#sunken bounty

[dndtreasury]

[shotmrmiller]

im thinking of you, who's a doctor that's been taken hostage by some bandits under the pretense of needing you for a house call for their elderly family member. they had paid for your services preemptively as well.

it's my ma, see. she's got a real bad cough and says her chest hurts somethin' fierce.

you clumsily hop on their horse and let them take you to where she supposedly is, except instead of a quaint, little home they take you to some delapilated wooden shack. before you even get to ask any sort of question, there's the barrel of a gun pressed firmly against your spine.

you heal the man inside, and if he dies, so do you.

this is the only time that you fully regret going to school for medicine, instead of marrying that sheltered rich man like how your father had originally wanted for you.

after searching your coat pockets for the money they had given you earlier, they harshly nudge you toward the roughly hewn wooden door that's barely hanging onto the frame by the hinges.

only to come face to face with a broken, bloody man. and what's worse is that you've seen him before on wanted posters. he's an infamous gunslinger, one so dangerous not even the police want him captured alive, simply dealt with. he's got a hefty $1000 bounty on his masked head. his name is said like a curse among lawmen and the general population alike and he's been evading the hand of justice for years, in and out of sight like a phantom. ghost.

he sat tied to a chair, coarse rope so tight around his body you could see it biting into his bruised skin. blood ran in rivulets down his painfully obvious broken nose, his thin split lip swollen and raw. bruises bloomed on his dirt-streaked cheeks, blonde stubble stained crimson. his breath left him in ragged, wet gasps. your purpose here is clear.

their torture has done nothing to break the man in front of you, so they want you to keep him alive until he does.

his sunken, dark eyes follow your every move— as you shrug off your coat, roll up your sleeves, and reach into your medical briefcase for gloves.

your hands tremble with fear and urgency as they reach for the blood-soaked tattered remains of his shirt and pull it up to assess the damage.

"how unfortunate for you and for me that it doesn't seem like you were hit near anything vital." he remains silent and unresistant as you get to work; breath hitching and jaw clenching only when you dabbed a wet, clean rag on his open wounds. you can feel his gaze on your sweat-slick skin, unwavering.

god only knows how long you're to be kept here, captive, just like him.

(his gang comes to save him eventually, and because you were so useful simon tells price that you're a doctor, and a damn good one. "her talents could come to use in the future." price looks at you sparingly, hardened blue eyes resembling ice. he gives him the go-ahead, and now you're taken captive. again. and what's worse, simon simply hog-ties you and stows you in the back of his horse, like a hunter does the pelts of his game.)

[perlelune]

Oblivion | Paul Atreides

There used to be beginnings and ends, nights and days, dream and reality, before the haze took over, swallowing every thought, every memory, every whisper of free will.

Warnings: NON-CON, Fremen Reader, Kynes!Reader, Mind Control, Memory Manipulation, Padishah Emperor Paul, Loss of Identity, Brainwashing, Mentions of war and religious fanaticism

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Muad’Dib leads the way. 

It is what the prophecy dictates. That he is the voice from the Outer World. The one who will lead your people to paradise. The one who will turn Dune’s arid desert lands into bountiful, endless green fields. 

But as your eyes rest on him, you do not see the chosen one. You do not see the Lisan Al-Ghaib. You see your friend Paul, broken, lost, his heart shattered into a million pieces due to your cousin’s absence. 

He sits at the head of his bed, shadows fluttering across his delicate features from the glowglobes’ dull orange light. Wide black rings surround his sunken blue eyes, the result of his daily consumption of spice melange. Lank, greasy brown curls hang around his handsome face. A pang twists your chest. He hasn’t slept in days, has barely gotten a full night of replenishing sleep since she left on a maker’s back.

You cannot blame your cousin. Paul’s ascendency to the Golden Lion throne came at a cost. A hefty one. Promises were broken. Trust was destroyed. Only time will repair the damage that was done. Though you carry faith the two of them will find their way back to each other. 

You stir the spice-coffee in the pot, straining the shimmering dark powder before pouring some in a cup. A spicy cinnamon smell coats the cool night air. 

You rise and bring the cup to him.

“For you, Usul.”

A soft smile blooms on his lips as he takes a slow, weary sip.

“You make it so well,” he praises.

You glow at the compliment, returning his smile. Your grandmother used to show you and Chani how to blend coffee beans with spice and herbs. The knowledge never left you. Now, every time you feel troubled or upset, you make a fresh kettleful. A single sip of the familiar brew is enough to alleviate your frazzled nerves. Especially here, so far away from Sietch Tabr, between the strange stone walls of the Arrakeen Keep, you have craved little reminders of home more than ever before.

Fremen belong in the desert, not in peculiar tents made of marble and stone.

Paul’s brows crumple as he studies you. 

“You don’t have to take care of me,” he says.

“I can get another Fremen-”

His fingers latch around your wrist, desperation sizzling under his touch. 

“I prefer it to be you.” He sighs. A bone deep fatigue radiates from the sound. You halt in your tracks. You suppose you could stay a while longer. “Please, stay, your presence soothes me.”

You nod. “I’ll stay, Muad’Dib.”

Relief falls over his features. 

The doors suddenly open, the guards stepping aside to let Stilgar in. He bows to Paul.

“Lisan Al-Ghaib…”

Your friend’s mouth flattens into a thin line. 

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

Stilgar acquiesces. He will never stop addressing Paul with reverence and admiration. None of his followers believes in him more. At times, it scares you a little. While you share the same faith, the fervor with which every Fedaykin is willing to lay their swords in his name can be frightening. Sometimes you wonder if Chani was right. How much will it take to liberate your world? How much blood will require spilling? You’re not completely naive. No war was ever won without a few casualties. Still, part of you hopes the war will end soon and peaceful times will come.

“No sign of her?” Paul asks. 

A contrite expression tugs the older man’s face.

“Apologies, my liege. We scouted the Southern regions this time. We couldn’t find her. She knows the desert well. It is home to us Fremen. She will not be found…”

“...Unless she wants to be found,” you finish, grabbing the empty cup from Paul’s hands and placing it back on the table.

The faint embers of hope in Paul’s cobalt gaze flicker out. Your heart sinks, for both you and him. Though you do not wish to burden him, you miss your cousin too. Her practicality and common sense. Her strength. Without her, a piece of you is missing. A crucial one. Your mother died in childbirth and your father in battle, so both of you grew up together, close enough in age to share secrets and play together for most of your childhood. 

It was Chani who taught you how to summon a worm and ride upon its back for the first time. She is the sister tragic circumstances blessed you with.

Stilgar apologizes profusely once more before taking his leave.

As soon as he’s gone, Paul’s shoulders slump.

“She hates me.” 

You crouch beside him.

“She doesn’t hate you. She never could. She is your quiet in the storm, and you are hers. She will return when she is ready.”

A wry laugh escapes his lips. 

“I have Irulan, my beloved wife, who is likely plotting my demise as we speak. Qizarate missionaries pressing me to take action and purge the non-believers on Aldinor. I am surrounded by foes, everywhere I look.” That distant expression he gets whenever his visions haunt him touches his face. “Blades pointed at my neck at all times, waiting for a sign of weakness to strike.”

You grab his hand, reassuring him, “You also have friends, Usul, who believe in your cause.”

“Fanatics,” he corrects bitterly. 

Your chest swells with worry. You don’t like it when he questions himself as such. His cause is right. He freed Arrakis from the Harkonnen’s iron-fisted rule. He will bring peace to every world in the universe. It is written. It’s the only path forward.

“You are not alone.” His fingers squeeze around yours. Warmth rushes to your face, the realization that you’re awfully close to the Emperor striking you. You adjust the nezhoni scarf covering your hair and rise. “I shall let you rest, my Lord.”

“Stay, please.”

His tone is beseeching. Your gaze swings to the window. There, moon beams pierce through the colorful glass, scattering rainbow splashes of light across the floor. Vibrant stars pepper the dark sky, pearls lost in a sea of ink. It’s pitch black outside. You should be in your own room. Not his.

“Muad’Dib, it’s late…”

His grip on your hand tightens. When he speaks again, his tone is different. Disembodied. Powerful. Its tantalizing echo drips inside your head like honey. 

“Stay,” he mumbles. You plop down on the bed, your body moving on its own, driven by the strange, irresistible thrall of Paul’s voice.

“Usul…” 

He cups your cheeks. 

“Sleep beside me tonight.”

“I’m not her.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“She should be with me and she isn’t. But you are.” His inflection becomes soft and inviting as he drinks you in. As if he were lumbering through the desert, parched and desperate, and you were a well overflowing with fresh water. “You are beautiful. I never noticed before.” He pauses, tracing your bottom lip. “Perhaps I should have.”

You blink, dazed. When did Paul’s face get so close to yours? You can outline each of his long lashes, the speckles of green lingering in his blue eyes. 

“Paul-”

His mouth grazes yours, his thumb stroking your cheeks. It only lasts a few seconds. The warm plushness of his lips on yours yanks you back to reality. You gasp and flinch back. When you recoil, his silky tone fills your ears once more.

“Don’t fight it. You love me, remember?”

A confused whisper slips through your lips. Two parts of your mind wrestle with Paul’s words. 

“I do?”

His eyes dive into yours.

“Of course, you do.”

“Of course I do,” you repeat, his tone nudging aside the doubts lurking inside your mind. 

A bright smile unfurls on his lips, his lids sagging to half-mast.

“It’s like you said before. You are my quiet in the storm and I am yours.”

Right. You uttered those very same words. How could you forget?

You are Paul’s quiet in the storm. He is yours.

His mouth covers yours. It moves slowly against your own. He explores your mouth as he cradles your face. His long lashes fall over his cheekbones as he loses himself in your taste. He hums against your lips, gentle fingers touching your face. You don’t move, eyes half-open as you let it happen. It’s foreign, the sensation of Paul’s lips on yours. Foreign and strange yet you can’t help but numbly accept it. 

Once he frees your lips, he rests his forehead against yours. 

“Come into my arms, my love,” he says.

You don’t resist as he pulls you into his embrace, nudging you onto the bed. Soft strands of Paul’s brown mane brush against your cheek as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your spice-coated scent. 

His arms circle your waist. Your back melds against his chest, the warmth of your bodies mingling through the thin layers of your clothes. 

“You smell so good,” he mutters. Your scarf shifts when he rubs his face against it. “Don’t ever leave me.”

When you don’t reply, his tone gets firmer. “Promise it.”

The words roll off your tongue easily.

“I won’t ever leave you, Paul.”

Tension leaks out of his tightly coiled muscles. 

“Good,” he says, drifting off to sleep quickly with you nestled in his snug embrace. 

You fall asleep too, no thoughts in your head, Paul’s soft snores lulling you into peaceful slumber. 

You awake with a start, the stark unfamiliarity of the palatial chambers you find yourself in causing your pulse to soar. Your eyes dart about the room. Recognition hits you. These are the Emperor’s apartments.

Your eyes grow wide. You’re not supposed to be here. Panic sets in.

“W-What am I doing here?”

Paul’s quiet voice flows across your back.

“Calm down.”

“No. I shouldn’t be here…”

You start crawling off the bed but Paul’s fingers around your wrist impede your departure. 

He holds your face, vibrant blue eyes locking with yours. You find yourself incapable of looking away, ensnared by his unflinching focus.

“I said, Calm down.”

The alarms ringing inside your head fall quiet. You lean into Paul’s touch. What were you doing? What were you thinking? Every thought you attempt to grasp at evaporates in the heat of Muad’Dib’s stare. 

“There. Much better,” he coos, satisfaction hovering on his handsome face. His voice sinks into a sensual whisper. “Why don’t you kneel for me?”

You do as he instructs. Then all fades to black as quicksands of confusion engulf your thoughts. 

When you return to yourself, you aren’t on the bed anymore, but on your knees on the carpeted floor. 

Paul is looming over you, grunting, his throat bobbing. One of his hands is curled around your nape while the other is under your jaw. 

You note the saltiness coating your tongue, the drool on your chin, the soreness in the back of your throat. 

You choke on his length, air wavering inside your lungs. 

Paul’s cock is in your mouth. 

The sick, awful realization tumbles over you like a bag of stones. 

Muffled moans leave you as you lift pleading eyes towards him.

You place your hands on his thighs, shoving with all your strength. 

Paul doesn’t let you move. He cradles your face and thrusts inside your mouth until his balls are pressed into your chin. 

Clouds of lust obscure his gaze as it falls upon you. 

He caresses your face, dragging his cock out before pushing it inside your mouth again. Gurgled sounds leave your throat. Tears skip down your cheeks and you wonder when you’ve started crying. 

Fremen do not cry. Ever. Even for the dead. It is a rare, sacred act.

Paul wipes them off your face with his thumbs. 

“You love me. It is what lovers do,” he says matter-of-factly.

Your body relaxes. 

Right. Of course. You love him. It is what lovers do. 

You hollow your cheeks and suck him off. He unleashes a throaty sigh of delight as you pleasure him with your mouth. 

When his seed drips down your tongue, he coaxes you not to waste a single drop. You swallow all of it, showing no resistance when he nudges a stray drop between your wet lips. 

Several days in a row, you awake in the emperor’s chambers. At first, you experience great confusion. However, Paul’s soothing words always quell your rising panic. It becomes all you know. The Emperor’s mesmerizing voice. His large, soft bed. His ceaseless, ravenous touch. 

Sweaty, tangled limbs melting in lewd harmony.

You stop questioning it. Even the strange lapses of time when you are in one room and mysteriously wind up in another. It isn’t rare for you to wake up with the Emperor’s head bobbing between your thighs, greedily lapping at your folds, or with your hips grinding into his as he impales you on his cock. 

It is where you belong. And you believe him when he says that, mumbling loving promises into your ear in the dead of night.

“If we do not strike fast and hard, they will not accept your rule,” Stilgar says. 

“They worship a false god. We are doing them a favor,” another man sitting at the table interjects. 

A shaky exhale flows from your tongue. You look around, dismay filling you when you realize you’re in Paul’s war room amidst a council meeting. Your head throbs. How did you get here?

You rise from your chair. Bemused gazes land on you. 

Princess Irulan snickers from her seat.

“Husband, your concubine is acting strange,” she sneers.

Concubine? You step away from the table.

You blink several times as you stumble outside. You grip your temples, your forehead scrunching. That cannot be right. Is it? 

You are no one’s concubine. 

You are…

You are…

Adrenaline pumps through your blood as your head buzzes. 

The answer will not come, your mind keeping it under firm lock and key.

Frustration mounts within you. You blindly waddle around.

You end up in a room that bears vague familiarity. You lean against a basin full of water. Water…just lying around. That seems strange.

Your eyes land on a mirror on the opposite wall. The reflection in the glass has your heart rate spiking. Who is this?

You bolt to your feet, the water in the basin splashing around your feet. 

Your tremulous fingers rise to your face, horror filling you when the woman in the mirror mimicks your exact motions. 

Your gaze travels across the wide, open space. Quick breaths rush from your throat. The Emperor’s room. Why did you think it was your room? 

You stagger backwards. You gasp as you bump into a solid form.

You whirl, eyes widening.

“Paul.”

He gauges you, slight concern etched in his blue eyes. Relief fills you as you soak in his boyish, slender features, much more familiar than those of the stranger in the mirror. 

You know Paul. Muad’Dib. Paul is familiar, safe. You trust him. He will tell you who you are.

“Yes, my love?”

“Paul, who am I?”

A displeased frown settles on his brow. He approaches you and grabs your face. His expression hardens.

“You are mine. Nothing else matters.”

“But Paul-”

Your protests are stifled by the feverish press of his lips on yours. A fog surrounds your thoughts as his kiss grows more passionate, his hands sweeping over your curves. You place your hand on his chest, pushing feebly.  

“Forget it. Forget it all, beloved,” he mumbles against your lips. You sag against him. You drown in Paul’s blue eyes, time stretching beyond eternity. 

When you gain a semblance of awareness, your naked form is writhing above Paul’s. Your palms are spread over his lithe muscles, your hips moving as he slams his cock into your cunt repetitively. Paul bites his lip, his gaze glued to the sight of his length disappearing between your wet folds. 

When did you get on the bed? When did you shed your clothes?

Every inquiry melts in the heat swirling across your damp flesh. 

Your lashes flutter as you unleash a broken whimper, Paul’s hard length touching you in places that send electricity rippling through your spine.

You tighten around him and he purrs. 

“Remember nothing but my name,” he rasps, clutching your hips possessively. He impales you on his length, thrusting faster. You choke on your breath, his quickening pace driving you wild.

You brace yourself on his chest and lose yourself in the pleasure, your breath hitching each time he pounds into you.

The filthy sounds of your coupling fill the room, bouncing off the stone walls. Paul’s deep, animalistic moans. Your soft, desperate whimpers. The blunt, wet sounds your cunt makes as he buries himself inside you. The bed rattling and squeaking under your writhing forms.

“Paul, Paul…” you pant as you bounce on his cock. An intensity ignites his eyes as his name falls from your tongue like a prayer. You toss your head back, voice dying in your throat as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your toes flex. You tremble, your body jolting as your slick walls flutter around his length. A husky moan leaves him. He twitches inside you. His back lifts from the sheets, his body tensing as he hits his peak too. Slick warmth spills from his tip, glazing your walls. 

An errant sliver of panic lurks inside your brain. Your eyes bulge as you glance down at where your body and Paul’s are conjoined. Rapid breaths burst from your chest.

Seeming to sense your distress, he shoves your hips back down when you try to squirm away.

His authoritative voice booms across the room, unnatural, multiplied. Everywhere at once. 

“Do not move, beloved. Let me fill you up. Make you mine in every way.”

Your breaths settle down. Your worries disappear. You look into Paul’s loving gaze. A smile unfans on his lips as you ride him with abandon again.

“What are you doing?”

You pivot at the abrupt sound of Paul’s voice. You pause above the bag you’re packing. You peer at him, mulling over an appropriate answer to his question. You do not find one. You only know that you stirred awake that morning, feeling strange, sore…Lost. The urge to collect your meager belongings and leave the Arrakeen Keep seared inside you since then. A hollow, distant voice rings inside your head.

Return to Sietch Tabr.

“I have to go. Something…Something isn’t feeling right.”

The muscles of Paul’s jaw flare, his tone as ice as he states, “You want to leave me.”

Discarding your bag, you rush to him. You take his hands in yours.

“No. I made you a promise. I just need time to think…I can’t think anymore, Paul.”

It’s true. Every day feels like trudging through a Coriolis storm, your thoughts scattering as dust in the wind the minute they form.

Everything that was solid before is now sand slipping through your fingers.

Paul’s gaze corrals yours.

“You don’t need to,” he says, gripping your face. His tone dips to a soft lilt that penetrates your senses. “Who are you?”

You search his eyes. A breeze blows away every single doubt you had.

The answer to every inquiry you had is right there. In Paul’s fond stare.

The persistent little voice in your head, that pesky plea begging to be heard suddenly falls quiet. The truth echoes in your head, Paul’s powerful voice filling your mind.

You are right where you belong. 

“I’m yours,” you utter with certainty.

His face softens. “That is correct, my love,” he says, stroking your cheek.

“Now, why don’t you settle down, beloved?” You let him escort you to the bed, coaxing you to take a seat on the sheets. “Agitating yourself as such isn’t good for you.”

He sinks to the floor and drops a gentle kiss over your round belly.

“And it’s not good for the baby either.”

[bountydroid]

Darlin' pt 6

pt 1 / pt 2 / pt 3 / pt 4 / pt 5 / pt 7 (SMUT)

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader (Romance)

Description: Cooper and Reader feel the effects of the radiation.

Notes: My tags are still goofy I don't know what is going on I am sorry. When I am writing the post your profile comes up and I click on it but then when I post it it doesn't work? Help? You guys may have to just keep an eye on my posts. :(

Cooper still hasn't told us where he is taking us yet. The sun seemed to get extra hot as the day went on. I knew the irradiation of the river was starting to hit me, just like it was the vaultie. We both had sunken, dark eyes and pale skin. Radiation sickness was starting to set in. Cooper made sure I stayed close to him, his eyes only leaving me to bark at the vaultie when she slowed.

"This damn sun," I whined.

Without saying a word, Cooper took off his hat and dropped it on my head. I smiled ear to ear, the idea of wearing his hat filling me with joy. "Thanks, Coop." 

His footsteps stuttered at the nickname. Little did I know, it brought back a flood of memories that were long forgotten. "Just don't lose it, darlin'." He mumbled.

The show of affection filled me with a burst of energy, adding some pep to my step as we trekked along in the sand. Eventually, we happened upon a small, derelict town. The old homes were covered almost half up their sides with sand. The houses now were all the same tan color as the ground, a reminder of the harshness of the wastelands. We walked up to a building with "Westside Medical Clinic" written on a big sign out front. As soon as we stopped walking we heard it. The yelling.

"Roger! My name... is Roger!" A voice roared from inside the building. 

The three of us exchanged looks before Cooper pushed the vaultie towards the door, making her go first. "Stay behind me, sugar." He said quietly to me. 

We slowly continued into the building as the snarling grew closer. The vaultie hesitated, not wanting to get any closer to the danger inside. This caused Cooper to give her another harsh shove. The fear swirling in my stomach made me feel like I was going to throw up. I grabbed onto the back of Cooper's coat for purchase. We finally made our way into the room where the voice was coming from. A man, or a ghoul, was sitting in the sand, mumbling and snarling. 

"Hey Rog," Cooper greets him.

"Hey. Hey." the man laughs, relieved to see his friend. "Fancy seeing you here. You out for that bounty, too, huh?"

"Yep," Cooper responds as he knelt in front of his friend.

You all stand there in silence for a bit, listening to Roger snarl and whip his head around. 

"Oh, shit," Roger says between wails.

"How you feelin’?" Cooper asks quietly, already knowing the answer.

"Oh... you know," Roger replied. "It's hard out here. Dang smoothies can be so unkind. I see you got some smoothies of your own." He says as he looks over at the vaultie and me in the corner. "That one is cute with your hat on."

I give him a small smile as a blush warms my cheeks. "You like it? I'm thinking of keeping it." I say, trying to lighten the mood. 

Roger lets out a gleeful laugh, "Oh, I hope she rubs off on you. Keep her around."

Cooper smiles in response, "Plan on it."

Roger cried out again, ripping the smiles off everyone's faces.

"You're turning," Cooper says reluctantly, he exchanges a worried look with you.

"Yeah maybe, maybe." Roger says on the verge of tears, "Maybe. Hey, you don't happen to have any vials, do you? Just one little puff and I'll be back on my feet. You know I'm good for it." Roger pleaded.

"I'm sorry Roger I am all out," Cooper says, looking sorrowful.

"That's okay. That's okay." Roger mumbles. "Though, um, you and your smooth-faced friends, you um... you might want to clear out before things get ugly."

Roger started to snarl again, he was growing louder and louder. It was horrible to watch. "Is this what will happen to Cooper?" I thought to myself.

"I did okay. 28 years since I first started showing," Roger said, before snarling again. "Oh, hell! Not as long as you are though." He pointed proudly at Cooper, "You've outlasted us all. How long since you first started wastelanding?"

"A long time," Cooper responds while shaking his head.

"That's a lot of vials," Roger said quietly.

"Well I've always been good at making money, Roger." Cooper exhales as he stands up. "Say, you remember how good food used to taste?"

"Yeah, BlamCo Mac and Cheese!" Roger says excitedly.

"Ice Cream and Apple Pie." Cooper countered.

"Hot damn! Apple Pie." Roger said, joy lighting up his face, even making the vaultie smile. "You know my mother used to-"

Before he could finish, Cooper shot Roger threw the head with no warning. I stumbled back in shock, tripping and falling on my butt and landing in the sand. 

"Why did you do that?" The vaultie asked with tears in her eyes. "He was sick."

Cooper ignores her and starts making his way toward me while he holsters his gun. My eyes were glued to the man, lifeless on the ground. 

"Darlin'." Cooper says pulling me from my thoughts and he crouches in front of me. 

I look up at him with weeping eyes. "He...." I trailed off. I didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry," I whispered as the tears started to fall down to my chest. 

"Don't be sorry, darlin'. Can you do something for me?" He asked calmly.

"Yeah." I managed to respond between sniffles. 

"Wait in the hallway." He replies, rubbing my shoulder reassuringly. I give him a confused look before he starts talking again, "I don't want you to see this."

Realization washes over me. "You gonna eat him?" 

"Just - just wait in the hallway." He says as he pulls me up to my feet. "Okay?"

"Okay," I mumble as I slowly make my way out of the room. I lean up against the wall and close my eyes. It's only a minute before I hear the vaultie begging.

"Stop. Stop Stop." The vaultie pleaded, "Please, I know it's hard out here but you don't, you don't have, you don't have to resort to... to..."

"What'd you say your name was?" Cooper asks her.

"Lucy MacLean." The vaultie replies hesitantly. 

"MacLean?" Cooper asks a hint of recognition in his voice. "Huh. Well, Lucy MacLean, it ain't all peaches and marmalade left up here, sweetheart. Sometimes a fella gotta eat another fella." 

Even from the hallway, I could hear the squishing from whatever he was doing in there. I felt nausea settle into my stomach, whether from the radiation or what Cooper was doing in the other room, I didn't know.

"You know, my vault has endured hardship too," Lucy said, pushing back. In the great plague of '77, everyone had to quarantine, they couldn't work the farms together, people starved. My mother included. My dad dropped to 128 pounds, and he still refused to do anything like this."

Cooper let out a deep chuckle at her words.

"What? What's so funny?" She asked, her voice dripping with venom.

"Well, there's what people say they did and what they really did." Cooper said, his accusation heavy in the air. "I'll bet your daddy was first in line at the cookout. I bet he had a bib with a drawing of his neighbor's ass on there."

