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animeyanderelover · 10 months

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190. “You can’t hide from me, my sweetie.” with Itachi?

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, mentions of abduction

Prompt 190

Escaping Itachi was easily the most difficult and nerve-wracking thing you would ever do in your life, something you would have gladly forgone if it had been up to your choice. Sadly though, life hadn't given you that choice as you had been abducted by one of the most wanted criminals currently alive. One who, as you had later on found out, had been stalking you for months prior to the kidnapping incident and had fallen victim to his own obsession centering firmly around you. It had been and still was disturbing to think about how he had been watching you every chance he had had, whether you had been with friends at that time or had been soundly asleep, blissfully unaware of the one moment that had thrown your life out of it's path.

You had decided to play it safe by acting rationally, especially when you had realized that Itachi had no intentions to hurt you. You assumed the only stroke of luck you had received was the fact that Itachi was very calm and composed, harbored guilt for what he had done which you had slyly taken advantage of. You had still been wary though, unwilling to let your defenses completely down and also to not make him suspicious as you had imagined that if you would have acted all nice just like that, he would have also suspected that you were planning something. Half a year you had spent slowly collected pieces of information and had hidden money to use for your grant escape. His involvement with the Akatsuki required him to leave you for weeks at times, a perfect chance to escape.

Obviously Itachi had been careful as you had soon found out that he had brought you to a very remote part of the country with lots of mountains and forests surrounding it, the nearest town nearly an hour away, if one knew the way that was. All meassurements to keep you hidden and safe from his enemies and also to make it as challenging as possible for you to escape. He had thought everything through. However, you had stepped up to that challenge and after months of planning, saving up money and getting your hands on books and maps, you had figured out a way to escape and had seized your chance when he had left for yet another mission with his partner Kisame.

---

That all had been nearly 3 weeks ago. 3 weeks where you had not spent more than two days in the same place as you were constantly moving. It was too dangerous to stay for too long in one place for you as you hadn't only Itachi to worry about but also those who might seek vengeance on him and would assault you as the easiest routo to achieve that goal. You had no idea if someone even knew about your strange relationship with Itachi but you wouldn't risk anything. Your face was often half-covered with a mask you wore when walking around, together with a straw hat you had bought a few days ago in a market. You didn't spend much time outside in favor of lowering the risk of getting caught, instead chose to wait in your room whilst working out the next leg of your journey. Your money had to be spent carefully since you didn't have an abundance of it left, at times you even sold some stuff you had packed in your bag for that exact purpose, stuff you had asked Itachi to get you. Nothing overly flashy but items that could be sold to someone since there was always interest for such stuff.

Currently you were staying at a ryokan in a small town near the mountains where you had planned to reside in for two nights to get some rest and stock up your money a bit since you were running a bit low. The fear of Itachi was still freshly on your mind and had fueled your paranoia a bit. You were often looking over your shoulder whilst wandering around, at night you felt your heart starting to race nervously with every little sound and creak around you. It wasn't the nicest way of living but it was better than nothing for now. At times you had this dreadful fear because so far it had all gone too well for you, somehow you had expected more struggles yet nothing had happened so far. Obviously that made you feel glad but in other moments you couldn't help but grow paranoid at the lack of hindrances to the point where you would wildly start to conjecture that in reality you were already being watched, just like Itachi had done it before.

You did your best to not lose your mind though, to stay focused on your goal of leaving Konoha for now and taking refuge in another land. You hadn't contacted friends and family, to your great heartbreak, since you knew that chances were too high that Itachi would spy on them and anything you might send them. You had to stay undercover if you ever wanted to see your town again.

Currently you were sat down, numerous maps placed on the table in front of you as you had started calculating how long you would need for your next walk and where you would stay. You tried to avoid camping outside as good as you could although sometimes places charged too much money and you were left with no choice but to sleep outside. If you were predicting it right, you could skip a few towns on the way in favor of getting closer to the border and would reach the next town available within a day in 8 hours of walking time. That should be doable for you. Then you would head for the next destination in the early morning right after breakfast. You tapped your pen on the spot on the map highlighting the next place you would visit before cleaning the tabletop, folding all maps together and stuffing them in your bag.

Your gaze flew to the window, showcasing a blue sky with a few lazy clouds in it, drifting gently across it. It was still late noon and only few people were in the ryokan as of now, instead walking around the market currently held in the small town. What should you do now though? You were finished with all preparations for your leave for tomorrow. If it would be alright to spend a bit of money outside and have some fun?

Just as you were about to pull out your pocket to count how much money you could afford to spare for a visit to the market, you heard a gentle knock on your door. You straightened your body, head turning quickly to the door leading to your room. You didn't get up to open the door nor did you replied verbally to the knock as you chose to observe quietly. Your inner alarm bells had activated as you couldn't think of any reason why someone would knock on your door. No one here knew you.

When the person outside knocked on the door again, this time faster and firmer, you crawled silently closer to the entrance to your room, standing in front it with fast throbbing echoing inside your chest. Still, you had no intention of opening the door as you just stood there silently, staring at the material covering you from whoever was standing on the other side. Silence fell over the room, a heavy silence that made the oxygen that you breathed in silently feel heavy in your lungs. With bated breath you dared to move your body closer, pressing your ear slowly against the door. You froze in that position for a while, focusing on every sound you could pick up from the other side.

Besides the sounds of the people outside, carelessly enjoying themselves, you couldn't pick up any other sound though. Was the person still there? You would have loved to believe so, however, your gut told you that you couldn't allow yourself to be careless and instead be on your guard. So you didn't move, ear still glued to the wooden door as you feared that one tiny movement could give you away.

Then you heard something though, something coming from the other side and it nearly made you hitch your breath in your throat. You squinted your eyes, focusing on the sound as you tried to decipher what it was. It almost sounded like someone was dragging their fingers over the material of the door and your heart dropped shortly when the sound stopped right next to your ear as if knowing what you were doing. A few seconds passed by, seconds were nothing happened but you felt yourself growing more anxious. Was that...? No, it couldn't be.

"(y/n)."

His voice was muffled through the door but you would have recognized that voice from everywhere. After all, you hadn't heard anyone else's voice for six months during your captivity.

"(y/n), I know you're inside. Open the door, please."

Within a couple of seconds after his words had reached your ears, you found yourself brainstorming every scenario, weighting out your options. Despite his polite tone, you were fully aware that if you wouldn't listen to him after his second or third request for you to open the door, he would use force. He was being polite to not scare you right and careful because he didn't want to case a scene. Neither did you want to cause a scene, for the sake of the unaware people in this city. Your only entry through the door was locked and you had not the skills needed to outrun him. Jumping out of the window was no option either because you were in the 3rd floor and knew that you would have to leave some of your belongings behind if you wanted to be quick. All of which were needed for your survival. Now that Itachi had found you anyways, was there even a meaning anymore to escape? He would find you now for sure, no matter where you might try to run.

Your hand grasped the door pull and you took one last breath to collect yourself before opening it. You weren't really surprised nor shocked to see him standing in front of you, you had somewhat expected him to find you eventually. If at all, you were frustrated that you had come further than you had anticipated only to be stopped now. He didn't wear his usual cloak with red clouds, had instead some rather casual attire to not draw too much attention to himself and his black eyes looked at you. You had a hard time deciphering the emotions behind his gaze and it seemed like he himself was unsure how to feel about you. Obviously he was angry that you had escaped, and that for weeks, but a part of him could not blame you for trying to flee the country and hide somewhere. This guilt softened his anger and left him with conflicted emotions.

The fact that you did your best to stay calm in order to not draw any attention was appreciated by him though, he would have hated to cause a ruckus and use more intimidating methods to keep you silent.

"Do you want to come inside?" was not the first thing you had expected to come out of your mouth after both of you had just silently observed each other, trying to figure the other one out whilst also deciding how to act now. Behaving casually around him was apparently the solution you had come up with as you stepped aside to let him enter. Black eyes were scrutinizing the tiny room, landing on the bag in which you had stuffed most of your belongings. You closed the door and leant back against the wooden material, watching Itachi observing the room for anything that you could try to use and waiting for his next course of action.

When he turned around to look at you again, you could see his eyebrows slightly furrowing, seemingly still unsure what to do with you now.

"You know that you aren't supposed to escape. It's too dangerous."

He had a more serious look on his face but still spoke in a softer tone, as if still holding sympathy for you and your situation. "I know." you replied back, keeping your composure. Both of you kept everything civilized, speaking calmly and that was something you were grateful for in that moment. You held his gaze strongly with your own and noticed the slight clench of his jaw when he saw the flash of exhaustion and sadness in your eyes. Less from the past few weeks and more because you did not desire to follow him back into a life of isolation without anyone besides him. You didn't hate him truly like he had initially expected you to do, at times you almost seemed to pity him and that somehow felt worse at times as it only fueled the shame deep inside of him.

"(y/n)..." your name slipped out of his lips before he could even come up with a sentence he wanted to say to you although you heard the guilt out of his voice with that one tone very clearly. It was always easier to not get angry and stay composed and let your silent sorrow speak for you. He took a few steps closer to you, unsure of what to tell you what you didn't know already. The plain warnings that you could be killed by someone who was after him or the Akatsuki and that your safety could always be endangered. Because of him. That made it hard for him to say anything to you right now, fully aware that all was his fault and that both of you were fully aware of it.

"Why couldn't you just have let me go this time around, Itachi? I have already come this far." you almost whispered since he was standing so close to you. He could not detect any hint of resentment inside your honest eyes, only sadness. Sadness that almost made him want to avert his eyes as it pained him to see you like this, especially knowing that he was the sole reason for your sorrow.

"You know that I can't do that." he replied back, feeling a lump at the back of his throat.

"You can't or you don't want to?" you challenged him softly, leaning closer in hopes of him showing you any sign of obvious guilt, of shame for putting your heart through so much pain. When he shortly glanced away from your gaze, you knew that you had succeeded and leaned back against the door, feeling a little bit less wronged because he at least felt horribly bad about it.

"You're going to take me back now." you spoke out to no one in particular, just stating the facts so that Itachi didn't even feel the need to confirm what you knew already. He longed to comfort you somehow, was aware that he wasn't in any position to try to soothe your pain, not if he was the very person who had inflicted all that suffering on you.

"Itachi, you know that I might try again to escape from you, right?"

There was still no visible trace of anger on his face when you spoke the likely truth to him. You wouldn't give up so easily but had a lingering fear that he would use more forceful methods to stop you from trying again. Itachi was no saint, not with everything he had done.

"I won't let you. You can't hide from me, my sweetie."

You spotted sad determination in his eyes when he mumbled those words, black eyes holding your gaze firmly as if wanting to clearly bring the point across that he wouldn't let you again. His face was close to yours, his soft breath brushing over your face and his forehead pressed gently against your own. There was longing inside those black orbs of his but you knew that his guilt was preventing him from allowing himself to cave in.

"I see..."

#yandere naruto #yandere naruto shippuden #yandere itachi #yandere itachi uchiha

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nocturnesmoon · 5 months

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I have thoughts spurring around in my head like feral cats chasing a bouncy ball, and I'm making it everyone's problem.

What if we take the world of star wars, and smash you and the 141 into it.

There are so many different combinations and turns this could take, but what I'm thinking about is the 141, ex-military turned smugglers, and you a Jedi in hiding after order 66.

The clone wars have finally come to its brutal end, and the empire has taken over the known galaxy. The Jedi have been portrayed as traitors and have been promptly executed, and the rest forced into hiding.

It looks bleak for anyone still holding onto the hope of the republic, anyone not willing to adapt to the new world gets destroyed right along with the old.

The 141 being forcefully retired, not that they minded at this point they knew it was a losing fight. With their options limited, and not keen to do the empire's bidding, or anyone's bidding ever again, they chose the obvious choice, to run.

It wasn't the ideal outcome, but with a timer on their lives, and conflicted opinions, Price took charge of the group. He knew that right now survival was the only thing that mattered, that his men would still live to see another day.

The year of acclimating to their new life was rough, they were used to sticking together but they also normally had more direction than this. Being wanted in any area governed by the empire limited a lot of work options for them.

It quite honestly didn't take long before Price resorted to less moral means, it was how their career as smugglers started.

With Gaz's excellent piloting skills, Soap's weaponry and science knowledge, Ghost's brute strength and intimating demeanor, and Price's own smooth tongue and connections, it was the most optimal choice.

And much to the their own surprise, they're pretty damn good at it.

They make good money smuggling a lot of different things across the galaxy, food, weapons, illegal goods. They take almost any job they can get in the start; they don't have time to be picky just yet, they need the credits more than good morals.

Their wanted status is likely to never get alleviated, but they combat it by never settling in one place too long. They prioritize the credits they have and get a ship big enough for both their job and to house the four of them. They're already used to being close, while this is a step further it's nothing any one of them has anything against.

They all agreed that they would stay together, they started this together and they'll end it together.

A few years in they have gotten quite the reputation for themselves, at least among other known smugglers and wanted criminals. They get bigger job opportunities, higher pay, more risk.

The bond they forge between each other is something none of them could explain, but they embrace its qualities, it's comfort and pleasure.

Some things are better to just leave unexplained and enjoy while they last. The only thing they have is each other, and they've grown quite content with that.

That was until something unexpected crash landed into their lives.

Docked at some lesser-known planet in system of farmers, they had originally planned to stop there for a few days to stock up on supplies and look for less likely work opportunities. Farmers sometimes had some strange inquiries they were quite content spending massive amounts of the little credits they have.

It was a peaceful little community, none the wiser to the person hiding amongst them. You, a Jedi who somehow survived the purge of order 66, posing as mechanic. Outside of your Jedi teachings, you had clear proficiency in anything creating and fixing.

It had been the perfect cover during the last year, who would suspect that the innocent mechanic trying to get by would harbor such a grave secret. That the kind person living in the rundown house, would be so full of survivors’ guilt that it was nothing short of a miracle they were still going.

It had roughly been 2 years since order 66, 2 years since you had survived and fled, 2 years on the run from the empire and the usual calm feeling of the force now gone.

Images still fresh on your brain despite the time, of your master, of your friends, those you'd considered your family dying from blasters that once aided them.

Every time you reached out through the force it was now hollow, the echo going into your brain and body, reminding you of the terrifying fact that you were truly alone.

You had no idea why you survived out of everyone, not even a fully trained Jedi, a mere Padawan with few accomplishments to their name. You shouldn't have survived that, someone better should be here in your place, yet no matter how much you think those thoughts, you can't change the reality.

The small farmer planet had been a good hiding spot for quite a while, you even dared to make a few friends during your stay. Despite it being less of a good idea you still kept your blade, the kyber crystal within being the only thing giving you comfort in your grief. Though you hadn't expected to ever need it again, especially not this soon.

Never had you expected that the empire would set their sights here, nor had you expected your methods of hiding had actually been that horrible. It didn't take them longer than a few days ‘til the people you thought friends practically turned you in.

You couldn't find it in your heart to blame them, the empire had very convincing methods, yet it still meant you were forced into a run for your life.

When the 141 had set their sights on this planet they hadn't expected the empire to already be here when they arrived. Price had insisted that the planet was still free, and he was right, a week ago.

They remained inconspicuous, did their shopping, and didn't snoop around too long. There was no need to get the empire hot on their tails once again.

When Ghost and Gaz went into the market, they intended on staying out of trouble, and technically they weren't the ones roped into it.

When they first spotted you, running from a few storm troopers, lightsaber blade raised, they nearly didn't believe their own eyes. All the Jedi were supposed to be dead, yet here you were, a sight to behold.

Nothing about their next actions were ruled by logic, if you ask them later about what they were thinking they couldn't tell you, because the only thing that was a priority now was to help you.

Perhaps it was some sort of obligation, maybe a sliver of hope for something better, or maybe it was just something about you that tugged at them, making them want to protect and help you.

Backed into a cornered alley, almost having lost your pursuers you felt the new threat loom behind you. A technique that was familiar in ways you couldn't explain, and too fast for you to register and counter. You were knocked out cold, and the next time you woke you were on a spaceship in space.

To say that Price was furious with the two was an understatement, they had more or less kidnapped someone unprompted. While Soap found the situation hilarious, he also had a feeling there was way more to this, and a possible danger they could've avoided.

When you wake it's Price that greets you, making sure to establish himself to not be a threat to you, so you didn't do anything drastic. You were on edge, understandably so, but he managed to explain the situation while also avoiding the main topic at hand.

You knew it would come up, he was toying with your lightsaber in his hands while you talked, and no matter how much you stared it down you didn't dare lunge for it yet. The dreaded question, and the answer that people had such varying reactions to.

"You're Jedi?"

You had expected something else when you confirmed to him what you were, what you've been since you could remember. A part of you had expected them to be bounty hunters, ready to turn you over to the empire at a moment’s notice. The reward on your head would be great, you imagine, yet that's not what he does.

He reminisces instead, telling you of a Jedi he once knew, of how he and his men had fought alongside a few of them on special occasions. Never had you imagine that this is where you would end up, in the metaphorical arms of people who could care maybe just a little.

