energy, plus he got a treat out of it when his appetite allowed.

“Wow, that smells amazing,” I sighed, following the smell to the oven.

“Don’t you dare touch a thing!” He turned, catching me before I could open the oven. “They’re still rising and I do not want you messing them up. If you’re lucky I’ll make you a sandwich for work in the morning.”

I rolled my eyes, a smile on my lips. “Thanks, Freddy. How’re you feeling?”

He turned back the sink and let the water drain out before shrugging. “Same old. Okay, not great.”

Freddy was four years older than me, and four years younger than Joel. Him and Tommy were the middle tether in our group, and they were the heart too. Even when Freddy wasn’t feeling his best he tried his hardest not to show it. I knew him well enough, though.

“Why don’t we put on a movie? I’ll go shower while you pick,” I offered, hoping he didn’t realize I just didn’t want him exerting too much energy.

He just nodded and turned to the living room. I caught the way his eyes were glassy but said nothing.

By the time I finished showering Freddy had fallen asleep on the couch. He had chosen a movie I hadn’t even heard of before, the title screen frozen on our television, but I didn’t want to wake him. I laid a blanket over him, tucking it around his frail shoulders, and went into the kitchen to find something to eat. I opened the fridge but after staring blankly at the leftovers inside I decided to just call it a night.

The next morning was a rush. I had slept through my alarm and was running late. Freddy was in his bed sleeping away so I left a note telling him I’d be back in time for supper. On the way to work I realized that I had forgotten to make myself a sandwich with Freddy’s fresh bread, and grumbled to myself about how stupid I was for the rest of the drive.

When I got to my work I saw Joel’s truck parked in the driveway. I marched over and opened up the back door, finding the key tucked away under the floor mat, and got into the front. A post-it note was stuck onto the middle of the steering wheel with his chicken scratch scrawled onto it.

Check engine light came on halfway home, figured you’d want to look at it.

I groaned and thumped my head against the horn, causing it to let out a pathetic beep.

The rest of the day went by smoothly, and I was true to my word, arriving home in time for supper. Freddy was in good spirits, and had spent his day making mashed potatoes, roasted carrots, and chicken. We had run out of flour when he was making bread so he couldn’t make the gravy he had wanted to, but I reassured him his cooking was amazing no matter what.

We watched the movie we had planned to watch the night before, both of us surprisingly staying awake for it, and then got ready for bed. The phone rang as I finished brushing my teeth and I raced to the kitchen to get it before it stopped.

“(Y/N)?” Joel said before I could even say hello.

“Hey. What’s wrong, Joel?” I asked, leaning against the counter top.

“Are you and Freddy okay?” He sounded out of breath.

“Of course. What’s going on?” My brows were furrowed, which Freddy noticed when he walked into the kitchen. He was eating a sandwich with the leftover chicken.

“Listen to me very carefully.” His voice was shaky, but firm. I held on to every word. “Stay inside. Lock every door and window. Get into your basement if you can, into the room with no windows. Tommy and I are getting Sarah out of the city, then we’ll be back for you and Freddy, okay? If we aren’t back by this time tomorrow night then you need to get yourselves out. Got it?”

“Joel, what’s goin-“

“Got it?!” He growled.

“Yes, yes I got it.” The phone trembled in my hand.

“Good.”

Then he was gone.

“(Y/N)? What’s wrong?” Freddy asked.

I hung up the phone. “We need to get to the basement. Now.”

Freddy made his way to the basement while I ran around locking up the house. I also made sure to grab a backpack with a few extra clothes and toiletries just in case we’d be down there longer.

When I got to the basement I locked us into the one guest room we had. It was an unfinished room, with no windows, which made me feel grateful that there were usually no guests to stay in the room. Joel never stayed over because he didn’t want to leave Sarah alone, and Tommy usually passed out on the couch.

I looked at Freddy who was sitting on the unmade bed in the corner of the room. He was still eating his sandwich. I raised my eyebrow at him.

“What? I never have an appetite with the chemo, you know that.” He took a bite and proceeded to talk with his mouth full of bread. “I gotta take advantage when I’m actually hungry.”

I rolled my eyes and set my bag on the ground. “Whatever you say, Fred. You should get some sleep when you’re done, I don’t think I’ll be able to. Plus you need it.”

“Yeah, yeah, mom.” He grumbled, taking the last bite of his food. “You know, you should really start taking care of yourself the way you take care of me.”

My head snapped up as I focused on him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You work yourself to the bone, you never let yourself have a break, or any fun.” He laid down and grabbed a blanket that was folded up at the bottom of the bed to cover himself up with.

“Of course I work hard, I have to pay the bills, you know.” I felt bad as soon as the words left my mouth. I didn’t want him to feel like a burden, and never spoke about the cost of his treatment. I continued talking to get past it. “And I do have fun!”

He rolled his head to face me. “When?”

I thought for a moment. “Well… our barbecue is this weekend, that’ll be fun.”

“That brings me to my next point.” He continued on. “When are you ever gonna make a move on that man?”

My heart stopped. “What man?”

He snorted. “You know very well what man. I see the way you look at him, and he looks at you a little too often for my liking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, he’s not interested,” I slid down the wall I had been standing against so I could sit down. “And he works so hard taking care of Sarah, I know that’s his first priority. I could never do anything to screw that up.”

He shook his head and turned so his back was facing me. “Whatever you say, (Y/N).”

I chuckled. “Good night, Freddy. Love you.”

“Love you too, (Y/N). Wake me if anything happens.”

As Freddy drifted off to sleep I found myself drifting off into my own dream world. My thoughts wandered to Joel, and I kept myself busy thinking about what life would be like if I allowed myself to indulge in this fantasy Freddy seemed to want me to.

My aching neck brought me out of my thoughts enough for me to realize I had fallen asleep. Freddy still laid on the bed, and I was still in my position on the floor but slumped over. I slowly stood up, stretching out my aching back and legs, then shivered. The basement had gotten cool in the night and my thin pajamas weren’t enough. I rummaged through my bag and pulled out a hoodie and jeans and changed, then decided to throw on the sneakers I had grabbed last minute too. I wasn’t sure exactly what Joel had been talking about, but I guessed I should get ready for anything.

I cracked open the door and noticed the sun had started rising outside. My stiff back and the new light confirmed that I had actually slept for quite a while. I turned to look at Freddy only to find him already turned over looking at me.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” I greeted. “Joel and Tommy aren’t here yet, hopefully soon.”

I looked back out, but when I didn’t hear a response from Freddy I turned back to him. He was still looking at me, but his eyes seemed different. I couldn’t tell if there was something wrong or if it was just from the dim light of the lamp we had on in the corner of the room.

“Freddy?” I stepped closer. “You okay?”

He moaned, his mouth opening at a weird angle, then his body twitched under the blankets. I jumped back.

“Freddy, what the fuck?!” I pushed the door open so I could keep putting space between us.