"How do you live like this?" Lucy asks. "You obviously know it's wrong you sent her to the other room. So how do you do it? Why keep going?"

I open my eyes slowly at the mention of me. I didn't know if I could ever live like that, so Lucy's question piqued my interest as well. There was a heavy silence as I heard Cooper's footsteps making his way across the room.

"Well, one good question deserves another," Cooper responds, his voice was dark, sending a shiver down my spine. "Why the fuck am I doin' all the work? Now come on vaultie, ass jerky don't make itself."

This was a side of Cooper that I had not seen since the night we met. Ruthless. Cruel. It made me wonder was this who he really was. Or was the sweetness he has shown me his true self? It was probably a little bit of both. The silence in the building was deafening. It was a moment before I heard Lucy's soft footsteps in the sand. 

"She is actually gonna do it." I thought to myself in horror, letting out a soft gasp. 

Once they made their way out of the room, Lucy's hands were covered in blood and she had an empty expression on her face. She was clearly traumatized by what she had to do to Roger. Cooper didn't look at me as they made their way past. "Come on, darlin'."

-

It felt like forever since the incident with Roger, but it was hard to forget as his skin hung from Cooper's pack. The three of us hiked in silence, tension had returned to Cooper and me as neither of us knew what to say to the other. Cooper had started coughing some time ago. This filled me with dread, we needed to get him some Jet fast. Let alone, myself. I was getting sicker by the minute as I struggled with the poisoning from the river. My feet dragged in the sand behind Cooper as I struggled to keep up. 

Cooper dipped his canteen into some water pooled in an old barrel. My chest filled with jealousy. I ran out of water some time ago and the lack of food and water was becoming painful. He made eye contact with Lucy as she watched him drink. This wasn't the first time he had teased her about her lack of water. Desperate for a sip, she fell to her knees in front of the water, scooping it into her mouth. 

"Now you're gettin' it." Cooper mused as he watched her. "How does that golden rule jibe with what's goin' through your head right now?" 

"What are you?" Lucy asked angrily.

"Oh I'm you, sweetie, just give it a little time." He responded.

"Because of the radiation poisoning?" I asked, my voice cracking from dehydration.

Cooper turned to me with a serious look on his face, "Not gonna happen to you darlin'."

I gave him a small nod before I squeaked out, "Okay." I trusted him completely. 

As a coughing fit took over the ghoul, Lucy took her chance to make a run for it. I was torn between chasing after her and staying to comfort Cooper. Cooper started waving after her, signaling for me to chase her.

"Hey! Stop!" I yelled as I ran after her.

As we rounded the corner, she stopped to stare at the huge crater in the ground. I ran up next to her as I also marveled at the sight. I had never seen anything like that before. Suddenly, Cooper's lasso secured itself around Lucy's midsection as he pulled her down onto the ground.

"Where you think you're goin'? You ain't goin' nowhere." Cooper said as he stepped over her, leaning down to grab her face.

Lucy immediately responded by biting onto his finger and ripping it off with her teeth.

"Oh my god?!" I gasped out as I ran toward them. "Cooper."

He continued to keep his attention on Lucy. "There you are, you little killer." He said as he lifted her to her feet before grabbing ahold of her matching finger and cutting it off with his knife. "Now that right there is the closest thing to an honest exchange that we've had so far." He pocketed her finger before reaching down to pick up his own. "Here darlin'," He said as he handed me the rope that was tied to Lucy. 

I hesitantly took it as I watched him rummage around in his pack for a small rag to wrap his finger in. 

"You don't hurt, right?" I asked him.

"Don't feel a thing, sugar." He said smiling as he took the rope back from me. 

This exchange seemed to have depleted Lucy's resolve completely as she quietly obeyed from there on out. It wasn't long after that that we reached an old building with the word SuperDuperMart written on it. It was surrounded by a broken-down fence and had some old cars in the front of the building. I was nervous, but Cooper's confidence calmed me as we approached the building.

"Transaction," Cooper said as he pressed on some sort of communication device. He threw his bag into the dirt next to him. He looked tired.

"Yes?" Someone responded.

"Two month's supply of vials. Exchange one female mint condition." He stated before looking over at Lucy's hand, "Near mint condition."

"Condition grading requires physical evaluation. Please send her in." The voice responded, there was something strange about the voice that I couldn't recognize. It almost didn't sound human.

The door to the building buzzes and slowly opens. Lucy watched it with concern evident in her eyes, "What's in there?" She asked.

"You're about to find out," Cooper replies as he cuts the rope that bound her wrists.

"You're selling me?" Lucy asks, a look of disbelief on her face.

Cooper pulls a gun from his hip and cocks it, "You got problems out here too, sweetheart. Best you try your luck behind that door. Go on." He says as he shoves her.

I watch on from behind Cooper as Lucy shuffles her way into the building, giving a nervous look back before she enters.

Once she enters, Cooper deflates. He was obviously putting on a show for her. Pretending he wasn't as sick as he really was. "Y/n?"

"Cooper?" I ask breathlessly.  

Instead of responding, the ghoul collapsed.

"Cooper!" I yell out as I shake him. His eyes are open and he's still awake but for some reason, he was not able to move. 

I pushed the button he was using to communicate with the man inside the building. "He can't wait he needs it now!" Only to get no response. "We will give you another person! A female near mint conditon." I say, describing myself.

Cooper whispered out, "No." I could barely hear him. 

I crouch down next to him and place his hat next to him, "It's my turn to take care of you." I declared, giving him a sad smile. 

I took his gun and tried to shoot the door to break it. I had never used a gun before, so it took me a minute or two to figure out. The glass, however, appeared to be bulletproof. 

"Shit," I mumbled before placing the gun on the ground. 

I then decided to try and pry the door open with no such luck. I run between the cars around us, searching for anything I can use to open the door. In one of them, I find a crowbar. "Yes!" I yell happily as I run back to the door. I wrestled with it for a while before I finally was able to get the crowbar inside, finally, I had some progress. I yelled out in frustration as I tried to open the door. It was the heaviest thing I have ever felt in my life. Moving it just an inch took more strength than I had, especially in my state. 

After a couple minutes of struggling, I collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. I looked over at Cooper only to see he hadn't loved an inch. "Cooper?" I call out as I crawl towards him. I sit next to him and gently lift his head onto my lap, rolling him onto his back. "You'll be okay," I say quietly before looking up at the door. I was hoping that soon they would come out to give him the vials he was owed. The silence felt like it had been going on forever when there were suddenly gunshots coming from inside the building. I help Cooper a little closer, afraid and confused. I grabbed his gun again and held it close to my side. 

"I've got you, Coop," I whispered to him.

The building then went silent again. There was a moment before Lucy strolled out the door, covered in blood. 

"Lucy? What happened?" I gasp.

"They were going to harvest my fucking organs!" She yelled angrily as she sauntered over to us. 

I shakily hold up my gun, causing her to stop in her tracks. 

"He doesn't get these, he turns into one of those? That how it works?" She asked, holding up a couple vials. 

I lower the gun and start begging. "Please, Lucy."

She crouches down next to him and contemplates for a moment before saying to Cooper, "I may end up looking like you... but I'll never be like you." Before getting up, she gently puts some vials in my hand. "Golden rule, motherfuckers."

"Thank you! Thank you so much!" I cry out happily as I start rummaging through Cooper's pockets searching for his inhaler. "I've got you, I've got you.." I kept repeating as I shakily put the vial in the inhaler and hold it up to his mouth. It takes a couple tries, but ultimately, he gets ahold of it and breathed in the contents. I make a happy squeak as he starts to move again. 

He lets out a soft wheeze before saying 'Why the hell would you do that?" 

"What?" I asked him confused.

"You were going to fucking sell yourself? For me?" He states angrily as he sits up to a sitting position. 

"Well-" I start.

"Well, nothing. Never do that again." He shouts as he stands, pulling me up by my collar. The fear on my face softened him as he released my shirt with a sigh, "I ain't worth it, darlin'."

"You are to me," I say quietly. "You are never getting rid of me."

He lets out a small laugh as he smiles wearily, his resolve dimishing. "You are way too good for me, sugar."

"Well too bad, Cooper. You've got me." I say as kiss him on the cheek.

Just as I was pulling away he grabbed hold of my hip "Come here." He says as his lips crash into mine. 

I let out a squeak in surprise before I started to return the kiss. It was sloppy and heated, filled with pent-up emotions. It was everything I wanted.

Tag list: @msrawog @valdemarismynonbinarylove @topiramategreeable @whizbang-cap @sitkafay @lightan117 @eykismyfav @ajeff855 @madelinealexandra @justme12200 @sihlaryn @raviolisenpai @ellabellabunny123 @impossessedbyjeongyeon @leviathanleva @v3lv3tf0x @judgementdays-girl @savanahc @booksbabes @gauky76 @green--beanie

[not-neverland06]

How About a Nuke?

Part I / Part II / Part III

The ghoul x fem!reader A/N: Part three is going to be when it gets juicy, this is just them becoming reacquainted. You’ll get the good angst in the next parts. Summary: Your dreams of stardom and fame have been blown away. Your old life is lost to the sands of this new world and you find yourself utterly confused. There’s a man who looks an awful lot like Cooper yelling at you, but it’s not the man you remember loving. Not anymore.

For two days he’s been following the sound of sirens. With no new bounties, he hasn’t got much else to do with his time. Plus, he’s hoping that maybe if he figures out what’s been causing all this noise he can shut it the fuck up. Didn’t matter how far he walked, the blaring wail was echoing across the whole damn wasteland. 

A cough started up in his chest, itching into his throat and rattling his whole body as it ripped its way out of him. He tried to walk through the discomfort but it wouldn’t let him. He leaned over, hands braced on his knees, and coughed so hard he could feel ass jerky coming back up from his “dinner” last night. He clamped a hand over his mouth and forced the bile down. Frantic hands dug through the bag on his side, shaking as he ripped the box open and grabbed his inhaler. 

It took a minute before the drugs had the desired effect, and even then he was still fighting back nausea. He’s got to find a new dealer, that bitch in Filly was watering down her supply and he knew it. Not just that, she was overcharging too, on account of his being a ghoul. 

Even in the apocalypse money still managed to rule the world. Even if it was in the form of Nuka caps. He walked a little further before leaning against a boulder for a break. He wiped spittle off his lips and surveyed his surroundings. 

There was a faded old billboard sunken into the sand, only half of it sticking out. The paper was curled and browned from age and the sun, but he could make it out well enough. Quench Your Thirst, it wasn’t one of hers, though. It was the girl they’d replaced her with. He contemplated shooting it, just so he wouldn’t have to stare at the girl anymore, but it was a waste of bullets. 

Instead, he pushed off the rock and forced himself to keep going. The noise was unbearable now, rattling around his brain and making his ears bleed the closer he got. He must be right on it, only a little while longer and he’d finally turn the damn thing off. 

He lifted a leathered hand to block the sun out of his eyes. He kept squinting, disbelieving in the sight before him. Vault 111 was sitting pretty among the skeletons and dunes of sand. It’s big white numbers upside down as the door was slid open, alarms ringing out and red flashing lights dancing around within the vault. 

He couldn’t believe it. Vault dwellers were practically extinct in the Wastelands, nevermind actually getting into their vaults. But here this one sat, open and ready for the taking. Normally, he wouldn’t risk it, even just to turn off those fucking alarms. But he had just used his last vial and if he didn’t get his hands on some good shit soon, well, best not to imagine it. 

Hand on his holster he started forward, eyes darting back and forth to make sure this wasn’t some sort of trap set by raiders. He didn’t imagine they were smart enough to do that, but apparently Muldaver’s been on the move, this could be her people’s doing. He’d rather not have to listen to someone whining on about a better life and a kind society. 

He’d believe it when he saw it. All people were capable of was greed and lust, it’s been the same before the bombs and it will be the same after. 

He stepped inside, eyes pained as they adjusted to the stark contrast of the glaring sun outside and the soft fluorescent lights within the vault. He spotted a big red button and slammed his palm down on it. The sirens, thank fuck, shut off, but the lights kept going. 

There was a gap between his platform and the next. The control panel clearly needed a Pip-Boy to be operated but he didn’t see any nearby. He sighed and took a running leap, just barely making it to the other side.  

He took another suspicious look around, still not quite sure he was completely safe. His chest tightened with the irritating feeling of an oncoming coughing fit. “Fuck it,” he muttered, starting through the open doorway without a glance back. 

Whatever had happened in here had been messy and recent. He kneeled down next to a puddle of blood and dipped an ungloved finger in, still warm. He popped open his holster and tugged out the gun, better to be safe than dead. 

He had been following the direction the lights had been pointing this whole time, hoping maybe he’d stumble across an infirmary. These vault fucks had to have left at least one bag of radaway behind. So far, though, he didn’t have high hopes. Everything was ransacked. The bodies that were left behind had been stripped naked and beaten to unidentifiable pulps.

So far, the vaults had at least been air conditioned. If nothing else he was getting a break from the sweltering heat that trailed him on the surface. He’d already tested out one of the sinks down here, their water was still functioning. Maybe he could get some of the blood caked under his nails cleaned out. 

While the air conditioning had been nice, the breeze that was coming from the door across the way would have had goosebumps rising on him if he was still capable of that. His head tilted in contemplation as he stared at it. Above every door was meant to be an indicator of what went on in there. 

There wasn’t for this one, though. And despite knowing better, he had to admit, he was pretty curious. He strode forward, tucking the gun back in his holster and slamming the button on the right side of the door. The second it slid open, whatever had been sealing the noise inside broke. 

He flinched away from the sounds of sirens and covered his ears, cussing up a storm as he slammed the button once more. It clicked uselessly but didn’t send the door down again. “Fuck,” he hissed, stepping inside and grunting as the cold bore down on him ten times worse than before. 

Cryogenics, well, the temperature made sense now. 

He stared at each of the pods, the windows frosted over with cold and making it impossible to see the people within. He took his time examining them, trying his best to see if anyone he knew was in one of them. Despite it all, he held a little hope that he might see Janey, maybe even Barb. 

Without any luck he headed towards the terminal, he could probably get the sirens to shut the fuck up this way. Or maybe just get this door closed again. 

In neon green a warning sign flashed over and over across the screen. 

LIFE SUPPORT: CRITICAL FAILURE.  

He glanced back over his shoulder and scoffed. Rich fucks hadn’t thought to have a back up, or did they really think their buddy Vault-Tec would keep them safe? He shook his head and clicked away the warning. He peered through the list of commands but couldn’t find anything except a list of who was in the pods. 

He figured he might as well see if he spotted a familiar name. If they were alive he might be able to get some information off of them. It wasn’t until the bottom of the list that he saw anything helpful. Your name stood out bright and bold and beside it the message:

LIFE SUPPORT FAILING

RISK OF ASPHYXIATION: 

The colon blinked a few times and he drummed his finger impatiently on the sides of the terminal. Finally the risk analysis loaded and he let out a rough exhale. 

RISK OF ASPHYXIATION: IMMINENT 

REMOVE SUBJECT IMMEDIATELY 

His eyes widened and without thinking he clicked the little button. A moment later he heard something creak open, the seal of the pod broken as air rushed out. He turned around and faced your pod, of course it was the one right beside him. 

He ran forward, catching you just as you slumped out of the seat. Your skin was like ice, your lips blue and face purple from choking. It was all swollen, like you’d been struggling to get air in for a while before he came. He frowned down at your limp form, shaking you slightly as he waited for you to take in a breath. 

“Hey,” he brought a rough hand down on your cheek, the leather striking loudly against your skin.

Your lips parted and you took in a deep breath, gasping as your hands flew up to your throat. You turned over, falling out of his arms and landing roughly on the metal grates of the floor. He took a step back, watching as you hacked yourself back to life, your lungs nearly coming out with how hard you were coughing. 

His head tilted as he observed you. You looked damn near the same as the last time he saw you. The only real difference being the slutty little black slip you had on. He scoffed and shook his head. So that’s where you’d disappeared to, sold yourself out to Vault-Tec for some apocalyptic protection. 

Lot of good that did you. 

You clawed at your throat, air feeling like razor blades as you greedily inhaled. You’re not sure where you are, you can barely feel your extremities, you’ve got an uncomfortable draft on your backside. You wince as you sit up, wiping your blurry eyes in the hopes they’ll clear up, metal digs into your skin as you do. 

It’s like when you get too cold during winter and your eyes frost over a little bit. Except, this doesn’t feel like a little bit. You can’t even see your own hand right now. All you can make out is faint outlines of everything, blurry little clouds of color. 

“Hello?” Someone was here, you could tell that much. You just didn’t know who. Metal creaked in front of you and you scrambled back. They weren’t saying anything. Why weren’t they saying anything? 

You wracked your brain for the last thing you could remember and felt tears building along your lashes. Oh god. “Tom?” You called out hesitantly. Maybe they’d changed their minds. Maybe the men who’d grabbed you had dumped you off somewhere. 

You didn’t want to think about what they’d done while you were asleep. You were slowly becoming more aware of your surroundings and very aware of the skimpy slip you had on right now. Not even close to what you’d been wearing when they grabbed you. You wrapped your arms around yourself in a meager attempt at comfort. 

“That who you fucked, sweetheart?”

Your brows turned down. “Cooper?” He sounded a little rough, his accent more pronounced, but you’d know his voice anywhere. It was as familiar to you as your own. “Cooper, where am I?” The tears were spilling freely now the longer he stared at you in silence. At least crying was starting to thaw out your eyes. 

You could more clearly make out his form now, looming overtop of you like some sort of dark omen. You always felt safe with Coop. When someone pushed you too much or got a little too aggressive, you could go to him. 

Right now, though, you felt like prey in front of a wolf. There was no kindness in his words and only a cruel accusation in his tone. Dear god, where were you? And why would he think you would ever fool around with any of these sick fucks behind his back? 

“Cooper, please, what happened?”

He barked out a laugh and you flinched back, “What happened? Well, lets see what the fuck happened.” You heard more than saw him pace across the metal floors, the spurs on his boots clanking loudly. Had he been at a party and come looking for you?

“You told me you’d be back for lunch and I didn’t see you for another two hundred years.”

Your stomach dropped to the floor, “What?” You whispered. 

He knelt down in front of you. “Your eyes still foggy?” You nodded your head mutely. “Well,” he chuckled but it wasn’t the one you knew. This was something mean and sharp. “When those clear up, I’m not gonna look like you remember me, darling. Should probably get out of here before you realize what you’re talking to.”

He made to get up but you shot forward, blindly groping at the dark form of his torso until you latched onto his duster. “Cooper, please, I’m confused. I-” you looked around blindly, hoping to find something to explain how the last thing you remembered was eating pancakes with him. There’s no way in hell it’s been two hundred years. 

“I went to Tom’s to get the script. He made me come in for drinks. There- there were all these men there, they grabbed me and I don’t remember anything after that. Cooper, please, I wasn’t wearing this when they snatched me. What the hell happened to me?”

There was a moment of silence before he let out a sigh. “You didn’t leave to find some safety in Vault-Tec?”

You frowned and let him go, shoving him away from you with as much force as your frozen muscles could muster up. “Fuck you, you think I’d do that to you? How little do you think of me?”

You reached out for the pod beside you, using it to get to your feet. You felt about as graceful as a newborn foal right now, all gangly limbs and stilted movements. You leaned over, catching your breath as you tried to walk forward. 

“If I were you, I’d get back in that pod and let the world rot away. You’re not gonna do well on your own out here, honey.”

You heard his spurs moving past you and then made out his form as he walked through the doors of the room. “Cooper?” You called out, but you knew it was pointless. He was gone. The man you knew was gone and you had no clue what the fuck had happened. 

He managed to finally find the infirmary, lucky enough that a few bags of Rad-Away had been left behind. They’d only had IV bags, so he’d spent a while trying to find a spot where his skin wasn’t so tough a needle could actually get through. 

She had to be lying. 

He felt himself trying to look at the door, like she’d step through, and forced his head down. He flicked at the IV bag, hoping that maybe it would speed it the fuck up. He needed to get out of here. The longer he stayed, the more he wanted to talk to her. 

He’d changed a lot since they’d last seen each other. Whatever he had once felt for her was gone. The man he had once been was dead. There was no point in hurting the girl by giving her false hope. He sighed and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to relax some. 

He’d finish this bag, pack the others, and then he’d leave this vault behind. She could figure out what she wanted to do on her own. He didn’t have time for strays or old flames. 

You stumbled around for a while before you finally got your bearings. You managed to make your way into what looked like an office and sat behind a curved desk. A terminal on top sat blinking bright green letters at you. You went through each of the logs, your dread only getting worse the longer you read. 

Tom wasn’t in this vault, that’s for sure. The other names you only recognized from the credits of some movies you’d watched a while back. The men who had taken you from Tom’s house. 

According to the scientist using this terminal, they’d wanted to ensure they had some fun before they went underground. 

You weren’t the only one Tom had sold out. Your entire cryogenic chamber had been filled with other women, each of them dead because of a life support failure. You were meant to be their entertainment while they waited for the world to be ready for the taking. 

You took a break, forcing your eyes away from the screen and staring down at your hands. 

Well, Cooper hadn’t been lying at least. Two hundred years you’d been frozen, you hadn’t even known it. It was bizarre, what felt like only a few hours ago was over two millennia. You’d only just kissed Cooper goodbye and now he was acting like some asshole who wouldn’t even stay to help you to your feet. 

Feeling yourself getting angry and panicked you went back to reading. There was nothing you could do. You’d been screwed over by someone you trusted, you were stuck here. No point in pouting about it. 

The scientist wrote more about the men’s intentions and you forced the bile down as you read. Then he got to what Vault-Tec’s real intentions were. Something about experimenting with cryogenics, seeing how long a body could last, what all it could preserve. You didn’t understand most of it, the language far above your education. 

The men were just guinea pigs, same as you. It brought you a modicum of satisfaction. Barely, though. 

The lead of the whole project gets more cryptic and paranoid the further he writes. Something about Vault-Tec never sending the all clear signal to get the fuck out of here. Security was getting antsy the longer they stayed and supplies were running low. 

It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together when you looked at the blood splattered walls and the white coated corpse across the room.  

Underneath the last entry was a fail safe. In case the experiment was going wrong and there were no other options but to abandon it. 

TERMINATE?

The green pointer blinked as you stared at the question. Your mind traveled to the way they’d swarmed you. How ruthlessly they’d taken you like you were nothing more than cattle. The other women they did it to. You could only imagine what had happened while you’d been knocked out. 

That familiar feeling of anger, disgust, and shame welled up in you. You had always been typecast. The sexy bombshell with nothing else going for her. It bled into other aspects of your life, people treating you like you were nothing more than a walking doll, for their enjoyment and nothing else. 

You’d be damned if you let these men survive what the other women couldn’t. 

You hit the button and listened as the sirens quieted down the hall, the hiss of oxygen as the pods killed their inhabitants. You didn’t allow yourself to linger on what you’d just done for very long, you went clicking through the rest of the terminal. 

Most of it was password locked, you only gleamed enough information to figure out what had been going on while you slept. Bombs dropped, the world went to shit, just like you always thought it would. You’d never considered that you might survive it. 

Maybe those men had done you a slight favor, just barely. 

He sighed as he ripped the needle out of his arm, pulling his sleeve down he moved away from the wall he’d been leaning on. He’d definitely been getting cheated out of his caps. Next time he saw that bitch Ma June, he’d show her what he thought about her watered down bullshit. 

A shadow passed by the doorway and his hand drifted down to his holster. He slipped out of the room and took a peek around the corner. She had her back to him, but he’d recognize her anywhere, even with that ridiculous vault suit on. 

“Hey!”

She jumped and whirled around on him. For a moment he forgot that this was a completely new reality for her. She didn’t know what a ghoul was, she’d never seen one before. Her last memory of him had been his prime. When he’d had a fucking nose. 

Her eyes widened and his grew cold while he waited for the inevitable disgust. He was used to it by now, but he was pretty sick and tired of hearing about it. Especially when the few people who managed to get their hands on his old movies would recognize him. 

The disgust never came, just obvious shock and disbelief. She took a few hesitant steps closer, her eyes darting across his face while she did. He nearly missed her hand coming up, like she wanted to touch him. He caught it at the last second, bringing his hand up to swat hers down. 

She winced and backed up a step, the wonder on her face gone and replaced with hurt. “Cooper-”

He darted forward and snatched her chin in between his gloved fingers. “Now, darling, I’m gonna need you to get this through your fucking head,” he hissed, eyes boring into her terrified ones. “That’s not my name anymore, I’m nothing but a ghoul. I’m not the man you know and I’m never going to be. Let it go and if you know what’s good for you, move the fuck on.”

He could see the tears welling up in her eyes and grinned, she had always been pretty when she cried. “Understand?” When she didn’t respond fast enough for his liking he shook her roughly, “Speak!”

“Yes,” she shouted, clawing at his arm and wincing when her nails scraped across the leather of his skin. “I understand.” He took a moment, looking into her eyes, before he nodded and released her. 

She stumbled back, choking on a sob and glaring up at him. “So, what? Am I just supposed to call you an asshole?” He scoffed, barely laughing. Everything that happened to her today and she could still get a fucking attitude. It was nearly impressive, if not stupid. She didn’t watch who she spoke to and she was going to get killed before the day was up. 

“You’re not gonna call me anything. We’re not working together, you’re on your own.”

She glared at him and rubbed her jaw where he’d grabbed her. Her cheeks were already changing colors, bruises blooming where he’d snatched her. His eyes darted away from her hands and back to her. “Why’d you stop me then?”

He looked her up and down and grinned at the way she shivered, seemed he hadn’t lost all his charm just yet. “That tight little suit of yours is gonna get you killed. People up there don’t take too kindly to people from down here.”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, glaring at him. “So, what? I’d be safer walking around in what they had me in?”

He shook his head and started walking back towards the door of the vault. “No.”