He gave you an offer, they could drop you off at whatever location you requested, or they could work a sort of partnership.

You don't know what to make of it at first. They seem genuine, but people have ratted you out for less. You don't have a lot of options, going somewhere else and trying to find another inconspicuous farming planet wasn't the most viable choice, but neither was bunking with them. Who knew what kind of people they were.

Your chances were not the best, and unfortunately you had a sneaking suspicion they knew that. Whether their intentions were noble or just pity, you decided to take the risk and stay. If it all came crashing down, you'd still have your training, it had gotten you this far, it could get you further.

The first few days you stayed with them was tense, they were all in agreement on keeping you, there was nothing hostile about it, but it was still tense. It was partially your own doing, you walked on eggshells around them, never letting any of them behind you, etc. etc.

They understood to an extent, the way they met you wasn't exactly on the best of terms, it was natural for you to be cautious. So, they let you have your space, they don't pressure you into anything but do try to coax you into a more comfortable environment with them.

The crack starts to form when you see them all gathered in the main area of the ship, laughing, talking, playing a game you're unfamiliar with. Soap is the first to notice you staring, with a big grin on his face he invites you to join them. Hesitant but interested you approach.

Price explains the rules to you, and you get to watch for a round or two before you join in on your own. They go easy on you but you're a quick learner, and it doesn't take long before you become quite vicious in your play.

It becomes a common thing, almost nightly that they all gather to spend time together. The bond between each other grows fast, and it's not long before you start feeling like this is exactly where you're meant to be.

Settling in with them becomes easier and easier, as if they had always waited for another person to welcome in with them. To fill a missing part, they didn't know they needed.

While keeping the secret of what you are is the topmost priority, you end up helping them out on jobs. Due to your training you're very adaptable, able to fill any position where something was missing.

You were an excellent mechanic when the ship was down, and with Gaz's magic touch it halved the time it usually took to repair.

Soap had a really fun time explaining a bunch of different things about weaponry and the science behind it. There had been a lot of different questions you had in the clone wars that was left unanswered, you could finally have someone enthusiastic that could explain them to you.

A lot of long rides were spent like that, of you asking him questions and then more questions because the math he talked about in the first question was confusing.

Even though you were just a Padawan back then, you still had made your fair share of connections during the clone wars. People that you and your old master had come across, and old friends outside of the Jedi order.

Price found it very useful, and though most of the connections you had were friendship and not business, it could still be used as such. A few of them he even helped rekindle, you've been grateful for that ever since.

Though the Jedi order is no more you still try to keep up with your training. You have no guidance any longer, nothing new to look at, but you can maintain what you know.

The others are happy to help you with it as well, they know it's important to you and a part of them have always found it fascinating how you train.

Occasionally you'd have them all surround you in a circle, setting their blasters to stun and randomly shooting at you. It helped sharpening your senses, helped you rely on the force to guide your hand, and to deflect more accurately.

You'd do a lot of training with Ghost that wasn't necessarily Jedi training. While you did a lot of mental training on your own, the physical part was something Ghost had a lot of enjoyment in helping you with.

Sparring, running, lifting, anything he could think of that would help you, he did, and it quickly became thing for you two to train together.

It wasn't anything you had expected with them, not in a million years would you have imagined ending up here. It was a thing you couldn't predict, but neither was order 66.

Nobody you knew had been able to foresee the collapse of the Jedi order. Some things were just left up to chance, and currently here with the 141, you liked your odds.

I just finished reading the book project hail mary, and not too long ago i reread the Ahsoka book. So safe to say i've been in a bit of a space mood, still am.

And what better way to utilize that, than combine my hyperfixation on the 141 and my special interest star wars hehe.

#noctmoon fics #star wars #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #tf141 x reader #poly tf141 #tf 141 #star wars x cod au

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kanerallels · 4 days

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Today's @spectre-week prompt is dedicated to @keeper-of-sparkly-things, because it was her genius idea in the first place! Here it is on AO3, but it's also on here! Enjoy!

The Kingdom of Sand was, in a word, hot. Blisteringly hot, in a way that weighed on the scales and seared through the flesh. Zeb had only been there for a few days, and he felt like he was melting, scale by scale.

He hated it with a passionate fury. But he didn’t have a choice. Home… wasn’t an option anymore.

A shudder rippled through him at the memories— Insidious’s guards showing up at his home village. Lady Crystalline facing them, her children Petrel and Tern behind her, curious.

Blue blood, staining the snow bright.

So much death. Too much. Zeb had barely made it out alive. He still wasn’t sure how he’d made it out. He was captain of the guard, by the moons. He shouldn’t have been the one who was still alive.

But he was. And now he was in the Kingdom of Sand, watching himself evaporate drop by drop.

Pulling his wings a little closer in hope that there was some leftover cold in those scales, he squinted at the desert around him. He’d been traveling for five days, switching between flying and walking, and there was officially no sign of the Ice Kingdom behind him. Just sand and cacti, and the odd desert creature.

Luckily, Zeb had always been good at maps. And if he remembered correctly, he was getting closer to his goal. The Scorpion Den was at the heart of the desert, past even the old Sandwing palace, from back when rulers other than Insidious had actually held power. These days, they were just puppets or talonlicking scum who agreed with Insidious’s lies.

The Scorpion Den wasn’t like that. Mostly because it was a haven for criminals— or so Zeb had always heard. There had been times when it was more organized, run by dragons who wanted to help, not to harm. Now, who knew? All Zeb cared about was that it was a place where, hopefully, he could disappear.

After that… he didn’t know what would come next. Pantala wasn’t watched as closely as Pyrrhia was, so maybe he’d travel to the other continent. But once he was there, then what? Just hide away while the Empire continued their atrocities, massacring dragons who dared to stand up to Insidious?

The truth was, he didn’t know where to go next. The only thing he could focus on was putting one talon in front of the other, and the burning heat beating down on his scales.

It was worse down on the sand, though, and he’d been there for a couple hours already. Flaring his wings, it took Zeb a couple tries to get into the air, but once he was there, flying was a relief. It was a repetitive action, giving him something to focus on, and the wind rushing around him cooled him a little.

Time ticked by, but not much had passed before Zeb saw a dark shape looming on the horizon. As he grew closer, he recognized it with a jolt. This was the Sandwing palace. He’d been to once when he was new in the guard, years ago.

If he’d reached the palace, then it couldn’t be long before he reached the Scorpion Den. Beating his wings harder, Zeb pushed onwards. He was close— and he hadn’t had anything to drink in a while. There would be water there, and he could submerge himself in an oceanful.

He thought wistfully of the frigid seas of the Ice Kingdom, and kept flying.

Hours slipped by. The sun sank in the sky, but Zeb didn’t stop. It was smarter for him to fly by night, anyways. Kept him safe from prying eyes, and from the heat of the day.

So he flew through the night, the moons glittering off his wings, the temperature dropping to something far more pleasantly chilly. The night passed in a blur, the sky going dark and then fading into light again.

The sun slowly bled over the horizon, turning the sand below him orange and staining the sky. In the distance, the dark shape of a sprawling city marred the wide expanse of desert.

Zeb had made it to the Scorpion Den.

He landed outside the city limits gracefully. And by gracefully, he meant his wings faltered and his head spun and he wound up in a tangled pile, face down and spitting out sand.

In his defense, he’d been flying all night. And it had been a long time since he last had any water.

Scrambling up, he shook off his wings, waited until his head stopped whirling, and then started towards the city gate.

Zeb only made it a little ways into the city when he realized this wasn’t like any cities he’d ever been to before. The Ice Kingdom, while welcoming to other tribes, was simply too cold for other species. They generally had to leave their home to experience others. That had been more common, before Insidious. Now, with his reign, the Icewings kept to themselves. The idea of a Nightwing king ruling over everyone was just a little too close to certain past events to be anything less than ominous.

So the town where Zeb lived, and most of the others, were just Icewings.

There wasn’t an Icewing in sight here. There were Sandwings, mostly. But also Skywings, their orange and red scales bright against the sand, and duller brown Mudwings. The colors overlapped in an autumnal medley, with an occasional pop of blue from a Seawing or black from a Nightwing.

They were a little unusual. Zeb stuck out like a sore thumb, and everyone around him knew it. A lot of hostile and suspicious glances were being sent his way, and it was getting old. Zeb put on his most aggressive look— which didn’t take much, he was a natural at looking mean— and decided to find the closest oasis or well. If he didn’t get water soon, he was probably going to pass out.

He hadn’t made it far when things started to get interesting.

First, the streets started to get emptier. The dragons around him slipped out of sight or darted down alleyways, and Zeb frowned. Something was wrong.

Second, a squad of Insidious’s armored stormtroopers came barrelling down the street, and Zeb froze. Just the sight of them brought back memories he didn’t care to relive, and he tensed, ready for a fight.

But they went right past him, like he wasn’t even there, charging into a nearby alleyway, bristling with weapons.

What was happening nearby that was more dangerous than him?

Curiosity tugged at him until he found himself heading down the same alleyway, ears pricked. It wasn’t long before he heard… something. Snarls and shouts, clattering weapons. There was the barest hint of smoke, and Zeb slowed a little as he came closer.

Peeking around a corner, he took in the sight before him.

There were six stormtroopers, all carrying swords or spears and clad in white armor that covered their scales. They’d backed their quarry into a corner, and Zeb realized, with a jolt of surprise, that it was a Leafwing.

He hadn’t met too many Pantalan dragons in his time, and he was pretty sure this was the first Leafwing he’d ever seen. His scales were green, with highlights of brown, and his eyes were a surprising shade of blue-green.

More surprising than that, however, was his reaction to the troopers. He didn’t look remotely concerned. In fact, a bit of a smile crossed his face as he bounced on his talons a little, ready for a fight.

Zeb was already pretty sure he liked this guy.

“Surrender, rebel,” one of the troopers barked at him. “You’ve been interfering in Emperor Insidious’s business.”

The Leafwing snorted. “If keeping you from beating up a dragonet is interfering, then I think I’ll keep doing it.”

“Hybrids are outlawed—”

“For existing, yeah. So I’ve heard.” Flexing his talons, the Leafwing glared at them. “Dragons shouldn’t have to justify their right to live.”

“Disrespect like this won’t be tolerated,” the stormtrooper snarled, and the Leafwing grinned.

“Then do something about it.”

The troopers were about to attack. Zeb could see them tensing, ready to move in. And while the Leafwing looked like a warrior, that didn’t mean he could handle six on his own.

Which was good. Because Zeb was about ready for a fight too.

Stepping away from the wall, he inhaled deeply, then exhaled a long blast of frostbreath across the bare wings of the troopers in front of him.

Some of it missed, collecting in frosty spirals across the armor on their back, but it hit the mark well enough. The two dragons recoiled, howling— and the Leafwing moved.

He was fast, almost faster than Zeb as he barrelled into the nearest trooper. Letting out a snarl of satisfaction, Zeb hurled himself into the fray, yanking a spear from one of the trooper’s talons. Grabbing him and one of his companions, he slammed their heads together, and let them drop to the ground.

The Leafwing had already dispatched one of the dragons Zeb had hit with his frostbreath. The other one had collapsed, unmoving, on the ground. Another was fighting the Leafwing. And the sixth—

A blast of fire seared Zeb’s side, and he jerked backwards with a snarl. Swinging the spear at the dragon advancing towards him, he forced him backwards, backing him against the wall. He sent a blast of frostbreath towards him, then, when the trooper was distracted pulling back, slammed the hilt of the spear into his head.

It cracked against the helmet, but it worked. The trooper folded to the ground, unmoving. Dropping the spear, Zeb let out a satisfied grunt. It had been far too long since he’d gotten in a good fight.

“Thanks for the assist.”

Zeb turned to see the Leafwing, eying him curiously. “No problem,” he said.

The Leafwing nodded. “I’m Kanan. We don’t see a lot of Icewings here.”

“Can’t imagine why. Not like it’s a blasted inferno around here,” Zeb said dryly, grimacing. “And it’s Zeb.”

Kanan studied him for a minute, then seemed to come to a decision. “Well, Zeb, I think I can help with some of that. Come on— let’s get some water on those burns.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and ducked down an alley. Zeb hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to follow a clearly proficient warrior down a dark alley— but at this point, he was too thirsty to care. He headed after the Leafwing.

They wound their way down narrow alleys and edged between buildings, keeping away from the main crowds— though Zeb could hear them, calling and arguing and selling things. Finally, they popped out in front of a large white tent, and Kanan led the way inside.

The interior was shady and cooler, and Zeb enjoyed the lack of sun for a minute before taking in his surroundings. There were a few rugs and pillows piled in a corner, along with a wooden chest and a rack of weapons, and an opening at the back, which Kanan was heading towards. “We’ve got access to one of the oases out here,” he called over his shoulder. “You’re lucky— the Empire and the gangs have got all the others.”

Zeb hurried after him, coming out in front of a wide pool, surrounded by palm trees. There were a handful of other dragons, filling waterskins or flasks, but Zeb didn’t pay any attention to them.

Heading straight to the pool, he stuck his head in, gulping down several mouthfuls with a groan of relief. He heard Kanan off to his left talking to someone, but didn’t pay attention to the words as he scooped water out of the pool, dripping it over the burns from his encounter with the troopers. None were too bad, but they did sting, and Zeb wished, more than ever, for a pile of snow. Or at least for a lack of oppressive heat.

He settled for dumping a talonful of water over his head, then drinking a little more, this time slowly. The last thing he wanted was to be sick, and he was pretty sure that was a thing that could happen.

Sitting back on the sand, Zeb glanced towards Kanan. The Leafwing was approaching him, holding something, and at his side was another dragon. At first glance, to Zeb’s surprise, she looked to be a Silkwing.

Silkwings were a little more common than Leafwings— but where they were seen, all too often, they were slaves. Ornaments of society, as pretty as Rainwings but without the magical death spit. Zeb had always hated that practice. Thank the three moons, it was rare in the Ice Kingdom.

And this Silkwing didn’t look like a slave. Her green eyes were steady and calm, not a drop of subservience or fear in them. She held herself like a leader, not a servant. And while her green wings with the silvery lighter green patterns resembled Silkwings closely, the yellow highlights looked decidedly… sandy?

Interesting, Zeb thought. This might explain why Kanan had been picking a fight over a hybrid dragonet.

“Zeb, this is Hera,” Kanan told him, nodding at the Silkwing. “She’s the boss around here. Hera, this is—”

“The reason you’re not dead right now,” Hera finished, and Kanan gave her an offended look.

“I can handle myself.”

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say, dear.” Oh, they’re totally a thing, Zeb thought as Hera turned her attention to him. “Thank you for helping him out, Zeb. I wish there was some way we could repay you—”

“The water is just fine, ma’am,” Zeb told her.

Grinning, Kanan said, “I think we can do better than that.”

He tossed him the object he’d been holding, and Zeb caught it. It was an armband, made of green leather, and he frowned. “Right. Jewelry. That’s… great? Totally won’t look hideous on me?”

Rolling his eyes, Kanan said, “It was all I had. Put it on— you’ll see.”

Dubiously, Zeb strapped it onto one of his front arms. The minute it clicked shut, he froze.

Literally. A wave of icy cold swept the heat away, bathing him in arctic temperatures. It felt like he was outside on a perfectly cool day at home. “What—” Zeb stared at Kanan. And then he saw the narrow bracelet clasped around Kanan’s wrist, and the matching one on Hera’s. The kind that were generally animus touched communicators.

“Temperature regulator,” Kanan said, looking satisfied. “Removable at any time, and it’ll adjust to any climate. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” Zeb said, staring at him. “What— are you—”

“Not that we make that public,” Hera added, her voice quiet. “The less people who know what he can do, the better.”

Nodding, Zeb said, “Got it. Well, thanks. Er— why did you help me?”

Kanan shrugged. “You helped me. It’s the least I could do. Besides… we’ve been hearing rumors about something bad happening in the Ice Kingdom. If you are running from that, you’ll need it.”

A memory of blood and terror flickered through Zeb’s mind, and he shoved it away. “Yeah. You’re not wrong.”

Hera nodded, her gaze sympathetic. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. Do you have any plans?”

“Not yet,” Zeb admitted. “But… I guess I could stick around for a bit.”

“We’re glad to have you,” Kanan told him, and for the first time since Zeb had run, things felt… not quite easier. But he was somewhere safe, with people who he could trust. And that was a step in the right direction.

#star wars rebels #swr #garazeb orrelios #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #wings of fire #wof swr au #i'm allowed a little crossover. as a treat #spectre week 2024 #tales of the spectres #writing stories is a kind of magic too

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whiskeypascals · 1 year

Text

Open Arms

(NOT MY GIF)

Request from anon!!

Warnings: Major character death, mention of Y/N panicking, Joel blaming himself, somewhat ooc Joel (he’s so insecure please get him a therapist jfc), not necessarily a warning but this can be seen as platonic or romantic!

