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the-dawn-star · 6 months ago

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Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's betrothed

A/N: Hey, I kind of have not gotten Feyd-Rautha out of my mind so here is a thing about him. (And all the fanfictions including him are always smut, which is fine but I want more sfw stuff too). Also, Dune has occupied like 50 % of my thoughts this year and I have so many thoughts about the Dune-show (:

TW/CW: Reader is basically having a panic attack the whole time, murders, arranged marriage.

Getting married had never been the most intriguing idea in my mind. But I had to do this. I was born into a great house and getting married to form an alliance with another house was a centuries long inevitable that most young women of the house had to go through.

But getting married to a Harkonnen, particularly to the Na-Baron Feyd Rautha Harkonnen was not something that happens to everyone. But I had been given this role, being his wife, his baroness after his uncle dies at some point.

I sat on the high balcony of the gladiator arena. Mother and father sat next to me and on the right side of my father sat the Baron and the rest of the family next to him. My family and I had come to Giedi Prime a few days ago when my engagement was announced to me officially. And somewhere below the arena was my future husband ready to come out and fight, show his power to the thousands and thousands of onlookers.

I picked the edges of my nails. The anxiety and stress hadn’t given me a break since the ship had landed on the colorless planet. My heart hadn’t stopped its overwhelming pounding and with a glass of tea in my hand didn’t stop the shaking. Now the black dress I had been given as a gift by my future husband felt restrictive, especially with the metal jewellery that was brought from home as it was a tradition back home.

The wedding had been planned to be in a few days and after that my only family and the only way of life that I had known was going to leave. And then I will be alone, alone on this planet with a husband who had rumours of his sadism floating around the known universe.

I decided to concentrate on my breathing. Not letting the panic override the teachings I had learnt of the Bene Gesserit at home. I let the forced calmness overtake me but even within this state I felt the terror in the back of my consciousness. My eyes glazed over and my sight became unclear but I didn’t mind.

The fighting started as the Na-Baron arrived into the arena and I pushed my years long training past the normal. Feyd-Rautha fought just as well as I had heard. The crowds’ clamour felt like a distant whisper in my state of dissociation. With speed and technique, the future Baron took down his opponents one by one but still clearly showing off the talent he possessed with a blade. The black blood stained the ground but for a reason not known by me didn’t bother me as much as I had expected.

---

The last body fell to the ground dead with his stomach bleeding of blood. The crowd erupted in cheers and I brought myself back to my body in its normal state. My ears rang and as I clapped as did my parents, still clearly disturbed by the cultural change when compared to our home. Father looked like he was ready to retch his previous meals in any second. But I had started to study the Giedi Prime culture as soon as my engagement plans were announced to me. Still, as much as I could learn, I hadn't learnt thousands of years of cultural practices so different from my own, like my parents had expected.

My future husband made few circles around the arena, raising the audiences’ energy if it was anymore possible. His blades were dripping with blood that showed fully black to the eyes of the eager onlookers. The Na-Baron shoved one of his blades to his belt before circling back to the high seats where his family were sitting next to me and my parents.

Without a word from anyone Feyd-Rautha dropped to his knee, raising his bloodied blade above his head as if for our box to see.

Once again, the arena exploded in cheers to the heights I had thought were impossible to achieve.

“He wants you to accept the engagement, girl.” The Baron’s lazy voice brought you to reality from almost a frozen state for not knowing what was happening. This was the first time the Baron had spoken to me at all, not that I had minded at all. The arena fell into an unexpected silence.

I stood up with shaking legs, took a step closer to the edge of the box meeting eyes with my future husband. My hands started to shake and I had to squeeze my hands into fists so I could stop them. I nodded uncertainly to my betrothed below on the white sand.

That tiny nod brought the crowd back to life as Feyd-Rautha rose up before disappearing to the tunnels below the arena where he had come from in the first place. His direction was lost by me. I was too lost in my panic and the work that I needed to do to keep it under my control.

I let out a breath I hadn’t noticed I was holding. I turned back to my high-born parents. My mother had lost all colour from her face and was breathing even harder than I.

“My nephew seems to have taken a liking to you, girl.” The Baron’s laughed before leaving with the rest of the Harkonnen family and servants behind him.

“Maybe this engagement was a mistake...” My mother said in the private llanguage of your great family.

“Do not speak of such things, wife! This is a great accomplishment for our house!” Father declared.

My mother and I both knew not to push the topic any further.

---

I had been given my own massive room at Giedi Prime as well as my own servants that were meant to take care of me even after the wedding. For the first time in my short life my servants wouldn’t report all of my movements to my parents. Now all of my movements would most likely be detailed to my future husband if not to the Baron himself.

On top of the bed was laying one of my gifts from my new home planet. My parents were clear, I needed to acclimate to my new home as fast as possible so, I could please my new family as well as my husband without any home-sickness. At Giedi Prime the clothing didn’t seem to be as meaningful as it had been at home, not that I had anything to complain about. I or my family hadn’t been harmed, I was safe as one could be, I had been told that all that I would want would be given to me without questions, not that I had dared to ask anything.

I felt the fabric between my fingers. It was rough, thick, heavy, opposite of the silks I had gotten used to at home. But I didn’t mind it, maybe it could warm me in this world so unknown to me. I smiled at the thought.

A gentle knock woke me from my light daydreaming of my possible warm future.

“Yes?” I yelled, turning to see one of my servants whose eyes were to the ground. I hadn’t learned their names yet, especially since it felt as if all of them looked so similar. I let go of the fabric, missing the feeling between my fingers.

“The Na-Baron would like to see you...” I wasn’t sure how much it was a question and how much a demand where my own word did not matter in the slightest. So, I chose to nod without much of a pull to either direction.

The servant left without waiting a beat and as she left another figure came to my room. This one's name I did remember. Walking through my door was the Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, my future husband who I was going to be bound to by the imperium's laws.

I straightened my back if anymore possible and tried to keep my sisterhood training in the forefront of my mind.

He looked just as terrifying in front of me as he had looked at the arena knives in his hands and blood on his clothes. His hands were tucked behind his back and left more space between us than was necessitated by the rulings of the imperium.

The door closed behind him.

“It is an honour to meet you, my lord Na-Baron...” I started making sure not to look at him directly, instead lowering my gaze.

“No need for such formalities. We are to be married, after all...” He looked deep in thought when thinking of his next words. “You are to be my wife and the future Baroness after my uncle passes...”

I felt the pressure which was building in the room, the space that I had started to feel was my safe haven.

I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say to him and with this I simply nodded. Feyd-Rautha seemed content with my answer.

“I have a gift for you...” Feyd-Rautha said as he pulled his hands behind his back. He had a rectangular silver metal box with carvings over it. He took a slow step forward, closer to me. And after seeing I didn’t flee away; he took another step and then another until he was within touching distance of me. I didn’t make a move not wanting to upset the man in front of me.

He handed the box to me and I took it. Right after getting rid of the box, he hid his hands once again behind his back leaving me unsure what he wanted me to do.

“Open it.”

I took a deep breath before opening the box, barely able to do it as my hands shook. I opened it and laid my eyes on the inside. There was a laying a knife, a knife on a deep purple pillow. It was one of those hunting knives. A one that had a curve into it.

I didn’t take my eyes off of it, unsure what would happen if I were to look at the man in front of me. What was the proper response to this?

“It is the same blame I used today at the arena, the one I raised for you...” His voice was rough but quiet as if he were unsure of his own acts and words.

I pulled my eyes off of the knife to face my betrothed.

“Thank you...” I whispered, my voice weak and almost breaking but my response got an approving nod as a response.

“Now, I must see my uncle.”

“Of course...” I closed the box but cradled it in my arms.

With great care he took my hand to his, pressing a momentary kiss on it before letting go and leaving without another word.

I was left in my room alone and there I stood for a while unsure of the passage of time. I looked at the box, the carving clearly old. There were stars, forests, plants, snow, all of it as if woven into a one marvelous picture of human talent and craftsmanship that passed even the metal work of your home planet could not replicate.

“My lady, is something wrong?”

I turned around to the direction of the sound. The servant from before was standing by my door with shaking hands and anxiety pulsing off of her.

“Everything is fine... The Na-Baron gave me a gift, that’s all.” I looked at the box once again and opened it, wanting to remember all of those curves in the knife.

“He gave that to you?” The servant asked as if she needed a confirmation for my words, like she couldn’t believe me so easily.

“Yes? Is there something wrong with that?”

“It is an old tradition, giving a knife to the one marrying to the Harkonnen family...” She raised her eyes, giving herself a moment to look at the knife directly. “It is the same knife he used today at the arena... It shows the devotion to their future partner, that they are ready to kill for their spouse.”

She must have realized that she was telling too much, because her gaze fell back to the floor.

Now I was the one needing confirmation for her words. “He used this knife today...”

I closed the box once again. The servant only nodded before leaving the room seemingly as fast as possible.

I closed my eyes concentrating on my breathing as I let calm waves hit me. I tried to remember, no one had harmed me, even my future husband hadn’t hurt me and was as close to pleasant as most likely possible. Maybe I could survive...

#dune #bene gesserit #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha imagine #feyd x reader #house harkonnen #baron harkonnen #giedi prime #oc kind of #ooc feyd propably #dune part 2 #read warnings #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha fanfiction #dune fanfiction #dune fandom

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fanfictilltheend · 6 months ago

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"The Bear" (SerialKiller!Medieval!General!Joel x Whore'sDaughter!reader fic) Snippet 1

Very First Part of The Bear aka (SerialKiller!Medieval!General!Joel x Whore'sDaughter!reader fic)

Warnings for this snippet: VERY DARK!!! 18+ Only Medieval Au, graphic depictions of violence, serial killer, attempted sexual assault (nothing graphic), mentions of prostitution, probably so historically inaccurate!!!!!

Masterlist of "The Bear"

Masterlist of all my work

The other soldiers call him “The Bear.” Joel cannot say if it is because of his size or the way he kills or maybe it is the hunger for blood they see searing in his eyes through the slits in his helmet.

What they don’t know is that Joel’s killing does not stay on the battlefield. He takes it home with him to the cobblestone streets of his kingdom. He cannot stop it. It is a need inside of him greater than anything he has ever experienced. On the battlefield, there is a distance to killing – the length of a spear or sword or bow, the barrier of heavy metal armor. In the streets, he uses his hands, a knife, his teeth. He feels the ooze of blood against his tongue, the copper taste of it, the heat of a body fighting him back, screaming, begging. His men are more correct about him than they will ever know.

***

Joel is out late one night stalking the streets for prey. Usually, it is a woman he finds attractive, but Joel doesn’t discriminate. Blood is blood. Flesh is flesh. Screams are screams.

He passes the house of the whore he goes to sometimes, Genevieve. He’s gone to her for years. Nothing Joel could ever do to her would ever phase her; she’s seen it all which is probably the only reason he isn’t burnt at the stake or hanged in the public square yet. Next to her domicile is a popular pub.

This time, he sees a small, lonesome-looking girl crouched outside the alley wall of the bar, her face clutched in her hands. She looks like she is crying or freezing or both due to how she is shaking, without even a cloak on. Joel considers her an option, but then two, young, drunk men stumble out onto her side of the street. She starts at the noise and looks up and then Joel can see her face and realizes it is the whore Genevieve’s daughter, Y/N, who can’t be more than 12 or 13. Ridiculously young never did anything for Joel, so he grumbles to himself and mentally crosses her off his potential kill list. He turns to leave, but that stupid little girl, he notices, got into a conversation with those drunken – likely savage – men. He thinks they are newly recruited soldiers, but isn’t sure. He should save her. That’s what a good soldier would do. Joel snickers.

“Quit your crying!” one of those hooligans is chuckling to Y/N and his friend.

“Who said I was crying?” The girl snaps, shivering from the cold.

“Kinda pretty if you smiled,” the other observes, circling her like prey, backing her further against the wall. “And didn’t talk back like that.”

“Hey, open your mouth,” commands the first, reaching to undo his trousers. “You’re that whore’s daughter aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” she says, holding up her hands quickly. “I mean, not after what happened to the last guy…”

“What is she on about?” The second man asks the first.

The other shrugs, staggering a bit from the alcohol.

“Well, didn’t someone tell you when you moved here? I’m the town witch,” she says, dead seriously.

Joel rolls his eyes.

“Like curses and that?” One of the grown men asks stupidly.

“Like worse. Like transforming! You know what that is? It’s like shapeshifting. And you know what I can turn into?”

“What?” The first man snickers.

“A bear!” she growls dramatically. “You know, like they have in the circus! With big, sharp teeth, and claws, and the point is I could chop off your prick no trouble if I wanted so I would keep that back in your trousers, I mean, if I was you.”

The first one laughs.

“Is that true?” The second man asks the first skeptically.

“It’s starting!” The girl cries, leaning back against the cold stone wall and shaking every part of her body dramatically. “THE TRANSFORMATION!”

“Shit. Shit. Is this real?” The taller one mumbles in confusion.

“I’m too sloshed, let’s not risk it,” the other whines. “My auntie got cursed by a witch once and she’s never been the same.”

“Yeah, yeah, forget it,” the other nods.

And to Joel’s amazement, the grown men stagger away down in the direction of most of the brothels in town and away from this little girl.

Y/N smiles at the sky and sighs in relief, sits up, and surveys her surroundings as it begins to snow.

And then she sees him.

She sits up straighter, stops smiling.

“Are you alright?” Joel forces himself to ask now that she’s acknowledged his existence.

They only have a business relationship. She opens the front door for him, for all her mother’s clients he supposes, brought him a towel a few times over the years, offered him water. He doesn’t know her. She means nothing to him. Reminds him of no one.

And just because his mother was a whore too doesn’t mean they have anything in common. Not even when Genevieve had had that boyfriend or husband or boss or whoever the fuck it was whose eyes had wandered. Joel had gotten rid of him, but that was a public service. Anyone would have done that. Anyone.

“I…” the girl stammers, so much less confident than when she was playing those boys, looking up into Joel’s face, her breath mist. “I’m fine, Sir Joel.”

Joel steps closer to her and she visibly cowers. He feels strangely sorry about it. Or was it just the cold?

“Take this,” he grunts, pulling off his cloak and awkwardly draping it over her shoulders. “Go home.”

“But she—“

“Please, Y/N, it’s safer than these streets at night. I’m sorry ‘bout whatever she’s done. I’m sure it was awful but it’s better than finding your body out here. Understand?”

“Yeah,” she finally nods, the tears in her eyes turning to ice crystals.

“Don’t let me catch you out here like this again,” he snarls as she turns away to go home, but Joel doesn’t exactly move out of her way either.

She checks her surroundings.

“Y-Y’know, I’ve got a few magic powers and I got some bear teeth on accident,” she half-heartedly tells him, shaking ever so slightly. “Yeah, from I spell I cast because I’m a certified sorceress ‘n all if you didn’t know. Yup, I know, pretty weird, right? But they’re wayyy in the back. And I can even summon the occasional claw which can rip through human flesh if my nails are sharp enough so I wouldn’t try anything you wouldn’t stand by losing a hand for is all I’m trying to say. You know, I mean, just for your sake, I’m just saying…”

Joel smirks and instinctively grabs her roughly by the jaw and pulls her close, the large paw of his hand engulfing her chin. He grips her tightly, his cold fingers digging into her flesh.

She struggles instantly, her eyes going wide and wild like a caged animal’s, terrified, and Joel takes in her expression, drinks it in deeply. He looks into her eyes and lets out a sigh that sends a rush of visible mist into the freezing air. Finally, though, he comes back to himself when, after a while, she’s able to still as Joel does nothing worse to her. He gets back to business, squeezes her lips open, and examines down her throat into the back of her mouth.

“Don’t see any of them bear teeth,” he sneers. “And one day, lying about magic and monsters and beasts ain’t going to save you,” he spits, more angrily than can explain.

He drops her back to the ground where she lands slumped up against the paved wall.

“Go home.”

And then, after staring up at him for a moment, she has the audacity to roll her eyes.

“Pretty funny,” she says after a while, staring Joel down now unflinchingly, smirking, like she’s seen right through him. Like she has been here a million times before. Joel doesn’t like that at all. She bites her fingernail absentmindedly and spits. “I know what they call you and all too. Call you ‘The Bear’ this and ‘The Bear’ that and then they whisper about who keeps killing all those people in town over the years. But it’s funny. I don’t see bear teeth on you either. Or your claws. Never even heard you roar neither. And I’ve heard a lot in my time. Anyways, just a thought. Thanks for the coat, General Miller. See you ‘round.”

And to Joel’s immense relief, she stands up and heads home.

Dumb, stupid girl is lucky she doesn’t get to see the side of Joel that he barely wraps away in daily life! Maybe she’s seen flickers of it over the years, observing from the shadows of the dimly lit house he fucks her mother in. He can’t say. Joel is a monster, sure, anyone would agree to that, but even he has some limits. Maybe she’s even seen even worse than he. Who knows? But more importantly, he doesn’t care. This is nothing. To him she is meaningless.

But no teeth, no claws, no roar? He can’t help but wonder, the thoughts gnawing and clawing at the back of his mind. What did she mean? What did she even think she was saying? And most importantly: Why had she stopped looking up at him with that intoxicating fear in her eyes?

Well, no matter. Joel has an answer for her.

***

The next morning, two mangled male bodies appear in the little courtyard square that compose the pub and Genevieve’s home. The corpses are mutilated almost beyond recognition: bite marks, teeth marks, claw marks, chunks of missing flesh, blood soaked into the cobblestones all around them.

Joel joins the crowd that forms casually, acting just as surprised.

Women cover their children’s eyes and shuffle them away quickly, a man dry-heaves onto the pavement.

“Saw them at the pub last night!” exclaims the town butcher in surprise. “They were just fine, but definitely wasted. Christ.”

“Weren’t they soldiers in training?” A young woman Joel doesn’t know asks and a few people nod.

“Hope whoever did this gets hanged!” growls another young army recruit.

And then what Joel has really been waiting for occurs: Y/N steps out from her house, dumping out a wash bucket, and then sees the commotion.

She comes closer to get a good look and Joel sees the horror cover her features, the recognition. She looks away, her hands shaking, her face draining of color, and finally sees Joel.

He winks.

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feyreswaterybowels · 1 year ago

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𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝙵𝚎𝚕𝚕

ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ x ʀʜʏꜱ!ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2ᴋ

ᴛᴀɢꜱ/ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʟᴏꜱꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀᴛᴇ. ᴅᴇᴘʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ɢʀɪᴇᴠɪɴɢ. ᴘᴀɴɪᴄ ᴀᴛᴛᴀᴄᴋ. ꜱᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴀʟ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛꜱ. ʀʜʏꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀꜱꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ. ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ʟɪʙᴇʀᴛɪᴇꜱ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ ꜱʏꜱᴛᴇᴍ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ.

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ꜱɪx ᴍᴏɴᴛʜꜱ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ꜱᴛᴀʀ. ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ ɪs ɢʀɪᴇᴠɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏss ᴏꜰ ʜɪs ᴍᴀᴛᴇ. ʜɪs ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ʜᴀs ʙᴇᴇɴ sᴏ ᴡᴏʀʀɪᴇᴅ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ. ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴠᴀɪʟ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴊᴏᴜʀɴᴇʏ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ʜɪs sᴛʀᴇɴɢᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰɪɢʜᴛ ʜɪs ᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴs ᴀs ʜᴇ ᴛʀɪᴇs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴏᴠᴇ ᴏɴ ᴏʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʙᴇ ᴍᴇʀᴄɪꜰᴜʟ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪs ᴍᴀᴛᴇ?

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

Azriel’s eyes shot open when he sensed a presence in his room, instantly reaching for the dagger on his night stand. He looked around wildly but there was nothing. No one.

His shadows were tense. Alert. They sensed it too.

Azriel stood from the bed cautiously, bare feet on cold stone. His shadows instantly shielded him. If there was something in this room he would be invisible to them now.

He crept around the room, taking in every inch. Every shadowy corner. He looked behind the curtains. In the massive wardrobes. Under his bed, in his bathroom. Nothing. He walked to the balcony—that feeling of another being there rushed over him. He stepped out, the night breeze chilled his skin instantly and his eyes narrowed.

Nothing.

Then he felt it.

He gasped, dagger dropping to the ground as his hands clutched at his chest.

There was a tug. A tug right in the center of his chest, a tug in that black hole that had been there for months.

He fell to his knees. He couldn’t breathe. His chest was pounding.

“Rhys!” He hissed to his shadows, “Go get Rhys!”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

One hundred and eighty days.

Twenty six weeks.

Six Months.

Six months since Azriel lost the love of his life. His beautiful, sweet mate that he had foolishly turned away—who in her final moments may not have believed his love for her.

He would never forget the look on her face when that damned hyber soldier shoved a sword through her, how his shadows tried to desperately tend to her wounds as he tried to find help, the way she clung to him as her blood soaked through his armor. He remembered it, all of it. Every touch, every look, every whispered word from their last moments together played on repeat in his head.

It was all he dreamed about.

That was probably why he hadn’t left his room much the last six months. All he wanted was sleep because that’s where she was. Even if it was only a glimpse, even if the dream turned into a nightmare he didn’t care. If he could see her that’s all he cared about.

And when he wasn’t sleeping?

Well, he just laid in bed, his shadows curled against him as he stared at the roof or hid under his blanket and considered leaving this earth behind until sleep finally consumed him once again.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Violet blues were in front of him and Azriel immediately reached for him—scarred hand fisting in the dark material of his shirt.

“Az—”

“I can’t,” Azriel gasped, his shadows in a flurry around him. “I can’t breathe, Rhys. I can’t. I—”

“You can, come on, you have to take a breath. You have to calm down before you pass out,” Rhys said, grabbing him—one hand on his shoulder the other on the side of his face.

“Breathe. Come on, Az, breathe with me brother…”

He couldn’t. Rhys' words were drowned out by the ringing in his ears. He gasped again, doubling over again as that tugging in his chest began again. Feeling as if he was being shredded apart from the inside.