He heard her huff and race after him. “You’re fucking infuriating, you know that? What the hell am I supposed to do, Co-” He shot her a warning glare but she’d clamped her mouth shut before she could finish the sentence. She still had that stupid hurt look on her face, like he’d kicked her puppy. It kind of made him want to just shoot her. 

“I don’t have any supplies, all I have is this stupid suit. Please, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

He sighed and stopped. She stumbled forward, nearly ramming into his back in the process. “Go to Filly, I’m sure you’ll find something there.”

“I’m supposed to just know where that is?”

He didn’t bother responding to her, there was no point in it. She would be dead soon, anyway. This world wasn’t made for pretty girls like her, especially not on her own. If she was smart she’d just starve herself down here, at least she’d have running water. 

You watched him walk off and felt like your chest was going to cave in. You couldn’t handle this, he was just Cooper an hour ago. Making you breakfast and kissing you goodbye. And despite the odd deformities, you could still see him. Sure, he was missing a nose, but he was still there. Your Cooper. 

Except he wasn’t. 

You couldn’t quite believe he would be so cruel earlier. He was always mean when he was hurt. You figured maybe he was still sitting with the fact that you hadn’t actually left him behind for Vault-Tec. But his eyes gave him away. 

They were cold, devoid of anything you used to know. The man you had known was no longer there. And if he was, he was buried far deeper than you were interested in digging. You watched him walk away and felt your chest squeezing painfully. 

This was not the fucking time to start panicking. If the carnage around you was anything to go by, then the surface had to be so much fucking worse. Cooper seemed to think vaults were safer, but right now you were staring into the gouged eyes of a corpse who’d been killed by a friend. Clearly, nowhere was safe. 

You couldn’t afford to pity yourself or cry. You’d have to keep moving, process it all later. You pushed off the wall and leapt over the corpses blocking your path. Cooper must’ve stepped in a pile of blood because you could clearly make out his footprints. He seemed like he was going to leave, you bet if you followed him you would find the way out. 

You followed the prints up a set of stairs, but they had faded out completely by the time you got up to the vault door. You winced, blocking your eyes from the bright glare of the sun. Barely a second out of the vault and you felt like your skin might already be peeling. 

Whatever had happened while you were out, this was not the world you remembered. The sun seemed bigger, brighter, more violent. If the skeletons littered throughout the sand were anything to go by, everything was more violent now. 

You tripped over a particularly deformed skull of a beast and scrambled up to your feet. You glanced around, spotting a figure in the distance and ran after it. You hoped it was Cooper you were following, but he was already so far ahead of you that he was barely a dot on the horizon. 

You followed the footsteps he left in the sand and prayed he didn’t notice you trailing him. You couldn’t very well stay down there with all of those corpses. There had been no supplies to protect yourself with except a bloodied scalpel. You wouldn’t make it down there on your own and you certainly wouldn’t make it up here. 

You planned to just follow Cooper until you found something resembling civilization. He didn’t want you around him and you got the message, you’re not exactly eager to share his company. He’s a stranger, the only part of him you recognize is his name, and you’re not even allowed to use that. 

You kept your distance as long as you could. Keeping him as far away as possible so if he turned around he wouldn’t be able to realize he was being followed. But you’re already struggling. He’s not showing any signs of slowing anytime soon and you can barely see anymore. 

Your lips are peeling, throat raw and aching for water. Your eyes are completely coated in sand and being damaged by the sun. You wished you had been better prepared for this but it’s been at least four hours and you’re about to keel over. 

You wheeze, dragging yourself over to a fallen billboard and slumping against it. You’re not paying enough attention to your surroundings, or you just don’t care anymore. You find yourself drifting off and you don’t stop it. You’d prefer if the heat stroke took you while you were asleep, at least then you wouldn’t be aware of it. 

Your eyes drift closed and your head slumps forward, the sun bearing down on your neck and burning away at the skin there. 

You cough and splutter, frantically brushing sand off your face and spitting it out of your mouth. Cooper’s standing over you, frowning and glaring, which seems to be his go to expression now. You glance down at his outstretched foot and realize he kicked the sand in your face. “What the fuck?”

“You know,” he tilts his head and rests a hand on his holster, grinning at the way you shrink away from his gun. “I thought you would have lasted at least another hour.”

You wipe your face off and struggle back onto your feet, nearly teetering over as you did. “You knew I was following you?” You groused, glaring up at him. You’re not sure your anger translates well, though. You can barely hear your own voice, your throat too dry to produce any proper words.  

“‘Course I did, sweetheart. I’d be a pretty shit bounty hunter if I didn’t recognize when someone was trailing me.”

You finally manage to get to your feet and glare at him. “Congratulations, you want a prize?”

His smile drops and he darts forward before you can move away. His hand clamps around your arm and he drags you behind him. You’re stumbling, barely able to keep in stride with him. Mercifully, you notice the sky is starting to turn pink in the distance. Soon, the sun will be down and you’ll get a moment's reprieve. 

“Where are you taking me?” You demand, tripping over a rock and wincing as he jerks you back to your feet. He turns around to glare at you like he isn’t the one dragging you around. 

“Filly,” he grunts. He finally comes to a stop, you ram into his back wincing as your nose slams into him painfully. He doesn’t even flinch and you wonder if he felt it. If he can feel anything with how crisped his skin is. 

“I thought you weren’t going to help me.” Maybe you shouldn’t be pushing your luck. If he is helping you, and that’s a pretty hesitant if, you’re sure he’ll be quick to change his mind. Still, you can’t help but push him. You’ve always had that problem, except before he took it in stride and teased you right back. 

Now, your eyes dart down to his gun, you’re not sure he wouldn’t just put a new hole in you. 

“Changed my mind.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes, “Yeah, I’m aware. I’m asking why,” you cut yourself off sharply, mouth clamping shut because you almost called him Coop again. Your jaw is still aching from the last “warning” he gave you. You’re not looking for another. 

He whirled around on you and you didn’t even realize his gun was in his hand until it was digging into your throat. “Why don’t you stop asking me so many fucking questions, hm.” He sneered and you winced at the sight of his yellowed teeth. Finally you nodded and backed away from him, he kept his eyes on yours for a moment before he holstered his gun again. “Let’s go,” he started walking and you couldn’t do anything but follow him. 

At least this time you weren’t trying to track a dot in the distance. 

The sky was getting dark quick and the temperature was dropping even faster. You hunched into yourself and ran your hands up and down your arms to try and keep warm. It seemed everything was done in the extremes now, even the damn weather. 

Cooper whistled and you hurried to catch up with him. He stood in front of a decaying old house, nearly all of the roof gone. The walls looked like they might cave in soon and it had clearly been unoccupied for a very long time. He opened up the door and walked inside, letting it slam back into your face. 

You caught it and huffed. You followed after him and saw that he was already setting up his spot for the night. He leaned against the half-rotted couch, his hat over his eyes and his arms tucked under his coat. You glanced around for a clean spot to curl up and laid down on the ground. You winced at all the dirt on the floor but figured it was better than sleeping out in the sand. 

Despite your oh-so comfortable sleeping arrangement, you found it hard to pass out. Maybe it’s because you’d just taken a two hundred year nap or the man across from you. Your eyes refused to stay shut and you couldn’t stop staring at him. 

You told yourself you would process your emotions later but apparently your mind had decided now would be the best time. You could feel the tears trickling down your cheeks again and you tried to wipe them away.

Too much had happened for them to be so easily dismissed. You were struggling with the thoughts of what those men did to you. You’re certain your imagination is worse than anything that happened, but not knowing was killing you. You felt violated, just being knocked out like that and being left vulnerable to them. 

And Cooper. 

Cooper was practically dead as far as you both were concerned. You felt like you were grieving for someone who was lying right across from you. You were staring right at him and he was just out of your reach. 

You sniffled and wiped your nose. A loud sigh came from the man in front of you and he spoke without bothering to tilt his hat back up. “I’m gonna take you to Filly and you’re gonna help me with some business there and then we’ll go our separate ways.”

“What?” Your voice was an embarrassing croak and you winced. 

“They don’t take too kindly to my folk down there-”

“You mean zombies,” you interrupted, propping your head up on your hand. 

He finally lifted his hat up and glared, though it was half-hearted at best. “It’s ‘ghouls,’ sweetheart. Never knew you to be racist.” You rolled your eyes and he dropped his hat back down again. “You’ll get me what I need and I’ll have delivered you to, well, not safety, but as close as you can get out here.” He leaned forward, arm outstretched and grinning at you. “Deal?”

Well, it wasn't like you had any other options. You leaned forward, grasping his gloved hand in yours and shaking, “Deal.”

SERIES TAGLIST: @pixelatedprofilepic @o0mellowdramatic0o @bisasterbisexual @julianmarie @v3n1x @weakling-grace

end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[rebelfell]

unforgiven, I’m a villain

outlaw!eddie x fem!reader

cw: old west au, alcohol, prostitution, oral (fem recieving)

Been in the drafts too long, it’s starting to climb the walls. Not a whole lot of plot but also not much porn, so not even sure what it is. For the four people who might be interested 🫡

18+, MDNI┃1.6k

The first time you saw Eddie Munson, you didn’t think much of him.

He was young and scraggly. Thin in the way most of the underfed young men in your town were. His eyes were sunken in from a lack of sleep and his skin a sallow color that made the stark black of his tattoos stand out even more. Nothing he wore fit him, everything either too small or too big, all of it so weathered and threadbare and filthy it could have been pulled off a corpse.

He rode into town with his fellow outlaws, road-weary and beaten down by the scorching desert. And the first place they came, naturally, was your mistress’s tavern. They were but a meager band of four then, wanted for petty crimes. The bounty on all of them combined wasn’t enough to tempt even the most desperate of characters, so they flew under the radar for a long time.

It would be years before they reached the level of notoriety and ill repute that made them the ire of every lawman from here to the Pacific. They had not eaten a proper meal in weeks, had barely any money to their names. Yet here they were, ready to waste what little they did have on someone to warm a bed that would be cold and empty come morning.

Your harsh judgment of the men who frequented your mistress’s tavern was swift and unyielding.

Anyone who felt it simpler to pay for the company of a woman must only see them as objects to be consumed. There were some who came only to sip a whisky at the bar and leave, but you felt quite sure it was only because they lacked the nerve or the pocketbook to request a room.

Eddie was different, though. You had felt it that first night you met him, and he only went on to prove you right.

They called him The Puppetmaster for how he orchestrated his dealings. Achieving his means through whispers in the right ears and tugging at invisible strings only he seemed able to see. It led to his name being said only in hushed, reverent tones. Fearful of falling prey to his wrath.

On the days before he saw you, he always found a river or stream to bathe in and cleanse himself of the odors that clung to his body after being on the run for weeks, even months, at a time.

All the other girls were jealous—they’d be mad not to be. While they were getting pinned down by boorish men who stunk of horse and booze, you were being ravished, worshiped, and every inch of you was being tasted by the fastest tongue in the west.

You tried not to gloat, tried not to let on how exceedingly lucky you were. But they all knew.  How could they not? The evidence was blatant. From the way your skin glowed; from the way you would float around your living quarters as if still in a dream; from your cries of pleasure that rang out through the hall that they all knew to be genuine down to their bones.

Everyone wanted to take your place. The moment his horse was tied to the post outside, they all but threw themselves in his path. Corsets laced tight enough to crack a rib, cheeks and lips obscenely painted with rouge, lashes fluttering like wings as they flapped fans in front of their heaving bosoms trying to draw his eye. Still, it was all for naught. 

Eddie only ever asked for you.

The first few times, it was by name. But your mistress quickly learned the benefits not of giving the most wanted man in the state what he asked, but giving it without having to be. Now she simply directed him upstairs to the largest and nicest room made up already with her finest linens, where she would have you waiting for him.

You loved watching him come in.

He upheld his stony demeanor until the door closed behind him, projecting that rough exterior everyone expected of him right up to the moment you and he were alone. And then, like magic, it all melted away with the click of a lock sliding into place. No longer gruff and mean and serious, he was just a simple young man, besotted with himself at seeing you again.

Soon he was paying triple your normal price, thinking the excess must be going to you. He only found out the truth after you, regrettably, told him you were lucky to see even a fraction of what was collected for the pleasure of your company.

Disgust curdled his handsome features and his hand clenched into a fist until you reached out for him and splayed his fingers wide with yours, inter weaving your grasp and drawing him instead to the heat between your legs as distraction.

He continued to pay the excessive rate, if only to stay in your mistress’s favor, but started trying to pay you directly with the money he had accrued from his less than honorable endeavors.

“She searches us,” you told him, dejected as you pushed crumpled bills back into his hands.

It made Eddie seethe, but he didn’t press the matter any further—unwilling to waste his time with you arguing. By morning, those same notes would have found their way between the pages of your book that rested on the nightstand. And you wouldn’t find them until the next day, when your heart would race as you squirreled them away as best you could in the bottom of your trunk.

Then, with trembling hands, you would stuff them in an envelope along with the rest of your meager earnings to be taken to the post office and mailed to your sister back home. She would be shocked to find such a drastically greater sum than you typically sent, and her tender heart would surely pang at the thought of what you did to earn it. 

You only wished you could assure her this was the only money you’d enjoyed making in years.

By his next visit, your gratitude could not be contained as you ushered him into the bed without a glimmer of hesitation. And after, your passions sated for the time being, you would lay entwined on the bed exchanging languid sighs and soft breaths, his hands skating up the length of your legs, fingertips tracing the curves of your calf and following the bend of your knee.

He would tell you how much he had missed you. How he’d thought of you every night he slept on rocks that dug into his back as he stared up at the stars and imagined you looking out your window at the very same ones. And you would smile, only half believing him as you buried your face at the juncture of his shoulder to kiss his neck and let your warm breath tickle his ear.

Not for the first time, he would ask you why you stayed here. Why you did this. And you would give him the same coy answers you gave everyone before turning his inquiry back on him.

“What about you?” you ask him, gently brushing back the tendrils of dark hair that framed his face. “Surely, a man like you needn’t pay for a woman’s company anymore.”

“Of course I do,” he states plainly. “When the company is you.”

The words warmed your chest like a swallow of bourbon and you drew him closer, pressing your lips against his that were dry and chapped from the sun and wind. The beeswax you had spread on your mouth slipped onto his own, you hope offering him some needed relief. He opens wider to taste you more, his tongue darting inside the warm, wet cavern he’s made a second home.

It’s polite and delicate, moving in an intricate pattern that swirls and dips and peaks until he pulls away and starts to venture downwards. The coarseness of his short beard tickles your skin as his lips brush along your neck, sweeping down your chest, between the valley of your breasts, over your quivering stomach as you shudder with need in anticipation.

He maneuvered you to lay flat on your back, your head propped up on the pillow so he could watch your face as he tasted you. The pleasure of having his mouth was one so exquisite, you were certain nothing and no one else would ever compare.

You almost—almost—felt guilty, knowing he was spending his money for this, yet you were the one reaping the benefits.

It was plain to see his affinity for it, though.

When you spread your legs before him, his dark eyes danced in the candlelight as they took in the sight of you. He worked his way slowly towards your center, lips skimming over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, his eyes never leaving your face as he pressed his nose into your mound. And he would gasp and pant and moan into you as his hot tongue laved through your folds, drinking you in as though the fountain of youth trickled between your thighs.

The other men who paid for you saw you only as a tool for release. A means to an end. Their end. 

Not Eddie.

His own pleasure derived from yours, his gratification brought on by the unraveling of your body he orchestrated with his fingers expertly stoking the fire in your core and his lips locked in a tight seal around your most sensitive nerves. His hands gripped at the fleshy expanse of your thighs, keeping you prised open as they shook and your back arched and you keened with praise.

The places he took your body were otherworldly. You ascended planes you’d never dreamt of, leaving behind the confines of your reality for something far greater—a place where you were no longer a purchased good and he no longer a purchaser. Not even a man and woman anymore, just two celestial bodies colliding over and over again throughout millenia.

[cyberneticfallout]

Chapter One: Filly

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: You, a seasoned bounty hunter, team up with a gruff ghoul to capture a high-value target. Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventual smut, language, canon-typical violence, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 1.2k

Bounty hunting is no walk in the park, but the rewards make it worthwhile. Your body aches as you trudge through the settlement known as Filly. Pushy vendors eagerly try to sell you their wares, with one particularly persistent one urging you to spend your hard-earned caps on dog meat. Politely declining their offers, you navigate your way through the bustling street towards the more reputable shops and services.

Having visited Filly a few times before, you recognize familiar faces among the locals. You exchange a silent greeting with the local repair girl and spot Ma June preparing to open her shop for the day, making a mental note to stop by later. As you approach a semi-functional Nuka Cola machine, you catch sight of a man seated in a chair. He's dressed like an outlaw from the Wild West, giving off an air of danger. His gaze locks with yours as you pass by.

A ghoul.

You've had mostly positive experiences with ghouls in the wasteland, but this one seems different. There's something about him that sets off alarm bells in your head. Feeling bold, you approach him after grabbing an unbearably warm Nuka Cola.

"Hey," you stand in front of him and take a sip. "I don't personally have a problem with ghouls, but the folk around here aren't too fond of them."

Smirking, he looks up at you, his sunken eyes and lack of nose more pronounced in the sunlight. Most people find ghouls unsettling, but you've grown accustomed to their appearance after years of interacting with them.

"That may be true," he drawls. "but I ain't here to make friends."

You offer him a sip of your drink, he stares at you in confusion. Taking it as a rejection, you finish the rest and toss the bottle aside.

"You look like you're either playing cowboy or you're a bounty hunter," you remark.

"What's your guess?" he snarls.

Leaning towards him, you place your hands on the arms of his chair. "I'm guessing you're here looking for a specific doctor."

"You're pretty bold for getting so close to a ghoul, smoothskin."

"And you're pretty bold for assuming I've never been closer." A small smile creeps onto your face as he looks at you curiously.

"I'm sure our paths will cross again. Until then..." Stepping back, you give him a casual salute and walk away.

The presence of the ghoul gives you the feeling that shit is about to go down so you decide to hang around on the outskirts of Filly. Leaning against a tree just outside the bustling street of vendors, you can hear the sound of raised voices and the unmistakable echoes of gunfire coming from the center of town.

"Called it," you mutter under your breath. There's no need to dive headfirst into the chaos when you can simply wait it out and observe the aftermath. Given the hefty reward on the line for this particular doctor, it's unlikely that he'll be an easy target. If he's anything like the other high-value bounties you've pursued in the past, he'll find a way to slip away, and you'll have to track him down.

Inhaling deeply, you take a moment to assess your surroundings, ensuring that your rifle and pistol are in proper working order. As you inspect your weapons, the air is suddenly filled with distorted screams, "No, no, no!" Looking up, you witness a spectacle that catches you off guard. A suit of Power Armor is soaring uncontrollably through the sky above you. Could it be the Brotherhood of Steel? This bounty just keeps getting crazier.

The Power Armor veers off in the opposite direction, leaving you to wonder what in the wasteland is going on. With the chaotic gunfight seemingly subsiding, you make your way back towards the town center. It appears that the flying garbage can and ghoul have caused quite the commotion, scattering the combatants and bringing an end to the firefight.

As you draw closer to the scene, the absurdity of the situation becomes even more apparent. Bodies, torn apart and scattered haphazardly, litter the ground. The locals, seizing the opportunity, have already begun looting them. You catch sight of the ghoul making his way towards a path that leads out of town. Without a moment's hesitation, you decide to follow him.

Quickening your pace, you navigate through the debris and bodies, doing your best to avoid the looters who pay you no mind. The ghoul moves quickly with a dog by his side, his sunken eyes focused on his route to the wastes.

As you approach the outskirts of town, the ghoul glances back, acknowledging your pursuit. Letting out an annoyed sigh, he comes to a halt and turns to face you.

"I ain't accepting companions," he declares, a note of irritation in his voice.

"That's too bad," you reply with a smirk, coming to a stop in front of him. Your attention is drawn to the dog standing beside him, looking up at you with a wagging tail. A warm feeling washes over you - you've always had a soft spot for dogs.

Kneeling down, you scratch behind the dog's ears and ask, "What's her name?"

"I don't fuckin' know," the ghoul snaps back.

You raise an eyebrow, a mixture of amusement and confusion on your face. "Did you hit your head back there? How do you not know your dog's name?"

The ghoul rolls his eyes slightly, clearly exasperated. "She ain't my dog. She was with the doctor. Along with some vault dweller."

A surge of curiosity courses through you at the mention of the doctor and the vault dweller. This situation just keeps getting more intriguing. You stand up, still keeping an eye on the ghoul.

“A vault dweller?”

He begins to draw his gun and points it at you, “Give me a reason not to shoot your ass. You’re startin’ to annoy me.”

“Calm down, beef jerky.” Taking a step back, you maintain a calm demeanor. “I think we can help each other out.”

The ghoul's grip on his gun tightens, but he hesitates, seemingly intrigued by your proposition. "I don't need help.”

“Oh but yes, you do.” You pull out a small vial filled with amber liquid, capturing his attention. “This dog will do a great job tracking its owner but I’ll do an even better job of making sure you don’t go feral. No offense but you seem pretty old - even for a ghoul.”

The ghoul's grip on his gun loosens, and he seems to consider your words. After a moment, he reluctantly lowers his weapon. "Fine," he grumbles. "But don't think I owe you anything."

You nod with a small smile, "Fair enough."

[thefrogdalorian]

Ner Aliit

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Travelling through the galaxy in the Razor Crest with a formidable Mandalorian is a harsh, unforgiving life. The feelings you have developed for him as you soar through the stars together have mitigated the unpleasant aspects. Still, you know it can't last. After all, you and Din are from different worlds. He follows a strict Creed and you know that you do not have what it takes to be Mandalorian.

Journeying with the best bounty hunter in the parsec has often brought you face to face with danger. It has never fazed you before. Until one day you come face to face with danger without Din's reassuring presence at your side, and everything changes.

Word Count: 5.4k ✯ Rating:  Teen ✯ Content Warnings: Canon typical violence, reader kills someone with a blaster in self defence (Nothing is described in graphic detail) and subsequently deals with anxiety/panic attacks.  ✯ Author's Note: Today is four years since I watched Mando for the first time so I wrote this to celebrate! Inspired by a little daydream I had while looking at my own Mythosaur necklace. It's an AU where Din never had Grogu but still had shiny beskar, allow it ahah. Really hope you enjoyed it, thanks for reading! 🤍

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

You can already tell from how Din’s footsteps thud a little heavier than usual against the ramp that something has angered him during his latest hunt. Perhaps he will share what precisely has troubled him later when you hurtle through hyperspace towards Nevarro. For now, you head towards the door, ready to help Din haul his latest bounty into the antiquated ship you call home.

Except, the man who stands before you is not Din Djarin.

Instead of the gleaming beskar you had been expecting to greet you on the ramp, a gloomy silhouette moves into view. There is something far darker about your presence than the man you had expected to see. It is not just the grimy, worn clothes he wears that send a shiver down your spine. Nor the way his beady eyes bore into you. They are sunken in his wizened face with a look of pure malice which sickens you to the pit of your stomach.

You are initially so shocked by the fact that the man standing before you is not Din, your eyes frantically examining the features of this stranger, that you almost fail to notice the weapon aimed at you.

Your heart skips a beat when you notice that the man is holding a blaster up at you. He stands unmoving, with his long, grungy fingers curled around the dark handle. The gesture sends a shiver down your spine. However, there is something even more terrifying than the reality of having a blaster aimed squarely in your direction. 

It is the expression on his face.

His glare is unrelenting in his coldness as his finger hovers over the trigger. You do not doubt for one moment that he will pull it.

Throughout your life, you have been exposed to danger many times, even before you met Din. Such brushes with death only increased when you started travelling through the galaxy with a bounty hunter. It was to be expected, of course. You think of the numerous occasions when you witnessed Din becoming embroiled in terrible binds and scrapes while you sat back and watched the carnage unfold. At first, you had been terrified by such violence. Now, you have come to expect it.

Perhaps before you met Din and began travelling with him, someone holding a blaster at you and gazing at you with such viciousness as the man before you would have been utterly petrifying.

However, it seems that the best bounty hunter in the parsec has somewhat hardened you to the realities of the galaxy. 

After the initial shock, you feel yourself accepting your current predicament with remarkable quickness. You assess the man's vulnerabilities and weak points, as Din once trained you to do. You notice a slight quake in his hand, the greyness of his scraggly beard and unkempt, greasy hair. He is not invincible. Soon, the terror you initially felt is replaced with anger; a simmering feeling in your gut as you are incredulous at the audacity of this man to threaten your life in this manner. You are furious at his attempt to intrude into your and Din's safe refuge like this. You are disgusted by him.

You have encountered plenty of unsavoury characters throughout your travels across the galaxy with Din. This pathetic coward does not faze you.

"Where is he?" the man finally speaks. His voice is gruff, his tone sharper than you imagined. It matches his wizened, wrinkly face, seemingly hardened by the decades of experience he undoubtedly possesses.

“Who?” you ask, feigning ignorance.

You know that the man will not buy your plea of ignorance regarding The Mandalorian. Yet, your act will buy you a few precious seconds to execute your plan. Plus, the more you converse with the man, the higher the chance his nerve may waver and that his sympathy for you might increase as you humanise yourself. You hope that by talking to him, his determination to mow you down in cold blood may decrease.

“Don’t play with me and give me a story full of bantha crap,” the man snarls, jabbing the blaster towards you, "I know you know where he is."

“I’m sorry,” you respond apologetically.

You know you must diffuse the situation and undo the damage you have caused with your blatant lies. Without hesitation, you raise your hands in a submissive gesture. Then, when the man does not take issue with a simple movement, you begin backing away from him. Fortunately, he lets you go. You can barely contain your grin as you know what you have in store for him.

Unknowingly, this man is playing right into your hands. 