Summary: It was 10 years after the outbreak, Y/N left his home town and found Joel, who was on a smuggling mission. After completing it, Joel decided that keeping Y/N around would be helpful in the long run to get to Tommy, who was in Wyoming as of the last time Joel had heard anything. On the way out west, Joel opens up more to Y/N bit by bit and they found love in a the wasteland that’s left of the planet. They get to Wyoming and Tommy isn’t there, no trace of him even. it sparks something in Joel and things take a complete turn and Joel ends up leaving and as soon as he goes, they get trapped by a group of fireflies and Joel really regrets what he says

On the day of the outbreak, Y/N had no choice but to stay where he was, but after ten years, he couldn’t stand to stay in this place anymore. The QZ was full of fascist FEDRA officers who would do anything to keep ‘order’. The streets would be patrolled all night long, there would be casual searches of apartments where they claimed they would look for criminals but all they would do was go in and take people away from their families and shoot at any sign of protest. There were many nights where Y/N was awoken by screaming from his neighbors but he couldn’t get up and fight for them.

He couldn’t fucking take it any longer.

So, he left. He snuck out of his building under the cover of night fall and made it out like he’d seen smugglers do so many times from the window.

It was nearing a year since Y/N left the QZ, he’d come and go from different groups of people and ended up alone and scared for what seemed like the millionth time.

That’s when he came.

Joel.

He was on a smuggling trip and was making his way to Michigan, and got caught in an ambush and found Y/N hiding.

“No don’t shoot!” Y/N exclaimed, throwing his hands up “I’m unarmed.” he said, keeping his hands where Joel could see.

“Please help me, I don’t know who those people are. Please.” He started to beg, “I escaped my QZ about a year ago.”

Joel looked around and put his finger up to his lips. Y/N stopped talking and Joel moved to hide in the same spot that Y/N was just minutes ago. Y/N crouched back down next to Joel and watched as a few trucks passed by.

“Name.” That wasn’t a question, it was a demand.

“Y/N.” Y/N whispered.

“Where did you come from.” Another stern demand.

“San Francisco QZ.”

Y/N didn’t know why he trusted Joel as much as he did in this moment, it was probably because he was in a life or death situation right now and he was his only chance of making it out alive.

“Listen, I’m goin’ to get us out but you have to listen to what I say, and then you’ll be on your way Y/N.”

Y/N nodded.

The two stood up and Joel pulled the gun off of his hip and held it out in front of him as he slowly treaded into the street, it was dark outside but he couldn’t pull out his light because it was an obvious death wish.

Joel heard shooting behind them. He turned around and shoved Y/N back behind him and cocked his gun. There was someone shooting at them from afar.

“Shit aim.” He said to himself before he himself started shooting.

“Stay behind me.”

Joel walked toward where the person was shooting from, luckily it was only one person and Joel one shotted them.

“God damn idiot.”

Joel turned back around and the two kept quiet as they walked out of danger.

“Thank you.” Is all that Y/N could say when they were far away from the town.

“Keep quiet, there might be some more of them out here.”

“I think you’re overthinking”

Joel turned around, “I’m thinking rationally, we have no idea what’s out here.”

Y/N sighed, “Yeah, sorry…” He thought for a second, “Hey I never got your name.”

“Why do you need to know, we’re splitting our ways, I’m goin’ to finish my job and you’re gonna keep surviving.”

The two did not split ways.

It was a week later and Joel had brought Y/N all the way to the city in Michigan where he was taking his cargo to, and in return he got another gun from the person he was selling to.

“Here, you must know how to use it if you’ve been out here for this long.” Joel handed the pistol to Y/N, who nodded in agreement.

“Where are we going from here?”

Joel said nothing.

“Joel?”

“I’ve got a brother out west, I was thinking that I could get there easier if I had you navigating the way.” It took him ages to finally reply to Y/N’s question.

“What if he’s not there?”

“He will be.”

The two men walked out of the abandoned building that Joel met his buyer in and Y/N spoke up.

“The distance is a good fifteen hundred miles so if you have a truck hidden somewhere like all that ammo, it would be best to find it.”

“We’ll make do.”

The first few days went by cruelly slow, back and forth bickering between Joel and Y/N and sleeping in the middle of the woods feet apart, but as the days went past, the two started to open up more to each other. It was easier said than done for Joel, but Y/N had no issues with sharing his most of his story.

It was day twelve of walking and Y/N had found themselves in the middle of nowhere, it wasn’t like Y/N hadn’t been going this way before, but that was a year ago, so to say the least they were lost.

“Joel, I hate to say this to you but we might need to find a map.”

“Y/N tell me where we can find a map, look where the hell we are.”

“I sort of remember this area, there should be a truck stop somewhere.”

Joel said nothing and just kept walking.

Five miles later there was indeed an old truck stop, worn away by time and taken over by wildlife.

“You swear it’s empty?” Joel said, looking for an entrance.

“Well, I can’t promise anything, so pay attention to everything.”

“Save that advice for yourself Y/N” Joel found a loose board covering up a broken glass door and the two went inside.

They were met with the smell of mold and decay, the only sounds that could be heard were their footsteps crunching on the debris on the floor.

“Let’s find the map and get out, ‘kay, I think I remember the layout of this place” Y/N said quietly.

Joel nodded, it felt good to Y/N for Joel to agree with him for once, even if what he said was common knowledge between the two.

‘Oh you have to be fucking kidding me.’ Joel thought to himself, looking around seeing two dead bodies of what looked like smugglers based solely on what they were wearing. Y/N’s eyes went wide and his jaw dropped

“Fuck.” He mouthed

He pulled his gun out and Y/N did the same. They both held their weapons out and started walking, it got to a point in the building where the sunlight stopped leaking in and the both of them had to pull their flashlights out too.

That’s when Y/N heard the clicking.

He turned to Joel and put a finger over his mouth. Joel turned to look forward and took the smallest steps he possibly could to not make any noise and Y/N walked in the same manner.

They got to the back room where a clicker stood. Joel went to line up his shot, but before he even got his finger on the trigger, a gunshot from Y/N rang out. The clicker turned and screamed a guttural sound, Joel let out two quick shots from his gun and the clicker fell to the floor.

“We have to get out of here. Now.” He said bluntly, Y/N turned to run out of the truck stop and made it to the doorway they came in before realizing that Joel wasn’t behind him.

“Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.” Y/N started to panic.

“JOEL?” He yelled out.

“Y/N GO.” Joel yelled back, he sounded far away from where Y/N was standing, there were two gunshots and then the sound of heavy boots on tile floor, Y/N got out of the door and waited for Joel to make it and slammed the board against the door.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” is all Joel said between heavy breaths.

“What happened back there?” Y/N grabbed onto Joel’s arm, “Scared the fuck out of me man.”

“Those smugglers turned, they almost got me.”

“Thank god they didn’t, I don’t want to be out here alone again.”

“Thank you for waiting, I’m not 100% sure if they’re dead so we have to get going.”

“What about the map?”

“Fuck that map, we need to go, Y/N.”

The two kept walking West. It would take at least 6 more days for the two to even make it to Wyoming, let alone find where Tommy was.

Just as it started to turn to night, Joel and Y/N decided to stop for that night and set up camp in the woods so if anything was coming, they would be able to hear if a branch snapped or leaves rustled.

“Hey, Joel, can I ask you something?” Y/N asked, setting down the lamp that Joel brought.

Joel looked up from where he was laying out their sleeping bags.

“Do you have any other family out here besides Tommy?”

“M-mm.” Joel shook his head.

He really didn’t, he would have Sarah if he could have saved her that day, but things didn’t go the way he had planned to that night.

“D’you?” Joel asked, getting into his sleeping bag.

“No. My sister died the night of the outbreak, we’d planned to get to LA but it was so damn crowded in the streets, the runners got to her before we could run out of the town.”

Joel turned to see Y/N starting to tear up.

“Sorry, talking about her makes me so emotional, she was only 17. It almost felt like I was her dad, or at least in that moment.”

Y/N sniffed and laid down in his sleeping bag.

“I know how you feel,” Joel turned off the lamp and laid down too.

“You said you didn’t have family out here?”

“I lost my little girl when the outbreak started.”

“How old?”

“12.”

Joel turned away to face away from Y/N

“Fuck I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have asked if I knew it would upset you.”

Y/N sat up and looked over to Joel, he’d never seen the older man so vulnerable.

“Joel,” Y/N moved closer to him “I’m sorry. I know how you feel, I know that you feel like you need to protect me, and I need you to know that I’m gonna survive this and we’ll get out asses to Wyoming and find your brother.” He said putting his hands on Joel’s shoulder. He felt the man tremble slightly under his touch.

“You don’t need to apologize, Y/N.” Joel shrugged Y/N’s hand off his shoulder and turned to look at him, Y/N got up and kneeled by Joel’s side to hug him.

Joel didn’t know what to do at first honestly, it was the first time he had felt any empathy in 11 years. Just as Y/N was going to pull away and apologize, Joel swung his arm around his side and hugged him tightly.

“Okay, shit Joel, too tight.” Y/N struggled to say, Joel took his arms out from around Y/N and mumbled a small ‘sorry’.

“Tell me about her in the morning.” Y/N said, scooting back to his sleeping bag.

Joel nodded and reached to turn off the lantern behind the two of their heads.

Joel didn’t get much sleep that night, he kept waking up and falling back asleep to only repeat the process until morning. That was a common occurrence for him lately. When the sun came up, Joel started getting all of his things together to be prepared when Y/N woke up. It was only about a half an hour before he did wake up though.

When he woken up, he saw that all of Joel’s things had gone and he started to think that Joel left him like he had done with so many different groups of people.

“Morning.” Joel said from a few feet away, he was sitting on a tree trunk that had fallen down a long time ago.

Y/N let out a sigh of relief and got up from his spot. He noticed that Joel had packed all of their stuff up into their backpacks except his sleeping bag. He rolled it up quickly and fastened it so it wouldn’t come undone while they were walking.

“What was she like?” Y/N asked after a while.

“She was a lot like her mom, same eyes and smile y’know, things like that.”

Joel kept what he said about Sarah short and sweet and they moved on from there.

It felt weird to Joel to be this open with someone he met less than a month ago, but it somehow felt right to him at the same time.

The two kept walking, and walking, and walking some more for a full day and a full night. They reached a sign that read

“Welcome to Nebraska!” In massive letters, it was covered in graffiti and rust from all the time it was out there with no one to keep it pretty.

As day turned to night once again, Joel and Y/N found a place far from any life that would be out there, and called it a night.

Joel watched Y/N lay out his sleeping bag and turned to do the same, he thought for a second and decided to speak on his thoughts.

“Y/N, bring your sleeping bag closer.”

“Uh, okay,” He moved his stuff closer and sat down on top of it. “Is everything alright Joel?”

Joel nodded, “Yeah just thinkin’” He said quietly.

“So you wanted me to move closer to you because you’re thinking?” Y/N laughed a little.

“Yeah about you idiot.”

Y/N looked and Joel confused

“Why are you so nice to me?”

Y/N went to speak but Joel cut him off

“I’m mean and I’m bossy, I have no redeeming traits.”

Joel finished and Y/N sat there for a minute thinking of what to say.

The hardened man he had grown to know just spilled out to him and he honestly didn’t know what to do.

“Joel, you saved my life, you’ve kept me out of danger that would have killed me by now, yes you’re mean but that’s who you are.” he finally said breaking the silence that seemed hours long.

Joel hugged Y/N, just like they hugged when Joel told him about Sarah.

“Can we uh, sleep like this?” Y/N suggested, still hugging Joel tight, he was enjoying the human touch just as much as Joel was.

“It’s kinda complicated with two separate sleeping bags Y/N. How big is yours?”

Y/N tensed at those words and Joel noticed.

“Your fuckin’ sleeping bag Y/N.” Joel said flatly.

“Oh it’s big enough for both of us I think, we’d have to squeeze together but it would work.”

Joel let go of Y/N and scooted out of his own sleeping bag and Y/N got in and opened up the zipper to let Joel squeeze in next to him. It was kind of uncomfortable at first for both of them and they knew they would wake up with aching backs but they repositioned themselves and got comfortable.

That was one of the first nights Joel had slept fully through.

‘I’m fuckin’ losin’ it.’ He thought when he woke up with the heat off of Y/N’s body radiating onto his back and an arm around his waist.

He was again, the first to wake up and the moment he moved to try and get up, Y/N woke up.

“You feeling better Joel?”

Joel hummed in response, as much as he hated feeling vulnerable, he really liked having someone not tell him that he should fix himself.

“Good, let’s get going.”

The two packed up their stuff and trekked through rain and sun until they reached a sign that brought a smile to Joel’s face.

It was the first time that Y/N had seen Joel smile a genuine smile.

“Kay enough ogling the sign let’s go find Tommy.” Y/N smiled.

“Welcome to Wyoming.”

As Joel and Y/N walked further into the state, they were awestruck about how beautiful the landscape managed to stay,

“Joel listen,” Y/N whispered

“It’s just deer Y/N.”

“No those steps are too heavy.”

“Well, whatever it is I’m sure they don’t need us to help, there’s no screaming.”

Y/N nodded and they kept walking.

They had finally reached Casper, the last place Joel had heard from Tommy, the city was desolate, not a single form of life as far as the eye could see. Joel’s joy suddenly disappeared.

“Where is he?” Y/N asked quietly.

“I- He-.”

Joel screamed out Tommy’s name, he didn’t want to think that he wasn’t here anymore, he needed him back. Ten years was a long time without your brother.

“Joel we’ll find him don’t worry,” Y/N went to put his hand on Joel’s shoulder, put Joel pushed it away before it even made contact.

“You don’t know dangerous this place is for him, Y/N. He could be dead.” Joel started getting angry and Y/N backed away from him.

“Joel, I do know.” Y/N assured

“You only survived because I helped you, you were unarmed and you would have died, and do you think Tommy is armed?”

“Yes Joel, he was a firefly of course he would be armed.”

Joel sighed and stopped talking and Y/N scanned his face for any emotion.

“I need to go, I dug myself too deep and I need to go and you need to go back to San Francisco.”

“Joel, I can’t go back, they’ll kill me, and I know you’ve been smuggling for a long time but you were just as lost as I was when we needed to find a map, I can help you Joel.” Y/N begged.

“No, I’m going to look all around here and find my fucking brother.”

Joel walked away and Y/N just watched him,

“Joel, don’t fucking leave me here.” He started to get choked up.

Joel said nothing and kept walking.

Y/N accepted defeat and turned away so he wouldn’t have to watch Joel leave.

Just as Joel reached the door of the building they were in, he noticed a group of people walking towards it, he turned around and ran back to the room Y/N was in.

“I thought you were leaving, Joel.” Y/N said, he was sitting on the floor with back against the wall.

“There are people coming towards here, we need to hide. Right now.”

“What?”

“Right now, Y/N.”

Joel helped Y/N stand up and they found a smaller room off the room that they were already in and crouched down behind boxes.

They were in the same position they were the night they met. Joel was crouched in front of Y/N and pulling out his gun, and Y\N was behind Joel, he was armed this time, but it still felt the same to him.

“Joel, let me go out there I can protect myself.”

“No. You stay he-“

Before Joel could even finish his sentence, Y/N was getting up from behind him.

“Fuck. Y/N, get the fuck back behind me!” Joel whisper-shouted.

Y/N didn’t listen and he made his way back into the room they were in moments prior.

It was almost cliche how Y/N was struck down as soon as he walked into the open area. Joel heard the gunshot and booked it into the room.

“Holy shit.” is all he said when three firefly members stood in front of the door to leave.

“Joel?” Y/N asked weakly.

“Hey, stay with me Y/N don’t fucking do this, I’m sorry for what I said earlier please don’t fucking do this to me.” Joel started tearing up.

Four shots rung out through the building, Joel shot all three of the members, he missed one but almost instantly got them down with the fourth shot.

“Joel, who were those people?”

“I don’t know Y/N,” Joel looked down to see blood spilling onto the floor. “Fuck, c’mon we have to get you up.” Y/N winced as Joel tried to slide his arm under his waist.

“Joel stop.” Y/N said, pushing Joel’s arms off of him.

“Please, Y/N I- I’m sorry for saying you would have died back in Chicago.”

Joel just broke down at this point, he gripped onto the front of Y/N’s shirt and held him in his arms, just like he did that night in Nebraska it hit him, he realized that no matter how much he tried, people around him would keep getting hurt or killed, it happened to Sarah, God knows what happened to Tommy, and now it’s Y/N.

All Joel could think about was how he said that Y/N would have never survived and that’s why he got up when he had told him to stay behind him,

He wanted to prove to Joel that he could save himself.

And that’s what killed him. Words that came out of Joel’s mouth. Words that Joel said to him. Joel thinking that he was weak.

The man would never forgive himself, he would never let anyone close to him ever again in fear of the pattern repeating.

#joel miller #joel miller x male reader #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #tlou #joel miller x reader #the last of us #pedro pascal x reader #Spotify

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xxxdreamscapexxx · 8 months

Text

Sacrifices series: Chapter 2: The hunt

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3.4k

Series Summary: After closing the Darkhold, Wanda struggled to find her place in the word. Until she met you that is. And in you, she found hope. But the past has a way of coming back and she’s faced with an impossible choice once again. A choice that’s going to break her heart. Chapter summary: After the last time she saw you, Wanda spent every waking moment trying to capture the monster, who was terrorizing her city and causing mass panic. What will she stumble on?