Azriel met Rhys’ eyes, saw the panic there, caught just a glimpse of Cassian as he landed on the balcony behind Rhys. The distant concerned shrill of Feyre’s voice. Rhys’ hand left his shoulder, grasping the other side of his face—he looked to be nearly yelling at him, shaking his head at something Cassian said.

His lungs hurt so bad, refusing to take in the air he was desperately trying to breathe. He’s going to pass out, he knows he it, he can feel the lightness in his head as his vision started fading around the edges.

He looked at Rhy again, but this time those violet blues didn’t belong to Rhys.

No. The face looking back at him was the one he’s been searching for since the last time he saw it all those months ago. The one his heart called out for. He reached out, scarred fingertips tracing along her cheek, his lungs finally filling with the breath he was so desperate for.

“Stella…” he gasped as he lost consciousness.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It was the midst of battle when he felt that tug in his chest, worry spreading through his chest. He shoved the dead soldier off his sword and spun around looking for her. She tugged again. He felt panicked, something felt wrong—had been feeling wrong all morning.

When his eyes met hers, she tugged that bond between him and he felt it. She had the same awful gut feeling he had. He nodded in confirmation, tugging that bond between them—the first time he’d acknowledged it.

He almost smiled at her, almost urged her to come closer when a figure suddenly appeared behind her.

No!

But the words wouldn’t come out. All he could feel was dread. He tugged that bond again trying to alert her. Why couldn’t he move? He felt frozen in his spot. He tugged that bond as hard as he could, hoping, praying to the mother that maybe he could pull her to him.

His entire body ran cold as that Hybern soldier appeared right behind her. The he felt it as it happened, watched as that sword pierced right through her stomach.

No. No. No. No! He was screaming, fighting that invisible force was holding him.

He watched her face crumple as she looked down at the sword impaling her. She looked back at him, a gasping sob ripped from her throat as that soldier pulled his blade from her body.

“NO!” Azriel’s shout left his throat, so loud it shook the earth around them.

He watched as she touched that bloody wound in shock—only half paying attention to the fact that Cassian had just killed that soldier but Stella was falling. Her wings had given out and she was plummeting towards the earth—

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

He woke with a gasp, nearly toppling from the bed he'd laid on.

“Hey, hey, Az,” A voice echoed before a hand came down on his shoulder. He looked for the owner of that voice, finding his brother there—a look of concern on Rhys’ face.

“What the hell happened?” Azriel breathed, rubbing his hands over his face roughly, his body feeling fatigued and weak.

“We could ask you the same question,” the owner of that voice was Cassian.

“Azriel, I’ve given you time. I know it's been hard but it’s time to talk about it. You can’t keep living like this and I can’t keep watching you waste away,” Rhys said, firm and commanding.

Azriel looked at him, then Cassian. Felt the tears in his eyes, saw the worry in theirs.

“Fuck,” he breathed, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. Sat there silently for a moment.

He didn’t see the look his brother shared, the way they silently communicate their concerns to one another.

“I don’t know…” Azriel started, thinking of the words he wanted to say. “I don’t know if I want to live without her anymore.”

The weight of those words was heavy, hitting his brothers hard.

“Is that why you’ve been in your room? Refusing to eat or train? Because you…because you want to die?” Rhys asked, his voice still strong but there was something else there—a silent fear.

“Not entirely,” Azriel shook his head. “Three months ago I started having dreams of her. She’s all I think about in my waking moments and she’s all I see in my dreams. Sometimes they are horrible dreams but I—I stay in bed because when I am awake all I remember is that she is gone but when I sleep she is still with me. I can see her, I can hear her laugh, I can hold her in my arms, kiss her, tell her—tell her I love her and want to be her mate. And I just—”

A sob cut him off as the tears fell freely from his eyes.

“Az,” Rhys breathed, reaching out to grab his brother, wrapping him in a hug the best he could from the side.

Looking to Cassian he saw those hazel eyes brimmed with tears, their brother's pain so strong it hurt them too.

“I miss her so much,” Azriel sobbed, clutching to Rhys.

Cassian couldn’t stand there any longer, moving to the bed and sitting, reaching out and wrapping his arms around his brothers. He wasn’t afraid to let his tears flow as they all sat there together, trying to bring whatever comfort they could to their broken brother.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It’s three days later when Azriel wakes, his body so exhausted from crying and speaking his feelings that he just slept and slept. Only dreaming of his girl. Not a single nightmare in sight.

As he was laying in bed, the dreams circled over and over in his head. He felt as if she was trying to tell him something, that maybe wherever she was she was still trying to be there for him.

She wouldn’t want this for him. She wouldn’t want him to lay in bed wasting away. She wouldn’t want him to die alone in his room. He couldn’t live his life with her. But he could live his life for her.

So he got up. It was slow, his shadows helped him. His muscles and joints hurt. His wings felt incredibly heavy. And…gods, was that smell him?

He looked towards the window. If he bathed now maybe he could have breakfast with his family. He missed them.

His brothers. His high lady and her sisters. Mor. And even Amren.

He was slow to move to the bathroom—he hadn’t noticed a few days ago or even that night he thought someone was in his room but now? Fuck, he felt it all now.

The bath was already steaming and he had half a mind to praise the house for that but his mental capacity wasn’t quite there yet. Instead he let his shadows undress him and balance him as he stepped into the large deep bath, immediately submerging himself in the warmth, sharing the weight of his body with the water took off a huge strain from his muscles.

Step one: get strength back.

He almost felt too weak to even bathe but while he washed himself his shadows took over the responsibility of washing his hair.

When he finally pulled himself from the water a fresh warm towel was waiting for him with a stack of clean clothes. He paused mid drying off when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

His skin was dull and pale, dark bags under his eyes that looked nearly sunken in. A thick, scruffy beard covered his chin and jaw and his hair fell well past his ears, nearly resting on his shoulders. The majority of his muscle definition was gone and he looked…fragile. Like he could break so very easily. His wings drooped behind him and when he tried to tighten them it was painful.

“Fuck,” he breathed, shaking his head. He hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten, how much his health—mentally and physically had declined.

Azriel brushed his teeth then grabbed the scissors from the counter, grabbing chunks of the beard off and snipping them off. He left some facial hair, and half ass style the hair on his head—he refused to go in front of his family for the first time in months looking so unkempt.

The clothes were simple and he didn’t bother with shoes. He stood at the door of his bedroom for a moment. He didn’t remember the last time he left this room. The little he had eaten had come directly from the house or his shadows.

He pulled open the door and stepped out. There was no one in the halls but his shadows clung to him protectively. They hadn’t spoken at all, merely clung to him. He began down the hall, dreading the stairs knowing they would kill his legs but he had to do it. He had to.

He was moving slowly but he could sense his family in the dining room on the level below. He held the railing and as he finally reached the last stair he took a moment to compose himself. He could feel a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin from the effort it took to descend the steps. His thighs and calves burned. And he had to take a few breaths to calm his racing heart.

He wasn’t sure the last time he ever felt like this. All he knew is he didn’t want to keep feeling like this.

Taking another breath he nodded to himself, placing a hand on the door and pushing it up. He was silent and as he looked around the dining room he wasn’t sure how he felt, but they were there—everyone except Amren anyway.

“Azriel,” Mor gasps, her brown eyes widening as a range of emotion washed over her face.

Every eye in the room turned to him. He lifted his head, tucked his wings and squared his shoulders back. He would not falter. He would be strong. He could do this. So he walked over, he took his normal seat between Cassian and Rhys, still open and ready for him.

He hadn’t yet spoken a word before a plate of food appeared in front of him. Looking up he met the eyes of each person at the table, varying looks but not of pity, sadness or contempt. No all of those eyes, the eyes of his family held pride, love and respect.

So he reached out, grabbed his fork and began to eat.

Azriel spoke to no one and no one spoke to him. Their conversation continued and he felt lighter listening to their voices. When he got back to his room, he fell into bed and he cried. He cried until he fell asleep.

But when he woke up the next morning, he got out of bed and joined his family for breakfast one again.

#READ WARNINGS #NOT EDITED #rhys and cassian are the best brothers #Azriel is having a hard time #the mother can be cruel #but she is also giving #love me some Elriel but their ship will not sail in this story lol #azriel #Azriel x rhys!sister #azriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acotar fanfic

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justarithinnngs · 5 months ago

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Spaces. (Squid Game x Player!Reader)

Chapter 1 - Dynasty

Warnings: death (character death), terminal illness, mentions of medical trauma, mental health struggles, emotional distress,

It was a perfect night. The kind that felt like it could stretch on forever—easy, light, and full of laughter. (Y/N) sat at the bar, leaning over to listen to her best friend, Jiwoo, as she rambled on about some guy she’d met earlier that evening. The music was loud, and the chatter was lively, but for a moment, everything felt right. (Y/N) could feel the hum of contentment in her chest, the steady beat of happiness she always found when she was with her friends.

“…And then, I swear, he tried to impress me with some lame pick-up line about my shoes,” Jiwoo laughed, her voice barely audible over the beat of the club. “Like I didn’t know exactly what he was doing.”

(Y/N) giggled, playfully nudging Jiwoo’s arm. “Classic. But hey, at least he tried, right? Most guys wouldn’t even bother.”

Across from her, Soojin joined in, raising her glass and grinning mischievously. “Maybe he thought your shoes were worth impressing. But knowing you, you probably just went along with it.”

(Y/N) laughed again, a soft, genuine sound that could be heard above the noise. It was the kind of laugh that made others smile, the kind that came easily to her. She loved moments like this—being surrounded by her closest friends, the ones who knew her better than anyone. The night stretched on, filled with shared jokes, teasing, and stories. In the midst of all this, (Y/N) was happy. She was light, unburdened, free.

But her friends knew something she didn’t always recognize herself.

“You’re too nice for your own good, you know that?” Jiwoo had said earlier in the night, a serious edge in her voice that was rare for her.

(Y/N) had smiled it off, tossing her hair back. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re always the one to look out for everyone,” Jiwoo had continued, a hint of concern creeping into her tone. “You’re always helping people, always trying to fix things. You need to be careful, (Y/N). It’s gonna catch up to you one day.”

(Y/N) had laughed it off, but deep down, she knew they were right. She was the one always trying to make everyone happy. The one who stayed up late to listen to someone’s problems, who would drop everything to help a friend in need. It wasn’t that (Y/N) minded. She couldn’t imagine being any other way. Her kindness was like a light, and it radiated from her in everything she did.

But now, as the night wound down and she stepped out into the crisp air with her friends, a sudden shift of unease began to settle deep in her gut.

“Are you okay to get home?” Soojin asked, her voice tinged with a touch of concern as she linked arms with (Y/N).

“Yeah, I’m good. Just a little tired, that’s all,” (Y/N) smiled, waving off any worry. “I’ll be fine.”

“Call me when you get home,” Jiwoo added, glancing at (Y/N) with a look that made her hesitate. “We love you, you know that?”

(Y/N) grinned at her friends, pulling them in for a tight hug. “I love you guys too. Now, go home and get some rest. I’ll be fine.”

But the moment she stepped inside her apartment, the weight of everything from the night seemed to press down on her, and she knew something was off. Her phone buzzed as soon as she closed the door behind her.

It was her mom.

(Y/N) had spoken to her mom earlier that day. She’d been worried about her dad, who’d been feeling increasingly unwell. His health had been declining for a while, but they hadn’t been able to figure out what was wrong. At first, they thought it was just stress. Then they thought it was something minor, maybe just exhaustion. But as the weeks went on, things weren’t improving, and now, it felt like the weight of it all was suffocating her.

She answered the call, trying to shake off the remnants of the night’s fun, bracing herself for the conversation.

“Hey, Mom. How’s Dad?” (Y/N) asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

There was a long pause on the other end, and then her mom’s voice came through, softer, more fragile than usual. “Sweetheart… We got the results back.”

The words hung in the air, a sharp sting that immediately made her heart race. “Results? What do you mean? What’s going on?”

Her mom took a shaky breath, and in that moment, (Y/N) felt her entire world tilt. “It’s… brain cancer, (Y/N). Your father… it’s brain cancer.”

There it was. The words hit her like a physical blow. Brain cancer. Those two words, so simple, yet so heavy, dropped like an anchor into her chest, pressing the air from her lungs.

She gripped the phone tighter, her fingers trembling. “No… No, that can’t be right. He’s… he’s been feeling sick, but not like that. Not—Mom, there’s got to be a mistake. Please, tell me there’s been a mistake.”

Her mother’s voice cracked. “I wish it were, honey. I wish it were a mistake. But… it’s not. The doctors—they said it’s advanced. We don’t know how much time we have.”

A hollow silence swallowed the room, and for a moment, (Y/N) couldn’t speak. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and all she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat, thundering in her ears.

The world outside her apartment, the noise of the city, the memories of the night—everything blurred, faded into a hazy mist. Her heart felt like it was being squeezed in her chest, each beat slower, more painful than the last. Her mind couldn’t grasp what her mom had just said. Brain cancer? Her dad, the man who had taught her to ride a bike, the one who made her laugh so hard she’d cry, the one who held her when she was hurt… he was sick. So sick.

“No…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, cracking under the weight of it all. She sank down onto the couch, the phone still pressed to her ear, the words spinning in her mind like a broken record. No, no, no.

Her mom’s voice came through again, gentle, but full of sorrow. “I know, baby. I know it’s a lot. But we need to be strong now. We need to be there for him.”

(Y/N) shut her eyes, squeezing them tight, as if she could block out the reality of it all. But it didn’t help. It didn’t change anything.

She could feel the spark inside her—her energy, her light—slowly dimming. It wasn’t something that happened all at once. It wasn’t a switch being flipped. It was the slow, agonizing realization that her world had just shifted, irreversibly. She wasn’t the same girl who had been laughing with her friends just hours ago. That girl was gone.

Her voice cracked again, this time louder. “I… I don’t know what to do, Mom. I don’t know what to do.” Tears blurred her vision, and she wiped at her eyes frantically, but they just kept coming. “I can’t lose him. I can’t lose him. Please, Mom, please tell me there’s something we can do.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and for a moment, it felt like time itself had stopped. Then, her mom spoke, her voice trembling, but filled with quiet strength.

“We’ll fight, (Y/N). We’ll fight for him. We don’t know how much time we have, but we’ll fight. You’re not alone in this.”

But (Y/N) felt alone. She felt the weight of the world pressing down on her chest, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t know how to keep going. The energy that had once been so full of life, so vibrant, felt hollow now. Her father, the one person who had always been her rock, was slipping away from her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Her sobs echoed through the quiet apartment, her body wracked with grief she didn’t know how to handle. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. And she didn’t know how to fight against it.

She couldn’t be strong anymore. Not tonight. Not yet.

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fernandopiastri28 · 1 year ago

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don’t be jealous ~ oscarmark

little ficlet for no other reason then that i’m bored

Possessive Mark wants his protege all to himself

wc: 1.1k || cw: feminisation, age gap, power imbalance

Mark shouldn’t care, and if he’s completely honest, it’s really disturbing that he does.

He’s a 47 year old man- he shouldn’t care about a 23 year old in the way Mark does, specifically the one he’s the manager of.

Oscar’s barely a kid, one with a voice that’s only just dropped and who can barely grow facial hair beyond a few stray bits of golden brown hair along his chin.

There’s something very interesting about Oscar, his pure intelligence and raw talent. He’s a smart kid, perfectly competent and easy to take care of. He hardly feels like someone Mark needs to micromanage or guide, rather someone he can work alongside.

That’s what makes it so difficult, because Oscar isn’t that. He is someone that Mark is supposed to look after and help out, not someone who he should be drinking beer after beer to ignore the fact that Oscar’s paying too much attention to Lando Norris.

Lando, unlike Oscar, is quite a pain. Despite being in his 6th year of F1, he’s immature, uncalculated, and a poor presenter of himself.

Mark reckons Oscar was much better suited as teammates with someone like Robert, who had a good head on his shoulders, or even Fred, who was capable and determined.

But Lando? Lando makes Mark’s blood boil. His arrogance, whininess, lack of self awareness- he’s a fucking Sebastian Vettel reincarnate, just without the world championships to justify it.

Mark needs to get Oscar out of there, fucking get him away from the influence of Lando. The two boys already hang out enough as it is in the paddock, occasionally on the weekends.

Mark needs to come up with something that will ensure he gets to have more time with Oscar. Oscar’s is his, he has been ever since he signed that contract back 2020.

Four years ago, Oscar had been a 19 year old with close cropped hair, perfectly crooked teeth, a slightly higher pitched voice, a boyish sense of eternal youth and big dreams and aspirations for the future.

He’d just been a kid back then, boneless and malleable for Mark to shape into the world champion he’d never quite gotten to be.

Yet, in 2024, Oscar was a man. Broad shoulders, thick neck, defined muscles, undeniable talent. He simply oozed silent confidence and sensibility.

Oscar was possibly the most impressive young man that Mark had ever encountered. Yet, Mark knew Oscar could still be better, he still could improve.

Mark narrows his eyes, watching across the large event room, scattered with all different F1 personnel and sponsor teams, yet Oscar stands out like a sore thumb. He doesn’t deserve to be stuck at such a mundane and unrewarding dinner ‘party’ like this.

He also doesn’t deserve the obvious way that Lando preyed on Oscar’s politeness. After Lando cracked what seemed like the thousandth joke that night that Oscar seemed to double over in laughter over, Mark stood up, walking away from his table towards the teammates.

“Oscar,” His voice was soft, endearing. “Lando,” Sharper, bitter. Mark didn’t bother to put on a kind facade for the brit, nor did he look at him.

“Hey Mark,” Oscar turned to look at him, bright eyes and a slurred voice. Oscar’s lips were pink and puffy, shiny from spit and wine.

Tipsy Oscar was a sight for sore eyes, that was for sure. “Enjoying yourselves?” The question clearly directed towards the younger Australian.

He swears he watches Oscar’s cheeks turn pink when Mark stares at his pretty lips. “Yeah,” Oscar’s voice is quiet, girly in a way.

Oscar is a bit like a girl anyways. Beyond the short hair, broad figure and, well, the obvious boy feature of his crotch- he’s got naturally peachy and full lips, long curly lashes, thick muscular thighs, pecs that basically look like breasts.

Mark feels shameful that he notices those things so intensely, and even more ashamed that he’s so into it. “Barely seen you tonight, y’been hiding away?” Oscar asks, his voice breathy.

Mark laughs, and Lando does too, and then it’s not that funny to Mark. He wishes Lando would just leave, go talk to Zac or something. “Lando,” Mark turns to him, no shame in what he’s about to say. “I think Jenson mentioned something to me about wanting to talk to you about something the other day. He’s over there if you’re interested,” He’s vague, pointing across the room to where he’s pretty sure Jenson isn’t.

It’s not a lie, Jenson had mentioned Lando once in a passing comment a few weeks prior. He hopes Jenson will find something to talk to Lando about if the younger brit finds him. “Oh, thanks Mark,” His eyebrows flicker upwards as he stands up, walking straight off without another word.

Mark turns his attention back to Oscar who instead of watching Lando as he walks away, just stares at Mark. “What’s up, kid?”

Oscar gets all bashful, red down to where his shirt collar squeezes around his thick neck, probably even to where the white fabric pulls taut across his chest.

“Drinking,” His voice disappears into his wine glass, forcibly quiet. He’s so shy and blushy being around Mark.

“I know that,” Mark smiles, rather beguiling to be fair. “What else though? You seem a bit.. on edge,” He likes taunting Oscar like this, watching him squirm in his seat.

“ ‘m not on edge,” He looks up, his eyes meeting Mark’s from where they’ve been wandering just about anywhere else. Splodges of heat appear on the boy’s face, like he’s about to break down in a nervous panic.

God, Mark feels so awful. He just wants to make Oscar happy and warm inside, not scared. He takes the seat that Lando had previously been in, intentionally moving it so that one of his knees slots in between Oscar’s legs. “Are you sure, Oscar?” A hand rests on the back of Oscar’s seat and he can feel the heat radiating off Oscar’s neck.

Oscar bites his bottom lip, adorable bunny teeth hooked over glossy, girly lips. “I- I,” He stammers, trying to find his way out of this.

Oscar. Nonchalant Oscar. Future World champion Oscar. Unaffected Oscar. Emotionless Oscar.

Oscar who’s completely whipped for his manager. “Please help me, Mark,” His voice is whiny, like Lando’s always is, but not annoying at all. It’s so cute- desperate.

His voice is like honey, thick and sickeningly sweet. Mark’s been addicted to it for years. Mark looks down at Oscar’s lap where his suit trousers are tented.

Holy shit, Mark’s got himself in such a bad position right now.

ft. what Oscar & Mark are wearing AND literally the trio dynamic :p

#oscarmark #oscar piastri #mark webber #f1 #formula1 #read warnings #fanfic #canon divergence

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tsukasalvr · 1 year ago

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# BLACK HAIR (DARK CONTENT, DEAD DOVE:DO NOT EAT)

“It’s just what you did, don’t hang up the phone, I love you to death” — ALEX G:BLACK HAIR

Scaramouche x reader

AN: Very much vent post, everything’s getting worse and my friends and family are becoming worried for my safety bc of my sh and my past attempt and I refuse to get help rn but maybe soon so here’s a vent ff cus it’s late and my fav guy character in the game

Warnings!: DARK CONTENT, DEAD DOVE:DO NOT EAT, suicide, cannibalism, self harm, describing of cannibalism and organs, slight description of self harm, slight yandere!Scaramouche, captive/kidnapped reader, don’t like this? don’t interact, this is my vent post, was actually dozing off while writing so might make changes in the future

SYNOPSIS: Each day you feel colder and colder in his arms, and it irritates him every time he’s next to you.

He was never one to stay focus on one thing for too long—being stuck in the past can be messy.

But even then he always went back to you, always going back to the room you were kept in. The pristine white walls and floors so clean you could see your reflection, even now after weeks he still made sure the room was tidy. The large bed in the middle of the room with silk sheets, the softest pillows that you could sink your head in with a mattress that you could just die in from how comfortable you would feel to go with.

A thick blanket over you, he pulled it ever so slightly up to make sure you wouldn’t get cold but it only seemed to stick onto your bruised oozing body being glued onto the bed from the blood-containing foam leaks. But even then all he could feel when he rubbed your cheekbones in his delicate hands was cold. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t make you warm.