This old rogue may have thought he could get the upper hand on The Mandalorian by returning to his ship and threatening his travelling companion. Unfortunately, he has underestimated the advantage you gain from knowing the Razor Crest inside out, including all of this old ship's quirks.

When you are satisfied both by the distance you have placed between you and your assailant and your relative proximity to the control panel, which is the key to your plan's success, you fake a stumble backwards. Your hand collides with the button that, when depressed, rapidly releases a cloud of pressurised gas into the hull. The jets that shoot out of the walls soon fill the Razor Crest and form a temporary barrier between you and the man that obscures you from his view. The distraction gives you just enough time to grab a blaster from Din’s workbench and aim it towards your surprise visitor. 

Then, without really consciously thinking about the consequences, you squeeze the trigger.

The sickening thud of the man’s body hitting the floor is the last sound you hear before you retreat up the ladder to the cockpit and seal yourself inside behind the secure door. You are pretty sure he will no longer prove a threat to you, but you have no desire to stick around and find out for definite. The reinforced door will provide sufficient protection, hopefully long enough for Din to return. 

Given that someone managed to reach the Razor Crest and callously threaten your life, you cannot imagine that Din will be far away. If the man has accomplices, you do not doubt Din's capability to take them out before he returns to ensure your safety.

Yet, as the minutes pass by Din is nowhere to be seen.

You are unsure how long you sit on the hard floor with your back to the door, trembling as you sit there. At first, the tremors that have overtaken your body may well be thanks to the frigid metal. Its coolness certainly does not help. As the adrenaline wears off and the realisation of what has just transpired dawns on you, you rapidly become reduced to a jittery, trembling wreck. 

Your state of mind following the skirmish is made worse by the paranoia which overtakes you. 

Initially your primary concern is for your own safety. You brace yourself for the companions of the man whose body lies below you to barge in and finish the job their ringleader started. You wonder which weapons they may possess. 

Would you try to fight them off, or should you flee?

You wonder whether you could even begin the launch sequence of the Razor Crest and fly away in search of Din. He has attempted to teach you how to fly the ship for emergencies such as this, but to your presently terrified brain, the dashboard looks like a confusing conundrum of buttons.

At the first thought of him wandering through the forests which cover the planet’s surface, your overactive imagination now runs away with the worst scenarios of what could be happening right this instant, elsewhere on this planet. 

Visions of the Mandalorian you love, lying in a ditch somewhere on this forest-covered planet, injured and frightened after being ambushed by the same band of dastardly scoundrels overwhelm your senses.

The fear that Din will never return to you, that the depth of your feelings towards him will remain unsaid forever, shatters you. 

You are unsure how long you sit there. Each creak and noise of the ship, noises that you are usually so familiar with and accustomed to now work against you, startling you each time. It is a constant cycle of alarm as your breathing rate picks up and your pulse rate thunders in your ears each time there is a faint thud. You feel your resolve draining with each disturbance.

So when you hear the sound of the Razor Crest's ramp whirring as it lowers to the ground, you barely have the energy to react. Instead, you are relieved that you are now seconds away from meeting your ultimate fate. One way or another, you will finally be put out of your misery. Whoever enters the Razor Crest will not be met with much fight from you, whatever their intentions.

When you hear footsteps this time, you believe that the thuds are indeed the familiar rhythmic, certain sounds of your favourite bounty hunter. Until you lay eyes upon him, however, you will not allow yourself to believe that fact.

Fortunately for your anguished soul, you get confirmation of Din’s return before ever laying eyes upon him. 

“Cyare?” Din calls, his deep voice cuts through the ship up to the cockpit where you continue to cower in the cockpit, “Are you alright?”

You are so relieved to hear him that you could almost burst into tears. Before that happens, you must give him some acknowledgement that you were unharmed in the skirmish.

“I’m up here in the cockpit, Din,” you respond, alarmed at how your voice trembles as the adrenaline has worn off, “I’m alright.”

You push yourself up on shaky limbs to stand and prepare to reunite with the man you have grown so close to. You aren't entirely sure when it happened, falling in love with Din. You certainly never intended it, nor did you imagine that the aloof bounty hunter who was so stoic and barely spoke could reveal himself to have such a beautiful soul beneath his cold, metallic armour. Yet, somewhere along the way, as you hurtled through hyperspace together, you did fall in love with Din. 

It was not one moment but rather a collection of smaller fragments which, when pieced together, form the warmth that spreads in your chest each time you think of Din. It has been the late-night conversations sitting in the red leather chairs of the cockpit, reminiscing on your past lives. The ability that Din possesses in never failing to make you laugh. Even on days when you feel despondent. It is how considerate Din is of you; he never fails to check on your well-being and ascertain whether you can handle one more job or whether you should return to Nevarro for a few days of rest.

All of those moments and more contributed to your present feelings for Din.

You realised how deeply you cared for him when you first noticed your overwhelming desire to please him. The fact that, without even realising it, you had learnt how he liked his ration packs prepared even if you could never enjoy a meal together, given the helmet restriction. You realised that you had attentively watched how Din polished his weapons and studied how he stored them so that you could alleviate some stress when he returned from another hunt and needed to rest. You have noticed that, even though your lives are in many ways different, you both retain the same core values and principles. Honesty, integrity and loyalty are traits you both hold dear.

Only moments ago, it had crushed you to think you would never get to enjoy such moments with Din again.

Now, you stand here, practically bursting with joy as you realise you will soon be back with the man whose presence you yearn to always be in. You can hear his feet hitting the rungs of the ladder that leads up to the cockpit and take a deep breath to steady yourself, even though your entire body quivers with the last dregs of adrenaline and the anticipation of seeing Din again.

The door opens. The familiar glint of the Beskar you had been expecting to see earlier finally comes into view, soothing your nerves instantly. Din surges towards you. You barely have time to react before his arms are around you. He brings a gloved hand up to your chin, holding your face in one hand while he secures his other arm snugly around your waist. You are grateful that he is holding you so tightly. Without his strong arms, you are unconvinced whether you could remain vertical. 

“Oh, cyare," Din exhales, his voice trembling under the weight of his emotions. "I was so worried when I saw the body down there. What in Maker’s name happened here?” Din asks, deep voice full of concern.

“I heard footsteps that I assumed were yours, but when I got there, the door opened. You weren't there, Din. I was so scared," you confess, your voice trembling too.

"Dank farrik!" Din harshly exclaims. You startle in response, and he tightens his hold around you, bringing your chest flush to the cold metal of his armour, before apologetically adding, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay, Din," you whisper in reassurance.

"Forgive me for my outburst. I was just frustrated that I couldn't be there for you. The same group, I assume, ambushed me. It took me a while to fight them off. I should have been here," Din shakes his head, "Anyway, do you want to tell me about what happened?"

You nod, your bottom lip trembling. You take some breaths to steady your nerves as you try your best to ignore your reflection in Din's helmet. If you pause for too long and perceive how fragile and broken you appear, you know you will crumble entirely.

"Well, I stepped up to the top of the ramp expecting to see you. Instead, that man was standing there. He held a blaster up at me. I was so scared that he was going to shoot," you squeak, voice barely above a whisper now. Din moves his hands up and down your back in soothing motions, comforting you enough to continue: "I managed to distract him enough to retreat with my hands up. Then I pretended to stumble and push the button on the control panel, which discharged the pressurised gas. It gave me the cover to grab your blaster on the workbench. And then, well, you saw...” you squeak out as you feel hot tears trail down your cheeks.

You permit yourself to fall apart now, knowing that Din is here to pick your pieces up and place you back together. He brings a hand to your cheek, wiping your tears away with his gloved fingers. A smile ghosts across your lips at the sensation of the buttery texture against your skin.

“You did so well, cyare,” Din whispers. "I promise you, you're safe now. No one will hurt you," he adds soothingly.

Din brings your head into his cowl. He gathers you to him and protects you from the anguish. From this position, you can faintly feel the warmth which emanates from the man beneath the beskar through the coarse yet soft material. The dark brown material is a sharp contrast to the hard, coldness of his armour, a sliver of humanity amongst the many facets of the formidable Mandalorian warrior. You never feel safer or more protected than when Din takes you into his arms and holds you close. The relief is immediate, but it does not stop the emotional outburst. Tears continue to stream down your face.

“I was so scared Din,” you manage out between the sobs that have suddenly overwhelmed your fragile state of mind.

“I know, I know. But I’m so proud of you,” Din says.

His ordinarily steady voice trembles with emotion except when he emphasises how proud he is of you. To know that Din Djarin himself is proud of you makes your chest ache with joy. You have made this strong, stoic warrior proud. It makes your head swim with glee. Yet, it only adds to the myriad of emotions which overwhelm your trembling body.

Din holds you close, but you cannot stop crying. The embarrassment you feel at your outburst further contributes to your distress. The tears flow in earnest now, Din’s cowl surely becoming damp with the moisture that has escaped your swollen, irritated eyes.

“Shhhhh my love, ner kar'ta,” Din soothes as he rocks you, “You’re safe now. I've got you. You’re safe.” 

With his comforting words and the way Din holds you, your sniffles eventually subside. Still, Din holds you until you can barely stand anymore.

When you can stand no longer, when your body finally succumbs to the emotional toll of the day, Din is there to coax you into moving. Somehow, 

Din manages to skillfully manoeuvre you into descending the ladder. You are too tired to question quite how it happens. The next thing you know, you are tucked up in the bunk. There is barely enough room for Din, yet he manages to lie beside you, holding you until you drift off.

Finally, you allow yourself to fall into the warm embrace of sleep…

✯✯✯

You remain confined to your bunk for most of the return trip to Nevarro. The skirmish took its toll on you. In your lethargicness, you struggle to have the energy to do anything other than sleep. Din is patient and attentive with you, taking care of all the maintenance jobs and meal preparation that you usually assist with.

Yet, it is not just the stress of events and the inescapable fact that you have claimed your first life which weighs on your mind. It is trying to figure out what the future looks like for you and Din. 

You have never met anyone like him. He is intelligent, caring and skilled in anything he turns his hand to. He provides for you. Since you began travelling together, you have wanted for nothing physically or spiritually. Din is diligent and attentive, always on hand to pick you up if things prove too much. He makes you laugh like you never have with anyone else you have met. Until your ribs ache and your cheeks hurt from grinning. You think of the hours spent together sitting in the red chairs of the cockpit as the blues and silvers of hyperspace streak outside the windows, illuminating Din's armour in a way that leaves you mesmerised.

When you first started travelling with Din, you were sceptical that you would ever grow close to a man who kept so much of himself a mystery. His face was hidden behind a helmet and you knew him only as Mando. How could you ever form a bond with someone so elusive?

Now, you understand that you do not need to see a person's face to know them entirely. There is no doubt that you completely understand who the man underneath the beskar is. You trust Din Djarin with everything you have. 

Although it took him long enough to honour you with knowing that name, now you speak it often. While he vows that he will know yours eternally, for it is the Mandalorian way to say, “I love you.”

You cannot imagine your life without him. 

However, as much as you care for Din and are certain he cares for you in return, you know you will never have what it takes to become Mandalorian. It is why you have held back from your feelings, never permitting yourself to return the sweet words and affectionate nicknames. Your destinies lie in opposite directions. You will never be truly worthy of his love.

It is a thought that leaves you thoroughly despondent as you lie in the bunk. If you are this distressed after taking a life in self-defence, how would you ever be able to participate in his culture, his identity, which is so dear to him?

Without that fighting spirit within you, you are sure you would never be able to be Mandalorian. Without being Mandalorian, it will be impossible for Din to build a life with you.

Whatever relationship the two of you have is more than likely fleeting. You will part when it becomes apparent that you are too fundamentally different to prove a compatible pairing. You know that. 

Yet, it does not stop the melancholia that such a fact provokes in you.

You understand that one day, Din Djarin will leave your life.

Knowing that evidence of your fundamentally opposing ways of life will become evident once more shortly leaves you inconsolable. Once the Razor Crest lands in Nevarro so the bounties can be offloaded Din will leave you alone for an indeterminate amount of time to be with his covert. 

Since you are not Mandalorian, you are forbidden from joining him. 

The thought of not being with him devastates you. Yet, the prospect of being alone on a planet without Din downright terrifies you after your brush with death.

Although you are frightened, you are determined not to let him see your discomfort. 

After all, it would be unfair of you to hold Din back from spending time with his tribe.

You know you will never be able to join him, yet you still respect Din's creed. You admire his devotion to his Way. You do not judge him for it, even if you are baffled by some rules Din must adhere to.

Yet, there is another reason you keep your emotions to yourself. 

You do not want to worry Din any further.

Following your brush with death, Din has been fussing over you so much that you almost feel smothered. He is watching you intently to check that the fact you have taken another’s life does not leave a scar on you. He constantly reassures you that it was self-defence and that you did the right thing. When you wake up screaming after terrible visions haunt you, Din is there in an instant to soothe your anguished soul.

Even though you are grateful for how much he cares, you want to be left alone. You feel guilty, as though you are a burden to him. Here you are, taking up so much of his precious time and energy when you are not even a member of his tribe. 

So, when Din informs you he will depart the Razor Crest to join up with his covert after the old ship finally touches down on Nevarro, you are glad to see him go.

Even if being on such a skughole makes you unsettled. You wish that you had Din’s comforting presence around to soothe your soul. But non-Mandalorians are not permitted to enter the covert’s hideout, and you respect that rule. 

So, you are alone. 

You pass the time polishing and reordering Din's assortment of weapons so they are exactly how he likes him upon his return. It is penance for the tremendous amount of extra effort he exerted in taking care of you during your journey here.

After you finish cleaning Din's most prized possessions, you stand before the weapons locker, adjusting each blaster and rifle until they are arrow straight. Din is fastidious when it comes to organising his armoury. You want to please him.

It is a task that you are still engaged in when you hear the ramp whirring. The noise makes you panic initially. Until, for your benefit, Din calls your name to reassure you that it is him returning; no one is here to harm you.

Your initial anxiety is soothed instantly by the sound of his deep voice. The apprehension is replaced by a smile at the way the syllables of your name warble through his vocoder.

You hastily close the doors to the locker. You weren't quite finished with your task yet. You do not want Din to catch a glimpse before everything is perfect.

"You're back quicker than I expected," you observe, greeting him with a look of surprise across your features.

"There was only one matter I wished to settle," Din shrugs.

"Oh?" you raise your eyebrows, wondering if it is connected to the drawstring pouch made of dark material he carries in one hand.

"Concerning you," Din simply says.

You are rendered speechless. Your initial concern is that Din has confessed to travelling with a non-Mandalorian. Perhaps it is forbidden for his tribe to befriend outsiders. Your stomach drops as you panic that Din has been forced to leave his covert in disgrace.

What if, after the skirmish, Din decided to leave you behind here on Nevarro and simply needed to ask his tribe's leader for advice so his nerves did not waver?

Your frantic train of thought halts at the thuds of Din's footsteps approaching you. Mercifully, it seems you are about to discover the nature of their conversation.

"I have something for you," Din explains as he reaches into the drawstring pouch and produces a shiny object attached to a string.

You are curious about the mysterious relic before you. You do not hesitate to reach your hand out, your palm up, ready to accept it. It glints in mid-air before Din places it into your palm. 

The sensation of the cool metal of the mysterious object

proves to be an intriguing yet comforting presence in your hand. It soothes you instantly. It is a grounding sensation you badly need. Especially after the dark places your mind has wandered to. Terrible visions and eventualities your imagination has frequented a lot recently since your brush with death.

You realise now that it is in your hand that Din has brought you a necklace. Peculiar. You wonder what in the galaxy an item of jewellery could have to do with his covert.

The metallic pendant is a shape you do not recognise; there is a long, thin strand of dark brown leather attached to the charm.

“Do you know what this is?” Din finally asks after he has left you alone to survey your gift.

You shake your head, looking up at him questioningly.

“This is the Mythosaur, an ancient creature our ancestors once rode. It is a symbol that belongs to all Mandalorians,” Din explains, gesturing a gloved fingertip at the shiny object.

You see now that the metallic outline appears to be the skull of a creature you have never heard before. With its sunken black eye sockets and intimidating, sharp features; the Mythosaur is a little intimidating. Still, you are mesmerised by its pointy teeth and long tusks. It is quite unlike anything you have ever seen. You run your thumb over the ridges, enjoying the sensation of the metal in your hand.

"I had it forged by my tribe's Armorer from the excess beskar of my new armour," Din explains, "The chain is taken from a strip of my bandolier, too."

"The craftsmanship..." you whisper, awestruck, "It's beautiful."

Then, Din says something which catches you completely off-guard. 

“I want you to be part of my Clan, cyare,” Din announces.

Your mouth falls open. You look up at Din, stunned at his declaration. He does not want to leave you behind or cast you out. He wants you to be with him forever. You begin to feel the rumbling of tears somewhere deep inside your gut. You almost allow yourself to smile.

Almost.

Your moment of happiness shatters when you realise joining Din's Clan likely comes with an expectation to be Mandalorian. You hope the necklace does not come with the assumption of committing yourself to something you remain unsure that you want for yourself. 

Yet bringing that up to Din would surely disappoint him, a terrible prospect. His Way is of utmost importance to him.

“But, Din… I’m not Mandalorian,” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears as you remind him of your differences.

“It doesn’t matter,” Din shakes his head.

"Are you sure?" you breathe, stunned.

"I'm positive, cyare. You can take this necklace to any Mandalorian and say my name. If you present this to a Mandalorian covert and tell them Din Djarin set you, they will ensure you are protected and safe for as long as you need. No matter where you are in the galaxy.”

“Even though I’m not Mandalorian?” you whisper, astonished. 

“Yes. One does not have to walk The Way in order to be protected by us," Din nods.

You are stunned. For so long, you had mistaken Mandalorian covertness for exclusion. You had believed they disliked and distrusted anyone who did not follow their way of life. Now you realise that you had entirely misconstrued their seclusion. Mandalorians, it transpires, are fiercely protective over anyone they care about, an honour not restricted to their own kind.

"After what happened, I want to feel reassured by knowing that you would have somewhere to turn to for refuge if something like that were ever to happen again. More than that, I want you…” Din sighs, steadying himself. “I want you to be part of my Clan,” he adds, his voice full of certainty.

“I couldn't possibly be worthy of such a thing,” you shake your head, unable to meet his gaze, "I shot one nerfherder in self-defence and look at the toll it took on me," you scoff, fiddling with the necklace and avoiding Din's gaze.

Din is unsatisfied with your words. He brings his hand to your chin and tilts it upwards until your eyes are level with the steely gaze of his dark T-visor.

“You are absolutely worthy,” Din adds with finality and certainty in his voice that causes your chest to constrict, “You have shown as much fight and resolve as any Mandalorian warrior would be proud of. You may not be Mandalorian, but you have our spirit. Our manda, our soul. You do not have to be Mandalorian to be loved by one. So, it would be the honour of my life if you would join my Clan, cyare,” Din adds solemnly.

He takes his hand from under your chin and balls it into a fist. Then he raises his clenched fist to his chestplate and holds it over his heart. He bows his head in your direction, wordlessly demonstrating his affection for you.

With his beautiful words and deferent actions, how could you refuse such an offer?

“Then, I will happily join your clan, Din Djarin,” you whisper.

You watch with curiosity as Din takes the necklace from your hand. Then, he softly places a gloved hand on your shoulder and gently turns you around. You realise what he is doing when the pendant slides down over your chest. You smile as you feel the cool metal make contact with your skin through the cloth of the simple clothes you wear. The thin leather is a comforting presence around your neck, especially when combined with the weight of the Mythosaur.

You turn around to face Din once again. You are unable to prevent the grin that spreads across your features. For the first time since that terrifying encounter with that ghastly man, you feel a true sense of tranquillity. You no longer find yourself plagued by fear for the future.

You realise that you should probably make some profound speech of gratitude. Instead, you sigh in contentment as you stand before Din. You are too happy to find words, perfectly content merely to stand before the man you adore. A man whom, thanks to the necklace you wear around your neck, you are now bound to. 

Din brings his hands to your sides, resting them against your body as his thumbs rub fond circles into your hips. There is no fear, no uncertainty anymore.

The future for you and Din is bright.

Din eventually sighs fondly, cupping your chin with his gloved hand.

“It suits you,” he nods in approval.

You smile at the gesture and turn your lips into his fingers, placing a kiss on the soft leather there. Then, Din brings your forehead to his helmet in a gesture he has assured you is akin to a kiss in his eyes. For now, at least, it is the only way he can kiss you.

You stay like that for a few moments. 

Eventually, Din's deep voice breaks the silence. 

“Ner aliit,” Din whispers. Then adds in basic, for the benefit of your ears:

“My family.”

[mandoalorian]

taste of heaven

Joel Miller x F!Reader [smut]

Summary: You and Joel leave the quarantine zone in search of some medicine, when you come across a variant of the Cordyceps, taking life in the form of a pretty red flower. Whilst exposure to this mutated fungus doesn’t prove fatal, it does have some lasting effects.

Warnings: explicit, no minors. Sex pollen fic, exhibitionism, f!masturbation, fingering, tit play, degradation, jealousy, lots of begging, yearning/pining, implied age gap, mention of drugs/reader being drugged, cursing

Authors note: Please reblog to spread this fic around and it’s not showing up in tags! My requests & commissions are officially OPEN again! If you have any questions drop me a private message.

Masterlist / Want to support me further?

'Nature vs. nurture' has been a discussion which had dominated centuries of wonder, and even in the year 2023, when the world had been wiped clean from humanity and only the hardened walked the streets, it was something that still preyed on your mind. The theory could be applied in many aspects; but one that you couldn’t quite navigate no matter how hard you tried, was how you had lasted this long living in a war-torn world. You often reflected on how you had kept yourself so clean and away from infected and bad people. You figured that for the first few years you had just gotten lucky. Your state was notified of the Cordyceps Infection before it hit and so you were given the opportunity to escape your city early. They were already building Quarantine Zone’s and conscripting Fedra military in August.

Until Christmas 2003, you stuck by your family. They were with you, alive, for the first three months of the outbreak. By this point, the Cordyceps infection wasn’t exactly seen as a ‘permanent’ thing and the government had yet to give up on finding a cure. One by one you lost your parents, grandparents and siblings, but not before you found solitude in a Quarantine Zone northwest of Rhode Island.

Those fragments of peace and liberty lasted a whole three years before Fedra wiped the town clean, and you had no choice but to evacuate. You headed towards Massachusetts, stopping by different QZ's, meeting new folk along your way.

But nothing was permanent. Ten years ago you found a home in Boston Quarantine Zone.

It wasn't a nice place, full of selfish people doing what they needed to do to get by. Rats on every corner, literal and personified, and so you did your best to stay out of trouble.

You’d take on little jobs and run errands to earn ration cards, and you would follow Fedra's orders to a tee. If there was such thing as a 'golden girl' in this world... well, that would be you.

And then you met Joel.

Joel wasn't a good guy, and he made sure you knew that when you first laid eyes on him. He was ruthless; a killer, and the type of person you should’ve stayed away from. You’d survived this long by keeping away from guys like him and yet, you found yourself drawn to him. There was something about his rugged handsomeness and dedication to survival that appealed to you. When you first met him, you noted that he was a man of a few words. He rarely offered you even a glance and if he did give care to give you his time of day, it would be nothing less than to mumble a warning to you.

It took Joel a while to warm up to you. The man seemed more than satisfied with his partner, Tess, than to even want to give you even just a bit of the minimal attention that you craved. You were unsure of Tess. She was very beautiful, with shoulder-length wavy hair and bright green eyes. You wondered if she and Joel were anything serious, or if they were merely just friends, or perhaps something in between. The pair were inseparable and often participated in smuggling runs together, or were hired as bounty hunters.

It was a smokey grey morning when Joel entered the makeshift QZ pharmacy where Fedra had you working. His dark eyes appeared sunken in and tired, a deep frown crossed his lips.

“I need fentanyl, morphine, oxycodone... something to take away pain.”

He was avoidant of eye contact, looking uncomfortable to even have to ask you of this. 

Your jaw slackened slightly and you furrowed your eyebrows together at the man's request. “Are you- are you okay?”

Joel scoffed and rolled his tongue over his lower lip. “It’s not for me.” He snapped back, already becoming irritated that you were questioning his request. It had nothing to do with you. 

Unamused by his attitude, you decided on shutting him down immediately. “I don't. We don't sell opioids here.” you glanced away from the man, feeling your cheeks become hot under his stern gaze. Now he was making eye contact and he knew exactly how to intimidate you. If Joel was anything, he was determined and if Joel wanted something he made sure he’d get it, no matter the means or consequences. 

“Fedra don't permit anything as... strong as that to be traded in the QZ.”

Joel grunted and slammed his fists on the cashier desk. “Don't play coy with me, girl,” he sneered, hissing through his teeth. “can’t have been the first person to come in and ask for this. You have to know where I can get it from.”

You swallowed, looking around the empty pharmacy for answers. “I know someone,” you said timidly. “Well, know of someone.”

“Take me to them.” Joel demanded, without missing a beat. His desperation was becoming clear. 

Seeing your hesitation, Joel brought his fingers down to the pistol that he'd stuffed in the back of his jeans, having been used to being able to make a sufficient threat. But then, before making any rash judgement, he stopped himself and placed a hand on the desk in front of you. He couldn't hold you at gunpoint. You were sweet, kind, and soft. In the many years of knowing him, you had been nothing but nice to Joel. It would be wrong to scare you like that.

Adjusting his composure, Joel took a deep breath and let his body relax. He could ease up around you. You wouldn't even hurt a fly; let alone pull any stunts on someone like him.

“Please." he said quietly, his brown eyes now appearing to be more pleasing than harsh. He could read you like an open book and he knew exactly how to wrap himself around you. You huffed out a sigh and contemplated giving him the information that he so desired. 