Warning: angst!; nightmares, lack of self-care, sleeplessness, emotional trauma; Hurt - No Comfort ; Blood, human sacrifice, gory details of a mutilated body, dark magic... That should be it, but in case I missed anything, please let me know. Also, Reader will not be making an appearance in this chapter, but she has a significant role to play in the future. Chapter 1: Sacrifices

It had been exactly 9 days since Wanda last came to see you. Nine terrible days, filled with exhaustion and disheartening failure. She worked tirelessly to find the person responsible for all the dark sacrifices. They were calling him “The Sorcerer” on every news platform there was, stopping regular broadcasts for every small detail the reporters could get their hands on. It was causing only outrage. That was the worst part. But if it meant views, no one cared to listen. She had hardly slept all that time. Her nightmares were getting worse. More realistic, more vivid. She almost felt trapped in them, every time she managed to fall asleep. As if invisible bonds were holding her prisoner in her own hellish plane of existence, refusing to let her go. It was getting harder to claw her way out of them. She had started to fear falling asleep. Not without someone watching over her. But who would be there to watch the Scarlet Witch sleep? She hardly had any friends left, despite what she was being told. Besides… Who could she trust? The dark circles under her eyes were growing bigger, her eyes sunken in. She had lost her will for most things. She was ready to break down completely. And the only thing that gave her hope, that helped her hold herself together, was the hope of seeing you again. After another dead end and way too many grotesque pictures of the horrors left behind by The Sorcerer, she sighed, defeated and unable to continue doing this a moment longer. Her heart ached so bad. Not just for herself, but for the millions out there, that lived in fear, for those who suffered the consequences of that monster’s actions. God, she needed to do better! Everyone was counting on her to find him, to stop him from doing any more harm, and she was failing! How pathetic… The most powerful magic wielder in the world, and she couldn’t catch a stupid man, playing with powers he didn’t understand… She had one more location to run down for the day, one last place, where he could have been hiding, before she would be done and she could finally rest. She could finally get in her car and drive to your house. That’s what she called rest now. Sneaking and sculking around your house like a criminal, just to sneak a glance at you from your windows. Ugh, she truly was pathetic. How low she had fallen… Driving through the streets filled her with a sense of dread. There was another protest. People with hateful signs marching with their heads held high. What was to be proud of, she wondered? What kept their heads from hanging, when they said such terrible things? She never thought she’d see the day, when people would once again rise, to burn witches. Had they learned nothing? Were they so easily fooled? Did the actions of one person truly condemn everyone, who had a gift? She didn’t believe that. But to prove it, she had to catch him first.

The whole world was wrong. And no one felt the sting of it as much as she did. Being able to read minds didn’t help, either. Almost anyone she passed thought of the dangerous monster, that walked the streets. Who would be his next sacrifice? What would be the terrible consequence of it this time? How many would it affect? No one knew, but everyone feared for their lives, their families, their children, their homes… Everyone was sending suspicious looks at their surroundings. They had so many reports of people claiming to know who The Sorcerer was. Most times it was simply neighbours they didn’t like, co-workers they envied, poor strangers, who had been unlucky to catch the eye of the wrong person. Ugly. All of it. She hated it. But sometimes, they got some legitimate intel. Like this last location. Which is why she was forcing herself to go there today. When she reached the old building, she could feel the dark energy that surged from it. She could never mistake it. It was like the perfume of a long-lost lover. She couldn’t name it, couldn’t touch it, couldn’t explain it in any way, yet she would always recognize it. And here, it lingered in the air, it seeped into the building, the concrete pavement, the very earth this place was standing on. All polluted. It made her sick to her stomach. Or was it that she hadn’t eaten in… How long was it now? She didn’t remember her last proper meal. But she had found a protein shake in the kitchen this morning. At least she drank that. Not that it mattered much. As she made her way inside, Wanda felt almost dizzy. Her very being rebelled against the energy of this place. It roared with outrage and disgust. Yet another, small, but undeniable part of her felt like it was just waking at the presence of such darkness. “Don’t touch anything here.” An inner voice whispered. “All diseased. All rotten.” It kept whispering, making her wish she could cover her ears and turn away. She could still see the door back there, she could still walk away from this place and never return… What wishful thinking. She could no more run away from here, than she could run from herself and she knew it. But it helped, giving herself the illusion of choice, when there was but one. Forward. As she ascended the stairs, her eyes peering up, she almost hoped he would be here. She needed this to end. She needed for this to be over, so she could be free.

“At least freedom is still possible for you.” That voice spoke again. That inner awareness of hers. And just when she was about to ask what that meant, a realization, or rather, a sudden recognition of another presence alerted her that she wasn’t alone and it dawned on her. There were people living here. Amongst all this… Filth. If she could feel it from outside, if it was consuming the entire building… What did it do to them? “Death.” Hissed that voice again. An echo of something she already knew. “Only death.” And that confirmation made her feel sad, most of all. Sad, that she had taken so long to find this place. Sad, that she had failed them too. That she had left them to live with this. A sudden bang, somewhere above her, startled her, making her blink away the almost trans-like state she had been walking in and she summoned all her strength, all her power, to face whatever was lurking here. Her heart was beating faster with every step she took, climbing each floor with this gut-wrenching feeling that something was waiting for her there. That she was being watched. But there was no one. Only the muffled sounds of people, behind their closed doors. Each one living their own lives there, completely unaware of how much they were being affected by the evil presence that loomed over the place. Then again, not everyone was lucky enough to be able to leave. She could see, hear, she could smell the poverty here. Now that was a true horror. A very real evil that she alone was unable to fight, or win against. Poverty claimed more lives than that Sorcerer could in a lifetime. It was the true enemy of the people in this world. Yet, there were no protests of outrage, when children starved and died, when potential was snuffed out in so many households, just for the lack of money… No one cried for the people lost to that evil… Tragic really. That people would band together and hunt down that Sorcerer, that they would do unspeakable things to him in the blink of an eye, yet would stay docile and submissive, when faced with the man-made atrocities of this world. Tragic. It almost made her want to give up then and there. But people didn’t have much protection against magic. And so, it fell on her to protect them. Even if not all deserved the grace of her efforts.

She had reached the top floor, wrapped up in such thoughts, carelessly unalert. It wasn’t like her to be so easily distracted. But she realized it wasn’t her. It was this place. It had a power of its own. It was messing with her and she had to remind herself to be at full attention. It was dangerous here… Especially here. There was a single door on the top floor, glaring at her, as if it could scare her into leaving. So much decay here… It wasn’t just the surface, the chipped paint or the dust, it was an undercurrent of sorts, a living, breathing thing that ran through the whole building, poisoning everything it touched… He must be here. No place was better suited. No place she ever stepped foot in had so much darkness in it. It was like it was made of evil. She used her powers to unlock the door, surprised that it would even work. There were no protective enchantments, no defences she could feel or spot. There was no one inside either. She could hear no thoughts, feel no sign of life. The door just opened for her and Wanda stepped inside with a sense of dread inside her. She could smell the decay here, mixed with herbs and spices that lingered in the air. She walked into the hallway, trying not to breathe too deeply. The smell was so heavy it almost made her lightheaded. And it looked like a normal apartment really… If it wasn’t for the negligence she could see with every step. Furniture falling apart, paint falling from the ceiling and walls, the dust and grime she could see everywhere. Who would choose to live like this? The next room she stumbled upon was a small, dark bedroom. The smell of dirty sheets and unwashed clothes hit her nostrils as soon as she opened the door and it made her eyes sting. How disgusting it all looked. The windows were closed shut, heavy drapes covered every surface that could give off light, making the room even more unwelcoming. She wouldn’t wish this on her worst enemies. This… Life.

Wanda stepped away from the room, grateful to be able to breathe more freely, even if reluctantly and she made her way to the next room, a more specious living room it seemed. There was a strange buzzing sound she couldn’t quite place here. Irritating and low. The curtains were closed here too, preventing her from seeing clearly and she used her magic to pull them aside, causing a cloud of dust to start spinning in the air around them, illuminated by the sun-beams that made their way inside. She could see bowls and plates of half-finished food on the small table, all rotten and mouldy now. There were flies everywhere, feeding, buzzing, flying around her as if to test if she could be part of their next meal too. It made her sick. On impulse, or perhaps, because she couldn’t stand the feel of it much longer, a blast of magic surged from within her and into the room, causing the small insects to fall. Dead in an instant. One fell right at her feet and she looked at it for a long moment, her face a grimace of open disgust, before she looked away. She didn’t dare look down again, too scared to watch herself walk over them as she stepped further inside. Looking past the broken couch and the ripped carpet, the first thing she saw was writing. It was on the walls, the floor, on random pieces of paper. Scribbles and notes everywhere. Spells. Real ones. Those that weren’t, she soon saw, were covered in paper and then that was overwritten with new spells. So many, she had to take her phone out and photograph, so she could examine later. The next thing she noticed, the one thing she realized wasn’t broken, or destroyed, were shelves. Full of mundane things, or so it seemed, but her eyes stopped on a shelf filled with books. Old ones. There were no titles on the spines, so she took one, delicate fingers opening the heavy, hand-stitched covers to find that it was a grimoire. Or an attempt at one. Her senses told her that whatever spell was being described on the pages she was looking at wouldn’t really work, regardless how much power one had. But it was a beautiful book. A real antique. And it made her wonder what else was hiding there. She used her magic to pull them all off the shelf, holding them up in the air and opening the pages. They were all books on magic! Old, new, some full of misinformation, but some… They had some truth to them. Whoever this person was… They had a real treasure-trove of information. And a book on the Scarlet Witch. The prophecy, the description of her powers… All there. Was he researching her? Was he thinking of going after her? How long did he have that book for? Did he know who she was, how to find her? But what scared her most of all, was the thought that if he knew who she was, he could also know about you. You could be in real danger and she wouldn’t know it, because she left you!

The thought of that almost made her heart pound out of her chest as panic gripped her, refusing to let go. She hadn’t seen you in 9 days! So many things could happen in that time. What if he did know about you? What if he hurt you? She would never be able to live with herself if that happened. And the only reason she could even breathe, the only reason she wasn’t running to you right now, was the thought that she hadn’t heard of a new victim of The Sorcerer. He was laying low these days. Or perhaps it had nothing to do with her. Maybe he had stumbled on this, saw that he couldn’t use this book and moved on? But the only way for her to find out, was to find him. And to do that, she needed to know more about him. Wanda closed the open books in a swift motion and she left them in a pile on the shelf. She’d be taking them with her on her way out. She wanted to go through them, when she had more time and she wasn’t paralyzed with fear for your life. With uncertain steps, she stumbled upon the kitchen, the sight making her gag. Dirty dishes and rotten food lay everywhere, the smell of it so completely overpowering, she had to cover her nose and mouth with her hand. The bugs and maggots here were thriving and she couldn’t stand the sight, so she moved on. She couldn’t possibly find what she needs here anyway. There were only 2 more doors she hadn’t tried. One was clearly the bathroom and she was sure she wouldn’t be able to stomach whatever was waiting for her there, so she chose the second one instead. But it wasn’t simple choice or chance. It was a feeling of sorts. Something calling her to that spot. Something dark and mysterious, something alluring, yet repulsive. Magic. The worst kind of magic. She could feel it. The corruption that started there, originated there and was spreading out. It was unmistakable and it was calling out to her. With every step she took, Wanda could feel the power that was concentrated behind that door. With how strong it was, she was surprised that The Sorcerer managed to keep out intruders up until now. Such dark magic sought out to corrupt anyone and anything. Other would have felt it too. They must have. When she opened the door, she gasped, the coolness that washed over her making her shiver and step back for a moment. But it wasn’t just that, it was that smell again. Death. So much stronger than before. It was all-consuming here.

Like this entire apartment, the room was dark too. In fact, it was much darker and she summoned her magic, so she could illuminate the space, searching for a light switch on the wall, but unsurprisingly, there was no electricity. She could see candles though and she lit some, hoping to see better, but as soon as she did, she wished she had never stepped foot in this place at all. Right in front of her, nailed to the wall, was a body. A human one. His eyes were carved out, the jagged edges around the wounds bloody. His chest had a hole too. Right where his heart was supposed to be. The organs were removed, gone now, probably taken by the monster who did this… She could see the poor man’s neck was snapped and she realized it’s probably how he died. Hopefully it was quick.

But what did The Sorcerer intend to do with the organs? He was going to use them for something. A spell. Another omen perhaps? And she needed to know what it was. Swallowing, Wanda forced herself to look away from the grotesque display on the wall, lighting the rest of the candles in the room, so she could see better. There was an alter here. It was obvious it grew, just as his obsession with dark magic did. Objects were placed there with great care, but as his collection grew larger, he had less space to fit them all. Idols, bones, figurines, objects with dark power… There was only 1 thing missing, a central piece that had its own place of significance. Something he must have taken with him. His book. The grimoire he used for his spells. It was gone… “Fuck!” She cursed under her breath, her eyes scanning the room frantically. There were other books. He must have moved those with significance here… Once he realized which ones were actually written by magic wielders. But the one he was using for his spells was gone. He was too. And she had no idea where he would be going. He must have known that someone was going to come for him. But how? “Damn it!” She screamed, a burst of magic knocking over his alter, his objects scattering on the floor, some, more fragile things breaking in the process. She wanted to hunt him down more than ever. She wanted to run out of the building as if she’d find him on the street, just waiting for her. But life was never that easy. Wanda walked out of the apartment with newfound determination, a stack of all his books trailing behind her, hovering in the air. She didn’t bother to hide her powers. In fact, she was hoping that he would be watching. She hoped he’d see her make her next move too. She made a call to S.H.I.E.L.D, briefly explaining the situation and she waited for the black cars to start coming. It didn’t take long. Agents were everywhere, surrounding the place and the one in charge approached her with careful steps. “Get all the people out.” Wanda said through gritted teeth. “This is a condemned building now.” “I understand.” The woman smiled at her, making a sign for the agent beside her to start spreading the word. “Top floor. That’s where he used to be.” Wanda continued, looking up briefly. “There’s a body inside.” The woman only nodded this time. Far more serious at the implications of another dead body. “Not one of his sacrifices. But it will be.” The redheaded woman continued, before the agent could interrupt her. “Just… Give the poor man a burial.” She said, a note of tiredness in her voice and she turned to leave. “And after that?” The agent spoke after her, stopping her in her tracks. Wanda looked back at the woman, then the building, ugly and grey and somehow more disturbingly unnerving than it was when she first came here. “Tear it down.” She said, a tremor in her hand giving away how much she wanted to do it herself. “Tear it down and salt the earth.” “Does that help?” The woman spoke again, thoughtful. “It has to.” Wanda said, her voice much smaller now. “It has to.”

---------------------------------------------------------------- It took me some time for the second part, but inspiration struck and I wrote this in 3 days. I'd love to know what you guys think! I have 2 more chapters in mind for this series. Should I write them too?

#writing #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #scarlet witch #magic

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sleepymccoy · 4 months

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Still thinking about a Star trek TOS Firefly au. So I'm gonna have fun writing it out.

I love the dynamic between Mal, Zoe, and Wash, so that's certainly becoming the triumvirate. Mal > Jim, Zoe > Spock, Wash > Bones. However Wash's job doesn't make sense for Bones so he's going to change to doctor.

Jim was on Tarsus 4 and suffered the same as in canon, famine leads to who lives lottery and he wasn't chosen but survived anyway. I think that makes perfect sense in the Firefly universe too, but I think unlike in trek Kodos is celebrated by the federation in Firefly for making tough choices and leading in a strong way. So he's not on the run, he's a constant background side threat who's still in power. The face of the federation in this version, but not the head of it. You feel me

After Tarsus, Jim and Bones met and became mates. I think Bones moved to a big fancy planet for his wife and child after a bit. In the meant time, we have Spock!

This got massive, have a readmore

Spock is the result of eugenic experiments (there's no aliens in Firefly 😢) like the serenity thing that the og story is about (but generational eugenics not brain poking)(because I want there to be many others, just also in hiding and with their own political factions and opinions) but his resulted in Vulcan-like stuff. I think he's still got the pointy ears and has excessively strong emotions that he's learnt to hide completely cos he was raised in a medical facility by cold scientists instead of parents and love. There's schools of thought about them, some want to integrate, some want them exterminated, some want them to form their own society. The federation stance is these eugenic things don't exist and if you see one kill it because it officially doesn't exist. So Spock is forced into hiding and hasn't really had a chance to form his broader opinion, cos it's academic anyway. They're all hiding now.

So, Spock's escaped (more on that later) and in hiding. He meets Jim and they click, probably meeting in some silly battle. I reckon Spock has ways to get away from the feds that Jim wants to learn, so Jim pushes for them to team up. They spend some time together either on someone else's ship or on a smaller ship just them two.

After a while that comes to an end and they put together a crew and buy a ship together. They hire Sulu and Chekhov who are a criminal team who need to get off this rock very fast please. Chekhov can fly wonderfully and has enough engineering knowledge that they're like hey we maybe don't need someone in the engine room!