He leapt out of the bed faster than I had seen him move since before he got sick. I bolted for the door to the stairs and got out just before he got to me. I slammed the door and locked it, racing up the stairs as fast as I could while the door was getting smashed to pieces behind me.

I got up to the kitchen and paused, panting, trying to get my brain to stop spinning just enough to come up with a plan. My heart was pounding almost too loud to hear the door get obliterated as Freddy finally busted out. I ran to the stairs leading up to my room and climbed them as fast as I could. I was almost to the top when I was grabbed from behind and thrown down to the bottom. My head hit the floor hard enough to cause my vision to spin for a moment before settling on Freddy at the top of the stairs.

I didn’t recognize the thing that used to be my brother. My entire body ached and was frozen in fear as he came down the stairs and hovered over me. He screamed and moved toward me just as the front door was kicked in. The sound of a gunshot rang through my ears and I watched as Freddy’s blood splattered against the wall beside us. I turned to see Joel holding the gun, blood covering his hands, arms, torso, and face, as he stalked toward Freddy, who was still standing somehow and screaming at Joel.

Tommy rushed in and ran to my side, helping me off the floor. I limped beside him as he pulled me toward the front door. Before we left completely I turned to Joel.

“(Y/N)!” Tommy called.

“No!” I screamed at the same time as Joel pulled the trigger.

I watched as Freddy’s face was completely blown off and painted across the wall behind him. His body fell limp, and thudded onto the wood flooring. Tommy wrapped his arms around me and pulled me out of the house as I screamed and cried. My ears were ringing so hard I couldn’t even hear myself.

Joel turned around to face me, and the grief that was held in his eyes was enough for me to go limp in Tommy’s arms as he dragged me out to a car that they had running in the driveway.

“Tommy,” I managed to get out through my tears. “Tommy, who’s blood is that? On Joel? Who’s blood is that, Tommy?”

He helped me into the backseat, refusing to make eye contact.

I shook my head. “No, no, no, not hers. It can’t be.”

Tommy looked up at me, and I saw the answer in his face.

2004

“Joel?”

Tommy was still sound asleep in the passenger seat of our broken down truck, but I had been awoken from where I had been sleeping in the backseat by someone crying. The driver's seat, which had been occupied by Joel, was empty.

I opened the door and shuffled out quietly so I wouldn’t wake Tommy. My legs bent so I was lower to the ground just in case we weren’t alone, but a quick check around helped me see we were. I stood to my full height and searched for Joel.

Another sob broke through the night and I followed the sound to the edge of the woods. There, sitting against the trunk of a tree just out of sight from the truck, was Joel. He was hunched over himself, with his arms wrapped around his legs and his head hung down. His shoulders shook with the force of his tears, and all I wanted to do in that moment was wrap myself around him and protect him from the world.

“Joel?” I whispered, trying not to startle him.

He lifted his head and turned to face me. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and he looked exhausted.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered, his voice absolutely wrecked. “I didn’t wake you did I?”

I shook my head. “No, you didn’t. I was already awake,” I lied. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I wasn’t the only one lying. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

I gestured to the spot on the ground, asking silent permission, and he nodded. It felt nice to sit next to him, his body warm compared to the hard earth underneath us. We sat for a moment in silence, though it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“I can’t stop seein’ her in my arms,” he said so softly into the night. “I close my eyes and it’s like a horror movie, this nightmare permanently playing behind my eyelids.”

“I know what you mean.” Joel and Tommy dealt with my nightmares for months, and even after they still knew to wake me before the screaming started in case I gave us away.

I leaned over and rested my head on Joel’s shoulder, and he rested his head on top of mine. I placed my hand on his knee, causing him to stiffen for a moment. Because of his reaction I pulled my hand away, only to have him reach out and grab my wrist. He clasped his hand in mine on his thigh and intertwined our fingers. I rubbed the back of his hand with my thumb and sighed.

The two of us sat out by that tree for the rest of the night, not saying anything, but understanding everything.

2006

“She just gets it,” Joel grumbled.

“And I don't?”

I stared at Joel who was refusing to look at me even though I had him cornered in his bedroom.

“You think I don’t get it? This loss that you’ve been dealing with? This fear?” I continued, hoping he’d at least look at me. “I watched you shoot my brother for fuck sake!”

He finally looked at me. It was the first time since I had caught him kissing Tess just moments ago in the place where he was standing.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice so low if I hadn’t seen his lips move I wouldn’t have thought he said a thing.

I shook my head. “I’m leaving, Joel.”

He furrowed his brows, taking a step toward me. I took one back.

“I can’t do this. All I’ve wanted was for you to let me in, especially since Tommy left. Now it’s just you and Tess. There’s no room for me anymore.” I turned to walk away but he reached out and grabbed my upper arm.

“Don’t, please,” he pleaded with me. “You can’t, you won’t make it. Where will you even go?”

I wrenched my arm out of his grip. “I’m going to find Tommy.”

“Please,” he whispered.

“Fuck you, Joel.” I snarled.

I slammed his door behind me and took off, hoping I’d never lay eyes on Joel Miller ever again.

2023

There was news of newcomers in Jackson, although the rumour was they weren’t staying long. I was still intrigued, since it wasn’t often Tommy accepted people in so easily when they weren’t in dire need of assistance. People were saying they were just passing through.

I wanted to know who would pass through freely without wanting to stay, and who Tommy would allow to come and go so easily. I should have stayed curious. Instead, I decided to check out who the fuss was all about.

What I wasn’t expecting was to see Joel traveling with a young girl. I walked into Tommy’s office expecting to greet strangers, only to be face to face with the one man I never thought I’d see again. Had hoped I would never see again. Had wished late at night, when my only company was my thoughts, that I would one day see again.

“Joel?” I asked, the shock on my face was enough to make Tommy chuckle.

Joel whipped around at the sound of my voice and his face looked like he saw a ghost. He looked good, but different. Broader, grayer, rougher around the edges. But he still looked tired and saddled with grief.

“(Y/N),” he said matter of factly, as if he was just stating that I was there in case he didn’t believe it.

We stood frozen in the moment, the air electric between us. The young girl’s eyes flickered back and forth until she stepped forward offering her hand to me.

“I’m Ellie,” she smiled as if she was harmless but I saw the mischievous twinkle in her eye.

I shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Ellie.”

“I can’t believe you found Tommy.” Joel spoke again, his voice rougher than before but still him. “I thought I would never see you again.”

I shrugged. “Would that have been such a bad thing?”

Joel’s eyes darkened, his mouth set in a line. Tommy cleared his throat and explained what they were doing in Jackson. I was told that Joel would be taking Ellie to a firefly base. That Ellie was like cargo.

“She’s cargo?” I asked. “Why?”

“Long story,” Joel cut in, glaring at Tommy for telling me anything about their plans. “We’re headin’ out soon.”

“Where’s Tess?” I asked before thinking, even though I had a feeling.