“There's a guy I've heard Simone talk about. He's housed up on the outskirts of Boston, about a three-hour hike from here. He's her dealer. He'll have what you're looking for, but Joel…" you reluctantly placed your hand down on top of the desk, next to his. “It's in Fairmount. But I don't feel comfortable leaving the QZ. I could get in trouble. And if this is for you— or your own personal dealing, then—”

And for the first time in weeks, Joel's lips curled into a small smile. He moved his hand over yours and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You'll be okay,” he promised, and from the longing look in his eyes, you believed him.

“Can I ask, who is the medicine for?” you interrogated shyly after a few moments of silence. Joel's rough hands were still atop yours.

Joel broke eye contact with you. If he wanted you to be fully on board, then he had to start being honest. “Tess.”

“Is she okay?” you became alarmed, moving your hand away from Joel and already beginning to grab your supplies for the journey.

“She got into a fight with Robert and his men, she's badly beaten up. She just needs something strong to help her fight through it. She'll be okay. She's tough.” Joel wanted to curse himself for offering you so much information, knowing that Tess would've been mortified if she'd learned that he was telling you all of this. But he really needed your help.

“We best get going then,” you said, grabbing your rucksack from behind the countertop.

For a brief second, Joel admired your dedication to helping Tess. It bewildered him a little, knowing that Tess didn't exactly care enough about you to help you the same. Tess often muttered snide words about your inability to shoot a gun or your law-abiding attitude. She hated the way you would sink under authority, but Joel understood it. He understood that everyone had their different ways of surviving, and as long as it was working, then he wasn't one to judge. But right now, that didn't matter. Joel was just thankful that you'd agreed to go with him.

———

Somewhere along the journey, you noticed a shrub peppered with four-petaled flours, painted red with golden pollen in the centre. You’d never seen anything like them before, and you had studied horticulture a few years back in Rhode Island QZ. You found yourself magnetised by their beauty, and with Joel a few yards back from you, you decided to take some time to analyse the plant. Picking one from the bush, you rubbed the soft petals between your fingers and let the grains of pollen sink into your skin. When Joel got nearer, you stuffed the flower in your jacket pocket and continued walking alongside him.

You were about an hour away from Fairmount when you started to get dizzy. You weren’t hallucinating but your perception of your surroundings had certainly changed. The road ahead seemed short and thick and upon the horizon was a glowing pink line. 

“Do you see that?” You asked Joel, squinting your eyes as you extended your hand to point to the horizon.

Joel tried following your moving index finger but shook his head. “You’re pointing at everything and nothing. C’mon let's keep going.”

It started out with a burning sensation, your loins ignited and blazed inside of you. You tried to regulate your breathing and found yourself slowly losing concentration on whatever Joel was saying. You wanted to pay attention, you really did. You loved his voice, it was like honey and velvet and there was something about that damned Texan accent of his… you didn’t notice it before, but you were certainly noticing it now. Your nipples felt tender as they hardened and poked out from underneath your shirt and you silently prayed that they weren’t visible through your denim jacket. The air around you was suddenly humid and thick and moist. Moist… you let out a small whimper and stopped dead in your tracks.

Joel stopped too. “Are you okay?” he asked, observing your sudden reaction to the forbidden flower.

“I just need a second to catch my breath.” You exhaled, closing your eyes and desperately trying to cling onto oxygen. Joel glanced back at the trail you’d both been walking along. There had hardly been an incline.

Joel gave you a few moments and when you finally opened your eyes, you offered him a queasy yet confident smile. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled. “Let’s keep going. Nearly there now. What were you saying about the—ah, fuck.” You stopped again, feeling a sudden wetness in your panties. Bolts of electricity were shooting up and down your body and within just a matter of seconds, you felt the primal need for something to fill you. 

You looked at Joel and then looked away.

Joel said your name softly, drawled it out slowly like he was trying not to spook you. You refused to make eye contact with him, looking down at your feet. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Joel said. He placed a hand on your arm and you flinched away from him. “What’s going on?”

You bit your lip, pressing your thighs together hoping for some kind of relief to the ache between your legs. You’re looked around your surroundings, finding a large rock just a few acres away. Ignoring Joel, you sat down and he followed you on your tail. 

This was embarrassing. This was so embarrassing. 

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you admitted, dabbing at the beads of sweat that laced your hairline. “I feel hot and heavy and it’s hard to breathe, I feel like my clothes are constraining me and I’m… I feel…”

Joel crooked his head to one side.

“Joel,” you whispered. “Fuck Joel, fuck…” you hissed through your teeth. “Joel, Joel…” you panted his name like it was a sacred prayer. Joel would’ve been lying if he said hearing you chant his name like that didn’t turn him on.

Extending your arms, you reached out towards the man. He obliged, coming closer and kneeling down in front of you. He placed both of his hands on your thighs to illustrate comfort and gazed into your eyes. 

“What is it?” he quizzed further. 

You nervously swallowed and reached into the pocket of your denim jacket before bringing out the now crumpled-up flower you’d picked earlier. The pale yellow pollen slipped between your fingers and you dropped the flower on the floor. Upon seeing it, Joel’s dark eyes widened and he leaned away from you. 

“No, no, no,” you begged him, opening your legs and pulling him back into you, this time holding him as close as could be. “Fuck Joel, I— I don’t know— I don’t know what’s happening,” you squeaked, tears filling your eyes.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he shushed, but there was no denying the slight air of worry sprawled across his face. “What have you done?”

“I think it’s the flower… I just picked it up earlier because I thought it was pretty and, figured I could make a hair clip out of it or—“

“I’ve heard stories about those flowers,” Joel shook his head. “They’re a mutated form of Cordyceps… a variant that’s been growing like ordinary fungus, in environments, masking themselves as plants. I’ve never seen them before but… that’s what I’ve heard they look like.”

“Holy shit,” you whispered. “Am I infected?”

“No! No, no girl. You’re fine. You’re gonna be fine. These plants… they’re known to have a primal effect on their host. They want their host to reproduce so they release endorphins and, I… don’t know the science behind it but,”

“Joel,” you whispered. “Joel…” your voice trailed off, bringing your hands up to his cheeks as you cradled his face. Your thumbs brushed over his stubble which adorned his jaw and you admired the little missing patch of hair there that you’d never noticed before. “I’m fucking horny.” you breathed into admittance.

If you weren’t so worked up right now, you would’ve barked out a laugh at how ridiculous those words sounded leaving your lips. Joel swallowed, his adam’s apple bopping up and down in his throat. You licked your lips and waited for him to say something— anything. But he stayed quiet, only the slightest movement in his hand as he brought it to the inside of your thigh.

You tossed your head back at the gesture and Joel felt his cock throb in his pants at the sight of you coming undone over him. He noted the vein in your neck and the way your perfect lips parted in an O shape as he trailed his other hand up your waist and along your torso to the hem of your jacket. 

“We don’t have to do anything, we don’t have to… I’ll be okay if you just give me some privacy and I can… I can… you know,” 

“You need me and you know it,” Joel said gruffly, peeling back your jacket and letting it pool into a discarded pile on the floor. You already felt an air of relief wash over you as you lost an item of clothing. You hummed and leaned in closer to him, pressing your breasts which were now tight against your shirt into his face. “Say it.”

“I need you Joel,” you obliged. “Fuck, I need you so bad.”

“Tell me what exactly you need, baby girl,” Joel requested, bringing his hand to your breasts and massaging them through the material of your shirt. He pinched his finger over your protruding nipples and circled around them. He imagined nibbling it and sucking on them, and his mouth began to water.

“I need you, need your cock to fill me up. I want to wrap myself around you, tight, oh God, please,” you begged, grinding on the rock beneath you. The friction between the rock and jeans have you something, but it wasn’t enough. Joel discarded his jacket and unbuttoned his flannel shirt, throwing them to one side on the floor. 

“You want me that bad huh?” Joel chuckled, reaching down to his belt and unbuckling it. With a clink, that was on the floor too. 

“Need,” you corrected him. “This— this is fucking— fuck— I should be embarrassed.”

“But you’re not, because behind that sweet, good girl persona, you’re just a dirty, unfulfilled whore.” Joel seethed. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought that was an insult, but his degradation only spurred you on more and you let out a moan. 

“Your whore,” you told him with a smile. You stood up and pulled down your jeans so you were now sat on the rock wearing nothing but your t-shirt and panties. Your legs still open, you dropped your hand to your crotch and started to rub yourself through the material of your panties. 

“Ah-ah,” Joel chastised, taking your hand away from your aching pussy and interlocking his fingers with yours. “Look how wet you are. From now on, only I’m allowed to touch you, okay?”

“Mm, sounds like you want me just as much as I want you,” you teased him, even surprising yourself at that little comment which escaped your lips. 

“I do,” Joel answered, bringing your hand down to his own crotch, allowing you to feel his bulge that was straining through his jeans. As if that wasn’t proof enough.

“What about Tess?” you couldn’t help but ask. Even while you were in heat, you found yourself thinking about what Joel and Tess got up to. What exactly their ‘partnership’ amounted to.

Joel smirked and pressed a kiss into the crook of your neck. “You jealous?” he mumbled against your skin. The low octave of his voice sent vibrations through your body. He licked a stripe down to your collar bone.

“Nuh-uh,” you shook your head. 

Every touch of his left a stain of fire.

“I think you are,” Joel teased. “You get jealous thinking about me fucking Tess— bending her over and taking her from behind.” 

You groaned. “Fuck you,” you whined, running your fingers through his greying brown hair. 

“Wouldn’t you like that?” Joel chuckled. 

Then, something caught your attention. You were drugged— ‘under the influence’— if you wanted a nicer way to put it. You wanted Joel but you had that damn mutated flower to blame, and yet Joel… this was raw. This was all him. He had nothing to blame other than himself because the truth is, he’s wanted you from the moment he laid eyes on you. 

“I fuck Tess,” he announced and you felt your face sour at his declaration. “But I wish it was you every damn time.”

You huffed as you let him take off your t-shirt. His eyes widened when he saw you weren’t even wearing a bra.

“Somehow I doubt that,” you muttered with a roll of your eyes. 

“Let me prove it to you.” Joel replied, this time his words holding the utmost meaning.

Joel unzipped his jeans and pulled them down to his knees, alongside his boxer shorts, revealing his long, thick cock. It was perfect, the dark pink head already leaking with milky white trails of precum. 

“You’re huge.” you couldn’t help but gasp out, making Joel laugh. You immediately eased at the sound of his chuckle. It wasn’t teasing or fake, but it was genuine and authentic. Dare you say, cute. 

But the little butterflies that fluttered in the pit of your stomach were short-lived. Your loins ached even more just at the mere sight of him and you eagerly ditched your panties within seconds. Leaning back, you made yourself as comfortable as you could be atop of the rock and spread your legs for him. What a sight to behold, you were. 

Joel admired your glistening folds as he eye-fucked your entire naked body. You brought your hands to your tits and began to play with them as you let him observe you.

“Please Joel,” you begged. “Let me feel you.”

Joel hovered over you and pressed his cock between your folds, rubbing the tip up and down, separating you. Obscene and lewd wet noises filled the quiet atmosphere as Joel gathered your juices on his manhood. 

“Such a pretty pussy,” Joel sighed, before bringing a thumb to your clit. He began to draw circles over the bundle of nerves, causing your body to jolt with the overbearing rush of pleasure. You knew you wouldn’t last long and you could feel your orgasm begin to creep upon you. But you needed more.

“Fuck me Joel, I need you inside of me.”

“Like this?” Joel asked and with one smooth motion, Joel thrusted his cock inside of you, your wet walls squeezing around him. “Oh shit.” he croaked out, taking a moment to adjust himself to the ethereal feeling of you wrapped around him. 

“Yes, just like that,” you praised. “Move now, please.”

For the first time, Joel followed your instruction without any tormenting or teasing. He’d wanted this just as bad as you did. Joel rocked his hips into you, building up a rhythm that you just couldn’t resist. His movements began to set out a pace but in time he quickened himself, focusing on getting closer to his high as he felt your own body quiver and shake underneath him. You knew he was close when his thrusts became sloppy and he chanted your name under his breath. 

Joel delved his face into your neck and you screamed as your climax came crushing down. Joel felt it too— the effect of your orgasm and what it had done to your body. Without any warning, Joel shot ropes of his cum into your pussy before slowly pulling out of you. The warmth of his seed painting your walls was enough to help you come down from your high. 

Joel rolled off you and laid next to you, atop of the rock.

The sky was growing dark now and nightfall was approaching. 

“Thank you.” you whispered when you regained your breath. You let yourself have a few moments to try and come to terms with what had just happened. By far, the best experience of your life. 

Joel leaned over onto his side and looked at you, feeling completely enamoured with your beauty. You were still flushed and sweating but the effects of the flower had worn off now, and you were doing much better.

“Before, when I said I thought of you when I was with Tess… I wasn’t lying,” Joel admitted. “I don’t want you to think…”

You smiled, tangling your fingers into his hair and pushing his face down to meet yours. You offered him a soft, tranquil kiss and Joel moaned at the affection. Your lips were so soft, exactly how he’d imagined. If he could, he’d kiss them forever.

“Is she your girlfriend?” you asked after pulling away.

“It’s not like that at all,” Joel replied. “We just… we’re there when we need each other, y’know?”

You nodded your head silently.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” Joel announced, feeling a rush of nerves and anxiety race through his body. “I mean, not the Cordyceps flower. And not just the sex. But I want to see you again, after today. And I understand if you don’t feel the same way— I know, we’re so different and I ain’t a good guy. Maybe a girl like you would be better on your own, but damn it, I like you and—“

“I like you too,” you cut him off. “Maybe when we get back to Boston, you can take me out on a date?”

Joel grinned, a dimple appearing in his right cheek. There was those butterflies again.

“Alrighty then.” Joel beamed and you pressed another kiss to his lips. “It’s a date.”

-------

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[greetingfromthedead]

Shepherd Story 1 (God!Knives x GN!Reader)

Plot: In a world where fallen gods live among you, there is the god of winter and death who leaves behind merciless blizzards and famine wherever he goes on his eternal search for his other half he fell for many millennia ago.

Series: Shepherd. Check out Story 2 (smut) and Story 3!

Pairing: God!Knives x GN!Reader

Raiting: Teen and up (some mild sexual/intimate content, no smut)

Tags: fantasy AU, no use of "y/n", gods, feathery plant, fated love, romance, legends, nature magic, reunion, intimacy, possessive behavior, tenderness, some fluff, body worship, implied smut

Word count: 4.2k

Author's Note: This story is heavily inspired by the incredible @triplesilverstar's god AU stories A so called God on a mountain top? Well, better then freezing to death and So its a tradition? Weird. These stories are just way too good for you to not go read them. So gogogo (unless you are underage or not into smut)...

In a world much different from our own, where fallen gods live among people, there is a story that spans over many millennia. In that world, there are countless higher beings, each with their own unique powers and abilities. They guide nature in the endless cycle of creation and destruction. Among them is a man more feared and despised than the rest, known as the god of winter and death. His icy touch is said to bring misery and despair to all who encounter him. None can escape his chilling grasp, as the harsh winters can last for years on end. Children are born within his icy domain; they live and die, never knowing the warmth of summer. But only a few know the curse put on this world by the jealous gods of ancient times.

The god of winter and death roams solemnly through the lands, bringing icy winds and blizzards in his wake. The soft steps of his bare feet on grassy fields spread frost, and the lakes get covered in ice as he passes by. He doesn't bring famine and illness, but they follow him like a shadow as he moves south on his endless search. This world has never seen a winter like this before; it has lasted for fifty years and brought the northern lands to their knees. Grain stores are empty, and people are starving. Yet the god moves further and further south with each passing day, leaving death in his wake. He is still looking, searching for the one who bears the curse.

Restlessness has sunken its claws into you as of late. It's like something's tugging at your soul. You have always felt lucky that you were born quite far in the south, away from the dark shadows of the north. You are a winter child, and never in your years have you seen the bountiful summers the elders speak of. However, you haven't been plagued by winter's chill either, and for that, you are grateful. But as of late, your dreams have frozen over, set against a backdrop of white fields and icy winds. You feel it seeping into your waking hours; the breeze hasn't been gentle for weeks; instead, it cuts like knives into your flesh, leaving you shivering.

The fire roars in your little house, but its warmth can't chase away the chill in your bones. You wrap yourself tighter in blankets, trying to hold onto the last bit of heat before the darkness of night takes over. You count the herbs in your collection; you need to make sure you have as much stock as possible if winter indeed is to claim your little corner of the world too. You know you can't afford to run out; you are the herbalist that the entire nearby village relies on for healing remedies. As you put away the jars of dried leaves, you wonder if you can sleep tonight or will you be tortured again by the dangerous desire luring you into the night.

The flickering light of the fireplace seems to dim, the dancing of the light more lazy, barely reaching your feet, let alone your workbench. You shiver, feeling a chill run down your spine as the shadows in the room grow darker and more sinister. You turn around to inspect whether you need to add more logs to the dwindling fire, but your attention is grabbed by the window to your side. Icy flowers begin to form on the glass, their sharp angles glistening in the fading rays of the day.

Are these the last remnants of your blissful life? You wonder how long it will take for the cold to overtake the countryside and turn it into an icy wasteland. How many people will die, and will you ever see summer? You shake your head, trying to dispel the dark thoughts, and raise your gaze over the forming ice, as beautiful as it might be. You look at the grassy field and see glittering snow start to descend from the sky. While frost isn't all that uncommon, you've never seen it snow quite like this. The delicate flakes twirl and dance in the air, casting a magical spell over the landscape. You're in awe, and rush to the door, pulling the blanket around your shoulders tighter before stepping outside into the freezing twilight. The air is so still, not even a whisper of wind dares disturb the enchanting scene, like nature itself is holding its breath in anticipation. The soft flakes brush against your cheeks, melting on contact and leaving a cold, damp feeling on your skin. You try to imagine your home being transformed into a winter wonderland, with snow covering every surface in sight. You know you should fear that image more than anything else, but there's a strange sense of peace that comes with it.

You glance over your little yard to the edge of the forest, and there you see a figure. Your eyes are caught by his icy gaze, and you can't see anything else beside his piercing blue irises. You feel a chill run along your spine, but not from the cold, but from the kind of terror you would feel while staring down a wild wolf.

"I found you at last, my sweet darling." The nearly emotionless words of the god of winter and death carry over the silent landscape, echoing in your ears like a haunting melody. The coldness in his face softens slightly, replaced by something akin to a gentle smile.

You are too stunned to speak or move; the knowledge of who you've come across freezes you in place. But it isn't all fear that has made your legs so heavy; the restlessness of your soul is rearing its head again, calling out to the unknown like it's an old friend. You stay quiet as you look into the eyes of the god before you, feeling a sense of both terror and excitement. He turns toward you and steps closer. Your eyes are released from the shackles of his gaze. As you look at the rest of the figure, you see the mass of wings behind him. They aren't made up of feathers, but of shards of ice that reflect the light in a dazzling display. His body is clad in a flowy white robe, partially revealing his pale skin, some of it covered by the icy shards, the same as the wings. His hair and eyelashes look like they are frosted over due to the cold that emanates from his very being. He is breathtaking as he approaches you, his bare feet make no sound as he walks along the path. The blades of grass freeze in his presence, the puddle of water forms jagged crystals on its surface like razors.

"It has been too long, my dear," he whispers, his voice low and level, the sound crossing the empty space between you effortlessly to caress your ears.

His expression is tender yet filled with a cold intensity. This is not how you imagined such an infamous god to look at a mortal being like yourself. His eyes seem to pierce your very soul, making you feel both terrified and strangely alive.

With every step he takes, the surrounding air gets colder. Every inhale stings your lungs, every exhale produces a white cloud. Your fingers grip the blanket tighter. You can't shake the feeling that he knows something about you that you don't. His eyes have never left your face as he finally stops at your doorstep.

"I am sorry for being so impossibly late," he says, holding out a hand to you, palm up. His voice has a cold edge to it.

"Am I going to die?" The words slip over your lips before you even realize you've spoken them.

"One day, darling, but hopefully not any time soon. I cannot bear to lose you again." A slight smile flickers on the corners of his lips. "Take my hand."

"What do you mean? What do you want from me?" You know you should be afraid of him, but your soul tells you to place your hand in his.

"You will remember, sweet Shepherd." He waits patiently. "Take my hand."

"I'm not a shepherd; I'm a herbalist. You must have confused me with someone else." Saying a god is wrong seems like a surefire way to die, yet you do it anyway. Your reaction paints a slightly more obvious smile on his face as he looks at you through his low eyebrows with amusement. Your heart tells you to reach for his fingers.

"I will recognize you in any life, with any face. I will always find you, as your soul calls out to me. Take my hand." His piercing blue eyes look into yours, and you know that he is the source of your restless nights. You take a deep breath and finally allow yourself to surrender to your heart and soul. Your right hand lets go of the blanket and reaches out into the freezing night air to rest on his open palm. His skin feels like marble against yours, but his touch is comforting and familiar.

"Wake up, my love." His words echo in your mind as you realize the meaning behind them. Hundreds of previous lives come flooding back to you with a sense of recognition and understanding.

"Nai!" Your eyes open wide as you remember who he truly is, "You found me!" The cycle of reincarnation finally feels familiar once again.

He shifts closer, leaning his cold forehead against yours, your hand pressed against his chest.

"Do you still have it?" he asks softly.

"Of course I do; it's been with me all this time," you reply as you shut your eyes. His cold fingers squeeze yours tighter, and he lifts his forehead, replacing it with his lips. A gentle kiss on your skin as his free hand caresses your cheek. You would be shivering if it weren't for the fire lit up inside you.

"Thank you, sweet Shepherd," he says, placing his cheek against yours as he speaks by your ear. "For keeping it safe all this time."

"It is yours after all," you say, keeping your eyes closed, savoring the moment.

"No, sweetling, it is yours," he replies, his voice warm and comforting. He doesn't quite sound like a god of winter and death, one that brings merciless cold and darkness wherever he goes. Instead, he is the guardian and lover of all your past lives, reaching back to the ancient times before you were cast out from the Higher Plane. He is the one who cradles you in his arms and whispers promises of love eternal. The freezing stares are saved for everyone else but you, for you are his chosen one.

"Why don't you come inside?" You smile as you turn your head slightly towards him, feeling the frigid air of his breath against your ear.

"I doubt I would make it through the door," his silky voice chuckles softly. "I've been searching for so long, I fear I myself have frozen."

You can see his massive, crystalline wings over his shoulder. It has never gone on so long that he himself starts to freeze as well. His body feels more rigid, and the softness of his flesh has turned to ice.

"I can fix that, my love," you say softly, reaching out to touch his frozen skin with warmth in your fingertips. The blanket that you released slides off your shoulders, exposing the goosebumps on your skin. The cold air bites at your uncovered flesh, but you don't mind; you are in love with winter. Your fingers slide along his jaw, turning his face toward you. Your breath escapes you as a white vapor before you close the gap between the two of you, capturing his lips with yours.

The kiss you share is deep, filled with a kind of longing that has been building up for many thousands of years. You feel his body warm up; the coldness of his skin no longer cuts you like knives; and your fingers get to press into the suppleness of his cheek. The quiet air is filled with a sound reminding you of delicate glass breaking. His hand that has been tracing the curve of your neck moves down to rest on the small of your back and pulls you closer, flush against his body. You feel his feathers brush against your skin as he wraps you up in his numerous wings, enveloping you in his embrace, protecting you from the frost he brings to the rest of the world.

You pull back to admire the sight you know you will find—the glowing markings etched into his eyes and skin, the pattern traveling along his body, gracing his face, and decorating his arms with intricate designs that seem to come alive in the dim light of nightfall. He is still pressing your hand against his chest, where you can start to feel the steady beat of his heart, a rhythm that matches the intensity of your own.

The frost in his hair is gone, his skin taking on a tone of warmth, a blush of cold darkening his cheeks and the tip of his nose. The marks still linger on him, pulsing lightly, and you are mesmerized by the blue eyes that no longer remind you of a dangerous beast but of a soul who carries too many burdens.

You lead him into the warmth of your cottage, but with every step he takes, the fire flickers, threatening to die down completely. A kind of darkness and cold emanate from him, yet it doesn't touch you anymore. His hand in yours is warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the atmosphere around him. You refuse to let it bother you as your heart is set ablaze. His hand slides out of yours and he takes a longer step forward to be right beside you. His hand moves onto your back, and with gentle pressure, he guides you to the seat by the window, where the silvery moonlight starts to creep in. With a rustle of feathers, he spreads his wings before sitting down on the soft cushion, pulling you with him. Not once has he averted his eyes, looking at you like you're a treasure of priceless value. The hand not resting on your lower back caresses up your arm, sending shivers through your body. This seems to amuse him as you see the curve of his lips in the dim light. You settle more comfortably into his lap, and his wings fold and reach over to you like a soft blanket.

"Tell me, Shepherd, do you remember it all now?" His knuckles brush gently over your cheek.

"I have lived so many mortal lives that I can hardly keep them all straight, so I'm still piecing it together." You rest your hand on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. "But I remember you in all of them, one way or another. Why do you keep calling me Shepherd, love?"

"I don't mean to be impatient with you, but I've been waiting to find you for so very long. I can call you by your new name if you would like me to." His fingers trace along your jaw and lips as he speaks. "But you are the Shepherd. My other half. I may be the god of death, but I need you to guide the souls of the deceased into the afterlife so they can be born again."

"What?" Your eyebrows move closer together in confusion. He takes your hand out of your lap to place kisses on your knuckles.

"I meant to find you sooner, my love. This winter was never meant to last so long. But it is over now. We are reunited. I have made you a lot of work. I am sorry. Some of these souls have been waiting for 50 years to move on. I reaped them from their earthly existence, I brought death, and now they need you so my brother can bring them life once again. To offer them a new beginning in spring so that my sister can fill them up with the joy of summer. Don't you remember?"