Sulu is a jack of all trades. It takes a few months for them to realise how useful he is, he always has a skill they need and always knows someone who'll play as a contact. Absolutely invaluable.

Eventually the engine breaks beyond Chekhov's skill to fix and they've all heard of Scotty. Everyone knows about Scotty. I think this would make a good episode one.

They work Sulu's contacts and find Scotty who is, lo and behold, having a drink with his mate disgraced Doctor McCoy. Spock, immediate dislike, this guy is a doctor. Jim, holy shit! Bones! Why the fuck aren't you emailing me back!?

Turns out Bones has gotten divorced and threw a bit of a fit in a hospital and can't work on a core planet anymore. He agrees to join the crew and Scotty has some issue that forms most of the episode plot and joins too cos hey, crims gotta keep moving

The ep ends with meeting Uhura, who manages a lot of the residual resistance movement's comms. She's the most political of the bunch, but Jim is absolutely in agreement and so chuffed to meet her even tho he's never been too war-y before. Scotty and Sulu already know her. She takes a kind of Inara role on the ship, but she's not companioning, she's boosted the comms in the shuttle and is continuing this work. It's great for her cos she gets to move around and be hard to catch, and it's great for the ship cos it gives them access to loads of underground people who aren't the hated federation

I also think she helped Spock break out back in the day. I'm not sure if she was part of it and they've met, or if she helped run things so she knows Spock but he doesn't know her. She's gonna be their reason for getting accidentally involved in larger things in the story and why they get more altruistic with their jobs. Spock also pulls them into some of the eugenic stuff

I reckon episode two needs some Spock eugenic stuff to happen so that Bones can solidify himself as on team Spock in action even if he has a go at Spock. Cos everyone else follows Jim's orders and Jim is team Spock, so I think Bones needs a chance to prove it. To great danger to himself ofc.

Repeat characters (like in Firefly they have Badger and Saffron who rock up as major non crew characters) are Chapel and Rand. I think Chapel is still on a core planet as a nurse. I would have her join the crew in season two, to look for her missing husband. But in season one she can be an insider informant for the hospital heist episode, which they do mainly for the medical equipment cos Bones has like nothing to treat people with. And maybe Spock has some additional medical needs that Bones needs to learn (Spock hates this)

Rand is like a bit of Saffron energy but less totally untrustworthy. I think she works them for her benefit but in a way where when they meet again they're like hey Janice you're not allowed on the ship but it's great to see you! Like, maybe she hijacks them to get her somewhere or stows away super inconveniently. Or maybe she just steals from them old school style and has a very all's fair in love and war vibe about it. She just doesn't hold any resentment, so it's hard to resent her

If I were to cast this show I'd cast Bones and Jim and women because I think it needs more women, might as well put them in positions of power, and honestly I think Spock's character with the emotional repression and all would change being cast as a woman whereas the others wouldn't. Spock's character in this is gonna be playing into stereotypes and expectation to stay in hiding, and those change as a woman

I've definitely got less tension on board than Firefly. There's no Jayne equivalent making life hard for everyone, but you could write an arc in for Chekhov like that if you wanted to. He could go from disliking the danger Spock and Uhura bring to absolutely admiring them over like two seasons. Could be interesting, but it's not got much to do with trek really

There's no shipboard romance here either. There could be something cool in the Scotty/Uhura that happened later in trek canon. Maybe they've got romantic history, so when she joins the ship there's tension and they just fall into bed together pretty quickly. But I'd only put that in if it added something else to the story, which it might! I'm not actually writing, I'm brainstorming

And similar to what the did in Firefly I think Spock/Bones makes the most sense. Cos we don't need proof that Spock and Jim understand each other, they're captain and first officer. They have each other's back absolutely. And similarly with Jim and Bones, they'd have old loyalty and friendship to draw on. And I think they also just obviously get along. But Spock and Bones could do with some plot prodding along, so I'd do something like the Simon/Kaylee romance where there's tension and clear desire but they're bad at making it happen. There's too much in the way. But it adds reason for Bones to have Spock's back (cos we're coming at at the start of their friendship, not years into their five years mission) and you can occasionally see Spock relaxing the emotional wall with someone other than Jim as he develops more serious a crush

I want to see! The Niska episode where Jim and Spock get nicked and tortured, and Bones goes in to trade for them back. He can only afford one but true to the Empath ep he just trades himself and volunteers for the torture.

I also want to see a Jaynestown style ep where Scotty or Sulu are the hero. I think probably Scotty. He'd be easy to write as selfish in a he only cares about tech kinda way and then to find that he accidentally did this would be funny. He also likes to keep a low profile generally so it's extra hilarious

Hospital heist ep, with Chapel cameo. I don't think anyone's handing Spock over to the feds, but maybe they get caught and Chekhov tries to trade Spock for their freedom? Not in a pre planned malicious, but more that he just doesn't prioritise Spock's safety over everyone else's. He sees it as a last ditch leverage effort, for the greater good. Could be good drama

Saffron style ep with Rand but she steals from them. I do think that's hilarious, showing them be the mark. And I'd let her win, leave them stranded without whatever thing it is she fleeced and having to find a new magical tech engine bit. But hey she left some booze as an apology and made out with Jim so it's not too bad

I really like Firefly

#star trek #star trek tos #firefly #uhotty #spones

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dreamerdoesthewritething · 1 year

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[Did anyone ask for Part 3, aka the sequel to this and this? No? Too bad, you're getting it, anyway.]

Leon has been staying with you for over a week now. It's nice having your best friend in your life every day again, nicer than you thought it would be. This isn't the first time he's lived with you. After his family was killed, your parents brought him home, where he stayed until he decided he wanted to go back to his house. He was a teen when he made that choice. Your parents had managed to gain ownership of the Kennedy house for that exact reason.

He had moved out of that house a couple of years ago, selling it with the help of your father so he could live somewhere smaller with less horrible memories. Turned out his nightmares were worse in the place where the murders happened than anywhere else. Made sense, but he didn't think about that when he chose to return. He wanted his own place, a kind of teenage dream. What teen didn't want a house free from rules? But it didn't work out in that nightmare colonial. He traded it for a little townhouse and put the rest of the money in savings for future use.

That townhouse was his new home, the only one for him...until now, when he found he couldn't go back.

You had returned to work just yesterday. Coworkers offered their condolences, having heard you suffered a terrible loss which led you to take a leave of absence for a month. Some asked who it was. They had their reasons. Prayers, curiosity, sympathy, etc. You managed to get away with, "I don't wanna talk about it," for now, but you had a feeling it wouldn't work for much longer.

The thing is...Leon asked you to keep him a secret. He doesn't want anyone to know he's around. Even if that means everyone still thinks he's dead, he has to remain hidden. It's quite the paranoid request, but he wouldn't make it for no reason. You made this promise. You intend to keep it, no matter what.

Your parents have stopped by once during this week to check up on you. Leon hid in the guest bedroom. That's where he stayed whenever you weren't home. Hell, sometimes he'd be there even when you were, just in case. Can't be seen, or at least has to try to be seen by as few people as possible.

His behavior was like a fugitive, a man on the run. But he's a cop. He committed zero crimes. It's his job to arrest the criminals, not be a criminal himself. You try to imagine Leon doing anything illegal. The worst you can see him doing is shoplifting a candy bar from a gas station, and even then only because he was holding it and forgot he hadn't paid for it yet.

So what is he hiding from?

Maybe it's the press. Surely everyone would want to know how he managed to escape from Raccoon City as one of a handful of survivors of both the viral outbreak and the nuke. He didn't need that shit. Not now, not ever. It reminds you of when reporters kept trying to bother him after the murders of his family. Your mother and father shielded him from that as best they could, eloquently but firmly telling the journalists to fuck off. Leon was a little boy, not a news story. He always told your parents how thankful he was for how much they took care of him then.

Now it's your turn to do the same.

You're unlocking your front door, coming back from work at the end of the day. You feel something hard press against your back as a hand suddenly covers your mouth to muffle any sound you might make. Struggling is instantly impossible. Someone else finishes opening the door and you're forced inside.

Next thing you know, you're tied up on the floor. There's strangers in your house with guns. You're still reeling from being assaulted in the first place, so the shock and fear of your situation hasn't quite caught up to you yet.

"Where's Leon?" one of the armed men demands.

"Leon? Who--?"

"Don't even think about it," the man growls, getting up in your face. "You know exactly who the fuck Leon is. We wouldn't be wasting our time with the likes of you if we didn't know that."

Your brow furrows. "I was gonna ask who the fuck you are, for your information. I'm not so fucking stupid as to try to play dumb with dickheads who attack me in my own goddamn home."

The man backs off, but not enough for you to feel even a little more comfortable. The fear still hasn't taken hold. You press on. "Now, I don't give two shits who or what you work for, but as an American, I have rights! Rights that have been violated the moment you put your damn hands on me! If you think this won't come back to bite you--"

"Your rights don't matter in this," the man says. The look in his eyes has you shutting up, because it's clear if you keep talking, he will hit you and he will take great pleasure in doing it. "Look, princess, I'll make it real simple for you. We need Leon. You tell us what we wanna know, we get outta your hair, and it'll be like this never happened. You get that? Cuz trust me, I don't wanna be here any more than you want us."

"What are you going to--?"

"None of your damn business."

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to be strong. This man is intimidating, but he's talking about your best friend. He's with other men and they're all armed and they want your best friend. If this guy knows anything about you, he should know you won't put Leon in danger just to save yourself. You'd never.

"Just kill me. I ain't telling you shit," you say.

It doesn't have the impact you want since your voice is shaking and you can feel tears stinging your eyes, but it's the truth. You won't talk. You won't give up Leon to them. They've disrespected you, threatened you. They're hunting Leon for some reason. You don't need to know the reason, you decide. You can die without knowing, as long as it means Leon is safe.

Before the scene can escalate, your hero swoops in for the rescue, bypassing all the other armed men to put himself between you and your immediate threat. You wish he hadn't. Now they'll take him away from you to do...whatever it is they wanted with him. If he just took this opportunity to escape...

"Mr. Kennedy," the man says. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?"

"Yeah, I know," Leon says in a tight voice. "But that's on me, not her. She's got nothing to do with this, alright? Leave her alone."

"You brought her into this. What have you told her?"

"Not a goddamn thing! She's just given me somewhere to stay! That's it! She doesn't know anything!"

It's true. He hasn't told you anything about Raccoon City or the month he was gone after that. He was protecting you by keeping that to himself. Now he's protecting you again. The desperation cuts right through to your heart. Just who are these guys that they've got Leon Scott Kennedy so scared for you?

"Even if I believe you, which is a fucking huge if...I have my orders. We're to take both of you in for questioning." The man shakes his head as the other guys grab Leon and pick you off the ground. "This wouldn't have had to happen if you'd just stayed on base, Kennedy. You have no one to blame but yourself."

You're pushed into an unmarked but clearly military vehicle, still tied up with an armed man on either side of you. Leon is likewise sandwiched in the seat across from yours, facing you. The leader of the squad and another guy take the front and passenger seats. Then you're off to...who knows where?

Leon is seething as he looks at you. It's not because of you, but rather what you've been subjected to by these people. The men are unbothered by his glare. They don't care about his feelings or yours. They'd rather not be here, anyway.

"Why?"

He's speaking through gritted teeth in a dangerous tone you haven't heard before. All the other people in the vehicle look at him.

"Why is she still restrained?" Leon demands. "There's no goddamn reason for it. We're literally fucking trapped in here with you. Untie her. Now."

Despite the odds being very much against him, Leon's unspoken threat is not ignored. The men at your sides undo the bindings around your arms, finally setting you free. Your arms are stiff and sore, but you'll get over it. Well, if you make it out of whatever this is alive you will.

Without warning or care about potential consequences, Leon takes your hands in his. His stare is still so intense.

"Did they hurt you?"

You shake your head. You don't want to talk, not after everything that's just happened, not with these strangers around. Besides, you get the feeling you're going to be doing a lot of talking in the near future, whether you want to or not. His hands give yours a reassuring squeeze and doesn't let go.

"I won't let them do anything to you, I swear."

It's a little late for that, you think. You suppose he simply forgot the word "else" after "anything" since he didn't see how these guys introduced themselves to you. He's also forgetting they have weapons while he doesn't. He's hardly in any position to be making promises to protect you or even himself.

You're both so fucked and the worst part is you have no idea why.

-_-_-_-_

You face hours and hours of questioning from government men, stuck in a tiny humid room with a single bottle of water and no food. They won't even let you out to use the restroom, forcing you to hold your bladder. They want to know anything and everything Leon has told you since he showed up at your doorstep. You tell them over and over. Your story never changes. It's never good enough, though.

What are you supposed to do when they refuse to listen to the truth?

You're tired. You have to piss more than you ever have in your life. You don't even know where these government agents have taken you. Any patience you had before is gone. Your tongue hurts from all the biting you've done to keep from crying. They don't deserve to see your tears. They're not worthy of that victory. You just want to go home. Why won't they let you?

You can't take it anymore. And you just scream. A guttural, screeching sound with no words. All your stress vocalized in one long, distressing noise. Your captors don't know how to react to this, so they just yell at you. Threaten you with physical harm if you don't stop. They're already harming you by keeping you here.

The shrieking is the last straw. Other people come rushing into the room, chewing out your captors for holding you in this shithole for so long. One of them, a woman, ushers you out to the nearest restroom, apologizing for not intervening sooner. She assures you that you'll be free to go and will be compensated for this. Ah, hush money. At least that's what it sounds like.

What about Leon?

She can't say. Or won't say. It's not her place. She isn't allowed. Another secret. You feel sick. You want to go home, but you don't want to go without knowing he's okay.

What she can tell you is they're not going to hurt him. He's a valuable asset to America in a new war and they're not about to do anything that might cost them his loyalty. You're pretty sure they already crossed that line when those men held you captive in your own home, but you keep that to yourself.

After your much-needed potty break, you're escorted into a much nicer room with air conditioning. You're provided with food and drink while they arrange for someone to take you back home. Should you be concerned about possible drugs in this stuff? Eh, fuck it. Hunger and thirst overrule paranoia right now.

When your way home is ready, Leon is there with your escort. Stoic, but his eyes burn with a harsh blue flame. If he could burn this place to the ground, that'd be the ignition. Some of that rage seeps into his expression when he looks at you. The redness around your eyes and your sniffling give it all away. They made you suffer. They made you suffer, because of him.

It's just you, Leon, and the driver. The car they're using is expensive, but it's also a boring black government-typical vehicle. You and Leon climb in the backseat. You haven't said a word to each other since your reunion. Frankly, you're done talking for the day if you can help it. You don't feel safe to do so, anyway. This car is probably wired to record anything and everything you do.

You're so, so tired. You can't keep your head up or your eyes open anymore. You fall over until your head meets Leon's shoulder, using it as a pillow. He lets you. You deserve this rest. You deserve so much. You deserve so much more than to have a friend like him, a friend who shows up when you're grieving his alleged death and pulls you into such a mess.

He doesn't bother waking you when the car pulls up to the house. Instead, he picks you up and carries you inside, laying your sleeping form on top of your bed. He takes off your shoes, then tucks you in more properly. It can't be comfortable sleeping in your work clothes, but he's not about to strip you or change your clothes while you're unconscious. Not without consent. You've been violated enough today...More than enough...Way, way more than enough.

Now that you're back where you belong, the weight of today starts taking its toll on Leon. He can't rest yet, however. He knows your home has been messed with and he'll be damned if he lets them keep their bugs and wiretaps and shit just because he's here. They know that. He told them as much when they confronted him for running away from the training camp. They've already forced his hand. They already used Sherry's safety against him. They're not getting to use his best friend, too.

Minding your peace, he scours every itch and crevice of your house for their devices, tearing the electronics out and stomping them under the heels of his boots. He checks everywhere twice, then a third time, just to be sure. It all ends up in a trashcan, which he tosses outside until he can dispose of this shit more permanently. It's the least he can do.

He returns to your room, taking a seat on the corner of the bed and looking at you. You're restless in your slumber. It's to be expected, he supposes. He lets out the heaviest sigh, closing his eyes. You shouldn't have had to go through any of the things those assholes put your through. He shouldn't have put you in this position. What kind of friend is he?

And when he thinks about that month...

He was beginning the training the government "asked" him to join, a task force for fighting B.O.W.s and other miscellaneous issues. Any connections to the rest of the world were prohibited. They wanted him to themselves, believing he had no one. He let them believe that, just like they let everyone who ever cared about him believe he perished with Raccoon City.

They let you believe he died.

A month of mourning.

For him, too.

He had to come to grips with the incident on his own. So many people met once and lost shortly thereafter. People he never got the chance to meet until after they were no longer human. The mysterious woman in red whose fate he wasn't sure of. Zombies. Monsters. Death. So much death. More than he ever thought he'd see in his lifetime.