Joel turned away from me completely. Tommy looked at me and I knew. My mouth formed a silent O. I felt bad, obviously. I really did like Tess even though Joel had chosen her instead of me. That wasn’t her fault and she was a strong willed woman who was full of heart. But I was also aware of the dangers that remained in the world, and the horrors that some people just couldn’t escape. No matter how tough they were.

Maria came in with some food for our guests. “Tommy there’s a commotion outside, you might wanna go deal with it.”

“Alright, I’ll be back in a bit.” Tommy grabbed his jacket and started to head out the door.

Joel took one look at me before reaching out to stop Tommy. “I’ll come with you, just in case you need some back up.”

Tommy laughed and shook his head. “Always the big brother, aren’t you?”

The two men walked out the room and left us alone. Maria was looking at me with her eyebrow raised.

“What?”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “I won’t get into it, especially in front of Ellie, but you know what.”

Tommy was no fool, he knew how I felt about Joel, and he shared everything with Maria.

“Into what?” Ellie asked, looking between the two of us.

“Nothing,” I muttered. “You should eat, Ellie.”

They sat down to eat while I went to leave. Maria got up and walked over placing her hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you stay? Talk to us for a bit. Then you can say goodbye to Joel before they head out again.”

The way she was looking at me told me I should stay, that he may not be back. I lowered my eyes.

“I don’t think that’s the best idea.” I called out, “it was nice meeting you, Ellie!” Then headed back to my house.

I had already said goodbye to Joel Miller years ago, I certainly didn’t need to again.

2024

He was back. Word traveled fast, and I made sure to stay hidden away. I was surprised that he had not only made it to his destination, but he also made it back. He had the girl with him too.

I was supposed to be on patrol that day but decided to get someone to cover me. There was no way I could even leave my house for fear that I may see him. When I told Maria she just shook her head and dismissed me, probably thinking I was no better than a child instead of a woman in her forties.

Not even a day went by before there was a knock at my door. My hands shook and my stomach was doing flips the entire walk to where my visitor waited, and when I opened the door I felt my heart stop.

“Joel,” I breathed.

“Hi, (Y/N).” His broad shoulders took up most of the light coming in through the doorway, and his face remained stoic through the relief in his voice.

“You made it.”

He nodded, a man of few words.

I stepped back, allowing him through the doorway. He made his way inside the living room and wandered around, looking at the pictures and knick knacks I collected throughout my time in Jackson. He came to a stop in front of a picture of a paint mare looking out at the desert landscape.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” I asked, coming to stand next to him. His arms were crossed over his chest, the same as mine were, and when he shuffled to one side we bumped elbows, causing us both to stiffen.

“What’re you doing here, Joel?”

He sighed, turning to walk toward the couch, though he did not sit down. “Ellie and I are gonna stay in Jackson. Live here.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” I walked to the kitchen and grabbed two glasses. “Still a whiskey man, I take it?”

He grunted in response as I poured two fingers each.

“I don’t have a lot to offer, but I raided an old shop about a month ago and found some liquor. I’m shocked it wasn’t claimed but I know better than to ask questions.” I put the jar of the amber liquid back in my cupboard and walked to where he was finally seated on the couch. “You’re lucky I’m even offering you some, I’d like to save it.”

“Well, thanks.” He took a sip and relaxed back into the cushions. His eyes closed almost involuntarily as soon as the alcohol touched his lips. He drained his cup and leaned forward to set it on the table.

“I was assuming you’d savor that a bit more but okay.” I shrugged and took a sip of my own drink.

“I fucked up.” He said, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “With Ellie. I fucked up really bad.”

I went and sat beside him, placing my glass down next to his. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think, Joel. What happened?”

“I can’t tell you. Not yet, anyway.” He scrubbed his hands down his face, then turned to me. I could see the exhaustion in his eyes, hanging off his shoulders. “I’m just so tired of tryin’ to keep my head down and survive, only to mess things up and hurt other people. People I genuinely care about.”

“Is Ellie okay?” I was concerned, especially since I wasn’t exactly sure what happened to Tess.

“Yeah. Yeah, she’s fine.”

“Then that’s all that matters for right now.” I placed my hand on his knee and he melted into my touch. “You both survived, and you’re here now. You’re safe.”

Joel’s shoulders trembled, and I could tell he was holding everything in. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close so his face was buried in my neck. He still didn’t let himself cry, but he let himself be held and that was good enough for me. For the both of us.

“Where’s Ellie now?” I whispered against his graying hair, scared of breaking the spell cast over us.

“She’s staying at Tommy and Maria’s. They have a room for the both of us, but I told them I was comin’ to see you first.” His voice vibrated against my neck, sending shivers down to my toes.

I rubbed my hand up his back and down again, repeating the motion until we had fully relaxed against each other. Eventually the room darkened as the sun set, and I pulled away from him. I stood and offered my hand out to him. He raised his eyebrow at me but slid his hand in mine, standing to his full height. We walked silently to my bedroom and I left him standing on one side of the bed so I could make my way to the other.

“(Y/N)?” He seemed so shy, so nervous. Not at all like the Joel I used to know before the outbreak.

“Just get in, Joel. You look exhausted.”

He sighed and did as I asked. Luckily he looked like he had showered and put on some of Tommy’s clean clothes before he visited. So I wasn’t worried about him getting my bed dirty. I chuckled at the fact that he didn’t take off his jeans, causing him to roll his eyes and slide them off under the blankets.

I went into my bathroom to put my hair up and change into a t-shirt and sleep shorts, and was pleased to see that Joel had taken off his flannel shirt so he was also in a t-shirt. I slid under the covers with him, and we laid side by side in the dark. It was awkward at first, until I rolled to face him and scooted closer.

“Hi,” I said.

He turned his head to look at me. “Hi.”

I smiled, causing him to mirror my actions. He stretched his arm up, helping me maneuver my head so he was my cushion, and he pulled me close. We fell asleep with our arms around each other, feeling like we hadn’t been apart for as long as we were.

The sun started to shine through my curtains in the early morning, causing my eyes to blink open. My back was facing Joel and his arm was still in the same place as before, his other draped over my waist. I felt at peace for the first time since the outbreak, and probably since before then too. For a moment I wondered if that’s what I had been missing all those years, if that was what it would have been like if Joel had let me in sooner. If I had admitted my feelings to him sooner.

He groaned and pressed himself against me. “Mornin’,” he said, sleep heavy in his voice.

“Morning.” I turned in his arms so I could watch him. His eyes were closed but the bags that hung down from them the night before seemed to not be as deep.

When Joel opened his eyes I felt my breath catch in my throat. The deep pools of them threatened to pull me under if I let them. And I wanted to let them so bad.

“Why are you here, Joel?” I asked. “What do you want?”

He sighed, his eyes flickering down to my lips before coming back to mine. Butterflies erupted in my stomach yet again.

I asked once more. “What do you want, Joel?”

“You.”

I didn’t even realize we had moved toward each other until our lips connected. His hand that was on my back came up to cradle the back of my head, moving me how he needed so our angle worked better.