It irritated him.

No matter how many times he stayed in bed beside you and held you in his arms, you were still cold. Every night he would fall into a routine, lay beside you, and watch for any movement but the only movement and sounds he could detect was the maggots crawling in and out of a large cavity in your chest. He didn’t care enough to clean it up, not when the sounds were the only thing keeping him from spiraling in the silence of the room.

Gently rubbing his fingers back and down your wrist, watching the skin the tighten then loosen again around the white and purple scars. Feeling the bumps every time he did. He pitied you, every time he would visit your room, he would see your trembling figure with a new blazing red scar each time in your wrists and legs, and each time he would scold you for it. Maybe that’s why he carved into your chest a week after it happened, he pitied you, maybe that’s why he took your heart from your chest to feel the damp and spongy organ in his hand, feeling the still cold blood running through his hand and dripping onto his clothes. He pitied you, that’s why he took your heart, to protect you, you were too weak and needed protecting. That’s why you did what you did.

But still, why did it bother him? Why did it bother him that you were still so cold in his hands, he pitied you is all so why does it still bother him after these six weeks.

Why did it make him feel so alone the moment he saw you dangling figure on the ceiling, swaying slightly as if it was recent. Hanging from many clothes wrapped and tied tightly—clothes he bought you. The brushing around your neck was the only thing there, no irritation—no signs of struggle or regret. It’s like you actually wanted to do this and he couldn’t believe it.

You really did need him by your side after all, is what he would tell himself. You were so weak willed that you had the audacity to take your own life, it only meant that you had a weak spirit since before you met him. It wasn’t his fault.

He had no part in this and he should still feel the same after, so why does it still bother him, why does he feel so empty now that your gone. He just feels even more of an empty vessel.

Carefully holding the non-beating heart in his hand, the rich red color contrasting from his ghostly pale slim hands as he sat down on the bed beside you. Feeling the maggots crawling around near his feet. He brought the heart to his face, inhaling and hoping for any sort of the warm sweet smell you had—but all he could smell was rot and decay. The gas was foul, your corpse emitting a rotting-flesh and shit like odor—and Scaramouche had no doubt that any agents who passed by could detect the smell and would hurl from it. He wonders what they would think if they walked in and saw the sight. The sight of him looking dazed sitting next to your decomposing body, your disgusting rotting body.

Bringing the cold organ to his lips, he pressed a light kiss onto it, red smearing his lips slightly. He sat there with one knee touching your cold-naked blemished leg, watching the heart as the glow of the moon came in from the locked window in the room, through the think durable glass panes with hand smudges. Emotionless, he stared for a bit…

And a bit longer…

And even more longer he stared…

Until he opened his mouth and bit into the wet organ. He always imagined it would be difficult to eat like this… but it felt so natural. It was chewy and had a bitter taste but it left an aftertaste that left thinking of you, as if you were still there shaking and crying beside him. It was difficult to chew at times, it was tough, he could feel the lumpy-grained texture as it swirled around his mouth trying to get chewed apart by his teeth.

So he took another bite, and then another before deciding he had enough and put the heart down onto the white blanket, making sure it was away from the maggots slowly crawling.

He didn’t even realize the smile that appeared until his face started to hurt from the stretch. It was like both you and him were one and it made him feel happy.

He took the duvet and wrapped the heart in it with ease despite the size of the cover, and placed it carefully on the floor next to the bed.

l could live like this he thinks, he won’t feel so alone anymore and you won’t feel so cold to him no longer he thinks, as he smiles and shifts closer to your sluggish body, despite the absence of a blanket, he doesn’t feel so cold and alone anymore, and gets close enough to place his head on top of yours, right on top of the dirty-matted hair.

Was dozing off and falling asleep at times while making this, so I’ll rewrite a couple things in the future

#READ WARNINGS #dark content #dead dove do not eat #genshin x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #wanderer x y/n #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche

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quietlyimplode · 8 months ago

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ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 15 - childhood trauma

Warnings: body violation, medical procedures, non consensual medical procedures

Word Count: 1.5k (gif not mine)

Summary: after Natasha “graduates” she recovers with the support of a friend.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

A/N: a lot of this is under the cut; I don’t think the trigger warnings quite cover it, so I’m just going to say dead dove, read at own risk.

“The red room is your home now.”

Natasha vomits into the toilet.

“You are property of the Red Room. You do what’s best for Russia. Now take off your clothes.”

Nauseousness invades and she vomits again.

“Don’t look away.”

She spits.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she punches it, knuckles splitting immediately and blood breaking through.

“Come on Natasha.”

Anya’s quiet voice breaks through her memories.

The other girl looks at her hand, grabbing some paper towel, she tends to them gently.

Slow movements as she pushes Natasha back to sit on the toilet.

“Don’t send me back there,” she pleads.

Pain radiates from her abdomen.

“They’ve left you here, it means you’ve recovered enough.”

Anya looks her over.

“Are you bleeding?”

Natasha looks at her hand.

Anya shakes her head.

“No, are you… bleeding? Is there blood in your underwear.”

Natasha’s heart skips, her face growing hot as shame and worry become overriding emotions.

“What?”

Anya helps her to stand. Checking her clothing for blood she seems satisfied; returning to asking more questions.

“What do you remember?”

Natasha can’t think, can’t hold onto memories or thoughts of the last couple of days.

“Taking my clothes off in medical. Being… being strapped down and wheeled into… surgery?”

Natasha coughs.

Waves of pain float over her. She feels so dizzy.

“What… what happened to me?”

Anya touches her forehead.

“You’re burning up. Come and lie down.”

Searing pain emanates and she’s paralysed in the moment.

It feels like an eternity. Nauseous, Natasha tries to take hold of the pain.

She recedes into herself and hears Melina’s voice.

“Pain only makes you stronger.”

She forces herself to breathe. It does nothing to help the pain that lances through her.

“What did they do to me?”

Anya wets a hand towel, and gives it to her to wipe her face.

She takes her hand half dragging Natasha back to a bed.

“Rest, they’ll be back for you soon, to check.”

Natasha’s eyes widen.

“What did they do to me?” she repeats.

Anya holds her hand, and in the moment, it’s the only thing that Natasha can tether onto.

“They’ve taken away your period. They’ve graduated you. If you survive the next week, then you’ll be sent to Chechnya.”

Natasha feels herself panic.

The temperature inside her flares, her mouth going dry and she can’t stop the vomit that erupts from her lips.

“I don’t understand,” she moans.

Anya nods.

“You will.”

Gently, she wipes away the vomit, the acidic smell makes Natasha hold her breath.

“Mmmsorry,” she mutters.

“It’s okay,” Anya says quietly.

“You’re okay.”

Natasha’s body hurts, her head pounds and the rolling nausea makes the world tip.

“Just stay with me,” Anya asks, “okay? They’ll be back soon, and you have to prove that you’re doing better than yesterday.”

Yesterday?

Natasha doesn’t remember.

“I don’t remember,” she moans, a fresh waves of pain pulsing through her. She can’t think.

“I don’t remember.”

Anya looks concerned, but quickly covers it with a nod.

“I’ll be back,” she promises.

“Don’t make me go back there,” she says to Anya’s back.

“Please?”

Anya keeps moving.

She finds another towel, and some ice.

Natasha looks around. The room is small, the bed, toilet and shower all in the space. The door is noticeably locked.

They’re still in medical.

The bed that Natasha lays on, has handcuffs hanging down on each side.

“When are they coming?” Natasha asks, wondering just how long she’s got to pull herself together.

“Soon, I will need to go soon, I’m not supposed to be here, but Natasha? Just do as they say? Okay? Whatever they say.”

Natasha frown.

“Here,” Anya tells her, giving her the ice to chew on.

“It will help you stay centred, even if only whilst they’re here.”

Anya, wets the towel again and places it on Natasha’s head.

With a slight hesitation, she leans down and hugs her.

“Stay alive okay?”

As quickly as the touch was there, it recedes. It reminds Natasha of Yelena’s hugs and she wants to cry.

She crunches down on the ice; Anya is right. It helps to focus her.

She’s left alone with her pain, and she waits.

Slowly she lifts her top to find two incisions on either sides of her hips covered by gauze and weeping blood.

Lifting her hand she bites down on it to stop the tears at the violation of her body.

Something; another thing taken without her consent.

She doesn’t know how long she lies there, the pain a constant companion; she stands, finding her legs shaking.

Unable to find any position that doesn’t hurt, she lays back down and closes her eyes.

“Pain only makes you stronger,” she repeats to herself; the mantra calming her rabbiting heart.

Dressed from head to toe in scrubs, masks on their faces they enter the room loudly.

Natasha wakes from uneasy sleep, masking her fear and surprise at their intrusion.

“Stand,” says the one on the right.

Natasha schools her face.

She can’t stop the tremors in her hands, but she can maintain an air of dignity.

She stands on shaking legs and they untie her hospital gown.

Natasha holds her head high, as they look over her body. She hates them.

Gloved hands touch her body and she suppresses a flinch at the touch.

She imagines ways she would kill them, from the scalpel that sits on the trolley to the side to the ease in which she feels she could strangle them with her gown.

“Get on the bed,” they order.

Natasha lays down, wanting desperately to cover herself.

“Do what they say,” Anya had told her.

The bed is cold, her body is hot.

They pull her arm away from her body and she tries not to resist; they stick a needle in, drawing blood.

Natasha suppresses a groan and then panic. She can feel her heart rate climb, another needle is pushed into her skin.

She feels whatever it is, cool through her veins.

Another vial of blood is taken.

Then another.

Natasha starts to feel sick. She tries to breathe.

Another needle is pushed into her skin.

“Stop,” she says quietly.

They ignore her.

“Stop,” she says again.

She tries to pull her arm away.

She quickly learns what the handcuffs are for.

They don’t take chances and pull it away from her body, securing both hands.

Natasha flushes, her heart rate rising.

She can’t breathe.

She can’t move her arms, her body hurts and they’re still taking blood.

“Let me go,” she asks.

They look at her with expressionless eyes, ignoring her.

“I’ll be good,” she pleads, hating herself.

“Let me go,” she asks again, “please?”

The last needle is hot in her veins.

She bucks against the handcuffs, feeling them cut in.

Dizzy, she can’t catch a breath.

Her vision blurs.

She doesn’t feel like she’s here.

She’s in Ohio.

She’s outside playing.

She’s riding her bike.

She’s…

Anya covers her.

Natasha feels a towel over her midsection and another one over her legs, her body shaking with cold.

“Mmmsorry, let me go,” Natasha says deliriously.

“I’ll be good.”

Anya looks at the hand cuffs, and pulls a hairpin from her hair.

“They’ll need to go back on when I leave.”

They swing open and Natasha pulls her arms in, hugging them to herself. She doesn’t even care about the immodestly.

Not anymore.

“What did they give me?”

She looks at Anya.

“I don’t know,” she whispers.

“I said, just do what they want.”

Natasha tries to sit up, the searing pain doubles even as she pushes through it.

Anya steps forward to help and steady her, warm hands touching her shoulders.

“Your skin is hot,” she observes.

Natasha can’t take it in.

“Help me to the toilet?”

Anya almost carries Natasha, helps her with her underwear and pulls her hair back off her face.

She wipes Natasha’s face and aims for a halfhearted smile as Natasha looks up.

“Thank you.”

Anya waves her off.

“Yesterday was me, today it’s you, tomorrow you help someone else. It’s a circle.”

Natasha hates the Red Room.

She hates medical even more.

She feels almost certain that she couldn’t do what Anya was doing for her.

“I can’t,” she confesses, “I wouldn’t know how.”

Anya smiles sadly.

“You’d know, just be kind,” she replies simply.

She offers a new gown, and dresses Natasha easily.

She looks at cuts on her wrists and the healing knuckles from the mirror the day before.

“I think they gave you some serum to help you heal,” she guesses.

Natasha shivers.

She just feels numb.

“How long can you stay?” she asks quietly.

“We have some time,” Anya replies, turning Natasha to the side, she starts to braid her hair.

#whumptober2024 #day 15 #childhood trauma #whumptober #medical procedures #read warnings #natasha romanoff #black widow #my fic #natasha romanoff fic #black widow fic #marvel fic #black widow movie #black widow movie fic

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fandomwritingbit · 2 years ago

Text

serial killer william afton x (afab) law enforcement reader pt.3!

A/N: We're back, baby! You're probably going to have to read the previous parts for this as it's been fucking ages, you can find them here (pt.1 and pt.2) especially for a refresher on William's bizarre ability.

Reader is forced to return to Afton, even after what happened last time. And finally he gets to make her his.

Warnings: smut, dub con, violence, injury detail, blood/pain kink?, predator/prey stuff. This series continues to be fucked up, so bear that in mind lmao.

“I just can’t.” you say bluntly into the phone, quickly to be met by a sigh from your boss. There was no way you could face Afton again. Your body physically wouldn’t let you and the thought of it crippled you with fear. Hence this call, letting your superior know you won’t be attending the scheduled interview for today.

“But you won’t tell me why.” he scoffs, “Look, y/n. Obviously this case isn’t to your liking, but what were you expecting? He’s a child murderer, it was never going to be pleasant.”

“Yes, I know but-” The man on the other end of the phone didn’t wait for your argument and you could tell that his decision was already made.

He sighs, “We don't have the resources to send someone else. Moreover, you have taken and categorised the information yourself so far, it would take time for you to share this with another agent. Time we don’t have.” This dispassion and lack of concern in his voice made tears prick your eyes, he didn't understand. You couldn’t go back to the facility and sit opposite a man that had been endlessly playing with you since you met him.

You hadn't seen William Afton since he cornered you in the interview room, since you used him for pleasure, since you came to, curled up on the floor of your apartment ravaged by tears and the searing guilt of what you had done. How could you continue this case? But how could you not? It's not like you can tell your boss that reason, it’s unbelievable, you yourself could hardly comprehend it. Hell, even if he did believe you, you’d lose your job.

“I’m sorry, y/n. I know it’s taking an emotional toll on you, how couldn’t it? But we need you to continue.” Your tears are obscured by a venomous scowl you have no control of- ‘an emotional toll’, you could laugh at that. He had no idea. You feel watched at all times, vulnerable, and as such have lost sleep because you don’t know when or how he will toy with you next.

“I-”

Again you are cut off by his uncaring and bored tone. “I’m sorry, but if you refuse… your contract will be terminated as per clause... 14a.”

“Yes, sir.” Your voice cracks with the words and you have to take a pause to steady your breath and resign yourself to this fate. The fate of continuing to be this child killer’s play thing. “I understand and I will proceed.” You enunciate each word separately, unable to pretend to be polite.

You can picture the arrogant expression on your superior’s face and it makes your fist clench automatically revealing a row of white knuckles. “Tomorrow, report to me afterwards.” And you agree, through gritted teeth, the now very familiar sensation of dread making itself known.

Tomorrow. You would be there tomorrow, faced with the reality of your ghost.

Afton had a nagging feeling you wouldn’t show, no doubt terrified of the fallout of what you’d let him do to you last time. As much as he’d expected this, that did nothing to ease the boredom of being locked in his cell all day with only planning and thought for stimulation.

He had warned you, told you that you would regret not showing, not playing his game. You’re a fool if you think that abandoning your post would be the end of it. Would it fuck. If anything it just made him want to teach you a lesson about resolve and determination, something you were clearly lacking.

It was his goal to break you down, make you malleable, the perfect toy for him. And clearly it was easier than he’d have thought, you jumped at the chance to use him then crumbled immediately. So he left you alone for a while, let the fear of yourself amplify.

The pacing of his cell ceased for a moment to allow himself a chuckle at how bizarre this was. He was on edge at your absence and felt as though he lacked control. He’d see you soon, tonight perhaps, but how should he proceed? You hated him, it was poisonous around you and dripping with rage, targeted at him but rooted in hate for yourself and your powerlessness. Because you were powerless, even if you ran or hid, you were powerless because deep down you wanted him to find you out.

God, it was evident in your last meeting. You’d resisted, spat on him, your disgust making his cock rock hard. And then you’d lost yourself, faltered so easily. Dragging yourself against him fuelled by burning lust, he could practically see it in your eyes, hunger plain and simple. Just thinking about it made him carnal, he had received nothing from the interaction but the image and it was a fucking sweet one to say the least, he would have acted on the picture right then and now, pulling his shirt up slightly to gain access to his waistband. But he’s quickly interrupted by footsteps down the corridor.

It was two sets of steps, intending to be slow and purposeful but instead reeking of entitlement, it was no doubt his favourite duo of coppers. Dithers and Paulson. He sighed, turning his back to the glass wall, not wanting interaction with PC Douche and PC Can’t-walk-straight-for-Douche’s-hand-up-his-arse.

The steps stop outside his cell, bringing with it a heavy silence. They were waiting for him to turn but he only sniggered, pressing his tongue over his front teeth. His silent refusal caused officer Dithers to glance at the other guard, a mean spirited smirk crossing his face as he walked over to the door, raising his hand to pound the glass. Trying to corral him like a fucking caged animal.

“Come on, knobhead. Got something to say to you.” Dithers called out sing-song style, the other guard laughing in toe.

Afton turns, making a point of sizing the officer up, exhaling loudly through his nose as he approaches the door. Sticking his chin up and letting a smirk slide across his face at the height difference between himself and both these officers. And although Dithers would never admit it, he had to step back to effectively meet his eyeline.

“Morning, kiddie-fiddler.” He says, instantly turning to his mate for validation. The killer sneers, forcing himself to not rise to the words of this shit-stirrer in front of him. To put it lightly, Dithers was lucky for the walls of the cell. “Been busy, huh?” He gestures to how his uniform was disturbed from the activity he was about to indulge in, spurred on by the memory of his last encounter with you. “Suppose you’ve got nowt to do but pull your prick all day.”

The two officers shared a look of amusement that was instantly shattered when Afton grinned, “And… you’re here to watch?” Their machismo makes them stand a little straighter and avert their gaze. Their instant school-yard response of ‘you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ dead air because yes, he probably would.

Awkwardness remains for a few moments before it's broken by the guard. “Looks like that pretty little agent ain’t coming today.” He gets closer to the glass trying to assert dominance, “She must’ve got bored of talking to nonces.”

Afton looks down his nose, the smirk on his face as aggravating as a slap in the face. “They should put someone else on duty then.” he sniggers.

At that, Dithers slams his hand against the glass and takes out his keys, the aggressive rattling loud in the otherwise silent corridor. Afton just chuckles, clearly he’s struck a nerve if this bastard thinks it’s a good idea to pick a fight with him in this tiny cell. The raised voices of Dithers and his crony catches O’Connor’s attention from his post and he moves quickly down the corridor to see the key raised to the lock and hear the threats of the fuming officer.

He shouts at the soon-to-be altercation, “What the Hell is going on here!?” Forcing his hand between Dithers and the lock, getting cut up by his movement in the process. “Are you fucking stupid?” He hisses in pain, and holds up his hand to show Dithers the blooming blood, causing the aggressor to back off, the ugly expression on his face demonstrating that he knew he’d fucked up big time now.

“Shit.” he mumbles, mouth opening to give excuses.

O’Connor snaps and grabs him by the collar, shaking him before pushing him back, leaving him to stumble. “Just- feck off and get me first aid.” The words are hissed, his tone harder than they’d ever thought possible from someone they’d before considered a soft-arse.

Dithers nods and moves away, the other guard follows suit, both hoping to find the captain before O’Connor could, conveniently forgetting the CCTV is on his side. As they retreat, O’Connor grabs his hand, wincing in pain, he wipes the blood to see the injury underneath. The keys had pieced his palm fairly deep and the blood was pouring. He mumbles the word ‘fuck’ under his breath.

“You alright, big boy?” Afton smirked, but he wasn’t laughing any more though because he recognised that this young lad had probably just gotten him out of a week in seg. for something that wasn’t really his fault.

The officer looks from his injury to the criminal, “What the fuck was that about?”

“You tell me. I were minding my own.”

He scoffs, to be fair that was pretty hard to believe. “Yeah let’s see if that’s what the cameras say.” Afton laughs, moving away from the glass to sit on his bunk. Officer Dithers was a fucking joke, that whole display was pathetic, all the CCTV could tell was he stood their calm as anything whilst the guard tried to prove how big his bollocks were, the runt.

He remained on his bunk, watching the officer try to stem the flow of blood with his fingers. The action irritates him, “You want to get that sorted. Disinfectant. I wouldn’t wait for PC Dipshit.”

O’Connor turned to again face the man inside his cell, his brows furrowed. What was that, advice? How weird, he thought to himself, must be this freak’s way of a thank you.

The next day when you arrived at the facility your heart was in your throat, firmly lodged there making it impossible for you to breathe normally. You’d called early this morning, arranged everything the same as it should have been yesterday, but it did nothing to ease your nerves. You pause outside the doors, taking a moment to reassure yourself, it’s anxiety, nothing new, once you clapped eyes on the bastard it’d subside - at least you hope so. But that didn’t make it any easier to enter the building.

“Hey!” a man’s voice calls out to you, making you turn to the direction of its source. Your kind-of friend, O’Connor, gave you a shy wave, a bundle of bandages wrapped around his palm. And giving him a slight smile you go over, fists clenched tight to stop your hands from trembling, hating how much effort you need to stay remotely professional right now.

“Hi. What happened?” you ask instantly, pointing at the covering on his hand. It was out of curiosity but also your need to keep the conversation away from last week and your absence yesterday.

He looks down to his hand as though he’d forgotten about the injury altogether. “Oh, your man, Afton, had a row with uh Officer Dithers.” He smiles bashfully and some colour appears on his face. “I intervened and-”

“Afton did that?” You cut him off, voice stern due to anxiety and coming off sharper than intended.

The smile falls at your tone, he can tell something is bothering you, though to be fair I didn’t exactly take an emotional genius. “No, no. Dithers did, it was an accident- doesn’t really matter. Are you… okay?”

You pick up that he’s not just asking etiquettely, it's touched with concern. So you double check that the expression on your face isn’t revealing too much, and smile as much as you can. “Yeah, sorry. Just… after last week I’m put off, to say the least.” It’s a reasonable excuse and you’re so glad it came to you as easily as it did.