His eyes are solemn as they look into yours. Deep regret plagues them—a kind of hurt you don't remember seeing in them before. The pain is clearly etched in every line of his face.

"I will. Just keep holding me, and it will come back; it always has." You squeeze his fingers tightly, and his lips move to your wrist, brushing against your skin.

"You can ask me anything you want, love." His piercing eyes look into yours as he measures your forearm with his kisses. "Perhaps it will help."

"Your brother—he lives on a mountain, right?" You watch him carefully. "Why do you have to roam around and not him?"

"Because people don't pray for winter and only the desperate hope for death," he replies softly. His lips trail to your shoulder, and you can't see his eyes anymore. "But even if I had the power to dictate winter and death from just one little corner of the world, I still need you to put an end to it. I do not wish to turn this world into a wasteland because you still live in it. You alone can rein in the northern winds and calm the raging blizzards, for I only love you. You alone."

You feel his sharp teeth brush against the skin of your neck, and you lean back, letting out a deep sigh as you enjoy his touch. Your hand that's been resting on his chest moves to his head, your fingers lacing into his hair. You close your eyes and savor the moment, knowing that you are completely captivated by him.

"Why must gods be so cruel and jealous? To not only curse us but the whole world with it. All that because you gave your heart to me. How spiteful, they cannot kill me, so they force me into a mortal body to ensure I'm a slave to reincarnation until the end of time." Your quiet voice fills the room as you feel his mouth move to your ear.

"And I would wage another war and fall all over again just to rectify it," he whispers into your ear. "You just say the word, my sweetest love, and I will fight for an eternity, I will lay waste to everything. Until then, I will keep searching for you in each and every one of your lives."

His hand on your back pulls you tighter, and the cocoon of feathers surrounding you rustles softly as his breath gets heavy against your skin. His lips trail along your cheek until they reach yours. He moves softly, capturing your mouth with a gentle kiss that speaks of promises fulfilled and passion unleashed.

"You are so breathtakingly gorgeous," he whispers, his voice filled with love and desire, barely moving away from your lips. "No god of beauty could ever compare to you. To think you are mine... all mine."

You lean into him as his lips meet yours in a passionate kiss, knowing that this love has not dwindled over the passing millennia. Your souls date back to a time before this world was created, in the Higher Plane, among other gods, you had found each other, and now, in this mortal realm, your devotion continues to burn just as brightly. His hands trace along the curves of your body, exploring every dip and valley with a hunger that matches your own. The kisses of the winter god burn on your neck as his face presses into your skin. You lean back as his fingers undo the buttons on your blouse. The fabric falls away, revealing your bare chest as his lips map every inch of it.

"Open your eyes, my darling, look at me." You hear his insistent voice as a gap forms between your bodies, "I have been waiting for too long to see them glimmer in the moonlight, for they hold all that my soul yearns for."

The god of winter and death spends most of the night worshiping your mortal body. He kisses every mark and freckle that adorn your skin like stars. He whispers poems of adoration against the scars time has etched into you. He declares his unyielding love for you in every way two people can. He leaves trails of fire in his wake that burn with his passion. Every inch of your body is a canvas for him to paint upon. His love leaves marks where his teeth have been and where his lips have lingered. His desire leaves bruises on your skin, but you know he takes care not to break your human body.

You lay in his embrace, surrounded by the massive wings that shield you from the cold he brought with him into your home. Your fingers trace patterns into his skin, your body is exhausted, but you know that dawn is creeping ever closer and the time for him to leave is near. Your eyes remain on him as he strokes along your tingling skin. His sharp gaze catches yours.

"You're staring," you say with both amusement and slight awkwardness.

"I can't help it, you're beautiful." His low voice caresses your ears.

"Why must you leave?" The words escape you.

"Because I'm the god of winter and death, my passing alone brings calamity, I cannot linger for long," he says mournfully.

"Then can't I come with you?" You say hopefully, a glimmer appears in your eyes.

"Alas, you are chained to a mortal body, and I reside in the north, far beyond human settlements, where only demons roam the dead forests. Even if my presence alone wouldn't kill you, the merciless nature of my frozen hell would. It's no place for someone as precious as you, my sweetling." You feel a slight chuckle ripple in his body. "Yet every time you wake, you ask me that same question."

"Then when will you return?" Your voice gets quieter as you see the darkness behind your window retreat.

"An army of war gods wouldn't be able to keep us apart. They tried." His voice is soft, and he touches your cheek. "I will come back once it's my turn again, the year will be guided through its seasons, and now I know where to find you. Until my return, guide the ones I have reaped back into the circle of life, sweet Shepherd. Guide them well until we meet again."

"I hope it won't be this long again, for our sake and theirs. I don't want the humans to fear you as much as they do."

"I too wish to be apart from you for as little time as possible, yet I will engulf this world in eternal winter if it means I can return to you." His voice has a sharpness to it, his words are both a promise and a threat. "Their fear means nothing to me compared to your love."

Dawn arrives too soon, the first rays of light brushing the tops of the trees acting as a warning. Your time has run out, and your fated love must bid you farewell. His touch lingers longer, the fingers tracing the outline of your face as if etching it into his memory for eternity. His stern eyes can't hide the tender look of adoration they hold for you. His lips press against yours as the layers of wings peel away from you. Before the coolness of the outside air reaches you again, your love drapes a blanket around you, never breaking away from the kiss.

You want to reach out to him, but his long fingers catch your wrists into his grasp. He holds on tight, gripping your hands with his. He pulls away slightly and places a kiss on your cheek.

"I love you, my darling," his voice whispers in your ear. You feel another firm press of his lips on your forehead. "Keep it safe for me."

"Your heart is always safe with me. I will guard it, and I will warm it when you come again." You smile as you look up into his piercing blue eyes. "I love you in every life I live."

He releases your hands, his fingers lightly brushing your chin, before he turns to leave. He steps away from your door into the snow covered yard. His majestic wings unfurl into the still air, each feather seemingly stretching out.

"Until I see you again, my sweet Shepherd!" He doesn't show you his face, but you hear the warm smile in his voice.

"Until then, darling!"

The god's quiet footsteps lead him towards the forest again. The bare feet don't make a single noise, and the white robe emits only the slightest rustle. He might be leaving, but the world itself seems fundamentally different to you than it did yesterday. Even as he disappeared, leaving snow and ice behind and a coolness in your chambers, the dawn that came brought new colors with it you had never seen before in this lifetime.

This was originally going to be smut, but I got carried away and then it didn't seem right anymore. If my brainrot doesn't pack its bags in the next few days then I might make a part 2 that follows the original plan...

There is now a smutty Part 2.

And even a 3rd installment.

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

[writingsbymo-mo]

Mystery of Siren Cove

Siren!Ran Haitani x F!Reader x Siren!Rindou Haitani

Rating: Mature

Contains: blood, mild descriptions of gore, pirate slang, kidnapping, mentions of wanting to breed you, placed under the siren spell, dubcon?

Summary: you arrive to port with Baji, hearing rumors of the deadly ghost ship the notorious Haitani Brothers sail. Despite Baji's warnings, you wish to uncover the secrets behind the disappearing crew and gain the bounty on the Haitanis' heads.

Minors DNI

This is darker than the fics I've wrote recently so read with caution

♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧

"Baji, look! It's that ship! We've found them!" You screamed under your breath. There it was, the signature flag of the Haitanis. Rumor has it, they have it tattooed on their bodies. "The Haitanis are here!"

He rolled his eyes. "Better not be thinking what me thinks ye be thinking."

You sigh, heading into the tavern. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧

The Haitani Ghost Ship, the nickname many pirates have given their vessel. Anyone who encounters said ship never sees a single soul on board. No crew, no treasure, nothing. Just a pool of blood surrounding it. Worst yet, the brothers always returned with no remorse for the dead. A simple case of mutiny would be their answer.

Despite the tales, plenty of pirates alike still choose to board the Haitani's ship. Who knows if it's blatant curiosity or desperation that sends them to the ship of death. One thing is for sure, the brothers know how to manipulate plenty of pirates with their sweet voices.

A man slammed his pint down on the wooden table and snarked with a warning. "Ye shouldn't go thar lass or ye be next ship to Davey Jones."

"Bucko's right. Those Haitanis are the Scourg of the Seven Seas." Baji nods in agreement, taking swig of rum.

You sigh, "but Baji...I've a mission. Ye must listen!"

Baji slams his glass down, frustrated at your stubborness. "Ye mustn't! They're devils. Ye be eaten alive!" He furrowed his brows at you, worried at what'll become of you.

You turn your head towards the bar. The youngest brother, Rindou, was currently guzzling down bottles of rum with some fellow pirates in a game. If they lost, they'd be joining the next voyage on the Haitani. The oldest, Ran, was simply flirting and taking pirates and wenches to a room upstairs. He was known to bed a many at port. With those handsome features of his, droopy violet eyes, well groomed locks, and expensive attire for a mere pirate, even you could fall for his charm if you didn't have your head on straight.

"Baji, listen," you turn your head back towards him and sigh deeply, "I need to do this. Lives are at stake here. Why are thine men risking lives for the sunken treasure at Siren Cove?"

He sighed and grasped hands with his shakey ones. "Please...stay..."

"Baji..." You roll your eyes. "Please, I can handle it. When I've returned with their bounty, we'll be rich!"

He shook his head in disbelief. "There's no talking ye out if this aye? Fine...go on, ride the cursed ship."

"Sorry...I need to do this...for everyone's sake..." You lowered your gaze to the table and frowned.

Baji knew there was no talking you out of this now. He stood up and gave you a small smile. "At least...let me buy ye a farewell gift."

"Thanks Baji."

♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧

"Aye, ye scalawags, it's time to board!" Yelled Rindou.

About thirty pirates made their way to the Haitani's ship, seemingly in a daze. You managed to sneak your way into the crowd boarding, headed directly for the cargo to hide. In the dark underbelly below deck, you found some crates to hide behind.

"All hands on deck! Lower the sails! Raise the anchors! Onward to Siren Cove maties!" Ran ordered the crew.

Hours pass being rocked back and forth on the steady waters when the ship went quiet except for the beautiful melody of a song unlike any you have heard before. Such lovely velvety pipes in the duet. Then it hit you. A duet....

The ship began to rock as the crew jumped into the sea below, hypnotized by the song. Sirens were near. The moment they heard the tune and jumped overboard, their fates were sealed. Suddenly, you heard many screams from the waters below. Scratching at the ship from fellow pirates making sad attempts to climb back on deck but with the wood all slick and wet, they couldn't. You dared to take a peek out the porthole next to you. The waters surrounding the ship were an absolute bloodbath of human flotsam. Seeing bits of human remains floating above the tides sent your stomach churning.

"Oh...oh god...fuck...sorry Baji...ye were right...." You whimpered.

The boards above you creaked when you heard the scuffing of boots. You felt a cramp in your leg and went to stretch it out, only to knock over a bottle someone had left on a crate.

Fuck

"Shh, Rindou. Did you hear?"

"Hmm, what?"

"We have a straggler."

"Oh?" Rindou sniffs the air, noticing a scent below deck. "I smell something, something good." He snickers.

Ran sniffs as they move below deck. "Doth mine nose deceive me or is there a wee lass on board? Oh lass! Lassie! Come on out."

"Nothing to fear. We won't hurt ye."

Their footsteps drew closer. You clasped your hands over your mouth, attempting to slow your breathing and prevent a sound to leave your throat. However, you knew they'd inevitably find you if they truly are sirens.

The crates were moved in front of you and you squeaked, kicking your feet on the floor to gather purchase to scoot away from them.

"Ah, such a pretty thing ye are lass," Ran sneared, crouching down to meet your level as he grasped your chin with his long, thin fingers.

"Yes, such beauty ye have. We couldn't possibly eat ye except a few nibbles." Rindou laughed.

"No...nononono!!! Let me go! Please!!!" You cried but it was no use. Ran had already hoisted you over his shoulders while you pounded your fists on his back and kicking your feet around, screaming in his ear.

"Haha! So feisty. Oh, how much fun ye'll be tonight." Ran chuckled as you struggled in his hold.

They brought you on deck, Ran still holding you close. You gave up on punching his back, catching your breath when you noticed he was taking you to the plank. "No! No, please! Don't!"

Rindou followed behind and snickered at you. "Aww, is the wee lass scared of sleeping with the fishes?"

"Hush, Rin-Rin. Don't scare the lass too much, yeah?"

He sighed and crossed his arms, "fiiiine."

"Now then lass, ye ready to be a changed woman tonight? Promise, we'll protect ye."

You furrowed your brows at the sickening sweet words leaving his velvety soft lips...wait...velvety soft? When you came to, his lips were pressed to yours as you both fell into the sea below.

"Mmm...MMMMM!" You screamed behind your lips as Ran laughed, taking you into an underwater cave surrounded with sunken ships and treasure. "Oh, darling. Doth thee know the kiss of a siren protects ye from drowning?"

Rindou then pressed his lips to yours for a taste himself. "No need to fret lass, we'll take good care of ye."

"Yes, the perfect vessel for our offspring, no?"

Your eyes became saucers as you lost consciousness.

Once you awoke, you were placed on a soft bed of silken sheets fit for a queen, stripped of everything you were wearing. "Where—"

Slender fingers were placed on your lips. "Shhhh, don't say a word darling." Ran whispered and licked the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine as your breath hitched. "Ye'll be safe here. No one will harm a hair on ye," Rindou smiled with his violet eyes darkened with lust. He licked his lips and began kissing up your neck, making you gasp as you fell under their spell. "Mmm, ready to be a mother, lass?"

"To be ours....

.......forever?"

Under the haze of honeyed voices reaching your ears, you whispered a soft yes.

"Then, we're yours forever, darling."

"And you're ours."

[myosotisa]

Old Heart - Part 4 - Build

‖ chapter summary: Following the destruction of Memphis, you and Eddie make your way to the spot where he is set to hand you off for the final leg of your journey to Colorado.

‖ tags: enemies to lovers, age gap (41 and 25), forced proximity, slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, HEA, "zombie" apocalypse, reader uses she/her pronouns, no y/n, no physical description given, minors dni

‖ chapter warnings: grief and the tumultuous emotions included. abandonment issues. mentions of untreated terminal illness (cancer). implied/referenced suicide (very implied, not graphic). animal death and using it in a meal. also alcohol.

‖ word count: 11k

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August 18th through 23rd, 2016 – somewhere in Arkansas

You only make the mistake of asking Eddie to talk about Memphis twice.

The first time was Thursday night after the two of you had settled into a place to sleep that seemed secure enough for both of you to sleep through the night. He’d assisted you with changing the bandages on your wound with the supplies him and Max had managed to scrape together while you had been catatonic. It was vague – more of an offer that if he wanted to talk to you about it, you were there for him. He’d bitten back with a harsh retort that there was nothing to talk about before rolling over and pretending to go to sleep.

Progress had been slow as you trekked across the state together due to your injury. You felt tired faster, found yourself pushing to keep going until you got so dizzy you almost fell over, then had to take a rest before you did the same thing all over again. Eddie never once complained about the pace but you could tell the sitting and waiting for you to be ready to move again was weighing on him. He would anxiously pace while you sat, or make an excuse about going to make sure the perimeter was clear and disappearing for 15 minutes at a time. The first leg of your trip he was standoffish and closed off but, ever since Max left, he’s been fully avoidant. Not wanting to get into situations where he would have time to stop and think.

Running away from silence and stillness like he had a bounty on his head.

When you ask again if he wants to talk about anything that happened in Memphis, he doesn’t snap. He barely responds at all. He sits there in the moonlight with one leg kicked out and the other bent up with his arms crossed on it. There’s a far off look in his eye despite his gaze being firmly settled on his boot. Dark shadows are cast along his features that make the circles under his eyes seem more sunken and his jawline more defined. A shadow of himself in the dark.

“Who’s Sally?”

The question catches you off guard, your legs crossing under you as you lean back against a dusty bookshelf in the dark room. “Sorry?”

“When we were leaving Louisville, you told–” His voice is soft and ragged – it catches on the word and he has to clear his throat to keep going. “You told Dustin to ‘get home safe to Sally.’ I didn’t know he was seeing anyone.”

You’re not able to contain the amused snort that forces itself out of your nose and you notice that the silhouette of his head whips toward you in response. Quick to explain, you tell him, “Sally is a German Shepherd. She lives on the farm with Dustin and Will.”

“Ah,” is his short response. You think maybe that will be the end of it but a few moments later he’s talking again. “His mom was a cat lady. He liked the cats, but I always kinda got the feeling he was a dog person. So that’s, uh… That’s nice to hear.”

“Yeah, he’s obsessed with her. Talked about her almost as much as you on the trip there.”

This makes him huff, a quick exhale of breath. You wish you could see his face – figure out if that was a good noise or a bad one. For not the first time, you find yourself wishing you knew what he was thinking.

“I had a cat for a little while.”

His confession has you suddenly on the edge of your seat and you struggle to rein yourself in. Try not to think about how excited it makes you to hear him let a little fact about himself like that slip free. Carefully, keeping your tone neutral like you’re trying not to spook a wild animal, you ask, “Oh yeah? What was their name?”

You’re surprised when he actually answers. “My uncle named her Mimzy. Stupid fuckin’ name,” he complains, though it comes out through a chuckle. “Then again, the cat was dumb as a brick so I guess the punishment fit the crime.” You spend a few moments considering if you should ask more questions to try to keep him talking but he does so on his own. “She lived under our trailer when I was in high school. Was just fur and bone when I started throwing scraps outside for her to eat. ‘Course she stuck around after that. Even though I was the one who started feeding her, she always preferred Wayne. Would rub all over his legs when he got back from the plant in the morning after ignoring me all night. Though she was a fan of mine for a while when I saved her dumbass while trying to fight a raccoon.”

Still not quite sure how to handle this situation in which Eddie is willingly talking about himself, you fall back on humor. “Trying to fight a raccoon is a rookie mistake. They have fully functioning fingers. A cat stands no chance.”

This time the huff he lets out is definitely amused and you find yourself warming under the approval. “I’m just glad she didn’t get rabies or something from the thing.”

While it feels a bit like pushing your luck, you take another metaphorical step closer by offering up some bits of your own. “We had a dog when I was a kid. Yappy little terrier named Lola.” He doesn’t move to interrupt you so you push your luck a little further. “I was always more of a cat person but my dad fucking hated them for some reason, so I was never allowed to have one.”

“Didn’t get one when you had the chance?” He asks, and it makes you hesitate.

Not sure if he forgot how young you were or if he meant something else, you are reluctant to remind him. Despite the worry that it's the wrong move, you still awkwardly answer. “Well, I was only 13 when everything went to shit. And they didn’t want animals on the base so… No.”

Silence falls like a blanket of thick snow. It feels fuzzy and heavy. You immediately try to figure out how you can reel the words back into your mouth, say literally anything else that would keep him talking. Keep the silence from creeping in like hands around your throat.

“I forgot,” he’s borderline whispering now and you can barely hear it over the buzzing in your ears. “Can’t imagine how fucked up it was to go through that as a kid.”

You shrug even though he can’t see it, feeling that captive piece of you starting to pace behind its bars again, looking for the first sign of weakness to lunge. “About as fucked as it was for everyone else, I guess.”

“Yeah… Guess so.” The moment sits heavy on you both before the sound of leather on polyester hisses in the empty air. There’s a lot of shuffling from his side of the room and you see the shadows of him settling down on his sleeping bag. You take that as your sign that he’s done talking.

A small part of you thinks about telling him goodnight. You decide to stop while you’re ahead.

The next 3 nights go similarly. When you’ve both found some abandoned place to sleep, he helps you change your bandages. Looks out for signs of it getting infected and lets you know if it seems to be healing or not. When your cobbled together sling gives out, he rips apart his white overshirt to make you a new one despite your protests that you can manage without. Once your arm is settled and you’ve both eaten at least a little bit of something, you start talking. Not much, maybe 15 minutes to half an hour. But those sacred minutes allow you to learn more little facts about Eddie. Never anything related to Memphis or life during the pandemic. It’s all things from before.

He had the same flannel shirt in 3 different colors because he just really liked how it looked on him. A part of him always wanted to get into fixing up motorcycles in his free time. He also used to enjoy drawing and playing fantasy games with his friends. He learned to play guitar when he was a kid from an old 6 string that his uncle had but never used. 90% of his tattoos were from before, only two being added to the mix over the last 13 years. Not for lack of wanting – more like lack of resources and not trusting those who had set up “shops” these days to do stick and pokes. On that note, his first two tattoos were stick and pokes he did himself in high school.

You drank all the information like sugar water for a fly – desperate to be filled even if it wasn’t the way you were hoping it would be. Even if it didn’t end anywhere, even if it didn’t help either of you. It was something.

In a world where everything felt like a luxury, vulnerability was the rarest among them.

Evening of August 23rd, 2016 – Three Corners, Cherokee Nation, Oklahoma

The last hour or so of your hike through the middle of nowhere has been dirt roads and wooden fences that barely remain standing on the dusty roadsides. While you have questioned him once or twice, Eddie is determined that he knows exactly where he’s going. That he’s made this trip before, could do it blindfolded. And, with the sun quickly sinking toward the western horizon, all you can do is hope he’s right.

As you kick your way through orange dirt roads covered with rocks and tree limbs, the ruined fencing to your right starts to slowly be replaced with newer wood – better maintained and more sturdy. Further beyond, the wooden beams are replaced by a chain link fence that rises a foot or two above your head. This looks even newer, barely rusted and without any cuts or weak points. Despite being far from anything you would even attempt to call civilization, it seems that you are getting closer to something someone is caring for.

You don’t realize that you’re lagging behind, distracted and exhausted, until Eddie looks back over his shoulder. “We’re almost there, Bambi. Just a little farther.”

Not sure if he means to be encouraging or condescending, you decide to take the opportunity to talk again. Maybe if you can focus on that instead of your sore muscles and swollen arm, you can pass the rest of the time easily. “Y’know, calling me Bambi is kind of fucked up.”

He stops, slowly turning toward you with concern and confusion on his brow. He waits for you to catch up before continuing on with you in step. “How exactly is it fucked up?”

“Y’know, because both of my parents are dead now.”

He chokes on air, a hacking laugh forcing itself out of his throat. His eyes are shining with a certain mischief in them, one you haven’t seen since Memphis. “First of all, that’s so fucking dark, Bambi.” You blink at him a few times, not understanding exactly what he means. He continues on, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Second of all, I don’t know if you noticed, but a lot of people’s parents are dead.”

You scoff, shaking your head and looking back out to the road as you murmur, “Asshole.”

“Third of all,” he continues, ignoring your retort, “I’m pretty sure we started calling you Bambi because you’re going out into the world for the first time on your shaky legs; eyes wide and unsure. Not because your parents are dead.”

The realization hits you harshly, suddenly embarrassed for your own morbid assumption. “Oh,” is all you muster, teeth clenching as you try to shake off the fumble. “I am not on shaky legs. I’ve been in the world this whole time, same as everyone.”

“Sorry, but I don’t think your tall ivory walls of government protection count as ‘out in the world’.” He goads, almost sounding pleased with himself. Either not at all catching on to how the assertion frustrates you, or not caring that it does. “We didn’t all get our 3 square meals a day or access to clean water whenever we wanted it.”

The boil in your blood mounts higher – hotter than it’s ever been in his direction. While at the beginning of your journey, you’d been annoyed with his attitude toward you, this is entirely different. This is him taking a knife to where it hurts and twisting it just to watch you bleed. White hot blood you’re quick to spit back.

Your tone is barely contained fire and steam when you say a resolute, “Fuck. You.”

He looks almost like he wants to laugh until he glances in your direction and sees the look on your face. Subconsciously, he shifts another inch away from you, swallowing harshly as he stuffs his hands back into the pockets of his jacket. “Sore spot. Got it.”

The acknowledgement that his comments hurt you does little to smother the flames clawing up your throat, but you leash your tongue and use them to propel you forward instead. Settling into a tense silence that could last 5 minutes or an hour. It’s hard to tell with the rate the sun continues to sink down onto the horizon and the grasslands surrounding you remain unchanging.

Luckily, the fuming is interrupted by Eddie using his long legs to his advantage and crossing over in front of you to grasp at what you’ve just noticed is a gate in the chain link fence. He fights with the chain wrapping the gate closed for a few moments before he manages to prop it open far enough for you both to squeeze through. You pass first, crossing from a dirt road to what can only be described as worn down tire tracks in the grass. It arcs forward and toward the left, disappearing behind a small grove of trees.

“Is this it?” You ask over your shoulder, glancing back as Eddie once again wrangles the thick chain back into place. “Three Corners?”

“Yup, just up the drive.” He exhales a huff as soon as the chain is back in place. Looking at you with an emotion behind his eyes that you can’t determine, he clears his throat and sets into following the path again. “End of the road. For me, at least.”

The startling realization that this is the end of your journey with Eddie hits you unexpectedly. Twists your gut in a way it didn’t when the handoff happened with Dustin. That you had always known was temporary, a means to an end. Just like this was supposed to be.

When had you lost grasp on that?

Oblivious to your internal struggle, Eddie treks ahead, the call of a place to rest and get clean too enticing to let wait any longer. He’s already disappeared around the bend of the trees before you even catch sight of the property.

First, there’s a light blue walled barn, looking only a little bit worse for wear. More like seasoned in the Oklahoma winds. Two of its off-white, rolling doors are shut, the third opened to a room lined with what looks like workbenches – but it’s hard to tell exactly what in the growing shadows of dusk.

Second, you spot a house. One story, laid out wide rather than tall, and organized with mismatched windows and shutters. The walls are painted the same sky blue as the barn, with white trim and a beige slatted roof that is missing more than a few shingles. The roof extends over a small porch, just big enough to fit the door and 2 rocking chairs, and ends in a copper rooster that slowly rotates back and forth in the light wind.