His body weighed me down, keeping me grounded, as he slowly moved over top of me. My hands went into his hair, tugging him closer, causing him to moan in my mouth. I slid my hands down to his back and he pulled away so he could grab them and place them above my head. He kissed his way down my neck and chest, then helped me sit up so he could remove my shirt. The cool air caused goosebumps on my skin and pebbled my now exposed nipples, but he wasn’t looking anywhere but in my eyes.

“Is this okay? We can stop.”

I shook my head and pulled him in for a kiss. “Don’t you dare, Joel Miller.”

He smiled against my lips, kissing me once more before making his way back down my body. He pulled one of my nipples into his mouth, teasing the bud with his teeth, and then moved to the next one, repeating his actions. I moaned and writhed under his ministrations, wishing he’d move faster.

Joel’s lips mapped their way down my stomach, to my lower abdomen, and then skipped over my shorts to plant kisses on my thighs. His calloused hands slid up and down my calves, the heat from them warming my blood, a blush forming on my chest. He slid his hands up the inside of my thighs, and his thumbs brushed over where my shorts were covering my core. I bucked my hips slightly, making him hold me down.

“Patience, darlin’,” he drawled against my inner thigh. “Let’s get these off of you before they get ruined.”

I lifted my hips as he slid my shorts down my legs and threw them onto the floor, exposing me fully. My thighs tried to close but his strong hands pried them open.

“Let me see you, sweetheart. There we go.” He flattened himself onto the bed and gripped my hips with his arms, pinning me in place. “You’re so beautiful.”

His tongue parted my lips and swirled around my clit. His fingers brushed against my opening before he sunk one inside. I groaned at the feeling, his fingers thicker than mine, and they reached where I certainly couldn’t. My whole body felt like it was on fire as he made out with my clit, sucking it into his mouth and pressing the flat of his tongue against it.

“Joel,” I moaned into the air. He hummed against me, the vibrations making my eyes roll back. I gripped the sheets, feeling my orgasm approaching like a runaway train.

He slid another finger in, lowering his head so his tongue fucked into me between his fingers and his nose rubbed against my clit. The sounds were filthy as they reached my ears, and it took no time at all for my pleasure to rip through me. His name was a prayer that spilled from my lips over and over until my body melted against the bed.

I pushed his head out from between my legs, the sensitivity suddenly too much, and pulled him up so I could kiss him. The taste of me mixed with the smell of him was to die for, and we moaned into each other's mouths.

“I need you,” he panted once we broke apart. “I’ve needed you for so long.”

“I know,” I kissed him, “I know. I need you, too. I’ve needed you since I first met you.”

“Fuck, darlin’. You’re gonna be the death of me.”

I helped him out of his clothes, tracing over the scars that littered his torso and making him whine into my mouth when I stroked his cock slowly. It hardened even more under my touch, and precum beaded from the tip when I teased it over my soaking wet core.

Joel pushed himself inside slowly, so slowly I felt I would fall apart. When he was fully inside me I let my head fall back. He leaned down and kissed my neck, just behind my ear, and nipped the skin.

“Joel, I need you,” I nearly sobbed, using my hands to try and pull him even closer.

“I got you, sweetheart, I got you.” He buried his face even deeper into my neck and held me so close he was barely pulling out of me.

We moved together, moaned together, and finally, with a little help from his fingers wedged between us, we came together. Our names mingled with our breaths, and then we held each other in the fresh light of the new morning.

He held me in his arms, my back to his front, and he whispered sweet nothings into my ear until I felt sleep pull me under once more. After a little while there was a shift in the bed that caused me to start waking up again. My eyes opened when I realized Joel’s warmth was no longer behind me, and I sat up to see where he would be. His clothes weren’t on the floor, even his jeans and flannel, and there wasn’t any sound from the bathroom. My heart sank the more I realized where he was.

My worries were confirmed as I heard my front door close in the distance.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic

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attackurheart88 · 2 years

Text

Toxic Love

Pov: You and Hisoka are fighting again and you want to end it.

Features toxic relationships, mentions abuse, guns, mature readers only.

_______________________________________________

Things were just going good. You and Hisoka had a fight earlier in the week but everything had been settled and the two of you were good.

That was until you got a phone call at 8pm.

“Hello?” You answered curiosity. It was an unknown number one which seemed familiar somehow.

“Hi is this y/n?” A woman’s voice played from the other side of the phone.

“Yes how can I help you?”

“Could you please tell Hisoka to stop calling me. I’ve already told him I’m not interested.” Your heart stopped at what the woman just said. Hisoka your boyfriend of two years was apparently courting another woman.

“Hello?” The voice from the phone broke the thoughts running through your head.

“Right of course I’ll be happy to pass the information along miss…”

“Oh don’t worry about it. He’ll know who your referring to.” With that the call ended.

You sat on the sofa unmoving, for a long time. Millions of feelings were flooding through you all at once. You wanted to cry and beg Hisoka to tell you want you did wrong to make him stay.

But at the same time you wanted to kill him.

To trash your shared house and burn his clothes. You wanted to rip all the pictures of the two of you and beat him till he was black and blue and begging for forgiveness.

So you did.

Within two hours you screamed your heart out broke vases and flipped tables. Not thinking, you stood and grabbed a gun from the kitchen drawer. You knew you were strong but Hisoka was stronger. Despite that you didn’t care, you just wanted to hurt him.

As if god heard your prayers Hisoka came home. When entering the living room he was surprised to see his stuff thrown and scattered all over the place. Mostly in pieces.

“Y/n.” Hearing his voice you walked over, your anger showing across your face. Taking note of the weapon in your hands Hisoka was cautious.

“What’s wrong? Why is the house like this?” Ignoring his questions you asked him your own.

“Where have you been?” Hisoka was silent for a moment before responding.

“With the troupe. I had business to take care of.” You chuckled softly to yourself. “Really? Is flirting with other women your idea of business.”

“What do mean-“

“You know exactly what I mean!”

You started shouting at him as tears formed in the corners of your eye.

“Why do you always do this to me!?” You exclaimed waving the gun around. “Why is it so hard for you to be a good boyfriend.”

“Don’t act like it’s all my fault. I don’t know what you heard but I never cheated on you.”

“You’re lying!”

At this point the two of you were right in each others face screaming and arguing.

The room felt hot. Right now your eyes were swollen and your vision seemed blurred from all your tears. Without thinking you held the gun and pointed it at Hisoka.

Hisoka frowned and gave you a harsh glare. “Put the gun down. You’ll hurt yourself.” Hisoka’s voice was stern and threatening.

You didn’t back down and instead placed your finger on the trigger.

“What’s wrong? You think I won’t shoot.” You threatened.

It happened quickly. Hisoka grabbed hold of your wrist moving the gun from your hand. Making you shoot the ceiling. You tried to punch him only for that hand to be caught too.

You struggled in his embrace but there was no getting out.