You didn't have to see any of it. You didn't need to. You always had an active imagination. What horrible images had you tormented yourself with when you thought he was dead? How much did you cry for him? How many nights did you lose sleep? Just how did you grieve for him, the little boy you comforted during the worst times of his life turned into a man you thought became nothing but ash?

Just thinking about it churned his stomach. Neither of you asked for this. Neither of you wanted any of this. Neither of you deserved what you've been through since he decided to join the RPD.

Your eyelids flutter, then open halfway. He can't stop himself from gently cupping your face.

"Leon," you murmur.

"Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No...You haven't slept."

A small smile. "That obvious?"

"Yeah...Look shittier than usual."

"Oh, you're one to talk."

You grab his arm and pull him down with you, his chest against yours. Your arms wrap around him. As if you're actually strong enough to keep him there if he didn't want to be. Your grip is rather lazy since you're only half-awake.

"Go to sleep."

"Is that an order, ma'am?"

"Mhm."

He shifts his position to get more comfortable. You're unconscious again already. He doubts he'll actually fall out as easily as you are right now, but he'll stay here regardless. Can't risk waking you up, after all. It'll be day soon and you certainly don't need to know that.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

#dreamer writes #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon s. kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader

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moxfirefly · 1 year

Note

Hush, close, scar (New prompts) for Raphael? Love your work 🖤

Ufff these are so choice 👌

And thank you!!

Rated Somewhat Steamy

[ HUSH ]: while standing close to one another and hiding from pursuers, the sender reaches up and places a finger against the receiver’s lips to prevent them from speaking and revealing their location.

[ CLOSE ]: while standing remarkably close to one another, the sender is unable to stop themselves from running their gaze across the receiver’s body, lingering for a moment on their lips, before returning to initiate prolonged, intense eye contact.

[ SCAR ]: noticing a scar on the receiver’s skin, the sender tentatively stops them from covering it up, and rests a gentle, soft kiss over it.

—————————

There weren’t many moments you could express had, to put it simply, scared the shit out of you.

But this one was truly taking the mantle, crown and the throne.

Being pursued by dangerous criminals wasn’t exactly new territory for you. Having said criminals show up with guns was.

Guns were fucking scary.

In the midst of things and for the most part you thought you could’ve quickly exited the place but that had gone to hell in hand basket before you the first rain of bullets commenced.

Thank fucking Christ for Raphael.

But while certain death felt close enough to dance with. Right now, incredibly so, you found yourself at the mercy of a whole new set of feelings.

Because yes thank Christ for Raphael.

Raphael who you knew would literally take a bullet for you.

Raphael who you trusted with your body and heart.

Raphael and his large body and defined muscles…

You blinked the gutter thoughts away, or at least tried to.

Raph had nudged you into an opening in a wall as the shoot out occurred. Opposing gangs always tended to be territorial naturally. The opening felt just as big as studio apartment in New York City could feel like. Basically it was smaller than a pack of matches.

With Raph’s large body shielding you in the cubby sized hole, your shaking had made you whimper and without realizing the implication of this scenario alone, Raph had placed a finger against your trembling lips to quiet you.

So there you were, a mere breath away from him, finger on your lips and your eyes slowly devouring the proximity you hadn’t exactly shared with him before.

You gawked, you honest to goodness gawked at him. Watched every rise and fall from his chest, saw beads of perspiration slip from his neck towards his plastron and wondered what kissing the trail would feel like. You let your gaze wander and take in the various old scars, the tense flex of his bicep and just a smaller step meant he was closer to you now, finger now palm against your lips.

Raph’s hand was so large…

The harsh huffs of air were hitting his hand, it made his hold softer for fear of leaving you without air.

‘No, no, no…’

Mind exit gutter please.

Raph then had to sigh, body relaxing and the air hit the top of your head in such a way that it reminded you just how truly small you were opposite him.

The urge to reach out and tug him by his shorts, to sneak a hand in and feel for that large cock (and fuck you knew he had to be packing). Your eyes landed on his waistline just as the large terrapin’s gaze fell on you.

He caught the your brows knitted together, the soft little sigh against his palm and it dawned on him that you were ogling him.

Why would you ogle him?

The scattering of the gangs and the sounds of sirens alerted him that the commotion game danger was dying down.

Just then your eyes met how own and suddenly it felt a little too close to your dreams.

The ones where Raph did just this.

But less clothes.

Something hard and good was inside of you.

Where those scarred lips would drip filth in honey coated octaves. Fuck you were wet already.

Your eyes lingered on his lips, on the scar you felt hideously tempted to feel against your lips.

If he could blush he would, he felt so self conscious and turned his gaze to avoid you seeing just how gnarly his features must look this up and close.

It had to be adrenaline what pushed you to cup his face and turn his gaze once again toward your own. It had to be some alien strength that removed his hand from your mouth. It had to be sheer lunacy what prompted you to stand on the tips of your shoes to place your lips against the scar on his mouth.

But something so crazy shouldn’t feel this right.

#ask #hazedazethestealthhero #tmnt bayverse #tmnt raphael x reader #raphael x reader #tmnt raphael #raphael #intimate prompts

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universitypenguin · 1 year

Text

Chapter XIV

Summary: Lloyd sets his sights on orchestrating Holbrook’s downfall and uses skills from his former life to serve up his own brand of justice. Meanwhile, Princess interviews a witness who casts doubt on key information in the case.

Masterlist

Word Count: 7,352

Warnings: Explicit discussion of murder and serial abductions. Mention of extortion, police corruption, drugs, and kidnapping. Spy/intelligence agency themes, general violence depiction of criminal behavior. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors.

Chapter XIV

Lloyd scowled at the muddy road as he navigated around the section that had been washed out by last night’s thunderstorm. The damage to the ranch’s main road aggravated his simmering frustration. He would need to order a truckload of gravel first thing on Monday.

He’d left the house at dawn and spent the day running around like a chicken with its head cut off, searching for Elliot. As light faded into the western sky, he had nothing to show for the effort. Every potential hiding spot he’d searched turned up empty. He’d spent the morning checking abandoned hunting cabins and old flop houses he remembered druggies frequenting. After lunch he expanded his search radius to the forest service cabins up in the Sawtooth mountains, then hunting blinds, and remote campgrounds.

In the evening, he’d driven out to Redfish Lake, apprehension growing with each mile, and searched the boat shed. It was empty. The only residents he’d found were of the eight legged variety. After closing up the shed, he’d surveyed the lake’s perimeter, visiting the remote places with heavy foliage that could disguise the activity associated with disposing of a body. None of them appeared disturbed. Overall, the day had been a waste.

The weight of failure settled over him as his eyes lit on an unfamiliar sight ahead.

A strange pickup truck was parked in front of the ranch house. Lloyd’s gut tightened. He jerked the wheel and pulled off into the cover of a grove of trees. Holbrook wouldn’t drive the beat up ‘97 Ford parked in the yard if his life depended on it, but it would be just like him to send someone else to do his dirty work. Concealing his vehicle in the trees, Lloyd reached behind the seat for the PTR-91 rifle he’d stashed there and slung it over his shoulder. He secured it to his back and checked his ankle holster for Joe’s Sig Sauer. In the shoulder holster he wore a Glock17 - his weapon of choice in his previous life.

The weight rested comfortably in his palm as he snuck through the trees and across the lawn. He kept his finger wrapped around the trigger guard, and the weapon hidden behind his thigh, as he climbed the steps to the porch. Every creak of the wood under his boots felt magnified as he approached the door. He scanned the shadows along the edge of the porch, searching for signs of movement. The front door was unlocked, and the knob turned easily.

The scent of fresh coffee surprised him. Lloyd stepped inside, gun raised and took measured steps as he swept the living room. His guest hadn’t turned the lights on. He glanced around, seeking signs of the intruder, and spun to the kitchen. The brightness from the picture window stung his eyes, blurring his vision for a moment. When they refocused, his heart skipped a beat.

Elliot Hansen sat at the kitchen table. He was slouched over a mug of coffee, which if the dark rings under his eyes were anything to go by, he desperately needed.

“Lloyd. I’ve been waiting for you.”

The tension drained away. He lowered the gun and studied his cousin for a moment before turning back to shut the front door. Lloyd laid the Glock on the table and sat down across from Elliot. A dozen questions filled his mind, but he hesitated to ask them. Elliot didn’t fill the silence. He just took a long drink from his coffee, looking ready to fall asleep at any moment.

“Elliot?” Lloyd found his voice unexpectedly soft as relief shifted to concern. “What happened? Why did you come here?”

“I need your help.”

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

You picked your way through the crowd of shoppers, scanning ahead. The entrance to Zach’s office was between a hand-rolled ice cream shop and a Kate Spade store. If you weren’t paying attention, the discreetly placed entry was easy to miss. It was painted the same color as the wall and served as access to the outlet mall’s second floor, which had been converted to office space during the Great Recession. You found the door and unlocked it with the code he’d sent.

The curving marble stairs led to a wide corridor brightened by tasteful chandeliers and intermittent skylights that invited in the natural light. In sharp contrast to the busy mall, this level was quiet. At the end of the hall you reached his office, pressed the button, and waited for the chime that announced the door had been unlocked.

Zach was in his office with his feet propped up on his desk. The soles of his moc-toe Carhartt boots were so worn that you could hardly make out the original tread pattern. The deep worry lines in his forehead and the dark circles under his eyes immediately caught your attention. Before you could ask, his expression shifted into a smirk.

“Morning, Princess. What brings you in so early on this lovely Saturday?”

“Ha ha. You called me.”

“And was shocked when you picked up the phone. I was going to leave a voicemail.”

“I got up early to meal prep, then remembered Lloyd’s fridge is fully stocked.”

Zach made a face. “Be careful in there, he eats weird stuff.”

“I can’t take that warning seriously from a man who ate fried rattlesnake and liked it.”

“A man has to draw the line somewhere and I draw mine at blood pudding.”

“Do I want to know?”

“If it looks like sausage and it’s in his fridge, don’t touch it.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Now, why am I here?”

“With Lloyd in Idaho, we don’t have a Mandarin translator, so I called in a favor from an ex-teammate. Roth has cleared him to work on the case.”

“What are we doing that requires a translator?”

“An interview. I got in touch with the archivist in Julia’s home town. He asked to meet after work, so you have an hour to prepare.”

You took the overflowing file he extended.

“When did you put all this together?”

“Yesterday and last night.”

“Have you slept?”

“No, which is why you’re doing the interview. I’m heading home to crash once your translator gets here. He’s apparently running late.”

“It’s Saturday, no one’s late on Saturday,” you said.

“I like the way you think.”

A deep voice behind you made you jump. You dropped the file and whirled, catching your heel on the threshold, and falling with an undignified squeak. A pair of strong arms stopped you from hitting the ground and pulled you upright. Gasping, you braced a hand on your rescuer’s shoulder and turned ninety degrees to look at him. He had dark brown hair and a short, trim beard that emphasized his high cheekbones. His eyes, an unusual blend of blue and green, were crinkled with amusement. A full, expressive mouth was drawn into a crooked half smile at your expense.

“Sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The newcomers’ accent was crisper than Zach’s drawl, but not as familiar.

You noticed he dropped the ‘r’ in darling, turning it into ‘dah-ling.’ Immediately, your mind went to New England, but the way he rolled his vowels was distinctly Southern. The vestiges of a southern accent, perhaps?

“I’m fine. I didn’t realize you were behind me.”

“How’d you get in?” Zach asked, his voice edged with annoyance.

“I slipped in behind her.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“To see if I could.”

He flashed a Cheshire Cat grin, full of mischief. Your disapproval melted at his boyish enjoyment. Wasn’t it better to find a weakness now, than when it really counted?

“I’m having Jake update the alarm system first thing when he’s back. Y/N, this is Marco Lattimer. He and I served together on the teams. Besides being a first class troublemaker, he’s fluent in five languages.”

Marco smirked. “Fluent in five, but I speak seven.”

“Wow. That’s… impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“Marco will be your translator. I’ve already briefed him on the case.”

Zach turned to Marco, eyes sharpening. “Lattimer, don’t even think about flirting with my colleague.”

“What if she doesn’t mind?” Marco said, winking at you.

“She’s Lloyd’s research assistant and you’ll have to deal with him regarding the ‘what if’ part, but I’d advise against finding out. Princess, you’ve still got that taser I gave you? Marco’s harmless, but if he gets on your nerves, you have my permission to zap him.”

You grinned at Marco’s disgruntled expression.

“I’m sure we’ll get along fabulously,” you said. “Go home Zach, I can handle this.”

Ten minutes later you were in the conference room with Marco, waiting for the Zoom call to start.

“So, how’d you end up working with Lloyd?” Marco asked.

“I interned at his law firm. He stole me from the paralegal department for my research skills.”

“Sorry to hear that. It must be miserable to be around him all the time. I swear, he’s the reason lawyers get a bad rap. He could teach classes on how to be insufferable.”

This was a sentiment you’d heard many times before.

“Lloyd and I get on fine.”

“Do you have the patience of a saint, an addiction to benzos, or just do a lot of meditation?”

“It depends on the day. Most of the time meditation works, but a stash of benzos is always a good back up plan.”

By the time the computer lit up with the incoming call, you and Marco were on friendly terms. He was charming, funny, and definitely flirting with you. The flirting didn’t concern you because you sensed his pursuit was less about genuine interest and more about target practice. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and folded his arms in a way that showcased his biceps. You would’ve thought it was deliberate but his posture was too nonchalant to be premeditated.

You relied on Marco to make sure Mr. Liu was comfortable and let him engage Liu in small talk for a few minutes. Working with a translator always provided a great excuse to sit back and observe your subject’s mannerisms before starting the interview. Mr. Liu appeared to be in his sixties, with horn-rimmed glasses and neatly combed hair. He wore casual office attire and judging by the fit of his light blue button down, he starched his shirts. He fit the role of village archivist like he’d been sent straight from central casting. After he was settled, you turned the discussion toward pressing matters.

“Did you have any personal connection to Julia or her family?”

Mr. Liu spoke and Marco translated.

“Yes, I knew her family. Her parents were lovely people. Unfortunately, they passed away some years ago.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. Are you familiar with the circumstances of Julia's death?”

“Yes, we were all horrified by the tragedy. It was a shocking incident that saddened the entire community. The pain it caused her family was immeasurable.”

“The investigation into Julia's death has been reopened based on fresh evidence. DNA tests have revealed a connection between her and another woman who was murdered in a similar manner. They’re believed to be full siblings. Does Julia have an older sister?”

Mr. Lui’s brow furrowed, and he paused for a long moment.

“That's impossible. Julia's parents were not together for long before she was born. Her father had left the island to serve in the army and spent three years stationed in Vietnam prior to her birth. There is no chance of an older sibling.”

His certainty piqued your attention.

“So, her father was away during that time. Do you have any records that could shed light on Julia's family or explain the existence of an older sibling?”

The archivist’s voice was firm as he responded. Even without Marco’s translation you would’ve understood the statement as a denial.

“I assure you, there was no other child. Julia's parents were committed to each other and their daughter. The entire village would have known if there was another pregnancy or a sibling. It's simply not possible.”

You leaned closer, eager to see his reaction to your next words.

“Mr. Liu, we have evidence suggesting otherwise. We need to uncover the truth about Julia's past, no matter how unsettling it might be. Can you think of any reason they kept this information hidden?”

His head lowered, shoulders rising in symmetry as he frowned.

Liu stumbled over his words as he answered. Translating like you’d asked him to, Marco repeated his statement verbatim.

“I… I can't imagine why or… how such information would have been concealed. Our village is tight-knit, and secrets are rare. Not rare to be kept, but rare not to be noticed and revealed. If there's something hidden, it must have been for a grave reason and Julia’s parents weren’t that sort of people.”

“Thank you for speaking with us, Mr. Liu. We appreciate your time. If anything further comes to mind, please contact us, or the Virginia State Police, directly.”

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

Lloyd sat down across from Elliot. He didn’t totally disarm himself but rested the rifle on his thighs under the table.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Joe had a stash of drugs. A big one, according to Holbrook. He thinks I know where it is.”

“Why?”

Elliot rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been taking care of the ranch. Joe paid me for it. He could have hired a cowboy, but you know Joe. He didn’t trust people he didn’t know. The work brought me up here at least a couple times each week for the past three years. What conclusion do you think Holbrook drew from that pattern?”

“And? Was he right?”

“No! Damn it, Lloyd! It took me years to get clean, I wasn’t moving his drugs!”

Lloyd knew, given Elliot’s history, Joe wouldn’t have trusted him around the product. All the same, he had to ask, because one good look at his cousin tipped off Lloyd’s intuition that Elliot wasn’t as clean as he claimed to be.

“I don’t know about a stash of drugs. Joe never told me anything about his business and I didn’t ask. We barely talked, except for emails and text messages about the ranch. He always paid me on time and I appreciated the side income. That was it. But the Sheriff won’t let this thing go.”

Twenty kilos of coke, thirty of heroin, either would be worth more than a million on the street and small enough to hide in a carry-on case.

Lloyd sighed. “Holbrook has to go.”

“He’s untouchable.”

“If I learned anything in the past twenty years, it’s that no one is untouchable.”