The front door is wide open, presumably from Eddie, and shows only shadows of what is happening on the inside. You hover there in the open space in front of the house, not sure what to do, until you hear Eddie’s voice calling out.

“Hey! Anyone home?” He barely pauses before continuing, his voice getting closer as he goes. “Jeff? … Ama? … Anyone?”

He reappears from the shadows of the house, crossing back through the threshold with a sharp crease of concern between his eyebrows and his mouth set in a thin line. “Hey, you out here?” He continues, long legs carrying him to the barn next, where he once again disappears into the shadows you’re not yet brave enough to venture into. “Jeff? Ahuli?”

The sound of a creaky metal hinge rings out toward you in the open space, echoing out into the quickly darkening sky. Determining your hesitancy in this unknown space is less important than your desire to sit down, you suffer the last few steps to one of the rocking chairs on the porch, tossing your pack to the ground before throwing yourself onto the seat, almost falling backwards with the force of your exhaustion.

Eddie comes back out into the open, hands on his hips as he makes a slow circle to search around the area within view. Leaning forward on your elbows to contain the sudden urge to melt into the ground, you tilt your chin up toward him as he stops to face you. “Looks like no one's home.”

“Yeah, which…” He takes a few steps closer, dust coated face still wrinkled in concern. “They knew we were coming, maybe not this soon but… I don’t know where they would even go.”

“Maybe they left a note or something,” you suggest, wanting just a few minutes to sit and not worry about what was going to happen next. Wanting a few minutes to just rest. “Could look around the house or – maybe they said something to someone over the radio?”

His expression drops from worry to something that looks a bit like despair when he turns back toward the open workshop door. “I should… Let them know we’re here. Tell them what happened.”

But he doesn’t move an inch. Just stares at the steadily growing shadows of the empty barn. Like if he doesn’t go over there, he won’t have to say it. Won’t have to relive it and remember it.

This is something you can’t run from.

You push yourself to your feet, almost numb at this point of exhaustion, and walk past him toward the barn. Without looking back, you hear him get moving behind you, following you as you approach the structure and cross the threshold. Straw softens your step over concrete floors, making your footfall near silent as you venture further into the darkness.

Try to ignore the fear, shake off the urge to reach for your gun or your flashlight. You’re safe here, you’re safe here, you’re safe here–

A short sound comes from behind you and then the room is bathed in harsh white light, nearly blinding in its sudden appearance. You squeeze your eyes shut for a few moments before slowly blinking them back open.

Two of the walls of the room are fully lined with wooden table tops, drawers and random scraps littering the spaces beneath. It looks almost like some kind of machine workshop – drills, hammers, pliers, wiring, and more scattered across the wood between tools and small machines. Most of it you couldn’t even hope to recognize, but as you slowly turn to scan more of the space, you see Eddie approaching what definitely looks like a radio receiver. There are wires all over, some disappearing behind the workbench it sits on and others loosely arching toward the ceiling and through a cutout. Homemade antenna?

He flicks it to life with ease, a burst of static echoing out along the space before settling into a stable hum of sound. Lowering into a crouch, he has to get pretty close to the dial as he adjusts the frequency, like he can’t see the numbers well. You’re about to offer to help him when he drops his hand and straightens up with a groan.

It tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it. “Careful old man, or you’ll throw your back out.”

Bracing for him to lash back with something mean, you’re surprised when he snorts a laugh out of his nose, shaking his head lightly before throwing a glance back at you and saying, “Bite me.”

And maybe it’s the smirk on his face, or your exhaustion, or your life falling to pieces around you, but you somehow decide that the way you want to reply to that is, “When and where?”

This time he fully looks at you, eyebrows raised in utter surprise, his smile growing and shifting sideways as your face heats in embarrassment. “Yeah, Bambi?”

“Shut up,” you mutter to his teasing, dragging a tall stool across the straw floor to sit beside him. He is still looking at you, a sharp glint to his eye that makes you feel like a mouse being cornered by a cat. “Just radio in,” you try to order, but it comes out more like a plea.

“Whatever you say,” he concedes with a sly smile, pulling the receiver up to his mouth and pressing down on the button. The static hum cuts out as he says, “Hawk’s Nest, come in. I repeat, Hawk’s Nest, come in.”

The moment he lifts his finger, the static cuts back in. Neither of you move, almost not even breathing, as you wait for a response. Eddie, showing more impatience than you, tries again. “Hawk’s Nest, this is Crow, do you read me?”

When he releases the switch again, you dip slightly forward to look at his profile. “Crow? You have call signs?”

He groans, eyes rolling back into his head. “Yeah, and it’s all bird-themed shit. Blame your fucking sister.”

“Ah, Robin, figures.”

“Pain in my ass,” he reaffirms, but the small smile that remains on his face betrays him. He lifts the receiver again like he’s about to repeat when the static crackles a few times – waving between a very high and low pitch before a static tinted voice cuts in.

“Crow, this is Hawk’s Nest. Read you loud and clear.”

“Thank Christ,” he sighs out before pressing down the switch again. “Crow reporting package arrival at drop 3.”

Annoyance prickles at the base of your skull again, ready to snark back about not being a fucking package but the voice you still don’t recognize cuts back in. “Package arrival heard, will relay.”

He barely waits a second before jumping in again. “Drop 3 handoff incomplete, receiver not present. Any report?”

It all sounds so incredibly vague and short form – like if you didn’t know exactly what was going on you wouldn’t be able to make heads or tails of any of it. That’s probably the point actually, that anyone listening in would have almost no idea what they were talking about.

There’s some additional crackling, a longer pause before the voice cuts back in. “Nothing noted. Standby at drop 3, will report back at 1500 hours tomorrow.”

“Heard,” he confirms and releases the switch. You wonder if he’ll leave it there, not mention anything about Memphis or Max or any of it. It’s almost like he’s tempted to, because he looks over at you with a hard tension in his jaw. You’re not sure why, if there is something he wants you to say or do. If there is some kind of encouragement you could give him, some comfort you could provide.

Nothing feels right to say. So instead you heave a deep breath, wounded arm protesting as your chest expands, and exhale long. Whether consciously or not, Eddie mimics the motion, shoulders rising and falling as he exhales out through his mouth and then presses down on the switch again. “Hawk’s Nest, additional intel for the line.”

A few seconds of hum before the voice replies, “Ready for the line.”

From your point of view, you can see Eddie rest his free hand on the table top, head falling forward as his eyes squeeze closed. His lips twist in a grimace, head rocking back and forth a few times, before he brings the receiver back up to his mouth.

“Memphis QZ is gone. I repeat, Memphis QZ is gone.”

This time you do hold your breath while you wait – heart pounding in your ears loud enough to drown out the static hum as you stare into the black coated machine. The silence stretches on way too long, the longest pause you’ve heard since the conversation began. You almost have to inhale just to keep from passing out, lungs groaning in protest, before the two of you hear a reply.

“Heard, will relay. Status on Flycatcher?”

A sigh out of his nose before he replies. “Headed your way, arrival unknown.”

Another, shorter pause. “Heard, will relay. Standby for 1500 report. Over and out.”

He sets the receiver down with a heavy hand, raises the other to flick the radio back off. Both hands on the table again, he exhales shakily as he hangs his head.

You don’t move or say a word until he does. Allowing him that moment to collect himself, if nothing else.

Slowly, he rolls his shoulders back to his full height, posture squaring off as he takes a step back from the table.

“Come on,” he requests softly, “let’s go clean up, change your bandages. Get something to eat.”

You follow him out of the barn, light flicking off behind you, across the red tinted dirt circle between the barn and the house, and into the shadows within.

August 24th, 2016 – Three Corners, Cherokee Nation, Oklahoma

Last night, Eddie showed you around a bit. They had an outdoor shower with a water heater, a working toilet and sinks, a small fridge, a wood stove. Electricity and hot water. And beds. Both of you would be able to get your own bed.

You’d awkwardly turned down his assistance on getting clean, insisting you’d be really careful with your arm. He let you go first – when you re-emerged from the wooden enclosure of the shower, there was a little bundle of clean clothes waiting for you. By the time you got inside, there was a small (but warm) meal prepared. He was already halfway done with his, and when he finished, he insisted on changing your bandages again despite your reassurance you could do it.

After making sure you were clean, bandaged, and fed, he told you where you could find a bed and went out to take his own shower. You washed the dishes as well as you could with one fully functioning hand and tucked yourself into bed before he even came back inside.

This domesticity felt unnerving. His care felt unnatural. It was different from the apartment in Memphis. This was the home of a family of four, with kids toys and art and pictures and everything. And, despite it only being the two of you, Eddie watching out for you, taking care of you, putting you first… It was overwhelming and uncomfortable and felt unsafe.

Somehow, laying alone in the dark child’s room, in clothes that weren’t yours and in the silence. It was worse than anything.

You couldn’t fall asleep until you heard Eddie come back inside and close the door to the room beside you.

When you wake up, there’s sunlight coming in through the opaque curtains, a soft yellow cast across the homemade quilt you had pulled up to your ears. As you slowly shift it down to your waist, dust starts to kick up and dance along the beams into the room. Making the blues and greens of the bedding and the child-drawn artwork look almost pastel. And while part of it was comforting, imagining a kid who still got to have a room like this – live a life like this – there were a lot of other feelings that came up. Feelings you weren’t ready to face this early in the morning.

Instead, you get up and get dressed to go find some water.

Your door is barely open an inch before you hear something going on in the kitchen, the scrap of wood against metal and the clink of a glass. Not sure if maybe the homeowners had returned while you were out, and you were now about to meet them, you walk as quietly as you can to the end of the hallway that leads to the rest of the house.

The only person you can see is Eddie with his back to you.

He’s standing in front of the wood stove in a tank top and sweatpants, bare feet on the uneven tile flooring, long hair down and haphazardly placed on either side of his shoulders. The scars along his arms are on show, allowing you a better glance as you slowly approach from behind. His right arm isn’t too bad, a vague slash mark here or there, along with a couple of black ink tattoos scattered across the skin. There’s a healed over bullet graze at the top of his right bicep, the skin indented and slightly puckered pink. Probably somewhat similar to how your own arm will heal.

His left has larger patches of scar tissue, a big section on his forearm and a few other spots as it goes up his arm. They almost look like burn scars – the skin damaged and discolored but healed over. It’s the same texture of the scar on his side you saw last week, also on the left. He must’ve been in some kind of accident with flames or maybe some kind of chemical. 

You wonder if he’d tell you what it was if you asked.

The closer you get, you can see there’s some small bowls on the counter beside him and one of them is stacked high with brown spotted eggs. He has a cast iron pan over the crackling fire and scraping at the yellow liquid inside it to scramble them.

Without otherwise announcing yourself, you ask him, “Are these fresh eggs?”

He nearly screams, wooden spatula going flying and almost losing the pan too as he jumps away from you. “Jesus Christ, Bambi,” he gasps, running a hand through his hair before dropping it on his heaving sternum, “Are you trying to scare me to death?”

“No,” but your mischievous smile heavily implies you’re not exactly upset about the outcome. “Where’d you get the eggs?”

He glares at you while shuffling back to the front of the stove. He still sounds a little out of breath when he replies, “Ama has a henhouse out back, takes care of them. Tries to keep them out of the garden.” He points toward another wooden bowl that has 2 small pears, some leaves of lettuce, and a single shoot of green onion.

“Holy shit.” The fresh, home grown food nearly brings tears to your eyes – brushing past his back to take one of the small, green pears and hold it up in the sunlight to examine it. “I mean the food, the animals, the water, the electricity… How do they keep it all going out here?”

“The reservation was already making attempts to be self-sustainable before the pandemic hit. Their own power grid, water collection, the works.” He continues to cook while he explains, scraping the bottom of the cast iron to keep the eggs from sticking as he watches it carefully. “After everything went to shit, they fast tracked it. Jeff and Ama were living in the city and moved back to her parents' place to help them. Her folks died a couple years ago so then it was just them and their two kids. Jeff is a mechanical engineer and Ama is a fuckin’ genius in general so they made this into the best compound someone could ask for in an apocalypse.”

Looking over the house, you couldn’t help but agree. The stable fencing, communication, their own food and water. Depending on how they sourced the power, they could probably stay out here for who knows how long and the only thing they might need to worry about is bandits. Even then, there’s not much around. A bandit group would have to be really lost to end up here.

“That’s… amazing. I honestly didn’t think it was possible to still be living like this. Anywhere.”

But then again, I thought that about Memphis too.

He hums an agreement as he scrapes the eggs out of the pan and onto two plates. “Yeah. I know they are still in touch with other families around. Maybe they are out helping one of them with something.” He nudges his elbow against your arm, pointing for you to grab the other bowl of greens and bring it over to the table with him. “There was a ton of feed in the henhouse, like they prepped to be gone for a little while.”

You follow his lead in setting the bowls on the circular table in the center of the room before taking a seat to his right. “Well that’s a good sign, isn’t it? That they were prepared to not be here?”

He hums as he settles into his chair, the wood groaning as he leans too far back in it. “I guess so. I just hope Will has something to tell us at noon.”

Laying out a piece of lettuce, he makes a sort of egg wrap with bits of green onion before taking a bite right out of his pear. “So Hawk’s Nest, that’s Will? He mans the radios out on the farm with Dustin?”

“Mhmm,” he confirms as he finishes chewing, eyes locked on his plate like he doesn’t know where to go next. “With Sally, apparently.”

Long fingers wrap around his wrap and bring it up to his mouth with a crunch, so you pick up a fork and start to spear into your own warm eggs. Unseasoned but still warm and fresh. A hundred times better than the powdered egg stuff they made back at Quantico. Even just having a warm meal settles you in a way you hadn’t anticipated, relaxing further into your seat as your eyes close.

When you open them again, you’re struck by the sight of Eddie. The sun coasts in through an uncurtained window – bathing him and the table in bright morning light. His slightly frizzy hair, greys visible, is pulled to one side, showing off the length of his neck and the broadness of his shoulders. The scruff along his jaw has only gotten thicker, salt and pepper across weathered skin, almost enough to hide the scar on his chin. There’s a tattoo of a dragon along his bicep, a slashed scar of white right through its abdomen, and a swarm of bats on his forearm. His hands are clean, maybe cleaner than you’ve ever seen them and you find yourself thinking that he looks good like this.

This is a different person from the Eddie you first met. The wolf in denim and leather who is intimidating, unapproachable, someone you wouldn’t want to get in a fight with. With the sharp glares beneath aviators and sharper remarks against anything you had to say. This is a man who has seen terrible things – done terrible things – and now gets to rest. A safe place where he can just live. Not be constantly fighting to survive.

If only he would sit around long enough to enjoy it.

The two of you finish your breakfast and clean up the dishes. Eddie roots through closets and cupboards until he finds a jacket that will fit you (since they tore yours apart to make a sling), a corduroy coat in a forest green that probably wouldn’t stand up well in the elements but keeps you warm nonetheless. He helps you slide it up one arm and hang it over your other shoulder. Your arm is still in your makeshift sling at his request, insisting it would be better to take it off in another day or two.

After that, he explains he’s going to go check the trap line Jeff normally has set up, see if there is anything caught so the two of you might be able to eat some fresh meat tonight. You offer to go with him, to try to help, but he’s quick to deny.

While he says something about your arm and wanting you to rest since it’s still healing, you get the feeling he just wants to be alone for a while. So you watch him re-emerge from one of the bedrooms down the hall in his jeans, boots, red and black tie dye shirt, and his leather jacket before walking out the door with a promise to be back before 3pm for Will’s call.

Leaving you to your own devices.

At first you snoop around the house, trying to bide time. Walk the walls like an art gallery – seeing old and faded photos of families, women in calico tear dresses and men in their ribbon shirts. Newer photos of people gathered in churches, an older man and his three kids all climbing on a pasture gate. 

Closer to the fridge, there is a set of three polaroid photos. The top is a family of four sitting on the porch of this house, a man and a woman sitting on the steps with a boy and a girl posing between them. The boy is older, looks almost 7, and the girl looks about 5, with his black pigtail braids draped over her shoulders. The other two are each centered on one of the kids; a shot of the boy with a stripe of grease on his cheek and holding some kind of contraption in his palms with a huge smile, the name ‘Ahuli’ written in cursive underneath, and a shot of the girl sitting on top of the father’s shoulders, her hair wild and windswept as she appears to scream out with laughter, the name ‘Tay’ written in cursive beneath.

This must be Jeff, Ama, and their kids. All living out here on this land. These were kids born after everything fell apart. A family created in utter tragedy. There’s something bittersweet about it all. These kids… This is the only world they know. A world ravaged by man eating man and fungus that takes over your body, pilots your muscles and tendons, and leaves you aware. Cities were destroyed and millions of people died and society collapsed. They don’t even really know it. They’ve probably been told, at least some of it. But they don’t have any idea of what it was before – don’t have anything to miss. This is what they have, have always had. A safe home with a happy family.

The chained creature roars in agony, jaws snapping at the bars like it will tear free and take out its anger on them, on their happiness. Roars for you to grab the polaroids and tear them to pieces, to destroy, to light fire to it all. Burn it to the ground.

You go for a walk.

Slip on your boots with some difficulty and just start walking. Past the outdoor shower, the light clucking of the henhouse behind, and out into the grass beyond. Going until you reach the edge of the fence line and then follow along it, looking out for anything that catches the eye. There are a few horses grazing on the property, a single cow with its calf in the acres beyond the fence. Birds flit by overhead and the drying grass shifts as small creatures scurry far away from you.

You’re not sure how long you walk but the sun beats down, along your shoulders and a sweat breaks out. The breeze keeps you from being miserable but you’re still definitely getting sunburnt along your cheekbones. You’d think after days and days of walking, you’d want to do anything but that. But this feels different. It’s peaceful and relaxing. You’re not on edge, listening to every sound and searching for any sign that something or someone is coming after you. Somehow, your body has gotten the message that you are safe (for the most part) within this chain link fence, allowing some portion of your guard down. So you walk and listen to the birds without constantly looking over your shoulder.

Somewhere toward the back acreage, you intercept Eddie on his way back to the house with a string connecting two dead animals hung over his shoulder. He looks surprised to see you but gives an awkward little wave, waiting along the fence until you get there. “Dinner?” You ask, free hand stuck in the pocket of your coat as you look over the furry animals hanging from him, one on his front and one on his back.

“Dinner,” he confirms with a small smile, adjusting the line holding the animals together before you set off back toward the house together. “I can skin ‘em easy enough, and make sure they’re cooked through, but can’t guarantee it’ll taste very good.”

“If you skin them, I can cook them. While I was snooping around the house, I found some bone broth and other stuff. Should be able to make something edible at least.”

His head tilts toward you, eyebrows raised slightly. “You know how to cook?”

“Yup,” you keep your eyes forward, across the waving prairie grass and toward the outcropping of trees that hides the house and barn. “My mom taught me. She used to work in the mess hall on the base.”

He audibly swallows beside you, a nervous pause before he asks, “When, uh… How long ago did she… pass?”

“Eight years, I think. 2008ish. I think it was summer.” Your voice remains surprisingly steady as you explain. “I still don’t even really know what happened. My dad just came home one day and told me she was gone. I was 17, old enough to be more aware of stuff, but it still felt like he was protecting me from something.” You kick at a stone that caught the tip of your toe in the tall grass, eyes on your dusty boots. “Guess now I’ll never know.”

You cross another 15 feet or so before he replies. “One of the shittier parts of keeping secrets. Once you’re gone, they’re gone too.”

You huff a small laugh, gazing ahead at the trees as you continue to inch closer. “He says as a man overflowing with secrets.”

“There’s a difference between not knowing someone and being ‘filled with’ secrets,” he points out, almost defensively.

“Oh yeah,” you roll your eyes, “because you’re an open book.”

He quiets down again, the silence growing more tense than before. When you finally glance over, you see him looking straight ahead, a muscle in his jaw rolling with tension. Despite your desire to say something else and lessen the sudden distance between you, you decide to let him sit in that. Stew in it even. Like maybe if you reflect that mirror right back at him, he’ll see something.

Maybe something will change for him. Even if you’re not going to be around to see it.

The rest of the walk is quiet as you pass back through the treeline. You follow Eddie into the barn, where he disappears through a door into the other half before reappearing sans animal carcases. The two of you settle in front of the radio again.

Will comes through at 3pm sharp with almost no news. No reply from Colorado about Memphis. No news about Jeff. The only thing he is able to tell you is that he will have more for you at 1300 tomorrow and he lets you know Max arrived at the farm early this morning, unharmed. It’s all in code, but you’re able to get the gist of it. When the radio clicks off, Eddie’s frustration boils over. He kicks hard at a metal can sitting on the ground, the side caving in before it goes sailing out the open door and bounces across the dirt drive of the house. You watch it roll to a stop before looking over at him, one hand on his hip and the other over his mouth as he stares at the object, the sun reflecting off the coating in a glare.

“I’m gonna go skin the animals.”

The door slams shut behind him.

You stare at the closed door for a few minutes before getting off the stool and heading back inside the house.

When you wake up on the couch a few hours later, the sun is even further toward the west. The light no longer shines into the windows of the front room, leaving it much darker than it had been when you and Eddie ate breakfast this morning. Rolling up to sit, you stretch overhead with one arm and a yawn before glaring down at the sling keeping your other arm captive. You’re well past tired of the limitation now and slip it over your head, tossing the fabric to the other end of the couch.

Extending your arm, there’s still some pain and discomfort, but as long as you don’t bring your arms above your head or lift too heavy with your bad arm, you’ll be fine without the sling. It is well past time you were able to use both hands again.

The heavy glance from Eddie when he slips back inside implies he disagrees, but it seems not enough to say anything.

Heavy footfall breaks up the silence until aluminum hits tile. “They’re cleaned. Are you still willing to cook?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Padding across the room in your socks, you step right up next to him to peer into the container. Trying to ignore the way he shifts his shoulder back to make room for you at the counter. Tilting your head toward him, you’re closer than you thought when you add, “Thank you for doing that.”

He looks surprised by the proximity too – brown eyes even just a little bit wider as he scans your face. You can see the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down in a hard swallow. The words sound a bit caught in his throat when he replies, “Sure, no problem.”

Although he looks nervous, maybe even uncomfortable, with how close the two of you are standing, he still makes no effort to move away. Neither do you, although you do lower your face to look over the meat before you in an attempt to ease some of the tension.

If you didn’t know any better, the warmth to your side makes you think he drifted even closer when you stopped looking.

Softly, entirely too intimate compared to the standoffish man who slammed the door behind him mere hours ago, he asks, “Do you want help cooking? Or can I go take a shower before we eat?”

“Go shower.” He doesn’t move an inch. “Oh, actually,” you twist and your noses almost knock together, causing both of you to jerk back in shock. What in the hell is happening right now?

“Could you…” Your voice is unsteady, a bit breathless. “Would you light the stove before you go? I’ve never used one like this before.”

The corner of his mouth tilts up in a small smile before he drops down to his knees right there beside you. Steady hands reach in toward the wood burning stove as you avert your eyes, shifting out of his space and over toward the cabinets you scoped out earlier. Overwhelmed by his quick change in attitude, you busy yourself in preparation until he pushes himself up with a groan.

Seeking some normalcy, you sigh louder than necessary. “Sorry, shouldn’t have asked you to do that. Old knees and all.”

He huffs a laugh, hair shifting while he shakes his head in your periphery. “Careful, Bambi, or I’ll have to give you a taste of what these knees can do.”

A laugh bursts out of you before you can contain it, turning toward him again. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

His eyes narrow playfully, a hand raising in an accusatory point. “Better hope you never find out.” Raising your hands in surrender, you turn back to the counter before he offers one more, “Anything else before I go?”

“Nope, all good here. Thanks.”

He dips his head in acknowledgment before leaving you to your cooking.

As the door clicks shut behind him, you find yourself wondering which Eddie will he be when he gets back.

Evening of August 24th, 2016 – Three Corners, Cherokee Nation, Oklahoma

The chirp of crickets is nearly deafening out on the dusty porch now that the sun has sunk below the horizon. It echoes through the circular clearing of the drive – ricocheting off of thick foliage and the aluminum siding of the barn in a chorus of hissing. A cacophony of noise that drowns out everything but the creak of the rocking chair while it slowly shifts beneath you.

A knit blanket, softened with age, is draped across your lap, frayed edges rolling between your fingertips as you look out over the darkening landscape. The wind has softened from earlier today, meaning you don’t really need the blanket to combat the cold itself. But there’s something about curling up on the porch with a blanket that feels so… Novelty. Comforting.

Another thing you never thought you’d be able to do again.

Dinner with Eddie had been… Strange. He wasn’t quite the tease from when he brought back in the meat, but also wasn’t the grump you left in the barn. Somewhere in between – or maybe something else entirely.

His mood appeared to be wildly shifting by the hour and left you feeling unsure in how to act. While dinner itself had gone relatively easily, you couldn’t help being uneasy by what the next shift might bring.

After eating, he’d insisted on cleaning up. You didn’t fight him on it and made yourself scarce. Found your current blanket, bundled it up into your arms to keep it from dragging across the ground, and made your way to your current spot in the rapidly darkening dusk air. Taking a little while to breathe in fresh air and do your best to reach some sort of relaxed state.

You don’t get anywhere close before the metal hinge of the door behind you creaks open to announce your companion’s arrival.

“I come bearing gifts.”

A cool, glass bottle of liquid is set in your lap – two long fingers releasing either side of the neck before retreating out of view again. Twisting it toward you, you recognize the label of the familiar liquor.

“Where did you get this?”