“Yeah, I get it. But uh if you want, I can get someone to go in there with you, I don’t mind doing it?” The second the idea leaves him he sees your face change, like you breathed out for the first time since you walked in, a bucket of tension off your shoulders.

You blink as relief seeps through your veins, this guy must really like you to offer that. “Is that something that can happen? I mean, that would be great, but who do I ask?”

“I’ll talk to the cap., you can wait here, or…” Or go in alone, you finish the thought for him in your head, weighing it up. Obviously waiting for him is preferable, then you won’t have to face your demon alone, it’ll keep Afton in check too, no sly comments if he’s there. But… you’re on a strict time schedule to make up for yesterday and your boss wants your report in exactly two hours. The anxiety creeps back in when you realise that you’ll have to do the first stretch on your own.

You assure yourself, as much as O'Connor, that you’ll be fine, though it’s a complete lie. He goes straight to the Captain’s office, leaving you to take yourself to what feels like your doom. Maybe it’s better because the silence gives you an opportunity to ground yourself, you’re safe here, you have someone staying at your flat with you, you don’t have to subject yourself to these awful impulses Afton released from you; you just have to conduct your questioning. It helps somewhat, the fear now lessened to a nagging tightness in your shoulders, by the time you stand outside the interview door and exchange a few words with the guard there.

But still you find yourself trembling when he unlocks the door and holds it open for you.

Seeing Afton sitting there waiting for you, makes your whole body go tense. This was ridiculous, you should be here, you shouldn’t have to do this, not after the landslide of emotions you’re still recovering from. How can you be terrified of someone doing something you liked? Maybe you’re not really scared of Afton, maybe you’re scared of what Afton is turning you into. This pathetic, shaky mess isn’t you. And so, with a nod to the guard on the door, he closes it, the small beep indicating the lock becoming active and sealing you in here, with him.

You take a deep breath and force yourself into business mode, slowly walking over and taking a seat, all without actually looking the criminal in the eye, though you feel him staring and analysing your every movement. Once seated you make yourself look at him, though the struggle to do so is evident in the tension of your jaw. He catches the flicker of a wince on your face and smiles broadly.

“Just as I were starting to think you wouldn’t come back. Here you are…” Afton breaks the silence that was just beginning to become too long, he plays with the words, taking his time to speak whilst bringing his hands up to rest under his chin. He takes you in, dressed all modestly today, like you’re trying to compensate for last week, it’s cute. As he moves you notice he’s wearing different cuffs, these ones not a chain between them but a thick solid metal bar. It must be some fallout from the interaction with Officer Dithers, though you can’t see why.

You swallow, internally begging your voice not to crack, “We’re only a day behind schedule. I think you’re being overdramatic, Mr Afton.” The second you get the words out you applaud yourself, grateful that the role of lawyer wasn’t too difficult to slip into, though maybe that was partly due to the impending arrival of O’Connor.

“Overdramatic, huh?” He laughs, “And what would you call your reaction to what happened last time I seen you?” His tone is dripping with accusation, implying you missed yesterday because of it, a sarcastic sharpness layered on the words. It looks like you missing yesterday’s session pissed him off more than reasonably, he probably thought his ‘skills’ weren’t paying off and that you had slipped out of his control.

“You mean that pathetic display of violence on that officer?” The dismissive way you speak annoys him, manifesting in a slight scowl. You must think you’re so clever sitting there, trying to pretend you weren’t on the verge of breaking, he can see it in your eyes, you’re close to being his.

“Why? Did it scare you? You know that that’s not what I’m talking about.” He speaks a little more harshly, the theatrics dropping off by the second. But your words didn’t reflect how you actually felt about that day, when he headbutted that guard, there was no reaction of pain. Not even a flinch. And that was disturbing. Maybe that explains these more secure cuffs.

Sighing, you wave your hand, not wanting this teasing to go on. This needs to be over as fast as possible, for your sanity. “Frankly, Mr Afton, I’m not interested in whatever rapport you think we have. I’m here to work.” You let the natural authority fall from your lips, pointing down to the sheet of questions designed for today’s session. You shove all fearful thoughts from your mind, resigning yourself to calm.

“Oh." He leans back, an expression of faux-offence coating his face. “So, no foreplay today? Fine, sweetheart… I’m happy to give you what you want.” His suggestive tone and eyes scanning your body makes last time flash before your eyes, and it steals your breath.

“I…I want to talk about your family. Research suggests it might play a huge part in your actions...” You trail off at the sound of the keypad outside the door being used, finally O’Connor was here, you can rest a little easier. Looking at Afton, you see his gaze completely locked on the door, brow furrowed. It hits you then that this might not be a good idea, changes like this are notorious for getting a rise out of inmates and that’s the last thing you want from a man who can torture you if the impluse strikes him.

Your friend enters and you turn expecting to see him walking towards you. He doesn’t, instead just gesturing at you to come over a look of pity written on his face. Pushing your chair out you go to him, very aware of Afton’s eyes like daggers on the two of you, his expression serious.

The scrutiny is evident in his face as he wondered why the hall that officer was interrupting his session. His time with you. It's rude to say the least, and just as he was starting to like that ginger guard and all.

You keep your voice quiet and out of his earshot, “Well?”

He launches into it immediately, “...I don’t have the right clearance. Cap. said that I can’t go near this. I’m so sorry.” You can tell on his face that he means it, he looks very sorry indeed. “I tried to go after someone higher up, but-”

“No one would do it?” You laugh shortly, what a fucking surprise. No one would sit in for you because you’re a stranger here. A woman no less. An unknown woman who’d slighted one of their colleagues, that must be like a triple crime here.

“I’m sorry, I really am.”

You smile, though it’s strained, and resist the urge to cry that’s now making itself very apparent. “It’s alright, it’s not your fault.” You place your hand on his arm, half out of reassurance that you’re not angry at him, half the need to bring yourself back to reality. You’re going to have to finish this alone, but hey, if you’ve come this far you can handle it. It’s such a nothing action and you hardly register it, O’Connor smiles back, still looking very apologetic. “I need to get back to this.” You make your intention to walk away clear.

He nods, quickly leaving the room. You hear the beep again when you sit down, finally casting your attention back on the murderer in front of you, whose face is set in indignation. Such fiery anger that you blink in shock, unable to understand what had brought him to this.

“What the fuck was that?” The words are knife-like, said through gritted teeth. The human part of you shudders but the business part of you is intrigued as to why he was reacting this way.

You speak cautiously, “I’m sorry, I asked O’Connor to do something for me: it didn’t work out. Anyway, as I was saying-”

He cuts you off, “Are you fucking him?” The words are interrogation and you then notice his hand gripping the desk as he leans forward, his knuckles strained so much a previous gash was bleeding. You remember those hands on you, how easily he held you still, the frightening strength of them. Then he wasn’t even pissed off, what the fuck could he do if he lost control? The thought makes you swallow.

“I- Mr Afton. It doe-”

“It does fucking matter.” He spits, the words pure venom, “Answer the question.” The movement of his head is animalistic as he ducks slightly to catch your eye line better, like how a caged wolf would follow a keeper’s actions, waiting for a mistake, a chance.

You stare at him in disbelief, the ability to speak coherently lost in your terror and fascination. “I-I… no.” you finally manage, shaking your head.

He scoffs then, averting his gaze for a moment before again fixing it on you. His fingers rising from the table like he suddenly remembered himself, then slowly laying flat. “If he lays a finger on you- I’ll fucking kill him. You hear me?” He speaks quietly, demonstrating an insane amount of self-restraint, which didn’t go uncommended.

“Excuse me?” Your brows narrow instinctively as you’re unable to follow his manner of thinking. All this rage over that interaction, it’s crazy.

He laughs, leaning closer to you, “I’ll make it good too. I’ve heard intestines are longer than you think.” Intimidation, it’s just intimidation. You try to soothe yourself, the thought manual to try and lessen the spiral he’d just thrown you into. He just wants to assert dominance, to make you feel weak. But looking at the cruelly grave look on his face, you just know he’s telling the truth.

You try to engage him, eager to understand why he said that, the pen gripped in your hands as you hold yourself back from writing this down. “I- so you would do that. Murder us, what- just because you can?”

Out of the blue, a smirk slowly spreads across his face, “No, no sweetheart. I’ll kill him… Could you live with that? Lover boy’s blood on your hands?” Something thoughtful flickers in his gaze before he continues, “It’s harder than you think.”

“I don’t understand. Why?”

The grin doesn’t budge when he sits back in the chair. “Just because I can.” He puts knowing infliction on the words, mirroring exactly what you’d said moments ago, mocking you. Then he shrugs, “I think we’re done. For now.”

You’re more than taken aback by that, it’s like he’s trying to remove himself from your company, maybe because he’s still pissed off and didn’t want you to see it, and that suggested an element of control you didn’t know he had. And so, putting your notes away you try to think of what you would tell your boss, he’d given you nothing today and no doubt that was going to be your fault. Fuck’s sake.

“Next week then.” You say at the door, as a means of goodbye. It makes the murderer smirk and he shakes his head briefly.

“Sure. See you soon, sweetheart.”

You’re still a little dazed even on the other side of the door, still in shock Afton had just ended the session like that, leaving you hanging in your boss’s mercy. But there’s not really anything you could do. And perhaps, that possessive reaction could be worth reporting, though how you would do that without implicating yourself in something, you don’t know.

“Hey, you didn’t finish early cos of me, right? Again, I’m sorry.” The sweet officer walks beside you, eager to really make sure you’re not angry at him. You probably should be, he’d gotten your hopes up of support, but then again, you managed fine. Plus it’s hard to be upset at someone who’d so far struck you as very genuine.

“Honestly?” You ask, a small smile settling on your face. He nods. “Afton called it off. I don’t think he liked the interruption.”

He chuckles, “Or he didn’t like the idea of you having a life outside that room.”

You look at him then, your brows narrowed in thought. “What do you mean?” You know more than you’re saying, but getting his opinion on your surface level relationship with your charge could be useful.

“Just that… You know what they’re like, don’t see a lass for years and now he has one visiting him every week? He probably thinks you’re a lot closer than you are.” You try not to let your reality manifest in your expression and smile politely. He has no fucking idea how close you are. God, you wish you didn’t.

You’re so comforted by your little do with the officer that it makes the drive home easier, instead of being fearful of what would await you later on you replay the entire conversation, focusing on your side and hoping you didn’t make a melt of yourself. The analysis makes the drive fly by and you’re parking in your building before you know it, messaging your temporary housemate to check that they’re in and physically relaxing with the knowledge that they are. Today couldn’t have gone better really, especially after all the anxiety you had prior to going to work, and now you can forget about it, well, as much as you're able to with Afton’s words still sharp in your mind.

Unlocking your apartment door, you step inside and call out instantly to the person waiting for you. No reply. But the blurred sound of the tv calms your nerves, they probably didn’t hear you over it, nothing more. The flat is still, your kitchen exactly as you’d left it, pots and all, the table messy with a pile of washing on it. Why you’re looking for something wrong is unknown, but an eerie feeling in your gut tells you to be careful, and you know better than to ignore it.

Going through to the living area, you stiffen at the sight of the empty sofa, the telly playing to itself and your houseguest nowhere to be seen. Your intuition was right, something was gravely off and the heavy silence makes you turn to the open door, a tightness spreading across your chest. On a small table near the door there’s a kitchen knife, probably the biggest one in your rack, and it’s just laid there. Although it’s a menacing sight you go over to it and pick up the blade, a soft security in having something to defend yourself with. Maybe you’re overthinking, allowing your fears of further confrontation with Afton to come to fruition, but you can’t physically relax. Your friend could just be in the toilet, or the bedroom, yet something tells you not to call out again.

Whilst you’re looking at the hefty knife in your hand a devastatingly loud scraping sound comes from outside the room. Like some heavy furniture being pulled across the floor without care. You hold the blade to your chest, eyes flicking over everything as you walk back towards the kitchen, a prey mindset coming over you, making you consider your escape options. Not the front door, you locked it, it would take too long, besides surely your pursuer would catch you, unless… you tighten your grip on the knife.

In the kitchen you find the source of noise, one of the chairs strewn across the room and knocked over. You steady yourself as much as possible, mind too pragmatic to let fear overcome you right now and head to the chair, picking it up as quickly and silently as you can. It’s then that that god-awful sensation of eyes makes you tense, and so you turn, knowing before you can see that it's him.

You don’t question how Afton is in your flat, hell, maybe deep down you’d expected it, at least he was in front of you and in your sight, there’s a certain power that comes with that. “What do you want?” You speak gruffly, not allowing any smidge of terror in your voice, you have to stay strong… for all that worked last time. But today is different.

“I thought I’d pay you a visit. It’s a nice place you have here… real private.”

“And this?” You hold the knife forward, the light catching it and making the blade shine, “We’re playing games now?” He laughs at that, leaning his huge frame against the wall of the hallway, letting you see the front door over his shoulder.

“We’ve always been playing games. I felt bad for you, thought I’d give you a chance.” He grins and it’s meaner than usual, so is his tone, this didn’t feel like giving you a chance, more like setting you up for failure so he can see the hope die in your eyes. You can’t help but think this could be punishment.

“If you think I wouldn’t use it- you’re wrong.” You say sternly, putting a lot of effort into keeping your voice solid. He doesn’t look perturbed in the slightest, if anything a tinge of amusement graces his face, that's definitely what scares you the most. He moved then, standing straight and stepping towards you, eyes raking over your form for any sign of weakness. You match his movement by retreating so your back is against the counter, the kitchen table separating you and him, the deja vu from your last encounter gives you hope: this table certainly isn’t fucking bolted down.

Maybe he picked up on your thought process because he suddenly moved quickly, quick enough to startle you but not to ruin your idea. You shove the table hard and it hits the target with a notable thump. You know it’s not going to hurt him, but it gives you the briefest chance to run, so you do. Out the kitchen to your bedroom hallway. You slam the door to keep him inside, wanting all possible indications of his movement when he chases you, then the door to the bathroom, your room and the guestroom, not before sliding inside the latter. In a quick though you push yourself down under the bed, its long covers close to the floor and side table providing you a small corner to curl up in.

It’s the best you can do and it allows you to watch the door and wait for him, the knife still enclosed in your hand. Years of safety training and online courses cross your mind, he’s much bigger than you, you know from experience if he gets the upper hand you’re his to toy with. So you have to strike quick and fast, deadly or at least close to it. The neck would be best.

Your plan begins to work, when you hear the kitchen door open, banging roughly into the wall. He doesn’t care if you hear- he wants you to, wants you to be scared.

“Now who’s playing games?” Your chaser calls out, you’d expected that angerfrom before to return, but instead that torturously mocking tone is back. He’s underestimating you.

He doesn’t disguise his movement, going room to room. Your bathroom, bedroom and then here. You’re so confident in your plan until he opens the door, then child-like terror settles in when you realise how cornered you are. You’ve left yourself no other option than to attack him and if that doesn’t work, you’re fucked.

You don’t need to see his face to know he’s grinning, there’s nowhere else you could be. He walks to the edge of the bed, his feet casting shadow across the floor. Instinctively you pull your feet up to curl up smaller, the sound of your action crystal clear.

“I heard that.” He speaks with a sing-song tone. “Under the bed? Really?” He laughs, but you keep your head on straight. His shadows reveal what he’s doing, crouching down silently to pull you out, so you force yourself to take your chance. You shove yourself from hiding quickly, rolling to your feet and swinging the blade as hard as you can towards his neck. You hit. But not as precisely as you meant to. A slash, not a stab, and although the blood from the wound is a lot, his reaction is proof of failure.

He grunts in pain, catching your arm before you could strike again and slamming your wrist into the corner of the wall, instantly knocking the blade from your grip. It hurts like hell, a sudden electric pain down your entire arm, your fingers tingling. It’s hard to think with the pain but seeing him kick the knife across the floor another idea strikes you. You kick him with force in the balls and this time your assault is successful, as he doubles over with an absolutely wretched sound. He doesn’t let go of your arm though, his grip lethally strong even though you rive against it. You try to think against the amounting futility but the struggling kills your motivation. Regaining himself, he meanly swipes your legs from under you and you go down instantly, hitting your linoleum hard enough for it to show in your expression.

He pins you there on the floor, using his body to completely immobilise you, your hands now captured in his. And just like that your will to fight is hanging on by a thread. What’s the point in thrashing, you can hardly move and the anger in his eyes is a warning.

He just watches you for a moment, still beneath him except for your rapid breathing and that disgusted look on your face, not touching you more than ‘necessary’ because he doesn't want to hurt you too much. And you’re making that very fucking difficult.

“Get off me.” You try, the words coming off your tongue sharply.

“Or what? You’ll fucking stab me again?” Mentioning your attack draws his attention to the pain and the sensation of warm blood on his throat, you had more fight and intelligence than he’d given you credit for. He winces as he touches the wound, the smell of blood instantly hitting you. “You could have killed me.”

“That was the idea, you psychopath.” You eye his red coated fingers with malice, the insult making spit fly from your mouth. He grinned then, the intensity of you right now amusing him. Fuck, he’d done nothing to you,and yet you stabbed him and he wasn’t creating half as much fuss as you.

“Not well executed though, huh? You were close, could’ve done it if you wanted to.” He leans close to you, the darkness in his gaze taking your breath. “But you didn’t want to.”

In spite of fear, a sudden indignation sparks inside you, “You’re not worth it.”

The metallic scent of blood gets stronger when he grabs your jaw, revelling in the fury that rose in your eyes. “Maybe you’re not as clever as I thought. Is it really such a good idea to try and hurt my feelings right now?”

He’s right. Like this he could do anything to you now and you couldn’t defend yourself, quite literally at his mercy, but would you fuck give up the one power you had left. “You don’t scare me.” You say it firm, your poker face strong.

“Bullshit. There’s a difference between not being scared and liking to be scared.” You can practically feel his eyes moving down your body and stopping where it meets his, he’s hard on top of you, and your trembling breath makes him twitch. “I’d bet anything you’re wet for me, sweetheart.”

You scoff, hating that he was right. The heat between your legs was intense, the feeling of his hands on you cross-wiring your brain, you shouldn’t like this. Part of you wants to chalk how aroused you are up to memories of last time, but you know it's more than that and that knowledge is a punch in the gut.

“I wonder if it’s the chase you like more, or the capture?”

“Maybe it’s seeing you bleed.” You counter through your teeth. He shifts his hold then, bringing his blood stained fingers to your lips, wordlessly daring you to prove it. There must be some truth to what you just said because both of you note the involuntary hunger in your gaze.

You can’t describe what you’re feeling right now, all your senses are overwhelmed, you want to brush up against him and relieve some of that tension in your core, you want him to touch you, your tits, your pussy, anything. Your lip twitches in a snarl when he smears his blood on your lips, before you part them and taste him. Rolling your tongue on his fingers and trying not to think of how wrong this is, how wrong you are. The iron taste is dirty and your back arches slightly against him.

“That’s fucked up.” He smirks, near-mesmerised by the movement of your tongue on his fingers, how you suck on them so prettily, the look in your eyes something he recognised. You know it is, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, you silently try to free your arms, you need something more, need to pull him down to you and taste more of him. His lips, his throat, the apparent hardness resting on your midsection. All of it.

He obliges your silent request, not really caring if you try to hurt him again, you can if you want to, especially if you look this good whilst doing it. With your hand free you hook them around the back of his neck, unknowingly digging into his cut in the most deliciously agonising way. He grimaces against your lips when you try to kiss him but doesn’t stop your grip, the dulling agony making pre leak from his tip. He wasn’t planning to fuck you, but fuck, you deserve it.

He moves on top of you, your hand instantly following his torso down to his now exposed waistband, you need to feel him, you want to be fucking consumed. It’s the only thought in your mind. Your eyebrows raise as you explore him, grabbing his cock through the fabric of his trousers. He’s bigger than anything you’ve had before, so big it's almost frightening. So lost in your realisation you don’t notice his pulling at your shirt until he yanks the fabric, making the buttons pop off onto the floor and cool air hit your chest. Your bra quickly follows as he easily lifts your body from the ground to unhook it and pry it from your skin, he’s rough, letting you drop back down heavily, and immediately biting a kiss into your breast. It hurts in a blaze before dying down as he sucks your flesh, no doubt leaving marks.

He runs his tongue over your nipple and you shiver, your pussy clenching around nothing. You want to stroke his cock, feel him properly but you can’t reach, making you moan pathetically. It sounds nothing like you but you’re so desperate for him that your skin is burning, you need more or nothing, this middle ground driving you insane.

He looks up at you then, dazed like a starved man. You suppose he is. It’s then you see how his blood has smeared across your chest, catching the light in the most filthy fucking way, you moan again, instinctively spreading your legs for him and he needs no further invitation. His fingers scratch your skin in their rush to get to the zip on your trousers, undoing it and pulling them off quickly, he wants you completely exposed for him, to see every inch of you broken for him.

Sitting up, you again grab at his manhood, desperate to feel him inside you. Your touch makes him groan and he rips your hands from him, the movement violent. “You want me to fucking split you in half? Fucking wait.” You flinch at the words, the tone so commanding you obey without question. Realising what he means when he pulls your panties down and slides his fingers between your folds, your slick making a mess of him instantly. He wants to stretch you open, make you cum so you’re ready for him, it's an ill-fitting kindness you never would have expected.

He shoves two of his digits inside your heat, instantly making you aware of that god-awful coil in your core, it’s insane how close you are to exploding, from nothing but a vague touch. Fucking his fingers in and out of you, he touches himself, unable to help it with how tight you are on just his fingers, you’re going to fucking strangle his cock.

That thought makes his pace mean, fingers curling inside you to angle against that spot that makes tears spring in your eyes. You’re so close, you’re grabbing his wrist begging him to keep going, you need it so bad, you need to come undone. A scream burns in your throat when he rubs your clit, you cum on the instant, writhing like an animal as the almost agonising pleasure floods your senses. You can’t fucking feel anything except your climax, not the ground beneath you or the fury of your grip on his arm. It’s so crazy that your entire body trembles as you start to come down, your walls intermediately squeezing him.