You stared at Hisoka in frustration as your tears welled up again. Unexpectedly Hisoka used this as an opportunity to kiss you.

The more you tried to move away the harder and more forceful Hisoka was. Until you leaned into the kiss and dropped your gun.

Separating, Hisoka brushed the tears from your face and whispered, “You look so sexy when your angry.”

Those words were like an invitation. You wrapped your arms around him and the two of you made out while making your way to the bedroom.

This was how it always ended. The two of you could fight to the point you break up but end up having sex minutes after.

It was a torturous cycle. But neither of you wanted it to end.

#adult trio x reader #hisoka x reader #hisoka #hxh 2011 #hxh x reader #toxic attraction #unhealthy relationships #illumi zoldyck #fighting #chrollo x reader #headcanon #imagine #scenemo

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

Text

prev chapters

———

Lance smooths down the pleats of his new black skirt, trying to focus on how nice it feels and not the anxiety churning in his stomach.

It’s fine. He’s fine. He’s totally not going to make a fool of himself and then be forced to quit Voltron due to his own humiliation.

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” Hunk laments dramatically, poking at Lance’s lockpad like he’s itching to take a screwdriver to it. “Keith is so whipped for you that it’s actually embarrassing. I dunno why you’re worrying about anything.”

“The person who’s fault this is doesn’t get an opinion,” Lance says pointedly. He glares at his best friend through the mirror, who only shrugs in defense.

“You don’t work through your shit unless you’re forced to. Remember the Garrison applications?”

Lance sighs. Hunk’s right, which is annoying. Lance had dreamed about becoming a pilot since he could think, basically, but as soon as he was old enough to fill out the forms, he chickened out. Worked himself up into a frenzy about not being good enough, and managed to convince himself not to bother. It was Hunk, aged eleven, who forged Lance’s application for him and sent it in with his own.

Lance does, unfortunately, need to be pushed into things he’s nervous about. That’s why he and Hunk are friends, even though Hunk is a horrible secret keeper.

“I still think you should be begging for my forgiveness,” Lance grumbles. He takes one last look in the mirror and can’t quite help a smile.

He does, if one were to think completely objectively, look fine as hell. Red is his colour, and damn any conflicting opinions to hell — the belly button piercing is pretty. The tramp stamp is a classy kind of trashy.

And the lipgloss Allura convinced him to get?

Damn. That’s all he has to say about that.

“Finally,” Hunk grouches when Lance turns to the door, but he’s grinning, and he keeps an encouraging hand on Lance’s shoulder the whole walk to the dining room.

“I think it’s really excellent that we’re doing this as we eat,” he says conversationally. “I’m looking forward to watching Keith forget how to use a spoon.”

Lance snorts. “Keith will not forget how to use a fuckin’ spoon, dorkbrain. Besides, he’s seen it all, remember?”

Hunk grins. “I do remember you telling me about the shower incident. Allura and I like to bring it up to each other randomly and laugh until we cry.”

Fortunately for Hunk, they make it to the doors before Lance can kick him for his insolence. Hunk half-yanks Lance through before he can talk himself out of it.

“Oh, no fucking way.” Pidge is the first to notice. She looks at Lance with wide, gleeful eyes, as if Lance has just informed her that her birthday comes twice this year. She looks at his midriff, then back at his face, and grins, adjusting her glasses. “I fucking love it here. Everything about my life is a gem.”

“I mean, we are fighting fascism,” Allura mumbles. She shoots Lance a smile and turns back to trying to sculpt the castle out of food goo (it is not going well, thus her stuck-out tongue and intense concentration). Lance tugs on her hair as he walks by, just to be a nuisance. She tries and fails to trip him.

“My, dear, you look wonderful!” Coran says. He beams so brightly at Lance that Lance can’t help but smile back, accepting the chair Coran pulls out for him — swallowing down the twinge of pain he gets when he remembers his siblings doing the same teasing gesture back home, whenever he dressed up for no reason, the twinge of pain he gets when his space family and his Earth family occupy the same space in his heart — and sitting carefully so as to not flare up his skirt.

“Thanks, Coran.”

He glances at the rest of the table. Shiro shoots him a wink and a thumbs up, and Hunk, who’s sat down next to Pidge, is openly sniggering.

Keith is completely frozen, spoon halfway to his mouth, goo sliding off of it.

“Hey, Keith,” Lance says. He hears the slight slyness in his voice, the nerves making butterflies turn in his stomach but kind of exciting him, too.

Keith opens his mouth, then closes it again, and does that several times before he finally makes himself speak.

“Hey,” he croaks out. Lance ducks his head slightly to hide his grin. “You, uh. You look — I like your —” he struggles to find his words and gives up for a moment, gesturing vaguely to Lance’s person.

Poorly-hidden giggles erupt from all over the table. Keith goes redder than his lion.

“You like my…?” Lance tries, well aware he’s fishing for compliments and beyond caring.

“All of it,” Keith says, a little helplessly. He’s undoubtedly embarrassed — obviously — but his eyes are determined, and his voice is sincere. He takes a deep breath and then nods once to himself, like he’s solidifying a decision.

“All of it,” he repeats, voice steadier than before.

Lance’s cheeks start to hurt. “Thank you.”

Keith nods again, ears still red, and turns back to his goo. He scarfs his food down, not looking up, and practically runs to the sink when he’s done, washing his dish at lightspeed and rushing out the doors with a hasty wave and excuse.

“Oh, he’s going to be so embarrassing for the next few weeks,” Shiro says wistfully. He turns to Lance with the fondest expression. “Gold star for you, kiddo. Please continue to make my week.”

Lance thinks to the giant bag of clothes he and Allura brought back from the mall, and how absolutely none of them cover his midriff. He smirks slightly to himself

“Will do, Team Leader.”

He’s going to have fun cracking that boy.

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baddest-batchers · 5 months

Note

@stars-n-spice here!

For the Bad Batch Ask Game! 3, 12, 25, and 40!

Wishing you luck getting through the finale 🫡🩵

Thank you for asking!!

3. What’s your favorite episode? Why?

My favorite episode (I have two but I think one definitely beats out the other for the top spot) is S3 Ep 4 “A Different Approach”. I absolutely loved getting to see Crosshair and Omega interact throughout that whole episode. Their banter was so good and so funny!! Seeing how their relationship had evolved over their time spent at Tantiss beginning to shine through in them trying to get back to the rest of the Batch just made it my favorite episode of the entire show.

12. Which Batcher do you think would be your best friend?

This is soooo hard to answer lol. Probably Echo tbh because I’m definitely the mom friend of my close group of friends and I feel like Echo and I would really vibe based off of just that fact alone 😂. We are really out here trying to get shit done and keep everyone safe lmao.

25. What are your favorite things about each Batcher?

Hunter: I adore Hunter’s commitment to doing the right thing, no matter how difficult the situation & circumstances. He carries himself with so much integrity and I think that is something I definitely love about him.