“This isn’t London, or Berlin, or some fancy place you’ve been. It’s southeastern Idaho and Holbrook is the King.”

Lloyd grunted. “To be clear, you’re sure this stash actually exists? It wasn’t sold off years ago?”

“I can’t be sure, but Joe always preferred to have a backup plan.”

That rang true. A stash of drugs would’ve served as insurance against stock market fluctuations, housing crises, or whatever rattled the economy next year.

“Alright. Tell me about Holbrook. What’s his weak point?”

Elliot stared. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly. Who has a grudge against him? Are there any deputies on his payroll?”

“Aside from me, I don’t know of any grudges, but his department has a suspiciously high turnover rate.”

“Ex-associates? A disgruntled secretary? Jilted lover?”

“Uh… would a former drug dealer count?” Elliot asked.

“Does this drug dealer have a name?”

“Carl Shepherd. The Sheriff gave him carte blanche to deal locally, then the feds came sniffing around. Holbrook cut him loose and they’re not on good terms, but Shepherd says he has Holbrook in his pocket.”

If the dealer had two brain cells to rub together, he’d have exhorted Holbrook for protection. Lloyd begrudgingly approved of the plan.

“But he’s too scared of the Sheriff to flip on him.”

“Why bite the hand that feeds you?” Lloyd murmured.

His mind moved quickly, considering the various options available. Elliot grimaced.

“I’m never going to get out of this mess.”

“How do you feel about pulling a kidnapping? Say, tonight?”

“Uh… given how that worked out for you last time… lukewarm.”

“Oh, come on. I’ve turned over a new leaf. Carl Shepherd doesn’t have any ex-spooks overly invested in his well-being, though, right?”

“Not that I know of,” Elliot said.

“Great, then let’s get this show on the road.”

After some persuasion, Elliot agreed to the plan. He was nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs as he drove them into town in his rattle trap pickup. In contrast, Lloyd was bubbling with excitement, a feeling that intensified as they navigated the narrow lanes of the Oxiana Trailer Park. It was akin to the anticipation before a rollercoaster dropped into free fall - an exhilaration he’d missed from his old life but only realized now. Elliot parked in a shadowy spot about a hundred yards from Shepherd’s house.

He pointed to a gray trailer with peeling paint. “That’s his place. He drives a ‘68 Camaro.”

“Nice car.”

“Uh-huh. What’s your plan, again? You weren’t exactly clear about the how.”

“We’ll see how it plays out. Kidnappings never quite go according to plan.”

“You’d know.”

Lloyd snorted. “Shut up. I’ve seen your rap sheet, you’ve got no room to talk.”

“I was high for that stuff.”

“Yeah? Same.”

Elliot turned, resting an elbow on the steering wheel as he studied Lloyd. “Are you kidding? You were the quarterback, the golden boy. You never touched that shit.”

“I took Adderall to cope with test anxiety and smoked weed.”

“That’s your drug of choice? Adderall? Dude, that’s pathetic.”

“It started with light stuff. Weed, then Adderall. Senior year I started popping Xanax to cope with anxiety. At first it was just when I was struggling, then it became a daily habit.”

Elliot considered him. “I knew you were into weed, but not the rest.”

“Things didn’t get serious until I was at Harvard. I got hooked on pain pills after a football injury and when the team doctor wouldn’t give me more Vicodin, I bought Percocet on the street. From there I got into Ketamine, Valium, and Prozac. The market for drugs was thriving on campus, so I bought extras and re-sold it to the partiers. It didn’t take long before I was taking my own product.”

“Joe would’ve skinned you alive.”

“Beaten me to death is more likely.”

“What’d you get hooked on the most? Percocet?”

“Cocaine. I had a taste for Ecstasy, too. My main addiction was Coke, with a little Xanax in the mix. When I graduated and had the money for it, I got back on Vicodin.”

“Damn. You know what really shocks me?” Elliot asked.

“What?”

“You went for the cheap stuff. Coke? Back in the day, I could get a bag of Coke for like sixty, seventy bucks. Meth was like six times that much.”

Lloyd chuckled. “I’d seen what meth and heroin did to a person. Cocaine felt less risky and more… fun. Until I was in prison, I didn’t think I was addicted.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I kept a lot of secrets before. Now I try not to. Also, if you think I don’t get what it’s like to have your past catch up with you, I want you to know that I do.”

Elliot ducked his head, looking away.

Lloyd turned back to the road. They sat in silence for the next twenty minutes while the sun dipped behind the horizon. A car pulled around the corner with no headlights on and Lloyd squinted, trying to make out the model.

“Is that him?”

Elliot straightened up. “Yeah. That’s him.”

They watched as Carl turned into the driveway and parked, then walked around to the trunk to unload grocery bags.

“What now?” Elliot asked.

“Wait here for thirty seconds, then go up to him. Get his attention. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Elliot nodded and wiped his palms on his jeans. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. Lloyd slid out of the truck and shut the door quietly. Keeping one eye on Carl as he took in the first load of groceries, he snuck through the neighbor’s lawn and around their house. Maneuvering through a hole in the chain-link fence he crossed into Carl’s backyard and used the cover of the peeling gray trailer to mask his approach. He listened to footfalls on wooden steps, then pavement, and gauged the distance. A truck door slammed and a moment later, Elliot’s voice rang out, calling a greeting to the drug dealer.

Lloyd burst from his hiding place and ran, aiming at Carl’s back. Electricity crackled as the taser found its mark. The volts sizzled in the air as Carl convulsed, then dropped to the pavement, unconscious.

Elliot jerked back, his face leaching of color.

“Holy shit! What voltage is that thing?!”

Lloyd smirked. “What’s wrong? Can’t handle a little excitement? Help me get him in the trunk.”

“You don’t mean…”

“Leaving his car here will arouse suspicion. If we take it, the neighbors will assume he’s out of town.”

“Maybe we should stop adding to our rap sheets while we’re still ahead,” Elliot suggested.

“I usually agree with the principle of only committing one felony at a time, but we’re on the clock here. Grab his feet, would you?”

Elliot groaned, but obliged, taking Carl’s feet while Lloyd guided his upper body into the trunk. He slammed it shut and grinned at his cousin’s pale face.

“There. Felony number six, complete. Although technically, in this state kidnapping isn’t a felony until you’re a hundred feet away from the property on which the abduction occurred. So, to be precise, we’re still in the act of felony number six.”

“You’re insane.”

Lloyd smirked. “Not according to my doctor. And given the circumstances, I think this was the most appropriate course of action we could’ve taken. Now, go on ahead of me and make sure everything is set up. I can’t speed with a body in the trunk.”

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

You sat next to Marco, looking at the murder board.

Zach had set it up in the corner of the conference room and after the interview you’d migrated over here naturally. Your chairs were adjacent, facing the bulletin board like students in a classroom. Marco had ordered coffee and a late brunch for the both of you while you explained the details of the case.

“And they found the sister’s corpse right next to the first victim?” Marco said.

“Yeah. It’s mind-boggling.”

He shook his head. “What’s weirder is that these two are sisters, but the rest of the girls on this board are as different as night and day. Different hair colors, ethnic backgrounds, different kinds of jobs.”

You turned your attention to the victim’s pictures. They were organized by date of disappearance and below them was a horizontal timeline that stretched from left to right across the width of the board. There was a topographical map of the Fairfax area in the lower right corner, with colored pins making locations.

“There’s a variety in the women, but what’s mostly consistent is the age range, the manner of disappearance, and their social status.”

Marco leaned back, hooking his left ankle over his right knee.

“How do you investigate a case with so many missing variables?”

“You’re referring to the other six corpses?”

“The lack of them, specifically.”

His comment tickled a thread you’d been playing with since Singapore. Rather than answering, you stood up and crossed to the bulletin board. First, you untacked the sketch on the far left of the timeline. It was of the unknown victim - Julia’s supposed sister - and then took down the photo underneath her, representing her daughter. Then from the far right of the timeline, you untacked Julia’s photo.

You sat down next to Marco and faced the board again.

“What about now? Does that make more sense?”

His mouth tilted in a half smile. “I’m not the investigator here. How would I know?”

“Technically, Lloyd and Zach are the investigators and I’m their errand girl. You’re a fresh set of eyes. I’ve been trying to figure out how removing the sisters and the little girl changes things.”

“Do you see a pattern here?” Marco said.

“Maybe. If Lloyd were here, I’d bounce this off of him, but look…”

You laid the photos you’d removed on the table and returned to the board, pointing to the photo of the first woman to go missing.

“The first victim, Stacey Moore was twenty-six. She worked at an indie publishing house in D.C. and had just graduated from G.W with her master’s. She disappeared in June of 1999.”

You pointed to the next photo.

“Maya Sutton. Twenty-four. Tax associate at PriceWaterhouseCoopers, recently hired off an internship program, master’s degree in accounting from William & Mary. Disappeared in August of 1999.”

Marco listened as you ran down the list of victims, and reported their ages, jobs, and degrees. He was nodding along by the time you reached the last photo.

“The women were close in age. Twenty-three to twenty-seven, born and raised in the U.S. and focused on their careers. They were successful despite being young, and except for Lucy Lund, they all came from upper middle class backgrounds.”

“They’re all born in eastern Virginia, too,” Marco said.

You checked the notes and sure enough, all the victims had been born along the Virginia coast. The pattern was even closer than you’d realized.

“Good catch.”

You rehung the photos of Julia, her sister, and the niece, off to the side, separate from the serial killer victims.

“They found these victims. That doesn’t feel like an accident. If he made six women disappear without a trace, why leave three corpses in the same spot? And Julia’s body wasn’t even properly disposed of.”

“That deviates significantly from the pattern,” Marco said.

“And with the timeline laid out like this, it looks like Julia’s abduction occurs too early in the year. He’d abducted someone during the last week of May before, but Julia disappeared in April, which is a month before he usually began taking victims. There’s also a stopping period between the 1999 victims and the 2000 cases. In 1999 the last victim disappeared on September 3rd. In 2000 the last victim was August 15th.”

“Seasonal employees might be a good suspect pool to explore.”

“Removing the discovered bodies gives us a pattern. But when you add these three cases, it muddies the waters. I think we’re looking at two different crimes. A serial killer and… this mess with Julia, whatever it is.”

Marco crossed his arms, studying the altered layout of the board.

“You’re right. Julia really doesn’t fit his victim type.”

“She was too tall, not from the United States - and not from Virginia. She didn’t have a college degree, let alone a graduate degree, and didn’t work outside the home. The serial killer’s victims were ambitious, professional women. They were all under five foot five and didn’t weigh more than a hundred and sixty pounds, but none of them were exceptionally thin. The abductor seemed to pursue women of average build.”

“Julia was five-nine and weighed about one-thirty,” Marco said.

“Going off victim type, that made her not only too tall, but too thin.”

“What’s hard to understand is that he’d suddenly screw up a body dump after getting it right so many times. For his first victim, sure. He’s inexperienced. But doing it again with Julia, several years later… the only way it makes sense is if he put the sisters together.”

Goosebumps raised on your arms. If he put the sisters together…

What if the sisters’ deaths were connected? Maybe even to the serial killer, but not as victims who he’d hunted. Had they gotten in the way? Or was there something else, completely unrelated to the disappearances, going on at the same time? Was that possible in a town as small as Harmony?

“What are you thinking?” Marco asked.

“I think it’s two different cases. Everyone was waiting for the pattern from ‘99 and 2000 to re-emerge. They were mentally preparing for the next victim and Julia was the next woman to disappear. In a small town riddled with disappearing women, why wouldn’t they think she was part of the spree?”

“That’s logical, but the way you’ve explained it makes better sense. What about the sister and the niece? They’re an even bigger deviation from pattern than Julia. How can they be identified when there’s nothing to go on?”

“I’ll figure out something,” you said. “Lloyd won’t be back until Tuesday, so I’ve got time.”

“Where is he?” Marco asked.

You noted his demeanor changed when Lloyd’s name came up. His arms crossed, creating a subtle barrier between you, and the paper cup in his hand crumpled in his grip. His attention was riveted on you, belying the casual tone he’d spoken in.

“He’s out west, taking care of family matters.”

“Huh. So, Lloyd didn’t hatch from an egg?”

“You worked with him before, you’d probably know more than me.”

The comment slipped out, not entirely by accident. Meeting people who’d known Lloyd in the past alway stirred your curiosity. Lloyd’s life had been a series of transformations: a gifted law student turned cold-blooded intelligence officer, then a disgraced ex-spy who’d become a ruthless mercenary and landed himself in prison. You’d only known Lloyd after his metamorphosis into a law-abiding citizen. Discovering the previous version that had existed before was a constant source of entertainment. Gruesome entertainment, perhaps, but you couldn’t check your impulse to fish for information whenever the chance presented itself.

“Do you enjoy working with Lloyd?”

Marco’s question took you off guard.

“Yes. He was a bit of a pill at first, but then I discovered he could be charming when he wanted to be. After that, I made sure he had reasons to be charming.”

“What makes him want to be charming?”

“Rewards. Lloyd responds best to positive reinforcement. It works wonders.”

“Really?”

“He’s like a border collie. If you don’t keep him occupied and engaged, he’ll start chasing squirrels and digging up the yard.”

Marco chuckled. You pressed him harder.

“What was working with Lloyd like for you?”

He pursed his lips. “I knew him when he was on Zach’s team. They were doing God-knows-what in the same area where I was deployed. He was obnoxious.”

His fingers tightened on the paper cup, crushing it nearly in half, unaware of the action.

“Yeah. But Special Forces attracts a lot of obnoxious people.”

His lips twitched, and he inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“One day Lloyd showed up with extras. Tag-a-longs from Langley, I think. They assigned my team as their support crew. We were waiting at a checkpoint to help them exfiltrate, which should have been simple, but things went sideways and we had to extract them. Everyone was accounted for - except Lloyd’s extras.”

You watched Marco’s lips compress. His shoulders bunched and you read anger in the lines of his body and the set of his jaw. He’d crumpled the coffee cup flat. Silence stretched. You waited, knowing he’d eventually fill the silence.

Marco’s eyes flickered, shifting to internal focus. You could tell he was picking his words carefully.

“The most dangerous predators wear the most charming masks. Lloyd… Lloyd is a viper in Gucci loafers. He takes pleasure in manipulating people, especially emotionally. Lloyd comes across brash, but underneath it he’s malicious, with a ruthless streak ten miles wide. I’ve seen it in action. Trust me, his blood runs cold.”

You were silent, thinking of Lloyd’s revelations in Qatar. He’d cultivated a certain image in the intelligence community, and clearly, Marco had experienced it. Silence hung over the room as he continued to weigh his words.

“We were behind enemy lines at that point, but I offered to turn back and try to save the tag-a-longs. Lloyd laughed. Straight up laughed, and told me everything had gone according to plan. The agents had been on a one way trip from the start and he’d risked the whole team’s lives to dispose of them.”

“What did you do?”

His eyes flashed.

“I went back for them. One was alive. They’d slit the other’s throat. I reported the incident to command and got transferred to a different continent the next day. Later I found out the guy I’d saved died in the hospital because of a medication error.”

You nodded, studying his reactions. They were full of anger and distaste. Marco’s story was authentic and his emotions genuine. Defending Lloyd, explaining that he’d changed, wouldn’t help Marco. He’d known a different person than you did. That version of Lloyd had done terrible things without remorse and he was still capable of it, when pushed.

“Lloyd is charming, but be careful. He’s not trustworthy.”

“I appreciate the warning, and I’m familiar with his background. He’s changed a lot since prison. There are still rough edges, and the ruthless streak is still there, but the malice isn’t.”

Marco raised an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting conclusion.”

“If you want to say ‘bullshit,’ just say it. There’s no need to take that tone.”

“Noted. Why don’t we find something more pleasant to talk about than Lloyd? Say, over coffee? Or better yet, dinner?”

You wanted to accept, so you could find out more about Lloyd, but the invitation was clearly romantic.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m seeing someone right now. Maybe another time.”

His lips curled into a rueful smile. Before he could speak, there was a loud buzz. Your heads turned toward the front door in unison.

“Where’s the video feed?” Marco asked.

“I think there’s one at the front desk.”

The buzzer sounded again. Who would visit Zach’s office on a Saturday? Anyone who had business being here on the weekend would’ve had a key. With Marco on your heels, you headed for the lobby. Behind the receptionist’s desk, you found a monitor discreetly mounted into the wall, displaying the feed from the hall. A man in a shirt and tie, with a gun holstered on his right hip, stood outside.

He looked into the camera and you recognized Detective Roth.

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

Carl Shepherd woke up with a headache. A second later, he realized someone had tied him to a chair with his hands cuffed behind him. There was duct tape securing the cuffs to prevent him from picking them.

“What the fuck?!”

“Well, well, look who’s awake. Had a good nap, Sleeping Beauty?”

His head swung, searching the darkness for the owner of the voice. A switch clicked and Carl hissed, whipping his head away from the 10,000 lumen work lamps that burned his eyes. His head throbbed in protest at the dazzling light and the quick movement.

“Fuck! What are you doing? Are you trying to blind me?!”