You look so fucking gone, almost absent from your body that he watches you near awe, groaning at the sight of those pretty tears rolling down your face. He grabs your ankle and pulls you towards him, this time letting you take hold of him and free him from his trousers, you hardly realise you are doing it, it comes so instinctually. It’s only the sudden grip on your throat when you begin stroking him that brings you to reality.

Your back arches into it, trying to relieve some of the pressure of his hold, pleasure again sparking in your core. You look at him like you hate him, your eyes brimming with venom, “Fuck me.” You manage despite his grip and he grunts some noise of agreement, not hesitating to line himself up at your entrance, his head just pressing there, finding your wet heat almost hypnotic.

He just knew you’d be fucking delicious, is the thought that strikes him when he shoves himself inside you, the stretch enough to make you cry out. It sends ripples of ache through your lower body, your legs shaking before he gets to the hilt. He doesn’t hesitate to let you adjust, he probably couldn’t even if he wanted to, the need to feel you flutter around him fucking carnal. He keeps his hold on your neck, his other hand using your hip to force you to take all of him, making a stream of profanity flee your lips at how deep he feels. The pace he sets is selfish, using your hole for his pleasure and just the idea of making him cum has you shivering. You want it, want all of it, no, you fucking need it.

He pulls out of you to press your body down to the floor, hooking under your legs and pulling them up, folding you in half before slamming back in. The angle is brutal, his cock hitting further inside you than you’d ever thought possible, forcing incoherent babbling noises from you each time he fully sheathed himself in your tight cunt. He’s chasing his end, the eagerness of your walls swallowing him, telling him you’re going to cum again and he’s going to fucking fill you, make you his. You clearly want it. You gasp as he throws you into another orgasm, overstimulation making you go limp in his grip. All you can do it take the increasingly rough and sloppy thrusts as he fucks you through it, hand on your throat tightening considerably when your greedy walls push him over his edge. He cums inside you, each thrust shoving it deep, the warm delirium of it beyond words. He doesn’t realise how tight his grip is until whiteness tints the edges of your vision, your pussy clamping down on him, reminding him to let go, god, he could’ve fucking-

He pulls out of your cunt to see you flushed, his cum dripping out your tightness. Still reeling your hand goes to your throat, knowing already how bruised you were going to be, such an unambiguous injury that couldn’t be explained away.

“You fucking bastard.” You manage, your voice hoarse. You hate how he just laughs at you, careless even though he could have made you pass out, or worse. But you can’t deny the electric feeling of adrenaline in your veins, it was beautiful, an otherworldly feeling, and already you want it again.

Maybe that makes you just as fucked up as him.

#fnaf #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf william afton #william afton x you #fnaf smut #serial killer william #read warnings

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scorpsik · 9 months ago

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FIC: 5 TIMES EMILY PRENTISS THOUGHT SHE WOULD DIE ALONE - AND 1 TIME SHE DIDN'T

Emily Prentiss is many things to many people. But what we can all agree on is that she is a survivor.

6 parts.

Updated every other day.

cw: Drug refs; abortion refs, death, injury... Em Prentiss kinda stuff x

Excerpt: CW: Abortion ref.

She wanted to die. She actively, desperately wanted to die. And she decided that today that she would do it. She kind of wanted to be jettisoned into the fiery pits of Catholic Hell, and to do so by suicide? Why the fuck not. She murdered her baby four months ago, so what difference would a second Mortal Sin make?

Read over on Ao3:

5 TIMES EMILY PRENTISS THOUGHT SHE WOULD DIE ALONE...

#fanfic rec #emily prentiss #emily whump #criminal minds #read warnings

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waterdeepwife · 5 months ago

Note

Hii :) I loved your Age gap Tav x Gale headcanons. Could you write a little nsfw Drabble/ more headcanons for this?

Pretty Girl

Pairing: Gale x Fem! Reader

Warnings: AGE GAP relationship, NSFW, SMUT, Reader/Tav is early to mid 20s and Gale is 35, everything is consensual, Gale is a tease, Top! Gale, sub! Reader/Tav, p in v, unprotected sex, grinding, Gale is handsy, doggy style, light spanking, Gale calls sweet/pretty girl, takes place after the events of the game, smut with no plot, Tav/Reader and Gale are married, I think that’s all?

Summary: You admitted to your lover that you think your age gap is sexy, so Gale decides to tease you about it.

A/n: THANK YOU SO MUCH, YES I CAN. Be mindful of the warnings and proceed with caution! This one delves more into the age gap, Gale brings it up more and (kindly) teases the reader about it. If you are uncomfortable with this topic please scroll or block me.

“You know what I love most about our age gap, my love?”

Gale purred from behind you, one of his hands trailing up your side before coming to squeeze your breast gently. You gasped softly, letting your head fall causing your hair to curtain your face. You had mentioned to your husband that the age gap between you two was, in some strange way, rather sexy. So he took it upon himself to add that little detail into your sex life, and you were loving it so far.

You felt his beard lightly scratch along your back as he pressed kisses down your spine, then moving to kiss back up it. Gale reached forward to move your hair out of the way, nuzzling into the side of your face, his chin resting on your shoulder. The mage leaned forward, bracing himself one of his arms as he purred into your ear, a smirk in his lips.

“How I get to take care of you. How much you depend on me, my beautiful wife.”

His eyes half lidded as he watched your face, making sure you were comfortable with this. Gale kissed your cheek as he began to grind his hard cock into the curve of your ass, he was already leaking with precum. His free hand squeeze your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger. He watched as you bit your lip, trying to muffle those sweet, pretty moans that were just for him.

Gale went to kiss your cheek, but you quickly turned your head and stole a real kiss, earning a chuckle from him. He let his eyes close, focusing on the kisses he had come to crave like a drug. For a moment you both stayed in this position, exchanging a heated kiss as he was grinding your ass, his hand switching to between breasts.

Eventually he pulled away from the kiss, panting heavily as he straightened up again. Both hands coming to your ass for a moment, squeezing and massaging the supple flesh. Letting out a hum of approval you pushed your ass towards him, feeling the tip of Gale’s cock brush against your slit, but you needed more.

“Do you like this, pretty girl? Do you like being dominated by an older man?”

One of Gale’s hands came to hold onto your hip, the other guided his cock to your soaking pussy. Rubbing the tip across your slit, teasing your entrance as he made sure he didn’t penetrate yet. He needed to hear you admit it, yet he only got head nod from you, making him huff and give your ass a small smack. It didn’t hurt, but it was enough to get your attention.

“Tell me.”

Your husband corrected, his hand now rubbing the flesh he just struck. Gale hated hurting you, even the light spankings made him nervous. So he was quick to soothe the barely redden flesh. You let your head and arms rest completely against the bed, whining in desperation.

“I love it. I love an older man taking control of me… I love you.”

You whispered just loud enough for him to hear, but it seemed to please him. Gale sighed blissfully as he slowly eased his cock into your core. He held your hip a bit tighter, moaning as he felt your walls squeeze him. The wizard thrusted in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace, his head thrown back and eyes closed. He was a savoring this, savoring you. Gale knew you wre growing impatient, her could hear the whines and how you tried to push back against his cock to meet his thrusts. But his grip on your hip stayed firm.

“Gale, please!”

You started to whine, but Gale cut you off by suddenly slamming his hips into yours. He picked up a faster pace, his hands holding onto your hips tightly as his moans grew louder. The sound of his balls clapped against your skin echoed the bedroom, you moaned louder as well. Moaning incoherent pleas as your husband did his best to fulfill each one. The sounds of your love making was so sinful, yet so delicious.

Gale leaned forward and peppered kisses across your back, tongue darting out the lick the sweat forming on your skin. He put one hand on the bed to steady himself, the other arm wrapping sound your waist to hold you still. The older man pressed kisses up your back, to your shoulder blade until he got to your ear. His breath hot against your skin, his tounge darted out to trace the shell of your ear. Teeth gentle grazing and pulling, moans rumbling through his throat.

“I don’t deserve you… such a young, beautiful woman like you… absolutely perfect.”

You hated when Gale talked down on himself, but you were too drunk off his cock to say anything. His haps snapping against your ass as he fucked you as hard as possible, grinning as he too felt drunk of your wetness.

“And you’re all mine, aren’t you?… all mine forever, my sweet girl.”

#READ WARNINGS #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale x tav #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 gale dekarios #bg3 gale x reader #gale dekarios x reader #gale x tav #bg3 gale dekarios x reader #gale x reader

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rainydaydally · 1 year ago

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Noah of the waters.

When Cody finds Noah.

This is an island of the slaughtered fanfiction (original island of the slaughtered by @/Eavee-ry

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

WARNING: This fanfiction contains major character d3ath, descriptive mentions of bl00d, d3ath, dr0wning, ch0king/str@ngling, and kind of body h0rror.

You have been warned !!

When the rest of the contestants of the supposed show (who are still… alive…) arrive to the dock a bit behind Cody, they stop in their tracks.

“Noah?” Cody asks shakily, looking into the water and seeing the lifeless body of the boy he once loved. Noah’s eyes had gone almost completely white, and Cody could swear he heard him humming almost like a siren, luring him to join him.

The other teens slowly walk their way to the end of the dock that Cody was standing at. He looks completely pale, as if he should be the one in the water too. His knees buckle beneath him and he falls, as the rest of the group slowly appears behind him.

Duncan sighs, and he gently puts his hand on Cody’s shoulder. “Let go of me, Duncan! It’s your fault.” He yells, throwing Duncan’s hand off of his shoulder. “Guys, come on. Maybe we can still save him.” Cody pleades desperately, turning around to everybody else to try and convince them.

Duncan hesitates but thinks for a moment.“It is my fault this happened. The least I could do for the kid is to try and help Noah..” Duncan thinks, and begins to help Cody pull Noah out of the water. Gwen crouches down to help them too, and everyone else just kind of… watches. Too tired to completely realize that the killer has claimed another victim from their group.

When the three of them pull Noah out of the water, they carry him to the beach and place him on the sand. The sand sticks to his wet skin as Cody really takes it all in. Theres a small line of rope burn around Noah’s neck, and Cody gently traces his fingers on it.

If it was an alive person, they would have winced. He didn’t.

When Cody places his hand on Noah’s chest to maybe feel a heartbeat, he notices the kitchen knife stabbed right below his collar bone. Cody hesitates, but lays his hand on his chest to feel the familiar beat of his heart. He couldn’t feel it.

Katie walks over to the shivering boy. “Cody…” Katie says softly, rubbing his back. Cody somehow got even more pale than he was before. His eyes begin to water, not just due to crying but also from them being so open and wide because of the utter shock.

Cody places his hands on Noah’s heart and begins preforming CPR. He tries and tries and tries. Nothing. Not even a movement or a single beating from his pulse.

“He’s gone, Cody.” Heather says after a long amount of silence. Duncan feels his stomach drop. “How could I let this happen to Noah? To Cody? To-“ Duncan thinks for a moment on who was friends with the boy, and his eyes dart to Owen.

Owen is watching the whole ordeal from a few feet away, his kind and funny demeanor disintegrating- it’s visibly on his face. His eyes begin to water but he quickly wipes them and heads to Noah.

Cody almost throws up as his body begins wracking ugly sobs. He grabs Noah and holds his body close to him and hugs him tightly. Owen sits down next to where Gwen, Duncan, Katie, and Cody are sitting on the beach and he leans his head on Cody’s shoulder, closing his eyes a bit.

“I’m sorry, Cody. You know I didn’t intend for him to die when I-“

“What? When you and your little group abandoned him?!” Cody interrupts Duncan, looking into his eyes as his expression and… well… everything looks like a crazy mess.

Cody continues with his spiel. “Yeah, sure. You didnt MEAN for him to get killed. But he DID get killed, Duncan. And We’re all here and alive right now, and HE’S NOT. AND IT’S BECAUSE OF YOU.”

“Stop it! It’s not his fault!” Courtney interjects, looking at Cody and then to Duncan. Duncan just shakes his head and mouths to her. “Stop. I’d be mad at myself too.” Courtney eye rolls at Duncan and goes back to digging small holes with her fingers next to her in the sand.

Bridgette scooches closer to Cody. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re allowed to be mad at everyone you want to in this position..” She says softly, gesturing to him. Cody just nods, looking at the body he’s holding, Noah’s soaked hair dripping onto his arms. His sobs begin to die out, but he’s still sniffling and tears are pouring out of his eyes.

Heather kicks at the sand. “Fuck! We need to find out who the hell this disgusting killer guy is before it get’s too late. Who would even be out here?!”

“Yeah dude, I was wondering that too.” Geoff says, wrapping his arms around Bridgette. “They would have to be crazier than Izzy to be out here for no reason other than to… hurt innocent teenagers..” Courtney states. She was atleast very careful of her wording to not upset Cody or Owen.

“I cant believe he’s…” Cody can’t even bring himself to finish the sentence. Not yet. He couldn’t have been gone so early in his life. Sixteen? Sixteen years old? That’s not enough time to do… anything with your life.

Cody gently touches the knife that’s stabbed into Noah. There’s almost no blood on him (visibly) due to his usual many layers of clothes. He changes his view to Noah’s formally deep brown eyes. They are now pure white, staring right into the center of Cody’s soul. He wonders a moment how they lost all of their color.

Cody gently closes the other boy’s eyes with his fingers, deciding to let him rest peacefully. He pretends for a moment that Noah is just resting on his lap again. He knows that isn’t true.

----

Read on AO3

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smok3r7 · 1 year ago

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Is Leaving Even An Option?

Joel x F!reader

Explicit, 18+

Two: Too Late

Series MasterList & Main MasterList - My Ao3

Summary: Your days have become one in the same, even with the terrifying reality of death right outside the walls of Jackson. You never thought you’d be in the situation you’ve been stuck in for seven years now, the daily abuse you endure has become an expectation. You take whatever your husband throws at you, literally and figuratively, because you’ve been trained to believe this is normal. But a new man, Joel, moves next door and happens to be friendly towards you, this causes your husband’s anger to worsen. Your mind starts a gruesome war with itself - can you leave him or do you stay until the inevitable happens?

Chapter Summary: Your daily life of tragedy somehow takes an even worse turn. After losing, yet again, your child, but this time by the hands of your own husband, you start to crack. You try to open up to Maria, but it doesn’t go as planned and now you are completely stuck on what to do.

Word count: 3.6k

⚠️Warnings: EXTREME verbal and physical abuse, miscarriage from abuse, strangulation until passing out, slapping, name calling, fat shaming, anxiety, gut punch, throwing glass at reader, forgiving husband over and over

—

“This house is such a mess, do you just sit on your lazy ass while I’m out on patrol, risking my life for you?” Nate’s voice echoes from upstairs off of the emerald green colored walls of your home.

You’re sitting on the plush black couch in the living room listening to your record player play “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay” by Otis Redding as you continue to put little puzzle pieces together on the dark wood table in front of you, immune to his vile words.

You hear the stomping of his boot covered feet in the room above you. He came home from a patrol meeting mad about something Maria had said, but again, when isn’t he? No matter what you do or say, Nate is never satisfied with you and it has become the norm. You spend all day cleaning the house until it is sparkling clean, even the high windows you have, that you can’t reach without a ladder, get cleaned and Nate still complains about seeing dust along the window sill - which was never even there.

Your body turns to stone when you hear the fast creaking of the stairs caused by Nate’s brutally quick steps. The small puzzle piece you have in between your index and thumb falls from them, your lungs stop mid breath, and your eyes start to blink constantly so the tears that are coating your eyes don’t stream down your cold face. Your body can turn on and off as it pleases, this has become your new routine, every single day.

To your right, you hear the scoff and you knew it was coming. “Still just sitting on your fat ass. Wow.” He enunciates the wow and the sound of the hardwood floor notifies you that he’s now getting closer to you, and you’re still in the same position when he comes down, too scared to move or open your mouth, because the tiniest sign of resistance can cause this whole thing to blow up. You’re hoping he’ll stop his nonsense when he notices the pink positive pregnancy test on top of the sonogram that shows a two and a half month fetus, laying on the glass table in front of you.

“Are you fucking stupid or-“ Nate’s loud voice stops mid sentence, he must see the sonogram. Your forehead has sweat beaded all over, your fingers are picking at one another in your lap, your stomach has this acidic sensation that makes you feel queasy. “This is yours?” He questions with a confused expression as you turn to watch his tattooed muscular arm reach for the items. You nod slowly and gaze into his ocean blue eyes that you adore so much. For the first time in five years, you see Nate’s eyes truly filled with love but, as fast as that feeling washed over him, it’s gone. You see the light drain from his face and get replaced with rage - oh god.

“Who have you been fucking?” He barks as he back hands your face, and you had no time to brace yourself, so the forcefulness of him made you fall onto the white shag rug in between the glass table and the couch. A mixture of what? No one and only you spew out of your lips, now bleeding from his strike. As you land on your back, you’re trying to crawl away from his towering body, but before you can get away he’s sitting all his weight on your stomach and his large hands wrap around your throat. You’re staring right into his baby blues with pure panic, your hands starting to claw at him around your neck to try to make him stop.

“It’s Brad isn’t it? You fucking whore!” Nate spits in your face as his grip tightens, causing your eyes to bulge from their sockets a bit.

All four of your limbs are flailing and hitting the wood floor as you’re trying to get him off of your tummy at least. He has his full body weight pushing on your and his precious baby and there’s nothing you can do about it. You feel absolutely hopeless, like the world is falling apart at the seams.

“Ain’t had sex in almost two months! But I see how you and Brad talk to each other, you’re such a slut!” He continues to spit, fully convinced of himself, even though he’s lying.

The look on his blonde bearded face is pure hatred, his thick brows furrowed together creating the lines to deepen, lips rambling away in a scowl. You believe that he would kill you and have zero remorse about it - but somehow, you still love him. The last thing you remember looking at is Nate’s beautiful baby blue eyes staring daggers into yours before everything fades into black.

—

“So what happened?” Tommy whispers not knowing you’re awake but just loud enough for you to hear as you watch them from afar.

“I don’t even know man!” Nate’s answers in an emotional tone, “I had gotten home from the meeting and she was doing her puzzle in the living room. I went up to shower and when I got dressed I heard a bunch of commotion downstairs.” He takes a breather like he’s overwhelmed by the answer, and Tommy tells him to take his time, tapping him on the shoulder to comfort him.

“As I walk into the living room, I see this guy sitting on her, so I yell and the guy gets spooked and runs through the house and out the back door.” Nate cries and forcefully puts his hand on the wall next to your bedroom door.

You can’t fucking believe him. You hate that he is such a good liar, it’s disgusting how good he is. He has perfected it since he snatched you up and you should have noticed the red flags before it got to this point. You’ve become so pathetic, letting him just walk all over your soul with no respect for you, and you have no life since he’s isolated you - you only exist for Nate’s needs and wants.

But you ignored how he treated you like a possession, never let you go by yourself anywhere, and if you did, he would question you about everything, making you quit your job at the stables because he didn’t want you to have to work. Slowly, the name calling started - you were always a whore, a slut, a cunt, dumbass, and his personal favorite “A hole for me to fill.” Then the slapping, punching, hair pulling, and choking against the wall became part of the daily routine.

What pulls you back in are the apologies, where he is on his knees crying and pleading with you to forgive him. “I’m so sorry sweetheart, I’ll never do that again, you don’t deserve that, please give me another chance, you are my moon and stars.” Nate has such a beautiful voice, smile, and he’s really charming. You really do believe him. However, it’ll be fine for a day or two, and then it’ll be right back to him hurting you. It’s been a vicious cycle you’ve lived the last five years.

You come back to the realization of where you are and why, your hands instinctively going over your swollen stomach, expecting to still feel that little creature growing in you, but there’s nothing. That mini you is now no more and your mind breaks - it was your body’s last straw. The most earth-shattering scream escapes your body, not caring about anything but your baby. “Not my baby!” You repeat with wails of salty tears soaking your cheeks as you sit up and wrap your sleeve covered arms around your bottomless belly, just shaking.

Nate and Tommy spin their heads as your husband jumps towards you and Tommy disappears into the hallway. “Not my baby!” Still sobbing but for another, for Rosa - you have been stripped of both of your children through death. The feeling of utter despair and rage starts to fight inside of you, is it his fault or is it yours?

The touch of Nate’s hand gently rubbing your face makes you spring your eyes open and look at him. You want to fight him off so bad, the urge to claw at his face and to scream that this is all his fault is boiling inside your chest. But the way his hand is caressing your cherry-red cheeks and his face is in disarray, his blonde hair looks like he’s been running his hands through constantly, his soul-snatching eyes now bloodshot, and his lips a soft red from biting his lips. It all together makes you swoon over him like a teenage girl again, you love him, which is why you won’t leave him.

“My love,” he whispers softly as he brings his lips to your forehead and places a gentle kiss, which makes you cry all over again.

“My baby…” you choke out once more before Nate lays down in the bed you two share, next to you and just holds you as you weep into his chest.

You love being held by him, the feeling of security and love flowing through your body when he holds you like a koala. His strong arms wrap around your torso, his thick legs latch around yours, and you take in the smell of his sweat and subtle scent of deodorant, smiling from the familiarity of him. However, an uneasy feeling grows in your guts, your mind racing about what to do because you now know what your husband is capable of doing to his wife; he killed his baby because he thought it wasn’t his.

This should make you leave and want absolutely nothing to do with him ever again, but it’s not that simple. You are dependent on Nate for everything, you don’t have anything of your own, and you can’t just start fresh. It seems impossible without him, and the fact you live in Jackson means that you will end up seeing him everywhere. So the urge to just stay married and deal with whatever comes your way is a lot easier than the ladder, and that’s what you have to choose.

You’re in too deep to just leave, and now with the amount of emotional turmoil there is between the two of you, it will create a new level of mind games.

—

“Hi honey, how are things?” Maria coos as you stand up to receive her hug.

“I’m doing well, thank you. How are you?”

Maria planned a lunch date, it's been one year since your miscarriage, and she didn’t want you to be alone since Nate and Tommy have been gone on patrol for a month. It’s been the most relaxing month you’ve had in years, and it’s very rare that they’re gone this long, two and a half weeks at most. You’ve been able to enjoy the pleasure of your own home, and didn't have to tiptoe around the house just to use the bathroom.