Wrecker: Ohhhhhh my boy Wrecker is such a sweetie and big softy. I love his gentleness towards others, especially Omega. He’s literally a giant muscly teddy bear and I love him for that. Wrecker, like Omega, is quick to forgive and give others a second chance. He’s such an underrated member of the Batch imo. Wrecker girlies, where you at??

Echo: I love Echo’s dedication to his brothers and to Rex’s cause. He so badly wants to help each and every single one of his brothers to safety so that none of them have to go through what he did on Skako Minor. I think Echo has such a big heart and he deserves all the love.

Crosshair: Oh gosh where do I even start with him. I truly admire Crosshair’s sense of loyalty. I have that same loyal-to-a-fault sense just like he does and it was so touching and heart wrenching at times to see Crosshair’s loyalties shift back to his brothers and sister after choosing the Empire over them. I’m of the firm opinion that Crosshair loves the hardest out of the entire Batch and he will do everything in his power, no matter his own feelings to keep his family safe. The reason why I think he’s one of my favorites is because he’s a lot like me: fiercely loyal and a person who loves incredibly deeply.

Tech: As a certified Tech Girlie™️, literally everything about him is my favorite 😂. He’s so smart and honest and kind. I adore his self confidence. In S2 Ep 4 “Faster,” Tech was such a badass and had no doubt that he could win that race. He is definitely the most confident of his brothers and that is what I think really attracts me to him. Not to mention he’s so cute with all of his quirks and endless knowledge. I could honestly listen to him talk for hours y’all. 🥰

40. Favorite scene(s)?

Okay this is soooo difficult to answer because there are so many scenes that I looooooove. One of the first to come to mind is in S3 Ep 4 where Omega finally gives in and tells Crosshair that they can try things his way and he replies with, “Finally.” Like my guy was chomping at the bit to shoot those Imperials lmfao. Another is the scene between Tech & Omega in the mine where he explains to her that he processes his feelings differently than she and the others do but that he doesn’t feel any less than she does. And when he confirms to Omega that they are a family had me tearing up 😭😭😭 That scene was so touching and beautiful. 11/10. And ofc, I cannot leave out the meditation scene with Crosshair & Omega. 🥺🥺🥺 I have sooooo many other favorites but then this would get wayyyyyy too long lmao.

Thank you again for the ask @stars-n-spice !! 💕

Good luck to you, too, tomorrow 🫡😭 may the force be with us all 💙💙💙

#the bad batch #star wars #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb omega #tbb tech #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb

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starryevermore · 2 years

Text

ghost of you ✧ crosshair

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: Literally…anything angsty. Like gut wrenching, crush my soul, tug and twist at the heart…with anyone. Just need to feel something. AND THAT THING IS ANGST - anon

pairing: crosshair x fem!jedi!force ghost!reader

summary: when the order is given, your lover kills you. but even as he loses his way, you can’t seem to let him go.

word count: 3,965

warnings?: hurt/no comfort, angst city™ bitch, main character death, not proofread

You knew this was to be your end. You had known for a long time. A Jedi’s vision is often misleading, doesn’t offer the full picture. But, when you saw the man you love aim a blaster at your heart, mutter that “good soldiers follow orders”, before the world faded around you…Well, there was little denying what you saw. Perhaps you wouldn’t die, you supposed. Perhaps you would live and have to grapple with your lover betraying you. But, in your heart, you knew that you would meet your end at the hands of a man you trusted with your life. A bitter end, to be sure, but all’s fair in love and war, as they say.

So when the day came that the clones on Kaller turned their weapons on you, Master Depa Billaba, and Padawan Caleb Dume, you knew that you would not leave the planet alive. What surprised you, though, was how Clone Force 99, the squad that you led, did not react as the other clones. No, they were okay?…They were helping Caleb escape, they were helping you stop the other clones from killing the young Padawan. All except for your beloved Crosshair, a sniper with a heart of ice that only thawed for you. His weapon turned on you. He only saw you as a target to hit. Any love he had for you, it was set aside in favor of completing his mission.

But you had your own. If you had to die that day, you could not let the Padawan to die, too. No, he was too important. If order was to be restored to the galaxy, he had to survive. Now was not his time to go. You and Hunter led the Padawan through the forest, trying to find him safe passage away from the fight. A blaster struck you in the side. You fell.

“GO!” you shouted as Caleb turned, hand outstretched to help you. “Leave me!”

Hunter hesitated. He took a step towards you. “We don’t leave our own behind—”

A gentle lie was better than the harsh truth, so you said, “I’ll be fine. Just get him out of here. That’s an order!”

Finally, they ran. You hissed as you reached down, your hand becoming sticky with blood as it touched your wound. That wasn’t the blast that could kill you, but kriff, it hurt.

A shadow loomed over you. You didn’t want to look, didn’t want to meet the eyes of your killer, but you knew it wouldn’t change the reality of the situation. You wanted to see him, at least one more time before you were gone. You lifted your gaze, seeing a near-pained expression on Crosshair’s face.

“Cross,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “you don’t have to do this.”

“You are a traitor,” he spat. He aimed his blaster. His finger fell to the trigger, yet he did not pull it.

“You know that’s not true. This, this isn’t you.” You felt sick to your stomach. You knew this was always going to happen. But…You had to let him know. This wasn’t his fault. “Please, Cross—”

He raised his blaster higher. His usually steady hands trembled, ever so slightly. “Good soldiers follow orders. My order is to kill traitors.”

Any attempt to convince him not to shoot was futile. This was your fate. It had been, for a long time. “I forgive you, Cross. I love you, okay? Even after this, I will still love you.”

“Not just a traitor to the Republic,” Crosshair hissed. “A traitor to your own code. Why should someone whose treachery runs to her core be spared?”

“Then don’t spare me,” you said. Your voice shook despite your best efforts. “I understand.”

Crosshair’s nimble fingers—the same ones he’d use to massage your scalp, to caress you when he thought you were sleeping, to hold yours when no one else was looking—pulled the trigger. Your breath caught in your throat, then released in a bloody scream. Just before your eyes squeezed shut, you watched Crosshair flinch.

He ran away, and three others ran toward you. You heard your name—Wrecker was shouting. There was a thud as he fell to his knees beside you. He touched the blaster wound. “Tech!” he wailed. “She needs help!”

“Don’t,” you managed to say. “Too late.”

“Don’t say that!”

You opened your eyes to see Echo place a hand on Wrecker’s shoulder. “You don’t recover from a wound like that,” Echo said.

“She’s a Jedi! She has magic healing powers! And, and with the bacta—”

“Forgive him,” you whispered. Wrecker’s mouth fell shut. “Forgive him. Don’t…Don’t let him lose himself. He needs you.”

“He needs you!”

Tech knelt on the other side of you. “According to my calculations, you don’t have much long left.” He reached out, stroked the space between your brows. “We should be the ones offering you comfort.”