The beams from the industrial lamps were like looking at the sun. He squinted out of the corner of his right eye, trying to see his kidnapper.

“You can’t do this! I’m untouchable, damn it! I make one call to Sheriff Holbrook and you’re running for the rest of your lives. What kind of psycho are you?!”

“We’re the Canadians,” the voice said. “We’re here for a stockpile of drugs a former business associate of ours misplaced. Rumor has it you’d know something about it.”

He laughed. “Canadians? You don’t scare me.”

“I don’t need to scare you, but what should scare you is suffocation. Because guess where we are?”

Carl looked around, noticing the corrugated walls of the room.

“A shipping container.”

“Bingo. We seal the vents and shut the door and you’re dead. It’s not the lack of oxygen that kills you, it’s the carbon dioxide poisoning from your own exhalations. First, you get a headache, then nausea sets in and your heart rate spikes. You pant for breath, but you can’t get any, so you start to feel dizzy. Then vomiting, seizures, and finally you pass out before officially suffocating to death.”

Carl considered the threat. His kidnapper took this pause as defiance.

“I’ve run the numbers and given the volume of this container, the ratio of oxygen, the probable rate of consumption, and other variables, suffocation should take about 22 hours. Horrible way to go, trust me. I’ve seen it before.”

He could easily imagine the owner of the voice hovering in the shadows, wearing an oxygen mask as he watched his victim suffer. A long silence lingered as he waited for the kidnapper to continue.

“Alright, suffocation it is…”

Clothing rustled and the lights illuminated the outline of a man as he stood from a chair on the other side of the work lamps.

“Hey! Wait, don’t!”

“You want to talk?” the kidnapper asked.

“I can’t give you the drugs. You’re looking for Joe Hansen’s stash, right? I don’t have them, it was Deputy Russell who took them!”

- - - - -

Elliot leaned against the Camaro, staring straight ahead.

“We’re screwed. We’re totally screwed.”

Lloyd resisted the urge to point out that Elliot was screwed, not him. If push came to shove he’d kill Holbrook and slip out of town. That wasn’t something his cousin was hardened enough to consider. At the moment taking out the Sheriff might not be the worst plan. Elliot could serve as his alibi. After seeing how he’d handled the kidnapping, it was obvious he’d be a terrible accomplice, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t set Lloyd up for an acquittal based on reasonable doubt.

“Holbrook will never believe his right-hand man crossed him,” Elliot said.

“Deputy Russell is his second?”

“Yeah. Luke Russell.”

“Huh. I think I had a run in with Deputy Luke the other day. Is he partial to a pump-action rifle?”

Elliot’s eyes widened. “That’s him. How’s you get away?”

“Charm, wit, and of course, I’m too pretty to kill,” Lloyd said, and winked. “Listen, this is just a setback. We can work with this. The plan is the same as before - we get the Sheriff busted. Once he’s locked up, you’re in the clear.”

“How? We don’t have any drugs!”

“Tell me about Deputy Russell.”

“He’s careful. Paranoid. Kind of off-kilter, socially. When he tries to cover it up, he comes across as creepy. He’s almost as crazy as the Sheriff.”

Lloyd considered the odds that Holbrook had found another psychopath to partner with. Someone less polished than him, so he’d never have to worry about competition for his elected position. Birds of a feather flocked together, especially the unstable personalities with criminal tendencies, like Joe and Holbrook. They had remained allies for fifteen years before their falling out. Perhaps history wasn’t exactly repeating itself here, but it seemed to rhyme.

Joe and the Sheriff had gone from partners to enemies. Now, Holbrook and Russell’s alliance was approaching the same crossroads, and Elliot was caught in the middle.

“He wouldn’t move the drugs? Or check on them?”

“No,” Elliot said. “If he had the slightest idea we knew about the stash he’d destroy it. Russell is paranoid, in capital letters.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Lloyd mused. “Would he sell them?”

Elliot frowned and scratched his jaw. “Maybe. He’s in this for the money and a quick sale would cover his tracks.”

“Alright,” Lloyd said. “Here’s the new plan.”

- - - - -

Carl watched the two men enter the shipping container. His eyes had adjusted to the brightness, but he still couldn’t see anything but shadows past the work lamps. To his surprise, the kidnapper in charge stepped into the light. Dread curled in Carl’s stomach. If he was seeing his kidnapper’s face, that only meant one thing.

“What? What do you want from me?”

“Call Deputy Russell and tell him you found a buyer for the drugs.”

“Are you out of your mind? He’ll kill me!”

The mustached kidnapper sneered. He reached behind his back and pulled out a Glock.

“Listen up, Carl. You have two choices. Get us a meeting with Russell, or say goodbye to your kneecaps.”

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

Detective Roth hadn’t spoken for twenty minutes. He sat with his arms crossed in the waiting room, opposite from you and Marco. The clock ticked loudly, counting off the seconds as you waited for Zach.

Marco shifted beside you, his leather jacket creaking. He’d refused to leave you alone with Roth. The protectiveness amused you, since you had no qualms about being alone with the detective, but Marco had taken an instant dislike to the man. It didn’t help that Roth had refused to explain the nature of his visit. He’d breezed in like he owned the place and immediately demanded you round up Zach, Bishop, and Lloyd.

Your phone vibrated with a text from Zach.

On my way up.

A moment later, the door opened, and Bishop entered, followed by Zach.

You did a double take at the sight of Bishop’s outfit. He wore khaki slacks and a novelty golf shirt that made the patterns in Lloyd’s closet look tame. His black polo was decorated in neon-sign print. Hot pink flamingos, lime green palm leaves, turquoise margarita glasses, magenta watermelon slices, and chartreuse pineapples covered the material.

For a man who wore nothing but white or blue shirts and neutral ties to the office, he apparently swung to the opposite end of the spectrum on the weekend. Next time you needed a gift for Lloyd you’d ask Bishop where he bought his golf shirts.

Zach pinned the detective with hard eyes.

“What brings you here, uninvited, on a Saturday afternoon, Roth?”

“Which one of you contacted the press?”

“Excuse me?” Zach said, tilting his head.

“Who leaked evidence to the media? If you speak up now, the punishment won’t be as bad. I’d recommend doing so quickly, because I’d rather not get angrier than I already am.”

“None of us would do that,” Bishop said.

Roth grunted. “What about Lloyd Hansen? Why isn’t he here?”

You answered. “His father died. He’s in Idaho taking care of family matters.”

You tried to speak neutrally, but despite your best efforts, anger sizzled in the words.

“The Rolling Stone ran a cover story on the unidentified victims of Shun Nguyen today. The highlight of the piece was that the recently discovered victim was found by the Xiarong crime scene, where she’d been lying undiscovered for the past twenty years.”

He paused, letting the statement sink in, then continued.

“A podcaster was waiting for me in the parking lot this morning. Guess what he wanted? He wanted to know how we could miss a second victim only a few hundred feet away from the first. That was a fun question to field at six a.m.”

Zach’s lips compressed and goosebumps rose on your arms as the shock settled in.

“Do you have any idea how much harder my job just got?” Roth demanded.

“Our job,” Zach said.

The detective snorted. “Given the magnifying glass we’re about to be put under, go ahead. Call it your case, please. It’ll keep a few reporters off my back while they chase you around.”

Zack and Bishop exchanged a glance. You wondered if you should mention what you’d learned from Mr. Liu this morning. Questioning the DNA test when Roth was already upset didn’t feel too smart, but you didn’t want him to think you were hiding information. One look at his tight-lipped expression decided your course of action.

“We weren’t the ones who contacted the media,” you said.

“We’ve had limited hands on this case in the department and only a few people knew the details published today. I trust all of those people. By default, that puts you all at the top of my suspect list.”

Roth looked around, studying each face.

“The only explanation is that someone in this room compromised the investigation. You betrayed your responsibility, mishandled classified information, and screwed me over. As of right now our cooperation is over. Until you hear differently, stay the hell away from my department.”

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

Next - Chapter XV

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

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poohbea · 2 years

Text

𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍.

geto suguru | angst | detective!au

wordcount: 1.8k

content: detective!geto, criminal!reader, established backstory, implied past relationship, a knife is used, swearing, trespassing, just a lot of stuff they haven't really worked through

synopsis: a life of crime wasn't necessarily your first choice, but after the hard life you've lived it seemed to be the only option. but this however, makes you a target and the one taking aim is an old flame.

note from pooh: this was a bit of an unplanned release, i think i wanted to expand it a bit more but after a little more thought i kinda liked it being something short and sweet like this. this was inspired by an old work of mine for something personal i had been working on (i have a few of those). but it came out lovely, so as always...

Hope you enjoy ♡ reblogs are greatly appreciated

You perused the farmers markets of Manila, tugging the hood of your jacket over your face, blending yourself into the crowd. The owner of a fruit stall greets you kindly, offering you the specials of the morning. Thanking him coyly, the glossy produce shines in your hand as you turn it, inspecting it so thoroughly you miss the body leant against the post beside you.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find you l/n?” The man in uniform eyes you up and down, hands buried in his coat pockets.

You smile. “Well, it did take you this long…” Placing the fruit back down on the stand you continued your stroll along the various stalls, eying their vibrant goods curiously. All the while trying to maintain your composure around the familiar bounty hunter at your tail. “I was starting to think you forgot about me, Detective.”

“Forget…” He scoffs and chuckles simultaneously, an amused expression on his face. “Hardly. You’ve been making my life difficult for months.”

You peered at him over your shoulder innocently. “Me? Little insignificant me?”

“Keep that attitude up and I'll cuff you right here.”

“It’s shameful to put your hands on a lady, Suguru. You of all people should know that.” You watched a challenging glint flash in his dark irises as his name left your mouth.

You enjoyed this game of cat and mouse you played. Using his first name, acting as if you'd known him for decades, it seemed to just piss him off more. You weren't friends, not in the slightest, not anymore, but it didn't make pushing his buttons any less enjoyable.

“Not if that lady has a warrant out for her arrest in over twenty countries. I’d call that necessary force.” With a switch of the basket between hands, you continue your stroll and to your dismay so did Geto.

“You know what your problem is?” You question, to which he responds with an interested gaze. “You've been on a high horse ever since you got promoted. You used to have a better moral code before you became a detective. Less… how do you say? Kiss ass.”

“And you would know a thing or two about morals?”

“At least I maintain mine, you on the other hand… have your head so far up the government’s ass I can smell what they had for dinner yesterday.”

“You know what your problem is?” He picks up a glass off the display table you were currently browsing, a mischievous smile on his lips.

“Please, enlighten me oh Great Detective Geto.”

Strolling was over. He'd never let you go peacefully, the man was too stubborn for that. Once he'd found his target, there was no pulling him away from it. A trait you'd come to learn from months of this relentless pursuit.

You’d stepped into an alley way out of sight and out of the way of prying eyes littering the marketplace. The basket hanging from your forearm, empty.

“You've lost your edge. This is your life now.” He gestures to the dirty gully, water ridden and dank. “Stuck hiding yourself from the world, running away from me for the rest of your life.”

“Mm, you like to flatter yourself don’t you?” The look on his face almost made you laugh. “While you ran off to kiss political ass, I had to figure out how to make a living. You see this,” you gesture to the scar across your cheek. ” Is what I had to do to stay alive, it kept everyone alive after you abandoned us. And for what? A job as a pig?”

“You had so many other options than the fucking Underworld! Criminals y/n!” Silence befell you both.

He hadn’t addressed you by your first name in years. It was one you replaced since starting down this path. You didn’t mind, it was easier when no one knew who you were.

The regret in his eyes only made it worse because that told you he didn’t mean to let it slip out. It was a mistake.

“What should I have done, Geto? Subjected myself to slavery? Mental and physical abuse? Overworked and underpaid in a ‘stable and lawful’ occupation? I thought you knew me better than that, I really did.” You begin walking further into the alley, searching to find any way out of this conversation.

“I thought so too, but here we are having this conversation.” His footsteps mimic yours further behind.

“Don’t follow me.”

His pace picks up to match yours. “You know I can’t do that.”

“I don’t give a shit what you ‘can’t’ do.” Instinctively you flinch away from his grasp, too close for comfort. “You touch me and I’m keeping that hand.”

“I have orders, l/n.” There he went with the formalities.

Coming to a fire escape you stop, analysing your escape route. “And I hate you.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” That struck a nerve in you. Why? You didn’t really know.

“No! Fuck you! For everything! For all this! For your selfishness! For leaving me! For breaking my fucking heart…” It was your turn for a mistake.

He didn’t speak immediately, but his eyes graced you with sympathy, a sentiment that infuriated you more than his voice ever could. “I can’t… I…”

“You know what? Forget it, I prefer it when you act like you don’t know me anyway. I can treat you like the stranger you are now.” Securing the basket over your shoulder, you jump and take hold of the ladder, letting it fall before you make your ascent.

Geto stood speechless behind you, mindlessly witnessing your escape up the metal platforms periodically.

“Y/n, I- stop!“ He follows behind you with haste, clumsy in his oversized raincoat.

“Don’t follow me!”

An open window invites you inside, the place dim as grey clouds shielded the sun. The sound of water beating against the tiled floor told you the owner of the apartment was in the shower, the coast was clear.

“L/n!” Geto shouts, sounding a little out of breath. His face comes into view in the windowsill, cheeks pink, a layer of sweat upon his brow.

The wry expression on your face has him swearing. Bowing through the window, while probing his surroundings hesitantly.

“You don’t listen do you?” You throw the question nonchalantly as you rush for an exit, pathing your way through the strangers home like it was your own.

“Not to you, no.” Flicking hair out of his face, his feet imitate yours through the unfamiliar place, hot on your tail every step of the way.

You can't help but roll your eyes, kissing your teeth as your hand finally reaches the handle of the front door. Soon to be covered with his larger one. “What did I say about that hand Suguru?”

He takes your threat lightly with a low chuckle, not making an attempt to move. “You can certainly try.”

Right as your mouth opens a scream catches you both off guard. A middle aged woman stood in the hallway, towel clutched to her chest as she eyed you both in horror.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?!” She thrusts forward a cast iron skillet, flicking the pan between Geto and you with shaky hands. Most likely the closest weapon she could find in her compromised state.

“I was just leaving!” You and Geto blurt in unison, blinking before your eyes meet in confusion.

Without a second thought you unlock the door and burst out the entrance, starting down the empty corridor to the stairwell at the end of it. Slamming into the awaiting emergency door, you force your way through it, nearly slipping whilst your foot hits the first step.

“L/n! Fuck! Y/n!” His voice echoes above you, mixing with your laugh that bounced teasingly off the walls.

“Better luck next time Suguru-!” You were made to eat those words, forced to the ground almost instantly as they left your mouth. “Get off me you piece of shit!” A whimper is drawn from your throat as his weight presses further into your chest. Did this prick really just jump from the floor above you?

“Would you stop struggling?” He grunts, hair falling into his face, dishevelled from the chase. He tries to hold off your hands and legs thrashing against his own, likely painting bruises into his skin on impact.

“Geto!” You growl, frustrated and tired, doing anything in your power to push him off you, to no avail. Somehow always being outmatched when it came to strength and size. “Get the fuck off of me!”

“Just sto-“ His words die with the bob of his Adam’s apple, now imprinted with the side of a blade that threatened to draw blood. “Really now? This is what we’re doing?”

You laugh in his face. The audacity was astonishing. “Don’t act like you’ve never done the same thing to me.”

“Touché.” Was all he could manage before being silenced by the blade pressing further into his skin. “Okay, okay, okay.” He concedes, slowly sitting back on his heels with his hands raised. All the while you followed, keeping the knife close to his larynx, ready to slit his throat at any given moment.

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to get up and you’re not going to follow me. Got it?” You sneer, keeping a close eye on those hands of his.

He gulps, gaze shifting to the blade then your face. “I can’t. I can’t just let you go, I have a job to do. Orders to follow.”

“And those orders automatically outweigh your morals? Is that right Suguru?” With squinted eyes you feel your heart race, begging, pleading for him to just let this war between you end.

“I’m not going to go through this with you again.” His exasperated sigh has your jaw clenching.

“You’re fucking pathetic.” You curse the break in your voice, tears rimming your lash line as a wave of buried emotion hurtles toward you. “Leave me be, do I make myself clear?”

“Y/n-“

Don’t. Don’t use my name. Don’t put me through this again. “Do I make myself clear, Geto?!”

His eyes close hesitantly, nostrils flaring ever so slightly as he lets out a deep exhale. “Yes.”

That was all you needed. Withdrawing the knife from his throat you tuck it back into its sheath at your hip, before making a break for it. Your shoes squeak with each hastened step down the stairs, ears on the lookout for the patter of the detective's own footsteps behind you. To your relief they never came.

You finally make it to the exit, swinging the door open haphazardly, catching the attention of the few passers by. You pay them no mind as you draw your hood over your head, merging into the crowd effortlessly. Driving forward and missing the dark haired man in the window above watching you slip away from him yet again.

tags: @getosarea, @gardenof-venus, @sintiva, @sailewhoremoon, @okhotel, @xharia, @sakinotfound

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