However, this last week has been emotionally exhausting because you have dealt with this looming anniversary alone, and times like these are when you miss Nate the most, because he would hold you, no matter what happened that day, and he would comfort you at night. You’re not sure if that’s a guilt thing for him since he killed his own baby, but you don’t really care why he does it, it’s just the fact that he does.

You haven’t slept much this last week - you’ve tried everything from warm baths to herbal remedies you made from your own garden you started a few years back, in the yard. Your mind just roams in circles about your whole life, about before and your beloved Rosa, then your marriage to Nate, which is at the end of the day, not a marriage, and finally your miscarriage.

It’s been a constant struggle to keep yourself occupied from your own brain, but thankfully Maria and a couple other girls check up on you when they can. They bring baked goods or full meals for you, and sometimes they’ll just sit with you, which you’re thankful for.

“No word on the boys yet,” Maria blurts as she opens the menu that reads Kenny's Burgers - one of the only restaurants in Jackson, packed with customers all the time. “Thank god,” you say louder than you meant, and Maria’s face grows confused. Shit, you think to yourself, why did you have to say that?

“Umm, what?” She asks as she folds the menu back up and sets it on the white round table between the two of you. You bite your bottom lip, do you tell her or lie?

“I meant- like, I- “ you are scrambling for anything to explain yourself but you can’t seem to grasp any ideas. You feel like if you tell the truth, Nate will come out of nowhere and attack you worse than ever. The buzzing of the people at tables around you has started to bother you, your breathing is becoming erratic. You’re sweating heavily, hands fidgeting with each other on the table, before Maria’s hands lightly grab them and she tells you to look at her. Embarrassed at yourself, you slowly pick your head up and gaze at her face, avoiding eye contact with her, afraid you’ll break down right here and now.

“Honey, what is going on with you?” She questions with a defeated sigh. You know she hates seeing the mighty woman you once were, turned into a frail shell of the woman she used to be.

It’s on the tip of your tongue, and you desperately want to spill everything that Nate has done to you, but like some kind of fucked up joke. Your eyes gaze past Maria and you see Nate walking towards you, and he has the smug face he does when he knows you’re thrown off by his actions.Taking in his appearance in utter horror, you notice his brown carhartt jacket and black jeans are drenched in dried blood, and he has a patch of gauze with blood soaking through taped to his neck - he looks like absolute hell.

Maria turns around to see what you’re terrified of, and when she finds Nate walking closer, she puts two and two together in her head.

“Tommy?” She asks from her chair with a sudden change in her tone.

“Putting the horses away, he let me go early to come see my girl today,” he smoothly coos, waiting for you to stand up for him. And without a second thought, you do just that. Hi baby, you hum into his chest. As scared as you just were seeing him again with no warning, that feeling is quickly washed away in a tidal wave created by his familiar smell and touch.

You open your eyes and are met with Maria’s, her face is plastered with an oh, my poor girl kind of look, you smile softly to her as if to tell her, it’s okay. She gives an unconvincing nod as she excuses herself to go see Tommy, and you and Nate give her a quick wave goodbye as she turns her back and walks towards the stables. Now that swallowing feeling of the unknown is jumping in your chest, and you don’t know what to expect from him.

“Let’s go home.” Nate demands as he slides his hand around the curve of your hip, and without any reluctance, you walk side by side with him all the way to the beautiful farm house where you live - the one that doesn’t feel like home.

—

“What happened to your neck?” You hesitate to ask as you close the front door behind your uneasy body, kicking off your boots. You hear him scoff as he walks over and grabs a small glass from the cabinet above the liquor and grabs a bottle of whiskey, pours the glass half full with the brown liquid, and sighs as he slides his blood-soaked coat off of his shoulders and hangs it up on the coat rack next to him.

You’re now to the right of him, about ten feet, hesitantly sitting on the couch, the very seat where he attacked you and your baby. You have a new puzzle on the clear glass table - it’s your safe hobby, the peace your soul receives from figuring out difficult puzzles is incredibly satisfying and comforting. Silence fills the room and without Nate even saying anything, you can feel the tension in the air switch like Jekyll & Hyde.

The way he takes the swig of whiskey and slams the glass back onto the granite countertop, almost shattering the glass, causes your body to jump from the sound. He fills the glass another time and repeats the aggressive action, your mind thinking of different ways to change the atmosphere at least a little bit. But consider the fact that you can’t even ask a simple question anymore, you might as well just be a rag doll for him. But who are you kidding? You already are.

All of a sudden, you notice his hand holding the empty glass in a different position. No way, you think, but before you know it, he’s turning his body to face you, winds back his arm and chucks the glistening glass at you. You duck your head between your thighs and scream as you hear the sound of shards scattering throughout your living room as it hits the wall behind you.

“What did you tell her?” Nate grits through his teeth, and you pick your head up and stare at him. He is boiling with rage, his ears and chest are red like a tomato and his chest heaving. You’re honestly shocked he hasn’t put his hands on you yet.

“Dumbass, what did you tell her?” Echoes in the living room. “Nothing!” You yell back, standing up to him for the first time in years. He doesn’t like that, now standing right in front of you, staring down at you, waiting for you to back down. It doesn’t come, you’ve had enough, and you’re not gonna allow him to do this to you anymore.

“Really?” His demeanor changes after he questions you, and if he doesn’t like your answer, he will hit you.

“Told her nothing. But maybe I should.” You snarl back with a slight smirk on your face. You’ve loved when you could throw him off his pedestal just a little bit, even with some of the repercussions that come afterwards. But now, after making up your mind, you have become confident in yourself - not as much as before, but it’s a start.

You don’t even see him wind his hand back, but all of a sudden an overbearing pain shoots into your gut. Your body folds in on itself, chest heaving for air of any kind to grasp onto, and your eyes dart to the cause of this excruciating pain. Your mind is blown when you see Nate’s left hand with his black wedding band. Your lungs have no air for a minute as you gasp over and over, your back on the floor, the same exact spot.

“Good luck leaving, whore,” he spits and walks away from your convulsing body on the living room floor. The creaking of the floorboards on the steps ring through your ears, followed by the slamming of the bedroom door, and then, silence.

You’re curled up into a ball on the same white shag rug, more or less for the same reason as before - Nate, your husband. The tears begin to pour out of your eyes, as do some wails, but they’re silenced by your sleeves covering your mouth. The pain in your stomach is unbearable, it has you rocking your body in little movements to try to make it go away - the feeling of death creeps into your peripheral but is quickly swept away.

“Good luck leaving, whore,” in his spiteful voice repeats throughout your thoughts. What did he mean by that? Can you leave? What did you get yourself into? Why didn’t you just shut up? Why can’t there be someone to help you? Your body and brain are going in loops between getting up and never looking back, and waiting till tomorrow to see what he does.

He just was gone for a month on patrol, and that’s why he’s stressed out, right?

Right?

#joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #Is Leaving Even An Option #joel miller fanfic #joel miller series #dark story #READ WARNINGS

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kalevalakryze · 11 months ago

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Yhe'na Det Och'sa Chapter 7: Mi K’ya Ke Omaki

Summary:

"Would you die for me?"

"No. I would live for you."

Golly Gee Willikers, guys, it's been a minute. I have been Going Through It™ these last few months, but thanks to our wonderful and amazing Gabi ( @somewillwin) and all my lovely internet people in the Shin Tano discord, I've finally managed to get some time to work on another chapter! There's still so much more to go, and so much more to cover, so sit tight, and please continue having patience with me through these next few months especially. Shin is also going through it... and Ahsoka,,, and- yeah, everyone is going through it. and don't forget! ALL ART USED IN THIS SERIES AND CHAPTER IS BY SOMEWILLWIN ON TUMBLR/TWITTER | SOMEWILLLOSE ON INSTAGRAM. Make sure we give credit where it is due, and if you share art, make sure the love goes to Gabi because she really is keeping this whole thing going! WARNING: chapter imagery contains blood. The chapter contains descriptions of injury and suicidal ideation, and I feel like the influence of the dark side can count as a warning as well. Continue at your own risk. AO3 Link: Here!

“Ahsoka!” Kaeden protested for what had to be the hundredth time since they received the comm. “Do you really think there’s time to drop us off when we know where Shin’s at?”

“I am not risking your lives,” Ahsoka repeated like a broken record, fingers curled tight around the yoke of the ship's controls as anxiety pulled her muscles tight. She was no stranger to the way fear could manipulate decisions, no stranger to the dangers that lurked behind every choice made, and yet… with her world on the line once again, she found difficulty in arranging her thoughts, found discomfort in the age-old mantra of letting go.

“Commander, you can’t be serious,” Rex was strapped solidly in his seat, fingers pressing into the armrests to keep himself steady through flying that could only be taught by General Skywalker, passed on so similarly in his Padawan, weaving them through space until they could reach the closest discreet jump point in the system.

“I’m not discussing this with you!”

There was a time, long ago during the Clone Wars, when Rex had to face the reality of a Togruta’s predatory behavior when Fives got hurt and a fourteen-year-old had bowed over his prone form and bared her teeth at any medic that tried to get too close, wouldn’t move an inch until it was Kix slowly kneeling at his vod’s side.

He was reminded now of this instance, in the growl that rumbled in the woman’s chest and the way full lips had pulled back, sharp fangs protruding threateningly as she dared a fiery look back at the two humans, a warning echoed deep in their bones in the way artificial lights glinted off of passive blue orbs, almost making it look as if yellow were seeping into her irises with a toxic sludge.

There was a click, then the sound of seatbelts retracting into their holders as Kaeden unbuckled, feet unsteady against the ground as Ahsoka neared the safest hyperspace lane. “Ahsoka-“ It was a valiant effort to try and calm the frenzied Force-Sensitive, though it didn’t seem to have much of an effect.

“You weren’t there,” Ahsoka hissed. “You didn’t feel it,” her facial markings were scrunched, and Huyang was almost sure that the woman was going to destroy her steering console if she didn’t lighten the hold.

“What didn’t we feel, ‘Soka?” Kaeden pressed, hand still pressed against the taut muscle of her bicep, her other hand moving to cover her hands on the yoke.

“She died , Kaeden. And I just don’t have what we need on the ship to handle that. I can’t trust anyone else to get the space ready, that’s why I need you two to go,” She deflated with this admission.

Ahsoka had felt the deaths of thousands of Jedi at once, had felt her aliit killed in battle, and had come to terms with the death of her own Master and Grand Master once their presences had closed off to her. For Shin? It was almost like their presence revealed itself, only to torture Ahsoka with the feeling of it being ripped from the world.

There had been so much fear in the way it had bounced like bait on a string, when she’d meditated, the Force held no answers, no whispers of what could be done, or how she could get there faster. It had stayed torturously silent until the bond had strengthened, soured by darkness and the thick fog of their presence being so weak, unable to truly commit to a bond that stretched across systems when it hadn’t even seemed to want to stay tethered to the physical realm.

Kaeden had already secured an Alliance frigate to wait on Dac for them, and in the quiet that had followed Ahsoka’s confession, the medic had taken a moment, either to alert them to an earlier arrival before Shin was rescued or to step away and breathe through the sting in her eyes, unwilling to lay any more stress on Ahsoka’s shoulders.

The rest of the trip was spent in silence, save for Huyang’s mumbling of different coordinates or whatever they were apparently passing, along with, as they passed their clearance code to the spaceport closest to the medical frigatem randomized facts about Dac’s history and environment thanks to the Mon Calamari.

“Commander,” Rex began as they gathered near the shuttle doors. Before Ahsoka could correct him, she found that strong arms were wrapping around her midsection. She’d grown taller than him over the years… but it was nice to be able to drop her head into the familiar plastoid on his shoulder and squeeze him in her arms, knowing that despite everything, he was with her. “Bring the kid home, alright?”

Swelled with emotion, the Togruta only nodded as they parted. Kaeden stepped up next, as Rex slipped into the frigate, the medic moved to grab at Ahsoka’s face, thumbs brushing over the markings on her cheeks as the Force-Sensitive woman pressed into her. “Don’t forget, we need you to come home too,” She reminded gently, with a parting kiss to the crown of her head. Before Kaeden could depart, she paused in the doorway. “Bring our girl back,”

“ I will. ”

Jestfad was a mess, harder to navigate than some warzones, and drenched in the dark side. The electrical storm was threatening to short the entire ship, even Huyang's power cells found issues with the charge in the air, eyes flickering ominously as he did his best to keep himself and the ship moving as Ahsoka kept them free of direct strikes.

Worry was heavy in Ahsoka’s bones, urging her focus to remain only on getting through the storm. They just had to make it a little bit longer…

They broke through the worst of the storm, headlights cutting like a sharp blade through the thick fog that settled across the surface, beams swaying as they looked for anything that resembled a humanoid, coming up with boundless sights of storm-torn boulders and the like.

Shin would have been impossible to see if it hadn't been for the exactness of the coordinates that had been sent over the Fulcrum network, their small frame curled up under a stone monolith that absorbed lightning and kept her mostly safe; safer than Ahsoka was, open like prey waiting to be attacked. "Keep us in the air, we need to get out of here," She instructed, already making a mad dash for the door as they closed in on her position.

"I have a bad feeling about this!" Huyang called as Ahsoka dropped the ramp and readied the stairs to give her a boost in sliding down to the surface.

"All you need to feel right now is urgency, Huyang!" Ahsoka snipped from the open door, squinting as a bolt of lightning cut through her eyesight of Shin. The force swelled with a helpful exigency and her montrals rang with the aftershocks of the sharp crack of lightning further damaging their surroundings. "Now!"

The steps smoothed out immediately to send Ahsoka careening to the rocky surface of the planet hard . She had to hit the ground running to avoid the lightning that threatened to turn her to ash, but keeping herself moving after catching the state shin was in was another challenge in itself.

They were shaking from where their body curled in so tight, with how they sat with their hands folded in their lap, Ahsoka could make out the unnatural twists and angles their fingers made, and the gaping wounds that morbidly decorated their palms. Large chunks of skin were missing from her hands, barely scabbed over lacerations striping painfully across her fingers and knuckles racing almost halfway up her forearm. Blood soaked through the clothes they'd been taken in, blues and grays ruined with the dark, rust-colored evidence of the worst.

"Shin!" Ahsoka shouted over the storm, moving faster than she should have; Silver-blue eyes were half-glazed, jumping to her with absolute fear , unseeing and unregistering of the reality of Ahsoka’s presence.

"I'm sorry," The child had sobbed once Ahsoka grew near, montrals twitching at the rattle in their chest and the lethargy sinking into their being. Broken fingers flexed around nothing, and fear oozed from their being at a rate almost as concerning as all the blood.

All Ahsoka could offer to comfort them was her presence as she dropped to Shin’s side, ginger in the way she approached them and in the waves of pain that radiated off of them and into the very fibers of their bond. The wail of pain from them was agony in her head, one Ahsoka would not be quick to forget as she gathered her lanky kid up into her arms. "I know, I know-” As much as her heart ached to soothe Shin’s worries, to promise they had nothing to be sorry for, she had to be their Master more than their mother if she wanted any hope of getting them off that blasted moon.

Shin was light, physically at least, though she sunk into Ahsoka’s arms with the weight of a zillobeast, feverish forehead dropping against her lek as hot tears streaked down their face. “ Didn’t say anything ,” Shin rasped at last, voice all but a wheeze. “ They don’t know, ” The rattling in their chest seemed to shake their entire being, “I swear, m.. Ahsoka… please,” They couldn’t bring themselves to call her mom , not when the Inquisitor’s cutting remarks went far beyond their flesh.

Ahsoka paused, a strike of lightning caught the monolith, illuminating Shin’s face and the blood that stained sickly skin. “ Oh , Tazi Unt,” she wanted to cry, tell Shin that everything would be alright, and make everything all right. But the longer they stayed, the more dangerous it became both for her resilience in the force, and their physical wellbeing, and with each passing moment, the weaker Shin seemed to get.

The run back to the ship was harder, the storm grew stronger with every passing minute, and the shuttle was beginning to attract attention that they couldn't afford. "Huyang! We need to move, fast!" She shouted the minute her foot touched the durasteel ramp, muscles burning as Shin writhed in her arms uncomfortably, reaching but unable to truly hold onto the woman’s lek for comfort, failing to tether themselves into reality as their feverish state glazed over their eyes.

The ramp raised behind her as she all but flew into the cockpit, setting Shin down in the knick of time; A bolt struck the hull of the ship, and the next thing she knew, they were diving towards the ashen ground, plummeting to their deaths in seconds; Ahsoka had slammed into the pilots seat to grab at the controls, eyes fixed on the rapidly approaching ground, slamming her free hand into every available control around her, with the painful clicking of Huyang's haywire systems trying to reboot with such an intense electronic disturbance.

Faintly, she could hear Shin's erratic breaths, fighting to suck in wails to prove they were fine, even as fear flowed into their bond from the woman who just didn't have time to block it. They were trying to pull on the safety belts around them as their fate loomed ever closer, unable to even hook the straps into whatever was left of their hands, instead only able to watch and prepare themselves for the crash.

The underbelly of the shuttle scraped painfully against the planet as the power came back on, allowing Ahsoka's next hard yank at the controls to pull them up, and a well timed opening of the throttle to push them just out of the way of the next bolt of lightning that surely would have killed them.

Huyang clicked back to life with a start; the palm of his hand switching to the hyperdrive, engaging it quickly, with their emergency jump points already queued up for a speedy escape; Ahsoka didn't dare a look behind her, to the injured girl fighting to stay in their seat, shattered hands trying in vain to find some form of a handhold against the turbulence, only earning more bruises from the painful jostling in the seat as they fought to maintain stability in their lane.

Eventually, the ship steadied, and Ahsoka was able to take her attention away from the control panels at last, autopilot engaging with just a few buttons to maintain the course, listening to the broken gasps as Huyang knelt before Shin’s seat, and the sickening sound of bones being pulled into place along the splints. She couldn’t watch, but she couldn’t just sit there and do nothing, either.

“You’re okay, Tazi Unt , you’re alright,” She repeated those words like a mantra, even when the brunette’s head turned to bury into her stomach, attempting to spare themselves the sight that lay before them. “You’re doing so good,” She’d promised, cupping the back of the girl’s head with her hand, wincing at the indents and scabs along their scalp that felt too much like another being’s fingernails.

Their hands were in such disarray, tendons and bone made themselves known, ripping through pal, bloodied skin, and Huyang had to scramble to catch up and get some form of control in straightening them out. But to prevent further injury was to bring more pain, and in bringing her more pain, Ahsoka was stuck with their cries echoing in her head, and the way their small frame had shaken so violently in the chair.

When Shin’s cries of pain quieted and turned into something more haunting; whimpers and sucked in breaths, turning to silence aside from the absolute worse, Ahsoka knew they couldn’t continue. “Huyang, we don’t have anything to help, we can’t do this,” She croaked, hands hovering over Shin’s shoulders, unsure of whether or not she should soothe, or aid.

Somewhere, long ago, far away on a battlefield surrounded by men who looked the same, Ahsoka could hear the echos of her own voice, younger, back then, with the shrapnel from an IED tearing through sepia-colored skin- “Let me die-” The fourteen-year-old had begged as a Clone’s steady hand pulled everything from metal to bone shards from her skin.

“Let me die… Please.” The twelve-year-old sobbed into Ahsoka’s stomach, surely unaware of what they were asking for, unaware of everything but the way their bones cracked under Huyang’s fingers as he tried to reset the placement. “Huyang,” Ahsoka pleaded, voice thick with unshed emotion. “Stop.”

“Lady Tano, she needs medical attention, and you’ve dispatched our only medic-”

“Call her, then, please… Anything but this,”

With hyperspace came silence, and with the silence of the ship around them came the sound of Ahsoka’s own heart thudding in her chest, and an airy rattling that couldn’t have come from the ship- Shin’s chest rose and fell, yes, though it was rapid and unsteady, they couldn’t draw in enough oxygen and-

“Ahsoka? Did you get her?” Kaeden’s voice came from the small comm disc in Huyang’s hand, the sound of materials being moved around following her words.

“Kaeden, she can’t breathe,” The Togruta rushed, oxygen entering her lungs for the first time since Huyang stopped his relentless first aid, warm fingers pressed against their pulse point, the rhythm weak against her fingers, eyes blinking open slowly to watch as her mother’s eyes jumped around their face, to watch Huyang, as if Kaeden could slip from the comm to help, and makers, what she wouldn’t give for that right now.

“It’s okay, Ahsoka-” There was a small clatter on the other end. “In your cabin, I left a bag. There’s an oxygen canister and everything you should need-”

Shin tried to focus, really she did. But Kaeden’s voice sounded like it was coming from far underwater, and the persistent lingering feeling of drowning stayed clogged in lungs that struggled to fill with enough oxygen. “ Meht ?” Shin called, her voice crackling under a wheeze. Huyang’s fingers around their wrist stopped the child from reaching out as Ahsoka pulled away from them. Why was she leaving them? She didn’t talk… “Meht, please-” Their voice came in a broken sob, lungs constricting as they tried in vain to rise past Huyang. The Inquisitor was right, and Ahsoka never considered them hers and-

There was just no more energy left to cry, no water left to sustain the tears that contorted their bruised and bloody face as a high, broken sound leaked past split lips, aching with the sorrows no one their age should have known. “She will be back, young Tano,” Huyang tried to ease them as he wound a strip of gauze across their hands, the rich smell of bacta stinging her nose even after the worst was covered. “Here she comes-” His voice couldn’t go as soft as he was trying to portray, the distortion felt like an out-of-body experience as he leaned back, away from Shin-

“ Please ,” Again, they keened, unable to turn their head to catch Ahsoka juggling items back through the door, only the heart-sinking sight of even Huyang moving away from her. “ I didn’t say anything, please ,” She couldn’t sob, could only crackle out against blood-stained lips and try to plead her case, to beg for their forgiveness and only hope to be accepted.