Your breathing became labored. Kriff, it hurt to breathe. “I’ll be fine,” you lied. You knew Tech knew it was a lie. “Find Hunter and Crosshair. Stay safe, okay? I…I’ll see you soon.”

It was obvious how much Tech wanted to refute you. But, he allowed your lie to remain unchallenged. “Rest. You deserve it.”

And you did. Your eyes fell shut. You heard footsteps walk away. One set paused—you were sure it was Wrecker. Then— everything faded away.

“She’s gone,” Wrecker said. When Tech and Echo looked back, there was nothing left of you.

Becoming one with the Force was not what you expected, if you were being honest. Even when your former Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, had taught you the secret of retaining your individuality when you became one with the Force, you never expected it to be true. It seemed too…surreal.

“No, she’s there!” Echo said, pointing.

You knew they saw you. You knew your former Master was right. You swallowed, even though you didn’t really need to, and repeated, “Forgive him.”

You turned, and disappeared. They didn’t need you now.

“Why do you torment me?”

You reached out, caressed Crosshair’s face. Despite his words, he leaned into your touch. You missed this. You missed him, how he used to be, before the Empire took him, before Clone Force 99 left him. Now, only in his dreams, could you touch him, try to break through to him. You feared that, if you showed yourself in the land of the living, he would break further. You limited your interactions to his dreamland.

“I need you to know that I forgive you.” You leaned in, pressed your forehead to his. “That your brothers forgive you. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

He yanked away. He turned his back toward you. You stepped toward him, reached out, but paused. No. You didn’t want to overwhelm. You dropped your hand. His shoulders trembled as he near-snarled, “Why must you keep bringing them up?”

“They were at a crossroads, Cross. It wasn’t a decision they took lightly. They just—”

“Thought I would betray them like I did you?”

Every conversation came back to this point. And every time, Crosshair closed himself off. He would push harder and harder and harder until he awoke. You would leave him for a day or two, let him calm, and try again. The cycle would repeat. It felt never-ending. But you couldn’t give up on him.

“They still love you. They miss you. If they could safely come back for you, they would.”

Crosshair’s back straightened. “Because I’m such a danger to them.”

And it always came back to this. Crosshair thinking himself a danger to his brothers. Crosshair shutting down any refutation you offered. He was stuck in his head. You understood. Of course you understood why he was like this.

“You’re not the danger, my love.” You placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched. You weren’t sure if it was at the contact, or if it was at your words. “The Empire, though…They’re not good. The second you are no longer useful to them, they will have no qualm discarding you.”

“Then the Empire is more similar to my brothers than you think.”

“Cross…”

He turned his head toward you, his dark eyes flashing. With anger, perhaps? Contempt? You couldn’t quite tell. Crosshair was always a difficult person to read. He kept his feelings so close to his chest, never let anyone see the turmoil that simmered below the surface. No one was allowed to see it. Not even you.

“Everyone leaves. Why does it matter if I go with my brothers or stay with the Empire? It will turn out the same in the end.”

“I never left you.”

For a flash of a second, so quick you should have missed it, Crosshair’s eyes softened. But then he squared his shoulders, his lip curled. “You’re not really here. This is only a manifestation of perceived guilt.”

“Perceived guilt?” you echoed. You tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. You knew he was only being cruel because he was hurt. He didn’t mean his words. And yet, the sting left you reeling. You pulled your hand away. Crosshair’s head bows.

“I did what had to be done.”

Part of you wanted to argue back, to say he did what he was made to do. That this fate had long been since written. That it was the result of a chip in his brain. But, he knew about the chip. He knew that he didn’t have control over his actions at the time. He knew, and he said it anyways. You took a step back.

“It’s almost time for you to wake up,” you said instead.

He looked at you. If you were looking at him, you would have seem the glassiness to his eyes, how his hand twitched, ready to be outstretched toward you. You turned.

“If you want me to leave you be, I will. I never wanted to torment you,” you said. Was it possible for a Force ghost to cry? It felt like you were close. Like if you stayed here for a moment longer, you would break.

“It would be for the best.”

You looked at him this time. If this was his wish, you would respect it. You would never bother him again. But if you were to leave him be, you wanted to see him one last time. You looked him over. Took in his gray hair, cropped close to his scalp. His tanned skin, the crosshair tattoo over his eye. His dark eyes, how they wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“If you change your mind…”

“I won’t.” He didn’t sound convinced. But you didn’t push. You’ve reached his limit. If you went any further, he would fall. You didn’t want to hurt him.

The dream world faded around you. You watched as Crosshair laid in his bunk, his eyes opening. He let out a deep sigh, a hand coming up to rub his face. You balled your hands into a fist in an effort to resist the urge to reach out to him. It wouldn’t do you any good. Unlike the dream world, you couldn’t touch him here.

Crosshair sat up. As he moved, you saw the holopic resting beside him. It was of him and you and the rest of Clone Force 99 sans Echo, back when things were simpler. It had been your first mission with the squad. It had gone horrible, in the way that all of their missions went horrible. Which, of course, was to say that everything went to shit, but still managed to be successful. You had insisted on the picture being taken, said something about it being a good memory to have. Crosshair made fun of you at the time, but when the picture was taken, he still stood beside you, a hand resting on your back. He didn’t smile—he never really smiled—but it was the happiest you had seen him.

Seeing it, it made you want to shatter your resolve. Crosshair didn’t really want you to go. But, he needed the space. You weren’t helping him by constantly hovering. So, as his head turned to where you stood, you disappeared.

You didn’t seem him again for a long while.

“Do you think Crosshair will come back?” Omega asked.

You watched as her legs swung on the Marauder’s platform, how she leaned back, resting on her palms, looking out at the sky as if she expected him to drop out of the air at any moment. Since you left Crosshair be, you returned to Clone Force 99. After scaring Wrecker so bad that he screamed loud enough to wake everyone, you explained how you were there. You tried to offer why you were there, but no explanation felt right. They didn’t ask for one, though. They let you stay, no questions asked.

For the most part, you stayed with Omega. She was still learning to defend herself, so you took the opportunity to step in whenever she needed help. Those moments were becoming fewer and farther between as she grew into herself. You found yourself teaching her other things, things about the galaxy and the Force and how just to ask questions so that she could get her way when Hunter was being particularly stubborn. It had been many years since you had had a Padawan, but it almost felt like had taken on Omega as one. It felt like she was your child.

“He…has a lot of inner turmoil,” you said finally. The topic of Crosshair was one rarely breached. It made her brothers uncomfortable, so she learned to not ask often. But when you were with her, watching over her while her brothers were on a mission deemed too dangerous for her, she sometimes ventured into the territory. “Your guess is as good as mine. When I saw him last, he still had so much of that anger and that guilt, that feeling of abandonment.”

“Do you think he’s scared? Out there, working for the Empire, without his vode?”

“If you asked him, he would say he wasn’t scared of anything.”

“But I’m asking you.”