The hand that cradled the side of their head had been startling- Black gloves shoving into brunette tangles, gathering them up in strong hands to twist, and pull, or to hold a flailing body under the surface until the fight had left it, only to use the handhold to drag them up and force air back into their lungs. She did not notice the warmth or the way Ahsoka had jumped back twice as much, how every ounce of progress they’d made in getting Shin to accept her safety had been extinguished like a campfire on Kamino.

“No,” Ahsoka listened with pursed lips and the beast of grief heavy in her heart. “Let me die,” Shin’s hands raised, broken fingers useless in their attempt to curl into a fist to protect their face, blind to the broken horror on Ahsoka’s face as the girl shrank away from her in fear, expecting Ahsoka to hurt them.

“Shin!” It was Kaeden’s voice on the comm this time, hazy and alternating the line between reality and delirium. “Right here, okay, just listen to me, alright? Just breathe,” She spoke slow enough to earn her their attention but was unable to aid in calming the way they sucked in air too fast.

“Can’t-”

“It’s okay, baby, your mom is going to help you, okay? She’s right there, she’s right next to you, okay?” The medic couldn’t see, the comm wasn’t equipped for video imaging, but she trusted, maybe even in the Force, that Ahsoka was right where she promised. “ ‘soka, do you know how to set that up?”

“Yeah, yes, I got it-” Keeping her voice level was a lesson she’d learned long ago; it helped her brothers feel more at peace, whether they’d died on the battlefield, or in the relative comfort of the medical wings as long as she didn’t allow her own fear to waver in her voice. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you… Not this time, never again…”

Quiet reassurances were passed between mother and daughter as thin tubing was carefully laid out, looping behind their ears before the cannulas were placed at their nose. “Your mom is going to help you breathe, alright, just let the air in. Ahsoka, when she’s ready, turn the knob on the canister forty-five degrees counter-clockwise.”

Shin coughed and sputtered at the oxygen pushing into her lungs, lidded eyes flying open to the sight of Ahsoka trying to adjust the tubing, aching to touch them but unwilling to brush against their skin again, lest she be the reason they went back again. “You’re alright, Tazi Unt ,” She cooed, settling herself into a kneeling position at their side,two fingers pressing gently against the center of their chest, listening as their breathing struggled to even out while feeling for the rest of the damage that tore through their small frame, hidden beneath their ill-fitting tunic.

“You’re doing so good, baby girl,” Kaeden called, easing Shin into finding some sort of compliance, relieving their struggle against the aid offered.

“Ahsoka, I need you to keep listening to their breathing, have Huyang take over the controls for a bit,” Huyang’s eyes met Ahsoka’s and without a word, the droid rose to his feet, sliding into Ahsoka’s chair and adjusting everything to himself as he brought their course up on a map, taking them out of autopilot so he could work around through the different shortcuts the Rebellion had found.

“Meht?” Shin was blinking up at her, bleary-eyed and beaten down, shoulders shaking with the looming threat of freezing cold water, long dried, but sticking far beyond their skin brought an intense chill. “I swear…” They coughed, a thick and sickly sounding thing as they struggled to allow the oxygen to help them breathe.

“I believe you,” Ahsoka promised, fingers hovering where they wanted so badly to reassure them through touch again. “No one blames you, strong girl. We only want to help it stop hurting, but… we won’t be able to do anything more until we get to Kaeden, okay…?”

The hypospray was in her pocket, she knew she needed to help Shin to sleep, but it was wrong to do such a thing, to even suggest it after all they’d been through, knowing that any kind of a needle brought into the mix wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near them-

“Please… hurts.” They croaked, closing the distance between their feverish forehead and Ahsoka’s hovering hand of their own accord, seeking comfort in the way Ahsoka’s thumb brushed across the old and ruined paint across their cheeks. Offering her permission to touch them once again. “I don’t want… “ They paused, unsure in their delirious request. The Force answered for her, instead of pain or chains, the child’s request came in the phantom feeling of arms wound against her. “It’s okay, Tazi Unt… I can do that for you, anything you need.” She promised gently, using the aid of the Force to help adjust their position in the chair, keeping their hands steady through the Force until she could slide herself in beneath them, their weight resting fully against her chest as the seat creaked under their combined weight.

Shin’s head tucked into Ahsoka’s neck, though the woman had to loosely wrap her fingers around their wrists to keep them still, their resistance weak as they struggled against the urge to reach for her mother’s lek. Their erratic breathing slowed once their weight was settled, allowing Ahsoka’s mind to drift away from the weight of the sedative stashed in her pockets,

“Ahsoka?” Kaeden’s voice on the comm reminded the Togruta of her virtual presence. “I know it’s calm now… but I need you to keep an eye on Shin’s breathing, even the slightest change and we’ll need to adjust our entire approach.”

“I… She’s as steady as she can be, right now,” Their heart still thundered in their chest, pulse thrumming wildly against the pads of Ahsoka’s thumbs where they pressed into the point on her wrist, feeling the broken rise and fall of their chest as the girl fought to retain every lesson they’d ever been given on easing that pain into the force where it could dissipate.

“Did you use..?”

“No… I don’t think I can…” Ahsoka’s eyes slid shut in reverence, lips pulling into a frown as Shin’s weight twitched against her. All she’d wanted was to have them back in her arms, but now, with their breath coming in broken puffs against her chest, all she found that she wanted was some way to relieve them from their pain. “ I’m sorry, ” Her nose brushed against the veritable womp-rat’s nest of their head, nose crinkling at how wrong Shin smelled when iron, dirt, and grease hung on them like a thick smog.

“She’s going to be alright, Ahsoka. You found her, she’s safe . Huyang will get you guys back here, and we can treat them properly… we’ll make this work.”

Ahsoka’s sound of discontent is trapped between her teeth as she worries a fang into her bottom lip. Kaeden spoke, but Fulcrum did not listen, focused entirely on the whistling in Shin’s lungs as exhaustion pulled their consciousness under, the hiss of the oxygen pushing into their nose through the cannulas the only other sound she could find it in her to care about.

“Ahsoka…?” Kaeden called, though Ahsoka could not gauge how much time had passed, wild eyes filled with worry and tunneled on the small human form curled into her chest. “Hey, you still with me?”

“Yeah…” Her voice croaked, hoarse as the hailstorm of emotion that refused to bleed into the force dragged down on each syllable.

“Shut your eyes a bit- I’ll keep my ears out if Shin moves, okay? And Huyang will wake you up- Right Huyang?” She called towards the droid piloting the ship, satisfied with the sound of his servos whirring as his head nodded in the affirmative, even if she couldn’t see him; they’d always had an understanding when it came to their two Fulcrum agents.

Emotions swirled inside Ahsoka’s chest, dark and rotting- She breathed through it, always had, and always would- Shin was safe . Shin needed her at her best… It was logic she could get behind, the logic that she could rationalize as the days' worth of sleep deprivation caught up with her. An exhale, and the rot subsided, blooming into something lighter , even if the roots were tainted in toxic sludge.

A dark covered hand reached out for their face, this time, Shin did not flinch away in fear, to their horror, they found their cheek pressing into morbid fingers, something sinful on their tongue as fingers dragged through their hair. “You’re more like me than you want to admit.” The Monster breathed, putrid breath ghosting across their cheeks, filling poison in their lungs.

Fingers curled in their hair, tugging harshly as the child’s head was wrenched back. “Show me.” Shin heard their own voice rasp out, and felt the words betray her on her own lips. “ Teach me .”

A flash of orange, green dust caught in the wind, something… purple-

Their eyes opened in a flash, breathing stuttering as their heart thundered. Restraints dug into her skin, something beeped nearby. Unable to gather the strength to look, Shin’s eyes slammed shut tight. But Ahsoka came… She was supposed to be safe!

Testing at her restraints, she found that the Inquisitor hadn’t locked their wrists to the chair. Broken fingers protested at the movement, though they persisted, moving to rub the snot on their nose away on their forearm- The tubes near their face gave them pause and their next inhale was thick with growing emotion. What were they doing to her now? Was that green dust something else to make her talk…? She was so tired… Why didn’t they just kill her already?Her pinkie curled around a tube, it hurt, but she couldn’t just lay there while they pumped her full of… whatever this was. “Please… Just let me die.” They croaked in a broken whisper, pulling in vein at the tubes that looped back behind her ears.

“Shin…? Sweetheart is that you?”

Her voice was warm, drowsiness dragged her voice an octave deeper- a naive part of Shin had always loved it when Kaeden would tell her stories in her sleepy voice.

“Meht…” Broken and tired, Shin’s head relaxed back into the warm flesh of Ahsoka’s shoulder, eyes cracking open enough at last to peer up at the once familiar lights and panels all across the ceiling. “They won’t let me die…”

“No… We aren’t going to let you die, d'bhem. ” A whine formed in the base of Shin’s throat, a sound as broken and desolate as they looked outside. Something clattered on Kaeden’s end, though Shin could not speculate when the predator under her shifted her weight, a sleepy grumble that came in the form of a rumbling chest and a squeeze of her arms reminded the girl of her situation.

“If I’m not going to die..” Shin dared a look at her hands, finding immediate regret in the way bile, nothing but stomach acid, gurgled up their throat, threatening to expel past their lips at the sight before them. Swallowing thickly, Shin focused instead on the ceiling once more, breathing heavily through her nose, silently thankful for the support they were given. “I can’t be a Jedi… Not like this… I’m ruined.” They whispered, tension leaving their body as they went boneless in warm, restricting arms. “ She isn’t going to want me around anymore.”

“That’s not true. It’ll never be true. We want you, we want you with us all the time, sweetheart… and we will make it better…” A pause, someone’s voice called out on Kaeden’s side. “What’s that thing Ahsoka’s always saying? Do or do not…?”

“There is no try,” Shin’s cheek pressed into Ahsoka’s bicep, freezing body seeking to find some warmth in their mother’s unnatural body heat. There was an uncomfortable shifting as the child wiggled, struggling to raise their head enough to take in Ahsoka’s face for what felt like the first time.

Dark bags hung under the Togruta’s eyes, stress lines etched into the creases of her face, and even her facial markings seemed to be permanently scrunched up as she failed to find relaxation in a fitful slumber. “...Is she okay?”

A pause, the clatter of Kaeden setting something down as she took a measured breath. “She’s just worried about you, Tazi grut .”

Shin’s breathing stuttered again, throat itching with a cough they were unwilling to release, not wanting to risk waking Ahsoka up after causing her so much strife. “ I’m sorry, I never meant to wo-”

“Babygirl,” Kaeden cut her off effectively, “When you love someone, you’re always going to worry. Even Huyang can’t turn that one off.”

“Oh…” Shin’s chin tucked into her chest bashfully. “Did… Did I worry you…?”

Warm laughter bubbled from the line, tight with the stressors depressing on this brief moment of reprieve. “Very, very , much. But I’ll see you very soon, and I’m going to be here the whole way, I’m not going anywhere, so don’t you go where I can’t follow.” Her plea was hidden in false merriment, although Shin could hear it clear as day. “Do you think you can try getting some more sleep for me? I’m not sure how much further you have to go…”

Shin could see the way Huyang’s metallic fingers flexed against the controls- Tried not to think about curling their own fingers, or the way her own were broken in a similar fashion. “Can I take this off…?” Their forearm brushed against the tubing that crossed along her cheek.

“Sorry, baby… Not just yet,” And maybe it was the genuine sympathy in the woman’s voice, or maybe it was exhaustion threatening to take them back that had Shin’s arm dropping, broken hands resting over Ahsoka’s gauntlets, smearing blood across the material as they pressed into the familiar garment.

“Okay… You’ll be here when…?” Shin wouldn’t dare to finish, unsure what would be waiting for them, if this was another hallucination, or if the Force would be relenting enough to allow this moment to be real, even if she could feel the way her life threatened to slip through her own mangled fingers.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, my little hunter.”

Silence followed, the ship rattled, Shin’s broken breathing accentuated by the whisper of snores sneaking past Ahsoka’s lips. “Hey Huyang…?” Their voice was timid where it broke the tense tranquility. “Can you tell me about the Purgill again…?”

The droid cleared his nonexistent throat, clearly glad to be doing something other than bringing further harm to Shin or piloting through the emptiness of hyperspace. “Once upon a time, in a galaxy far far away…”

The proximity alarms blared; doing nothing to ease the swirling pit of anxiety in Rex’s stomach, fingers flexing around the handles of his blasters as they watched the ship pop out of hyperspace, peering through thick transparisteel as he may have all those years ago, once again waiting for Ahsoka return with someone he cared for.. “It’s okay, Rex, we’re safe-” Kaeden’s voice was gentle, pulling him from his thoughts, away from the memories of fallen brothers and Jetti that had been brought home in starships just like the T-6.

Brown eyes looked at her with a pain built upon years of fighting that she could barely begin to understand. “T-6 one-niner-seven-four you are clear to land,” Kaeden could hear the flight crew through the shuttle’s speakers echoing through her comm.

The silence was thick, both humans could feel their hearts thundering in their ears, neither daring to break the silence until purposeful footsteps rang through the hall leading to the operating room. “Fulcrum, we can prep her sooner if you-” Kaeden could only imagine the look on Ahsoka’s face as the voice froze in its tracks. The doors hissed open, revealing Ahsoka, with her lips still curled and fangs bared in a warning, with something that screamed danger lurking in the flecks of yellow that seemed to poison her irises, and with a lump of human in her arms, all awkward angles and dried blood. She needed something to hold onto- to ground herself. Thankfully, Rex’s arm was in reach. Her fingers curled around the ancient plastoid, feeling the soldier’s hand reach to grab her elbow, taking the same support being given as they leaned on each other. She took a breath, letting her eyes slide shut as Ahsoka’s long strides closed the distance. She couldn’t look at this personally, couldn’t look at the fractured bundle in Ahsoka’s arms as Shin. “Kaeden.” Ahsoka’s voice cracked. She’d hoped in vain that the crackling in their earlier conversation was due to the comms, had hoped she wouldn’t have to hear the ache in each syllable. She released her hold on Rex, straightening up as she reached for the bundle in Ahsoka’s arms. “I’ll take them from here, Ahsoka.” Her voice wavered, forcing her to clear her throat as the bundle was passed into her arms. She couldn’t tell who was trembling more, Ahsoka, Shin, or herself? She’d caught a glance at the pre-teen's face, all pale skin and a multitude of bruises, pounding on that invisible barrier she’d stuffed her emotions behind.

“Come on, Commander. Kid’s in good hands.” Rex’s voice was rough as he reached for Ahsoka, grabbing her elbow and expertly ignoring the way she mirrored the deadly Akul from her planet, saw past the twinge in her jaw that threatened teeth that itched to tear into his flesh, muscles that spasmed, taut and ready to spring into action for even the notion that he would take her away from her own.

With Rex and Ahsoka retreating, the small team of trusted medics finally felt safe enough to step in, careful hands helping as the woman laid Shin out against the operating table. They were no strangers to the cruelties of the Empire, not at this point, not when the Empire grew bolder in their blatant disrespect for all life.

“Careful.” She hissed, just under her breath as a faceless attendant slid the fabric shears through the ruined tunic, all careful stitching and loving repairs forgotten in favor of granting them access to the battlefield painted against a child's skin. “Oh, makers. ” Kaeden paused, her head snapping to the side, bile rising in her throat- she stumbled back, and felt another medic place their hands on her back, steadying her when the sight became overwhelming

“If it’s too much, we understand-”

“I’m fine.” The woman spoke all too quickly. “Continue prepping her, Jlik’fi, help me scrub in, please.”

Rex learned all too well than when it came to his General, it was better to let him pace when Ahsoka was stuck in the sick bay. Letting the Knight wear holes in his boots and only interfering when gloves hands would reach to pull at his hair or hint at some form of danger- some way to let the worry out that would leave the maintenance squad trying to fix the dents. Thankfully, Ahsoka didn’t have hair to pull on as she stalked the length of the small quarters he’d been ushered into, and as wild as she was when she was a kid, she’d never been big on the violent outbursts..

She did, however, have dried blood coating her skin, blood that wasn’t hers , blood that should have been safely flowing through her padawans’ veins, not painting her skin in all its horror.

Blunt nails scraped at her arms, flecking rust-colored remnants away and leaving white scratches in their wake. “Commander,” Rex heaved a great sigh as he stood. Ahsoka sure wasn’t a youngling anymore, and the Togruta had outgrown him tenfold, all broad shoulders and lean muscle, montrals sprouting like a crown from the sides of her head. He’d never been scared of her before, but there was something… off. Something that screamed danger, just like Anakin, a red flag that no one knew to catch onto. “Ahsoka.” He repeated for what had to have been the hundredth time, trying to get the Force-Sensitive to acknowledge his existence before she worried a hole into her lip, where fangs indented the skin of her lip, threatening to break the skin.

“She’s in there with the best of the best-“

“What if it’s not enough?” She hissed, voice dropping, weighted down by that ache that went deeper than her bones, the pain that seemed to permeate her being in the very force.

Rex blinked, a slow, contemplative expression furrowing his features as he reached to scratch his fingers through his beard. Ahsoka was always a woman of action , she didn’t get caught up in the ‘what-ifs’.

“We have to let her try, though. All we can do right now is make sure, when Shin wakes up, that we’re here, right where she needs us.” He reasoned, scooting himself to sit on the edge of his seat, fingers curling around the edge of the table he’d sat himself at. “C’mon, kid. Sit with an old man.”

“I’m older than you.” She lacked the emotion, the impish look that would cross their faces when they teased each other about age, but it was a start .

“Well, only one of us can get the senior citizen discount at forty-twos.”

“Rex, it’s literally a clone bar, built by your brothers.” Her pacing came to an end as she slid bonelessly into the seat opposite him. Trembling fingers came to rest on the tabletop, though he was quick to cover her hands with his own, hiding the dried blood that clung to her skin under the guise of squeezing her hands in his own.

“Yeah well… meli-room, meel-roo-un.” A smile cracked his lips as he shook his head, playfully dismissive of her argument. “Now c’mon. What’s that thing you Jetti are obsessed with? Meditation?”

“ You want to meditate ?” Fulcrum asked incredulously, the facial markings above her eyes furrowing in disbelief as he shrugged.

“Give it a shot before you carve a hole into the floor…” he just didn’t want to watch her lose herself, didn’t want to watch her plummet the same way Anakin had after she’d left. He could never help but feel like there was more he could have done, and when it came to his vod’ika , he was determined to do all in his power to never feel that strange, encompassing guilt once more.

“Alright… alright.” She slipped her hand from his in order to rub at the side of her montral, surely aching from the intense stress of the day.

Rex couldn’t help how closely he paid attention to the way the gold-flecked in her eyes lessened with her agreement, how her eyes slid shut but her chest still rose and fell too fast to achieve a proper meditation. He found his own worry easing now that the gnawing unknown fled from his vod’ika, leaving her as she was- exhausted and sick with worry, but Ahsoka all the same.

With a quiet groan, the clone rose from his seat, putting himself on the floor right beside her, legs folded beneath him with his head leaning against her knee, one hand resting against her ankle as he lent her his strength.

The Togruta’s hand dropped from the tabletop, curling against the plastoid armor at his shoulder before dropping to his chest plate, following a grove left from a battle she could hardly remember.

Rex’s breathing became more pronounced, giving her something to follow as her fingertips rested over his heart.

Eventually, her own breathing evened out, the Togruta seemed to slip back, away from the immediate stressors of reality as she dipped into the vast pool of life that was the Force, surely seeking answers or calm beyond what a mere mortal could ever provide.

“We’ll be okay, commander.” He grumbled, voice barely breaking the white noise of the air recyclers humming in the walls.

Rex didn’t know how long it took, or how much time had passed before one of Kaeden’s medics poked their head into the room, rousing both Clone War survivors from their separate stupors. He did know, however, that when he looked at Ahsoka, the gold in her eyes was gone, and that worrying gnawing on his heart had subsided as she rose from her seat to follow them back to the room aboard the frigate.

Kaeden looked as exhausted as everyone felt, all but collapsed into a chair at Shin’s bedside in the frigid room. Warmed blankets covered the frail body in bed, with a skinny wrist poking beneath the covers, tubes, and wires going this way, and that while medical equipment and droids beeped a symphony of life around them.

Warm brown fingers curled around Shin’s wrist, just above the length of bandages that curled around the girl's hands and up her wrists, grounding herself to the steady thrumming of blood in her veins as she waited.

“Kaeden,” Ahsoka greeted in a whisper, eyes taking over the room. The rest of the medical team had filed out on Kaeden’s request, leaving the family with much-needed silence.

“She’s okay.” Kaeden rasped, thumb brushing against the small patch of unmarred skin beneath her fingers.

Ahsoka crowded her field of vision when she knelt before her, taking her attention with soft eyes and kind fingers tapping against her chin. The question was silent, passed between the two women with a glance. “I’m okay,” she promised, free hand reaching to wrap around Ahsoka’s wrist, thumb pressing into the pulse point in a gentle swipe. “Get your girl.”

With permission, Ahsoka finally allowed herself to take in the sight of the child- her child as they laid out before her. Her hair was cut and shaved in a patchwork where the team had needed to handle the injuries that had danced across the delicate surface of her head. Stitches and bandages broke up the expanse of pale skin and bruises on their path to disappear beneath the thin shirt provided. Even in sleep, Shin’s face was contorted in pain, nose wrinkled at the smell of bacta across her bruises that permeated even her medically aided dreams, with small twitches and spasms firing through various muscles as the haze of sedatives wore down.

“ Oh, Shin. ” Ahsoka whispered, taking her place at her Padawan’s side, reaching out to ghost her fingers along the mess of bandages, careful to avoid the wires that let the humans hear the unstable thrum of her heart, to know that she was alive, to promise that she was there , with them, when the minuscule rise and fall of her chest failed to ease their concerns.

Ahsoka’s very bones seemed to rattle inside their prison of flesh and muscle. She recognized this for what it was- with each wave of pain that thrumemd in time with her heart beat, she focused on the feeling, the attachment, so dangerous to someone like her, like them . Even now, she could feel the way the ache for revenge itched under her skin, the way something darker whispered in her mind. You can make sure no one ever hurts her again .