“…I think he doesn’t know what to do. I think he feels like he doesn’t have a place with his brothers anymore. And, while he has a place with the Empire, he knows it’s fleeting. He sees the two options before him and thinks they’re both awful, so he stays on the path he’s currently on.”

“It sounds lonely, living like that.”

“I’m sure it is.” You let out a sigh. You leaned back, lying down on the platform. Omega mimicked your movements. “He doesn’t think he has a place here anymore, though. And I think that keeps him from leaving the Empire, too. He might be lonely there, too, but he doesn’t feel like he has to wait for the other shoe to drop, you know?”

She looked to you. Her eyes had welled up with tears. “Is that my fault? Does he think he can’t come back because of me? I-I’m the reason they left him behind. If I hadn’t—”

“Shh, shh,” you hushed. You sat up and wrapped your arms around Omega. They passed through her, so you hovered around her, not quite touching her. “Listen, Crosshair would have been left behind whether you were there or not, okay? You changed things, sure. But at the end of the day, the chip in Crosshair’s brain…It, changed the way he thought, you know? That’s not something you could have changed by being there or not being there.”

“I just…I don’t want them to regret bringing me with them.” Omega sniffled, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “I know that they’re on the run because of me. They, they could have settled down somewhere if they didn’t have me. They wouldn’t have to keep fighting. They could have normal lives.”

“Listen to me: They love you, Omega. They would do anything for you. Sometimes, they might get frustrated and it might feel like they regret taking you with them. But they only want the best for you. And things are so crazy right now, it’s hard to tell what’s good for you. And that scares them.”

Omega sniffled again. Your heart ached. You wished you could bundle her up in your arms and squeeze her tight. She didn’t deserve this kind of weight on her heart. She deserved to be a kid. She deserved to run around and play games and not worry about having to survive. She deserved to just live. “You think so?”

“I know so. I've known your brothers a long time. They love with their whole hearts. Once you have their love, you never lose it. And, trust me, they loved you the moment they saw you.”

Omega was silent. Then, she lifted her gaze to meet yours. “So, if Crosshair knew his brothers loved him…He might come back?”

You swallowed. You weren’t sure. Truthfully, you really weren’t. But…Well, gentle lies. “He might.”

Omega seemed satisfied with that answer. She laid back down on the platform, looking toward the sky. Fluffy, white clouds passed overhead. She pointed to one. “That cloud looks like Mantell Mix.”

You let out a laugh. It felt nice to laugh again. It felt so long since you’ve felt so…light. “Sounds like someone’s hungry.”

“Hush and play the game!”

“Alright, alright! Hmm, that one looks like a lothcat.”

“Do you think I could convince Hunter to let us get a lothcat as a pet?”

“You know, I think that’s one of those things where you ask for forgiveness instead of permission.”

“I like the way you think!”

You watched as Omega ran towards Crosshair. You reached out toward her in vain. They all needed to leave. They couldn’t stay on this platform forever. It was too risky to stay. The longer they remained, the worse things may end up. But, she still ran to him, thanked him for saving AZI, a droid that she had been fond of when living on Kamino. Crosshair told her to consider each other even. You expected her to leave then, but she surprised you.

“They still love you,” she said. “Y/N said they would always love you.”

Crosshair’s gaze hardened. He turned away, not giving her a reply. Omega hesitated, unsure of whether she should say more or if she should go. Finally, she turned and ran back to Hunter, who led her onto the ship. Moments later, Marauder rose to the sky, leaving Crosshair behind again. You stayed, moving a few paces behind your former lover.

“You shouldn’t tell her things like that,” Crosshair muttered. It was the first time he had acknowledged you being there. You had made yourself known when Hunter was captured, but Crosshair never looked at you. Never said a word about you. It made you doubt if you were ever really there at all.

“And you should have gone with them.”

He turned toward you, his eyes narrowed. “Why should I care about what you think? You left me, just like them.”

“You told me to go. I was respecting your wishes. I…Cross, you kept pushing. I knew that my being with you was only causing you pain. I worried that if you kept pushing, you would be the one to break.”

“Always so selfless, you Jedi,” he spat. But there was almost no malice behind his words. He looked away, stared out at the water. “I kept waiting. You were never one to just leave, to give up. So many times, you went running back into active combat to save civilians. You’ve made Tech turn the ship around to rescue prisoners. You made sure every woman and child was always spared.”

You knew what he was getting at. He couldn’t say the words, though they were right on the tip of his tongue. So, you said them for him.

“I should have stayed.”

He gave a curt nod. “You proved yourself to be like everyone else.”

“I'm sorry. Cross, I…I should have been there for you, I know that.” You reached out. He took a step away. You froze, your hand still in the air, before you let it fall to your side. “You deserve better than what the Empire will give you. I understand if going back to your brothers isn’t what you want. But you can’t stay with the Empire. Look how quickly they got rid of the Kaminoans. Look at how they’re already trying to get rid of the clones. How long will it be until you’re considered expendable?”

“Unlike someone people, I understand the value of loyalty.”

You held your tongue. You were half-sure he wanted to get a rise out of you. He loved doing that, when you were alive. He would poke and prod, proud that he knew just what buttons to push. You knew his game, but you refused to play it now.

“You once said that you would always be there for me. But that wasn’t true, was it? You left. You acted just like all the others. Tell me, why should I care about a single thing you say to me now?”

You remembered telling him that. It was in the early days, when the two of you were just beginning your relationship. You had nearly died on the battlefield. A droid got too close, moved too quick. Crosshair took the droid about before any significant damage happened, but by the time you got back to the ship, you could your spirit leaving you. Crosshair held you as Tech treated your wounds, muttering that you weren’t allowed to go. Not yet, not when he wanted you by his side. You told him you would stay with him for all of eternity, if he would let you.

“I love you, Cross. You know I do. You can be mad at me, be disappointed in me, hate me for all I care. But that doesn’t change how I feel about you.” You took a step closer, then another. He didn’t move away. “I knew you were going to kill me, long before we ever arrived on Kaller. I knew that I would meet my end at the hands of the man I love. I could have left. I could have asked to be assigned a different squad. But I loved you too much to go. And I love you now, all the same.”

“No one asked you to stay.”

“So don’t you dare put this on me.”

“I’m not. I’m only telling you, because I would do it all over again. I would live through my death every time without change if it meant that I got to love you.”

“Then you are a fool.”

You shrugged. “Perhaps. But I would rather be a fool, a slave to my attachment to you, than survive without ever knowing your love.”

Crosshair grit his teeth, snarling as he said, “Go. I don’t want you here.”

“I’m not leaving you again, Cross.”

“GO!” he shouted.

You let out a breath and allowed yourself to disappear from his sight. But you remained there. You stayed with him. You stayed all thirty-two rotations on that platform, watching over him. Making sure he was safe. He could tell you to leave, he could act like he never cared. But you knew that he needed you as much you needed him. So you stayed on that platform with him, and for every day that followed.

Most days, he didn’t see you, didn’t know you were there. But he always knew. He always knew he was being haunted by the ghost of you.

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