Drawing her legs onto the chair with her, the Togruta repositioned herself, heavy eyes falling closed with the sound of Shin’s breathing and the beeping of the monitors tethering her to the world around her. She’d been down this road before, many years ago, had lost countless brothers and felt the same simmering danger under the surface, a poison that threatened to sink into her bones and take control.

Attachments led to pain, Jedi were taught to forgo all attachments, to let go and become something greater .

Something rumbled in Ahsoka’s chest, unknown, uncultivated, something the Jedi would have never bothered to teach her to understand, a feeling and a hurt so primal, unlike anything she’d ever known the dark side to be capable of- a low, keening sound escaped her lips. She was no stranger to the behaviors of Torguta, but she’d been left to assume that such a… visceral reaction to one of her pack being injured would have been long removed from her abilities.

The sound dragged Kaeden from her solemn reverence. She was familiar with the Force-Senstive’s silence when she’d meditated, had only ever heard the warrior speak in quiet words that commanded attention. Even injured herself, Ahsoka had never emitted such a noise, not in all the time she, nor Rex, had known her. And despite Shin’s own human biology, it seemed that the noise resonated in her, too. Enough for glassy eyes to crack open and a hand to lift just mere centimeters from the bed. “Meht.” Shin had croaked, voice barely loud enough to register past all the equipment.

To Ahsoka, though- The rasp in their voice was an answer, not just to the question pressing on all their shoulders, but to that deeper ache in her chest, lessening when she opened her own eyes and saw herself reflected in watery depths. “I’m here, Tazi Unt. ” She leaned across the bed until the tips of her Lek dragged against the scratchy material of the sheets, letting her fingers ghost over the sliver of skin that poked out of the bandages along Shin’s arm. “ You are here.”

She could feel the way Shin’s muscles quivered, the strain keeping her arm raised was taking. With a gentle press, Ahsoka succeeded in easing the girl's arm into dropping back into the bed, a look of relief- albeit minor in comparison to everything else, crossing their face, allowing the girl just a moment of peace.

It didn’t last, of course. Nothing good ever seemed to. The girls mind finally seemed to break through the barriers of painkillers, racing to catch her up to speed with the burning sting in her flesh and the fractures in her bones that ran deep enough to penetrate their very soul. “Ahsoka…” The woman blinked- Her name from those lips was wrong , yet she could not stand to correct them, not when she’d failed them as both Master and Mother. “Don’t…. Don’t lose yourself for me.” They grumbled, weariness dragging them back down as the weight settled back across her shoulders. “I’m… You’re not- I…”

A bandaged hand brushed against her lekku, making them both wince: Ahsoka in shock, and Shin in what could only be pain. “Hush now, Shin… Just. Get some rest, okay?” Ahsoka pressed forward until her lips came to rest at the crown of Shin's head, pulling back just enough to watch as exhaustion dragged their eyelids down and their breathing deepened into something as close to a restful sleep as any of them could hope to get anytime soon.

Translations Togruti Mi K’ya Ke Omak - I want to live Tazi Unt - Little one Meht - Mother d'bhem - love Tazi Grut - Little Hunter Mando'a Aliit - Family Jetti - Jedi Vod - Brother/Sister Ori'Vod - Older Brother/Sister Vod'ika - Little Brother / Sister

#Shin Tano AU #somewillwin #Ahsoka Tano #Shin Hati #star wars #fanfiction #read warnings

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empyyre9n · 4 months ago

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This might’ve been the best I’ve ever read.

peristalsis - vii

selkie!soap x reader. depression. strangers to “lovers.” suicidal resolve. major character death. violent drowning. a reckoning. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

When you’re sure that Johnny’s friends have left, you return to the beach. The wind has died down in the late afternoon; the clouds sit heavy and motionless in the sky.

Night is coming, and it promises to be cold. It hangs in the wary stillness of the air, in the waiting quiet. The seabirds’ calling is absent; the dune crickets’ singing has ended.

He’s there on the sand. Somehow, you knew he would be. Felt it, even before he came into view. He stands by the kayak, almost as if he’s been waiting there for you.

You hold the folded pelt with both hands against your stomach as you approach. The fur is so soft against your palms, your fingers. Cool from having spent a night in the ground.

He looks at it with sharp eyes. Then, up to you, expectantly.

His eyes on you in the cottage bedroom, moonlight shifting in them. Teeth in your neck. The taste of brine in your mouth.

Pearls in your memory. Parting gifts to enjoy, as you come to the close.

“Missed you at the end there, bonnie,” he says, even and purposefully steady. “The boys were glad to meet you.”

He’s known—the whole time. He always has. You don’t know how you know this, but you do.

“I’ve had a nice time with you, Johnny,” you say, when you’re only a few paces away from him. “But I think it’s time for me to go.”

Three days. That’s all it’s been. Nothing much, objectively, to say goodbye to. A good way to end things, truthfully, with the aftertaste of good food still on your tongue, the heat and girth of him still lingering inside you. The etchings of his calluses still fresh on your skin.

A kind ending. A gentle one. Better than you and he deserve.

You hold out the pelt.

He looks at it. Mouth a tight line. Brows low and flat. Then his gaze moves to you.

“Where will you go?” he asks, still steady.

“I’m not sure,” you say. “Maybe—Amsterdam. Does it matter? I don’t know.”

“Just like that,” he says flatly. “After everything.”

You frown. “I was always going to leave, Johnny. Remember? I only booked the place for a month. This is just…earlier.”

Something frenetic buzzes in his posture. The slight lean forward in the way he stands. The angles of his face seem harsher, more pronounced. Eyes dark as wet stone.

“Johnny, just—” you shake the pelt at him, still holding it out. “Just take it, okay?”

He looks at the pelt again, and then back at you.

At it, then you.

It—you—

Johnny lunges.

In one swift surge forward he snaps the pelt from your hands and flings it aside. As it flutters to the ground his hands whip at you, seizing fistfuls of your shirt a half-thought before you realize it, wrenching you forward.

“What the fuck?!” you cry, but then you’re off your feet, falling toward him, arms flailing as you lose your center of balance. You topple into him, and he hooks you beneath the shoulders with the iron bands of his arms, stepping away from the kayak, and only for a moment do you think that maybe he’s going to bring you back to the cottage before he starts dragging you in the opposite direction—

“Johnny, no,” you breathe, as you hear a wave break on the sand,“Johnny, no!”

You start to kick and thrash. You throw yourself against his grasp, dig your heels into the sand, try to find the meat of his forearm with your teeth, but he is resolute. Unstoppable.

You start to scream.

The waves eddy around your feet, rise up to engulf your ankles, your calves, as Johnny roils the water with wide, unfaltering steps, deeper in—

The water closes around your thighs. Your waist.

This is happening. This is really happening—

“Had a month to get to this, bonnie,” says Johnny, over your screaming, rough and harsh and completely unrecognizable. He slings you around to face him, jaw set hard, the muscles in his temples flexing as he clenches his teeth. “But I guess we’re doin’ it now.”

“Johnny,” you plead, “please don’t, Johnny, please—Johnny, no, no, no, no—!”

He clamps his hands on your shoulders and shoves you downward. You claw at him, push against the seabed, but your lover is too strong, immune to your fighting, and you are barely able to inhale before he forces your head below the water.

Frigid cold—it rushes into your ears, through your hair, knife-sharp and paralyzing. Salt flooding the open canals of your nose—

You close your throat. The surface swirls above you, distorting him, rippling and folding in on itself as a wave recedes. Hope waits for the retreating water to expose you, but he has dragged you out too deep, far enough that even the lowest point of the backwash still submerges you.

Seawater, eroding cilia, ramming against the rolled stone of your epiglottis. Burning the film of your corneas.

You reach up, swinging your hands at his face, but the distance of his straightened arms, muscles flexing to hold you down, is too great; you beat at empty air, or collide with the rock-hardness of his shoulders.

Another wave comes in, deepening the surf around you. You kick out, knee upward, wrench against him—you just need him to loosen his grip once, for just one moment, and then you can get away. You try to pry his fingers up, but they may as well have rooted in you.

Lungs pulsing. Throat already fighting to open. Chest heaving, diaphragm beating upward to pull in air. Pain lancing up your chest, unimaginably sharp, head so heavy it might burst—

You throw yourself to one side, kicking against the sand, and physiology subsumes your control. The cost of fighting is breathing. The floodways open—the ocean rushes into your throat—

Salt abrades the walls of your esophagus, claw-slashing downward. Acid bypasses the filters of your alveoli, honeycomb structures collapsing to the pressure, to the spasming of your lungs desperate to send oxygen to the rest of your body. Your diaphragm contracts—your chest convulses to cough, to force water out, only to welcome more of the sea in.

You beat at Johnny’s arms again. All you manage is to throw water against him. He is a sea stack above you. A pillar. Unmovable.

Holding your body against his in the bedroom, frighteningly strong, moving against you like the ocean itself—

The water churns above you with your struggle. You cannot see his face. All you see is the unstable shape of his silhouette, wavering lines distorting the edges as the corners of your vision darken.

More seawater, expanding your chest. Heart stuttering between your lungs, yanking in the last of your oxygenated blood, with nothing to send back out. The weight of your body swells, arms too heavy to hold up. They crash into the water before you force them back up again, searching and unwieldy.

Perception narrows. Him, and you. That’s all.

Sunlight through the window the next morning, rimming him in gold. The heat of his shoulder pressed to yours.

The seawater steals the tears from your eyes, throat convulsing on a sob you cannot make.

Grinning as you shared oysters.

You slap your hands against his arms, clapping your palms to whatever they can find, begging, praying—

Him moving inside you, his warmth, his smell, the weight of his tongue in your mouth. The tug of his hand on your arm.

His smile, his voice, his hand in yours—

Fists like weights holding you down. Fire in your chest. Too full.

Upward—something in you tugging upward.

You want to live. You want to live. You want to live—

It’s done.

Johnny lifts your body from the surf and carries it back to the beach. You fit in his arms as if they were the mold you were cast from.

He knew you would the moment he saw you in the airport. Perfect. You were perfect for him. He saw it in the angles of your body, the way you stood, the emotions moving behind the mask of your face.

He tried to explain it to Price once—the seeing. The knowing.

How he could look straight at his old captain, for instance, and know, without ever hearing the man say a word, that he felt responsible. For everything. For the gunshot. For the months afterword. Even though he hadn’t chosen to discharge Johnny himself, Price saw the mold of his hands in the shape his sergeant’s life had taken.

It’s how he knows Gaz couldn’t see the change in him, because he saw what he wanted to see—his best mate whole and healthy, thriving in a new stage of his life.

It’s how he knows Ghost doesn’t even recognize him anymore. Not really.

And it’s how he knows you’re just like him.

He lays you down on the sand, cradling the back of your head so it settles lightly down. Stretches your legs to rest straight out. He aligns your limp arms with the length of your torso, turning your hands upward so the sand will not cling to your palms.

Beautiful. Even with your face slack. Eyes half-open, unseeing. Mouth parted; seawater dripping from the corners.

Your feet touched the island the same way his did, years ago. Running away. Looking for the end, without really trying to find it. It was in the set of your brows, the tight pull of your mouth against your teeth.

Life had gone in every direction opposite of your intention. And it had left you alone.

Johnny smooths a few stray hairs away from your forehead, and kisses the place between your brows. The little line that has sat between them this whole time is gone, smoothed away. He kisses the bridge of your nose, and then your mouth, and then stands.

It took him a while, back then, to make the decision. It was hours before he woke to find Price watching him, sitting despondent on the sand, tears tracking salty down the older man’s face.

He goes to the place he threw his pelt away and retrieves it, shaking it out. Holding it in his hands assuages the anxiety that has wriggled in the back of his mind since the day he shoved it into the lintel of the croft. He’d known where it was, but survival instinct prevails over logic—for the rest of his life, he will always fear its loss.

It’s a consequence, but not one he’d been unfamiliar with.

And, in the end, preferable to the alternative.

He lowers himself to the sand a little ways away from you, propping his knees up and spreading the pelt across them.

When he had done this—he’d done it alone. It had been close. He almost hadn’t made it.

If he takes up this vigil—if he stays, the whole time, watching you—you’ll make it. It’s not a matter of hope or belief. It’s a matter of knowing.

He knows every time he looks into your eyes. Every time he’s been inside you. Every time your body has risen to meet his touch.

You want to live.

So he sits back. He keeps his eyes on you.

And he waits.

The sky claps you between its palms and hurls you back down the gravity well—

You vomit up the ocean.

Panting, with burning lungs. Closer—everything is much, much closer, loud and bright, and suddenly, individually distinct.

Channels of sound and aroma dance on the wind—sea salt, the smoke of someone’s grill from the village, burning meat, the rolling crash of the incoming tide, birdcall and the gust of beating wings and—and—

And you can sense them all.

A gap in the clouds lets the sunlight touch the earth.

You move on the sand. Turn onto your belly, chest heaving, empty and light. The cove—you’re still in the cove. There’s the path back up to the cottage. There’s the kayak. There’s—

Johnny, riotous, waiting in the crashing waves.

He calls to you: loud, long, triumphant, teeth bared in jubilation.

You cry out. Wordless. If you’d had any words to say, your lips could not shape them.

You’re alive.

It crashes into you. Alive.

You lift your head into the wind coming off the ocean. It caresses your face softly, tenderly, like a mother’s kiss on your cheek.

Johnny suddenly turns from you and darts into the water.

You wail with surprise. A wave rushes up to where you lay, water licking up the fibers of your body. You’re not ready. It’s too soon. Why did he leave you? What’s happening? Why isn’t the water cold?

You clutch at the sand. You can’t find your legs—you can’t stand up. All you can do is crawl, shuffle your ungainly body forward with the clumsiness of a newborn child. You cry out again, trying to convince him to return, to come help you, but if he hears it, he does not come to your aid.

Another wave surges forward; salt water crashes across your face. You flinch away from it, but something nictates over your eyes, shielding them from the burn.

Once you reach the surf, the water cradles your body, buoyancy easing your way. You submerge, finding something to kick with—

And then you’re gliding.

Murky, and blue. Sand clouding in the tide. But comfortable—cool, without being cold. You remember frigidity cutting into your skin only hours earlier, rending you at the seams, unmaking you.

Now, it receives you like an old friend.

Ahead of you, Johnny moves further out. You can feel him, far out in the distance, tiny eddies of water rippling against your cheeks.

He’s not the only thing you can feel. The radius of your awareness vibrates with blips of movement, darting, swaying, dancing, below and above and all around. It shocks you to realize, and you go still, hovering in place, momentarily stunned by how much there is living around you.

Johnny pauses too, ahead of you. Waiting. A lone distinct figure, patient for you to follow.

You shiver with startled wonder, and resume your way toward him.

The coastal shelf slopes downward, falling away. The water gradually clears as overhead, past the surface, the sun sinks in the sky. Warm golden light dyes the sea around you. He leads you on, further and further, until a forest of kelp grows up around you.

In the turquoise, ribbons of twisting green undulate and twirl, feathery and dancing in the windy current. Silvery bubbles trail toward the sunlight, intermingling with tiny schools of glimmering fish that dart and jump between the fronds. Down below you, red and green algae fur valleys of rock, swaying lazily like prairie grass.

It’s beautiful.

Johnny drifts to a stop in the middle of it all, wheeling around to face you. You approach him, coming in close—and it’s almost like approaching the sun, so much that he radiates across your senses.

His dark eyes hold yours the same way they had that day on the beach, and the pendulum swings balanced now between you.

He brushes the side of his face along yours, and with his touch he leads you downward, following the stipes of kelp toward the stone to which their holdfasts grip. The heat of his huge body warms the water that flows in the narrow spaces between your bodies, even as the coolness intensifies the further you dive.

The two of you draw up along the forest floor—and find the myriad little denizens of the sea. You’d known they were there, at the very edge of your senses, and now they bloom into fullness in your attention.

Shrimp perambulate beneath rocky ledges. Crabs walks along the ridge of a huge boulder, like climbing a mountain. And there, further down, snails in their spiral shells, pulling themselves across the sandy grain. Starfish, in shades of red and blue and orange. Anemones, translucent hair streaming.

Tiny lives—insignificant to you, before. Hardly worth your notice. Now, you marvel at them, reeling. You want to cup them all in your palms and bring them up to clutch against your chest.

Something brushes against you.

You look up—Johnny, sliding along your side, curving back in toward you, then looping underneath. He nudges at you, then darts away; you gaze at him, confused, so he comes back in, shunting you with his body, and once again retreats.

Behind him, you catch a turtle fluttering in between the green leaves. Atlantic salmon chasing capelin. An eel peeking out from its cave. Undisturbed by Johnny’s—and your—antics.

He nudges you again, then backs off, looking at you expectantly. Realizing his intentions, you follow—he makes a low clicking sound in his throat, pleased, and jets into the flowing leaves, buffeting you with the wave he leaves in his wake.

You’re shocked only for a moment before the kelp parts for you in your pursuit. Johnny quickly disappears ahead of you, dipping down below the canopy. You feel him rapidly shrink in your awareness, and you propel forward, scanning for telltale splashes of gray and white, arms of green caressing you as you pass.

You close in on him, but suddenly he evades. You follow again, only to find he’s nowhere in view. Then the chase is on: he stays in one place only long enough for you to catch sight of him before he bolts, or wheels around and backtracks to confuse you every time you approach. Teasing, taunting, flaunting the dexterity he has underwater which you have yet to acquire.

Golden shafts of dancing sunlight begin to dim and shorten as he leads you on. Frustration rapidly builds in your chest, buoyed as your lungs press against your ribcage. You need to breathe, even as Johnny becomes no more than a dot of movement in your senses, confounding you at every turn.

Why is he doing this? Why won’t he stay with you? If you surface, you’ll lose him, but the sudden memory of saltwater flooding your chest has you kicking toward the fading daylight. Self-preservation taking its place at the head of your priorities, and you follow it with no longer any second thought.

Above you shifts a mirror of silk.

You rise. Faster as the weight of the sea lessens, your reflection blooming as you approach, closer and closer to the wedge-shaped face, the large, dark eyes—

You swim into yourself and breach the air. Your nostrils open, and you inhale the wind.

You see the twilight bleeding into the day. Clouds moving quickly off as the sun sinks into the horizon.

Where is Johnny?

You can’t sense him anymore—as you knew would happen—and your chest contracts with fear and longing, suddenly believing you’ve seen him for the last time—that he’s left you all alone, to figure out what to do next, with no idea how to live in the skin of this new self you’ve become.

You give a mournful howl. You don’t want to do this alone, you can’t, you thought you wouldn’t have to—

But in the distance, back the long way you came, you hear an answer.

You whirl around, facing the shore, and almost too far away to see, a dark shape rests on the sand.

Your throat convulses with a clumsy breath, and then you dive. The water parts for your body, sliding around you, streaming through your hair. Faster than you expect, the slope of the shelf draws close, and you jet upward, belly meeting the sand, and when the water recedes and you drag yourself back onto the beach, your own weight settling heavy on your bones, you cry out again.

You shake the water from your head, wailing at the top of your lungs, desolate and blind as you blink the salt away, and then there’s a warm body up against yours, weight melding against you, heat reaching out to drive away a coldness you hadn’t felt until you’d surfaced.

You continue crying as Johnny closes his teeth around a hank of your neck and drags himself on top of you, pressing you down into the sand. You shift to let him settle over you, and all of his weight compresses your body—sandwiching you between himself and the earth, pinning you down in one place.

Something in you still wants to fight. To shake him off—to escape. But all you can do is cry. He enters you with no resistance, and you cry more, harder, until your lungs deflate, and then you take a deep breath and start wailing again.

Saltwater streaming down your face, dripping into your own mouth. Your voice hits the cliff walls, rebounds off the stone until the air fills with your weeping. Johnny shifts on top of you, pressing your head down to the sand.

The vessel you have contained yourself within overturns. You cry.

You cry for yourself. You cry for him. You cry for what you’ve done, what you haven’t, and for what you can never undo. Your lament fills your own ears and spills out again, all across the beach, catching in the wind to fly off into the ether, raised to the birds, to the passing clouds overhead.

You cry with despair of never going back. You cry with the terror of Johnny finally rolling off of you, to dart back into the waves, to leave you here alone again. You cry until your throat hurts, stinging and raw—

And Johnny’s hands, strong and warm, edge beneath your pelt and pull you out, still bawling with every drop of shame you’ve carried in your body since the day you realized you hated yourself.

“Shh, shh,” he murmurs, drawing you up into his chest, arms steady and strong around you. “It’s alright now, bonnie, it’s alright. I’m here.”

You cannot respond to him. Your mouth hangs open only to wail your grief. Your body wracks against him, convulsing, involuntary, as you scream with despair and relief and horror and resolve, too much to contain, too overwhelming now to ever split yourself away from.

You find his arms with your shaking hands and grip on tight. He slips the pads of his thumbs beneath your eyes every so often to clear away your tears, and you feel his mouth press against your forehead. You wait for him to drop you. Wait for him to see the mess you’re making and wash his hands of it.

He doesn’t. Every time another sob wracks you, he grips you tighter.

Eventually—when you begin to wonder if it ever could, if this is all you are now, a squalling bundle of fragile skin pebbling in the cold—it passes.

The next time you pause to draw breath, you find nothing more inside you to disgorge. You begin to shake in Johnny’s arms, trembling with exhaustion, whimpering with clenched eyes.

He breathes slowly against you. Calm and even. He strokes your face with gentle fingers, even and patient, as if there’s nothing more in the world he’d rather do.

You find the courage to meet his gaze when your heartbeat steadies, finding the rhythm in Johnny’s chest to match. You see again what you saw that first day, that next night; you know now what you’ve always known, somewhere inside you. Your face is familiar in the reflections of it in his eyes.

His mouth curls gently as he gazes down at you. His eyes dance in yours, corners creasing as he traces the curve of your cheek. Light catches in his pupils.

You see him clearly, as the sun gives way to the evening, and the moon rises over a cloudless night of stars.

epilogue early access

a/n: shoutout to @/gildui for suggesting screenshots for that one section of text. Thank you to @/bi-writes for trying to figure out how i could keep the formatting with tumblr's coding. Please let me know if alt text is necessary. God forbid a text-based website allow for formatting said text.

#john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #angst #fic rec #cod fic #read warnings

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