Eddie drops into the rocking chair beside you with a sigh while he sets a flickering candle on the floor between you both before moving to untwist the top off his own bottle. “A lady does not reveal her secrets,” he murmurs before lifting the bottle to his lips and taking three long swigs. He hisses in through his teeth as it lowers, face contorting in a sort of pleasured pain before falling slack. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Curious if the label is true to the contents, you’re quick to follow - popping the top and bringing the cool glass mouth up to your lips in a more cautious sip than Eddie’s gulps. Sure enough, the liquor is strong and sharp as the burn invades your mouth before sliding down your throat. You groan slightly, not sure if it’s a good thing or not, as you lower the bottle again.

“That’s strong,” you cough slightly, face pulled back in a grimace. “Haven’t had any real shit in a long, long time.”

“Yeah, well.” He glances over at you, brown eyes warm and bright in the dancing flame between you, as the corner of his mouth tips up in a small smile. “Don’t get used to it, Bambi.”

“You sure they won’t miss these?” You ask him, curiously. Despite the burn, you bring the bottle up to your lips again, seeking the numbness that is sure to follow.

He takes another long chug, releasing his mouth with another hiss. “I stashed ‘em here. Guess I should feel lucky they didn’t drink them.”

“Guess so.”

Silence falls again. Or, what can be considered silence beyond the buzz of insects in the dark. You both continue to silently nurse your bottles – you more gently than him – as the red hues of the sun disappear into the navy blue blanket of stars.

When you glance over at Eddie, he has his head hanging back, the base of his skull resting on the back of the rocking chair, baring his throat to the night. He looks exhausted but at rest. Like the alcohol is finally lulling him into some semblance of ease. His legs are splayed wide with the bottle resting between them, hands loosely resting on his thighs. The salt and pepper scruff on his jaw grown thicker than when you’d first met him and his hair pulled back haphazardly.

It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him. Completely unguarded. Even with you right there beside him.

Which makes him breaking the silence first even more terrifying.

“I think I owe you an apology.”

You try not to tense too much in response, looking over at him again. His head is still facing up but his eyes are open now, trained on the stars above you both.

While you can think of a few things, you’re still unsure exactly what he might be referring to. “I feel like I might regret asking this but, for what?”

His hands shift in his lap, tensing into fists before relaxing again. Shoulders rising and falling in a heaving sigh, his eyes pinch closed again. “I haven’t exactly treated you fairly since we met. I…” He trails off, head slowly lulling forward to glance at you before sticking to the ground before him. He clears his throat before continuing again. “Your dad and I never liked each other very much, for a lot of reasons. The biggest one being how he treated Rob.”

You can’t help but cut him off there, confusion apparently in your face. “What do you mean how he treated Robin?”

Eyes shifting over to you nervously, he takes another swig before explaining. “I’m sure you know the story - your dad and Rob’s mom had her really young, didn’t know what they were doing, all that. You probably heard the sugarcoated version but your dad just kinda up and left them. Didn’t really call, definitely didn’t visit. Moved on… Started a new family.”

Your heart burns then, sorrow and guilt pulling you in different directions. A new family – your family. 

“Robin never blamed you, or your mom for that matter. She’s never had anything but good things to say about you.” He’s quick to add, making minimal eye contact with you as he continues to explain. “But I did. I was real protective of Rob around the time your dad came back around wanting to make amends. I remember how much it hurt her. And I think a part of me always blamed you for that.”

Definitely not what you were expecting, you don’t say another word, waiting to see if he’ll keep going. It’s a bit painful; knowing he disliked you for something that couldn’t have possibly been your fault. Almost like he hated you just for being born.

“Anyway, that wasn’t cool or fair of me. The fault was always with your dad and his choices. So… I’m sorry.”

While the sentiment is appreciated, it’s still hard to swallow. You counteract the choking feeling it leaves in your throat with another sip of hard liquor.

“Thanks for telling me.” You offer softly. While you might not be ready to forgive him or even to accept it, you’re still at least grateful to understand a little better why your relationship had seemed doomed from the start.

His chest rumbles in a hum of acknowledgment, turning his attention to his bottle again. You let that hang in the air for a little longer before you speak up again. “What were some of the other reasons?” You ask curiously, looking anywhere but his face. He mumbles a ‘huh?’, urging you to clarify. “You said there were a lot of reasons you and him didn’t like each other. What else?”

You see him grapple with the question, rolling it around in his mouth as he figures out how to chew it. The liquor has definitely loosened him, mentally and physically. Maybe you shouldn’t press for more info like this but… Maybe this is your only chance.

“He tracked me down a few years ago. 2011, I think. It was a week after… After my Uncle Wayne died.” His voice is thick with emotion now, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration as he remembers it. “He asked me to help him with something – something big. But I… We argued. Barely held back from punching him square in the jaw a couple times. He said a lot of shit about ‘expecting more from me’ as if he knew me at all,” he let out a bitter chuckle, his head shaking slightly.

“I was in a lot of pain,” he admits, slightly choked up. You’re shocked still, not sure how to handle this turn of events. Should I comfort him? Let him talk through it? Ask more questions? “I told him to go fuck himself and he called me a selfish bastard. And we kept our distance from each other after that. I’m sure he’s probably rolling in his grave right now knowing I’m one of the people escorting you around.” A huff of a laugh at that, bringing the bottle back up to his lips before his eyes widen and glance your direction. “Sorry.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat. “No, uh… Don’t worry about it.”

Suddenly feeling yourself scramble for something else to say or some way to keep the conversation going, you put your foot right in your mouth by asking, “What happened to your Uncle Wayne?”

He looks at you, shock and maybe even offense clear on his face, and you wince as you kick yourself mentally. What kind of question is that? What the fuck do you think happened to him, idiot –

“Cancer, actually.”

Not sure if you’re more shocked by that response or the fact that he actually answered, you focus in on his face now to make sure he knows he has your attention.

“He worked in a factory for years and years before everything fell apart and smoked a shit ton. Lungs started giving out a couple years after everything fell apart. Coughing blood, wheezin’, the whole thing. Wasn’t really much anyone could do, everything being like it is.” 

He pauses to take another long gulp of liquor, the points of his cheekbones tinged pink with it. Or maybe emotion, it’s hard to tell in the candlelight. “Did everything we could but he, uh… Decided he was ready. Said he didn’t wanna wait around for the day he tried to take a breath and couldn’t. So I helped him out to a church in a small town that’d already been picked clean. Held his hand while he said his prayers. Gave him a hug. Gave him a pistol.”

Your heart drops into your stomach, Eddie’s gaze far off. Reliving the moments in his head. “Went outside and shut the doors. Waited… waited until the shot went off.” His hand harshly clasps over his mouth as he leans forward, nearly knocking the bottle to the floor as he leans his face away. You can still see the reflection of the tears escaping his eyes.

The softest whisper you can muster, you twist your fists in the blanket in your lap. “Eddie… I’m so sorry.”

His face pinches tight, tears spilling out of his closed eyes, as he shakes off the feeling and rights himself again. “Better end than most people get nowadays,” he admits, voice rough and dismissive. “Least he got to decide on his own terms. Not everybody gets that chance.”

Pained by his dismissal but accepting this is how he needs it to be, you give a solemn nod. After Memphis, you’ve learned your lesson about pushing him.

“Haven’t talked about that in a long time,” he adds with an embarrassed laugh, rubbing his scruff with the palm of his hand. And while there are still tears in his eyes, he looks a little bit lighter. A little bit more free. Your mind flashes to the church in Memphis – Eddie staring up at the missing head of Jesus in reverence, a pistol strapped to his belt.

Searching for something.

You tip forward, the chair creaking as you rest your feet on the ground below you. He looks over at the noise, watching as you lift your bottle towards his in an offering.

“To doing things on your own terms,” you toast quietly, a small smile on your face.

He blinks at you a few times before a small smile tugs at his own face again. Eventually, the bottom edge of his bottle gently clinks against your own.

“To doing things on your own terms.”

August 25th, 2016 – Three Corners, Cherokee Nation, Oklahoma

It’s with a lot of difficulty that you blink your eyes open from a dead sleep – heavy lids and crusty corners protesting the smallest movement. Warmth surrounds you, coaxing you back to rest and away from the headache that is already starting to appear behind your eyes. It must be very early based on the blue toned light that comes in through the window, which you’re not even conscious enough to realize is not in the same spot as it was yesterday.

Barely aware of anything other than how comfortable you are right now and how much you have to pee, you groan softly before attempting to move.

You freeze up when there’s an answering groan from behind you and the weight around your waist tightens to pull you back in.

Shocked fully awake now, you take stock of your surroundings. You’re in a bed you’ve never seen before. There’s a half empty bottle of liquor on the floor beside you. Your pants are gone. And there’s a tattooed forearm wrapped tightly around your torso, belonging to the warm body lining your back. Hot air coasts along the back of your shoulders, the slightest hint of scruff on your skin, and the rhythmic rise and fall of his sleeping chest.

You’re in bed with Eddie. And you don’t remember how you got here.

Heart starting to pound in your chest, you try to calm yourself from spiraling with questions, many of them starting and ending with why am I not wearing pants–

He shifts behind you and you hold your breath, waiting to see if he’s waking up. You remember he drank a lot more than you so, with any luck, you’ll be able to extract yourself from this situation before anything too horribly awkward happens. When he falls still again, curled tight to the back of you, you cycle through your options.

First and worst, make a scene. Scramble out of the bed, shouting and hiding the fact that you’re half undressed, and mortify both of you in the process. Absolutely not.

Second, try to slowly and carefully remove yourself from his hold. Maybe you could replace yourself with a pillow or something, give him something else to hold onto. Or maybe just remove yourself and make a break for the door, hoping he doesn’t wake up in the 5 seconds between and realize what happened.

Third, accept this is your life now. After all, it’s really comfortable. He’s warm and holding you tight – comforting and safe. Feeling his breath across the back of your neck. You feel like you could drift right off again if not for the slight pressure of something against your lower back…

You need to get up. Now.

Like you’re the worst secret agent navigating the worst bank vault ever seen, you somehow manage to extract yourself from Eddie’s surprisingly tight grip. He moans in disapproval but remains asleep, bringing a pillow in to tuck against his chest in a poor replacement. If it wasn’t for the nearly empty bottle on his bedside table, this surely would’ve gone a whole lot worse.

Taking a few moments to admire his sleeping form in the early morning light – the crows feets beside his eyes only noticeable as tan lines, the harshly indented wrinkles between his brows smoothed over – you rush out of the room when he adjusts again just in case he’s waking up.

You make a pit stop in the room you stayed in the previous night, grabbing a pair of pants from the piles of clothes on the floor, and lock yourself in the bathroom.

After a quick wee, you appraise yourself in the mirror. Your hair is a mess. As messy as it normally gets with sleep, you tell yourself. You don’t have any hickies or other noticeable signs of something less “friendly” happening. In fact, it really just feels like you had the best sleep you’ve had in years, not including the rapidly progressing hangover you’re experiencing now. Still, you think back to last night, trying to remember how you might have ended up in Eddie’s bed.

After he told you about Wayne, the two of you ended up reminiscing on other people you’d both lost along the way. Your school friends, his band mates (other than Jeff), both your parents, a few of the friends he made in high school. A little bit of pondering where you both would be now if the world hadn’t gone to shit. He talked a little bit about Memphis and what he’d lost, which you listened to intently. Then… Nothing.

Resting a hand against your forehead as you stare at yourself in the mirror, you’re terrified to realize you can’t remember what happened between the two of you sitting on the porch and when you woke up in his arms this morning.

What the hell did you do?

-

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i bet you thought you'd seen the last of me!!!!! well guess what!!!! you haven't.

i obviously went a lot longer than i wanted before updating this but i have never, ever stopped thinking about it. i still have it all fleshed out in my head and i will finish it if it kills me. i appreciate your patience in the meantime.

and let me know what you think!! comments and reblogs mean the world <3

[nerdypuddincup]

He wiped the blood from his face as he rose up from his knees. His eyes sunken into his scarred and radiated skull. But they burned with a fire that only the combined trauma of 200 plus years could amass. As he rose, his bones audibly cracked and snapped into place. His mutation did have several draw backs, but he was a hard bastard to kill. So, there was that at the very least.

With a flick of his wrist, his specialty rounds shot out from his modified revolver/shotgun hybrid. The bullet tore through the ar and the machine that had previously put him down was sent crashing down as a bunch of scrap metal.

A collection of blood had pooled in his mouth, which he promptly spat out. The sound of his spurs clinked on the metal floor of the Vault as he repositioned himself. His gun held up at eye level.

“What is this? Who the hell are you?!” A voice asked the Ghoul. A voice that he knew all too well.It was a voice that he had longed to hear. A voice that would whisper sweet nothings as they made love the first time, a voice so tired and yet so sweet when it cooed to their newborn daughter, and a voice that cut like a dagger when he heard it say America would nuke itself.

The sound of her voice rang in his ears, almost made him stumble more than the Mr. Handy ever could. She was older now, a few more deep lines, and hair gray. But compared to himself, she was quite well put together. And out here, in post-apocalyptia one was so much changed than they once were.

“Answer me goddamnit!” Demanded the woman in the Vault Suit demanded. The woman who at one point, had been his wife. Lifetimes ago. An entirely different world, not this strange alien dssert that they had come to know. There were trees, there was drinking water, there was laughter. Now, it was a shriveled caricature of what it once was. Much like the Ghoul who held the woman he knew but did not know him at gunpoint. There were so many things that he wanted to say. He wanted to shout, to scream, to cuss, he also wanted to embrace her, kiss her, and kick her and kill her. He gritted his teeth, focusing. He had been dreaming for a very long time. And he would not squander the opportunity now. He was a professional after all. He had rehearsed the line time and time again. Finally, the bounty hunter spoke. It was a voice etched with indignation that ran deeper than the lines on the woman’s face.

“I am the righteous hand of God.” He said, pulling back the hammer of his gun. “And I am the Devil that you forgot.” His eyes narrowed. “I told you one day that I’d be back, and Hell’d be comin’ with me.”

And with that, his finger pulled the trigger and a bullet ripped through the air.

[blacklegsanjiii]

Finally got my thoughts together about Rayleigh!Sanji.

Germa is in Sabaody for some reason or another when Reiju gets Sanji out and to Shakky's Rip Off Bar with Sanji still in the helmet. Reiju bows to Rayleigh who is the only one in the bar and runs away and Rayleigh can't even argue because she's gone faster than he can recover so he looks at the kid in the helmet and sighs. He gets the helmet off with armament and looks at the starved and sunken face of the child trapped in the contraption and he's angry.

Sanji is skittish and jumpy and so fucking quiet and Rayleigh doesn't exactly know how to comfort this kid and wishes Roger were here because he would know. So they get the kid bathed and his hair brushed. Shakky asks what the plan is because someone might come looking for the kid and it's going to be even more suspicious if Dark King Rayleigh has him. They talk it over and as much as Rayleigh would like to keep the kid in one place, Sabaody is not the place to keep him.

So they set sail. The boat is small enough for them to both handle but strong enough to withstand the Grand Line. Rayleigh is wondering what to do to make money, he looks at Sanji and how scared the kid still is and tells it to Sanji plainly: that if they're going to stay together Sanji is going to have to learn to fight and be a pirate. Sanji listens and nods so Rayleigh also says they're going to need a crew. Also his bounty is going to fucking sky rocket.

They do actually manage to find some crew relatively easily, it's Rayleigh and he vets the crew as much as he can. Sanji sticks close to Rayleigh, training and everything else. He cooks with crew cook and Rayleigh sparsely lets him out of his sight. Sanji is learning quickly even if it's out of fear, not Rayleigh per say but his new life.

Rayleigh is of course right about his bounty and how it sky rockets and rocks the world that he is back. Luckily they get a new boat fit for the crew they have amassed and what's going on. They run into White Beard who looks at Rayleigh and asks why he set sail again. Rayleigh just grabs Sanji and holds him out to the fellow captain as White Beard starts yelling about his other brats. Rayleigh answers that he knows he fucked up and plans to apologize to them but look at this kid, he's a dead royal!

They party and drink and Sanji is around other kids, other brats for the first time. Rayleigh smiles as he plays and talks to other kids and tests his sword skills and everything. Rayleigh eventually grabs his brat who's about to pass out like he did when Buggy and Shanks were little. They leave with threats and promises aplenty.

Sanji isn't particularly protective of his hands after being in the New World for so long, he uses swords and is very skilled at them. He sets himself of fire. Rayleigh blinks at him and calls Shakky to ask what the fuck can set themselves on fire with no issue and she responds with a couple of options. Rayleigh sighs because yeah, okay. This tracks for him and the kids he's raised. He was never going to be dealt an easy hand and he should know that.

Rayleigh is titled an Emperor and he does his best, which is better than before but still not great, raising Sanji. They don't run into Shanks or anyone else. Sanji cooks all the time and is still just as good as he is in canon and still holds the 'if they're hungry I'll feed them' mentality because of the dungeon and how rough it was when they first set sail. They meet Ace and they talk before he leaves to fight Kaido.

They're back at Sabaody for to get news from Shakky. Sanji's bounty does list him as 'Silvers Sanji' as he heads to the auction house to watch the chaos. That new upstart from the East Blue is there and he punches a celestial dragon. Sanji chuckles to himself at the supernovas and their behavior towards one another. For some reason Rayleigh managed to get himself captured and is using his haki to knock almost everyone out and free the mermaid and the giant. Sanji calls to Rayleigh about the navy as he lights a cigarette and goes outside to greet the marines who are there. The marines widen their eyes at him as Luffy, Law and Kidd come out. He grins at them and asks if they're sure they can handle it but like no one really recognizes him because Law, Kidd and Luffy don't pay attention to other's really, especially not emperors yet.

After all that hubbub and before Kuma the Strawhats, Rayleigh and Sanji are in the bar and Sanji sits next to Rayleigh as he asks how the marines were and Sanji says 'lame as usual, always so surprised when I set on fire.' which makes Rayleigh laugh as they all talk. Afterwards they mention they're headed to Impel Down to go get Buggy which the Romance Dawn trio grits their teeth at. Sanji waves at them as they leave and the Kuma gets them.

Then the news comes out about Ace's execution and Rayleigh sighs. He can't let the kid die, it was his captain's kid and he's a pirate again. He has debts to be paid and dues to be collected when he boards the Dutchman and his crew nod and agree, they'll get Buggy and Ace. They get into Impel Down after Luffy and see the reckoning going on so they leave to head to the execution as they're putting their faith into Luffy for the moment there. They meet up with the White Beard fleet and Roger was never one for a fleet, neither is Rayleigh so when Luffy and those from Impel Down escape the war begins.

The battle rages and when Akainu goes to punch Luffy, Rayleigh interrupts, telling him to pick on someone his own size as they start fighting. When Shanks shows up as Buggy is filming everything Sanji grins as he skywalks Ace and Luffy to Marco and drops them in front of the bird man before bolting back with a salute. When Shanks lets out that huge blast of haki and ends the war for everyone to collect their dead and injured, Sanji sky walks back with Rayleigh who claims to be old for Sanji to be doing that. Ace and Luffy are staring at the blond they've both seen once as Shanks and Buggy stare wide eyed at the brat.

Sanji shrugs and lights a cigarette as he lands then introduces himself to Shanks and Buggy. Luffy asks why they didn't get here sooner and Rayleigh points at his ship which has a crew of like eleven people including him and Sanji and thanks him for getting Buggy out. They both apologize to Marco for his losses and how they couldn't protect more and Buggy interrupts to ask who the fuck the blond is and what their plan even was.

"Oh, we got news you had been sent to Impel Down so we were coming to get you." Rayleigh answers. "This is Sanji, my last brat, I didn't get a choice." Rayleigh laughs.

"I'm basically your little brother." Sanji nods as Shanks looks at Rayleigh and Buggy sighs and rubs his temples.

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - Odd Jobs

Witchers make a living by walking the Path. Every Spring, Geralt travels back and forth across the Continent, offering his services in exchange for coin. Most of the jobs he takes involve getting rid of monsters, or bringing back the pieces of them that mages or healers need for their spells or potions. He's also done bodyguarding, bounty hunting, and even the odd job here and there.

Geralt had no idea that the job he was going to take was going to be one of those odd jobs.

He'd been approached by a boy of barely 8 years, begging him to help him get rid of a monster.

Great. A child. Geralt did not like dealing with children. They tended to scream a lot, and p*ss themselves. Or follow you around and talk incessantly, and they had no sense of personal space, like a certain someone he knew...

"Stop doing that with your face, you're scaring the poor boy!" Jaskier admonished Geralt, who was scowling. Geralt attempted to look a little more friendly.

"Well, now you just look like you licked a nekker's ar*ehole!"

"Hm!"

"Just go stand over there and let me handle this."

Geralt waited by Roach while Jaskier talked to the boy. He had probably been sent by his parents while they ran other errands. How inconvenient. But as long as the job paid well...

Jaskier returned moments later, his expression odd. "He said to follow him, and he will show us where he saw the monster."

Geralt frowned, "Jaskier, what the h*ll is going on?"

"He wants to hire you to get rid of a monster? I mean, I thought it was obvious, Geralt."

"I'm being hired by a child?"

"He said the pay was negotiable. We can always talk to his parents afterwards."

Geralt bristled, then 'hmm'ed and looked away, thinking. There were so many things about this that he didn't like. But what harm could it do to go and look? He could tell the boy wasn't lying, and was truly afraid. Geralt didn't want to leave things to chance.

They followed the boy on foot, having left Roach in town since they weren't going far, according to the boy. Geralt 'hm'ed in quiet disaproval as the small human led them off the road, cut through the grass and led them into the forest. Jaskier's eyes were sparkling with excitement when the boy paused and said "This is the way to our hideout. It's a secret, so you can't tell anyone about it!" He looked at Jaskier.

The bard quickly nodded, held up his left hand and used his right to cross his heart.

The boy looked at Geralt expectantly.

Jaskier looked at Geralt expectantly.

Geralt 'hmmm'ed and crossed his heart.

The boy nodded, satisfied, and led them along a path that was little more than a deer track.

They crossed a small stony creek, turned right at a massive, rotting tree stump, and walked down an ancient sunken lane. Jaskier was frantically taking notes and making sketches in his notebook, babbling on excitedly with the boy about the holloway. Geralt knew he was probably already mentally composing an embelished song about a fae tree tunnel or something.

The path was short, and ended at the remains of an ancient stone wall. There was a large hole in it, large enough for a man to pass through. The boy clammered through the hole with practiced ease.

Geralt walked up to the crumbling wall and 'hm'ed' unhappily.

"Oh, where's your sense of adventure?" Jaskier asked as he ducked through the little tunnel.

"It seems to have b*ggered off somewhere with your common sense."

Jaskier's arm poked back through the hole on Geralt's side of the wall. His wrist did a complicated little twist, fingers doing a fluid little dance, and then, with a flourish, he extended his middle finger.

Geralt slapped the hand down and followed him through the wall.

On the other side was an impressive, if somewhat lopsided, and crooked structure that looked like a woodshed with inexpertly done additions. It was a slapped together conglomeration of stones, sticks, various tree parts, and scavenged bits of building materials from the town.

There was also a pack of children of various ages gathered a healthy distance away from the 'hideout''. They huddled tightly together when they saw Geralt approaching, cringing when his shadow fell over them.

Geralt looked down at them, at their frightened faces, and rumbled quietly, making his tone as soft as possible, "I'm here about the monster. Your friend hired me to get rid of it."

One of the children, a girl of about 6 years, inched forward and quavered, "It's a bogeyman! It came out of the corner by the fire pit and screamed at us! It chased us out and we haven't been able to go back in. Merik tried to go in yesterday, and it was still there! It screamed and came at him from the shadows."

"A bogeyman," Geralt said cocking an eyebrow. He looked at Jaskier, 'hmm'ed and said, "A bogeyman," in case Jaskier hadn't heard the first time.

Jaskier gave him a warning look before crouching down, "Can you describe it for him, love?" he asked the little girl. "So he knows what kind of bogeyman it is?"

The bogeyman was blurry, had big, black holes where it's eyes should be in it's deathly white face. It's body was made of inky shadows and wind. And it screamed like a banshee.

It didn't sound like any monster Geralt had ever seen. He decided to just go have a look for himself.

"Stay with the children." Geralt said to Jaskier as he marched off to the jumble of a house. He carefully cracked open the door and slipped inside. It was dark, but he could easily see what had frightened the children. It was up in the rafters in the corner, watching him.

Geralt rolled his eyes and, since no one was around to see him, smiled. Kids and their imaginations.

Jaskier was entertaining the children with one of those inappropriate songs about body parts and bodily functions that kids love so much, when crashing and screaming erupted from inside the house.

The children screamed and joined Jaskier in hiding behind a fallen log. There were thumps, bumps, scrapes, and thuds overlayed by Geralt's growls and shouted expletives.

Jaskier and the children gasped when Geralt came flying backwards out the door, crashed to the ground, jumped up, and charged back inside, roaring like a bull. There was more screaming, more sounds of struggling. The children were peeking over the edge of the log along with Jaskier, imagining the epic battle that was raging inside.

Geralt crashed through one of the windows on the side of the house, rolling and struggling with a black, shadowy thing that was flapping and flipping in his hands.

They disappeard behind the house as they struggled, and then reappeard, rolling on the ground. Geralt punched and kicked, and slashed at it with his silver sword. He gained his feet, grabbed the thing and started beating it on the ground, then pinned it in the dirt with his sword and cast Igni. The thing burst into flames, turning to ash.

Once the nightmare had been slain, the children had calmed down and came over to confirm that the bogeyman was really dead. Then it was time take care of business.

Jaskier watched as Geralt accepted the payment for his contract. He solemnly held out his hand, and the boy dumped a collection of items into it. There was an impressive amount of coppers, and an assortment of bits and bobs.

"You said the pay was negotiable. I'll take this as my payment," Geralt said, taking a cat's tooth out of the pile. He could give it to Yen for her spells. He handed the coins and other treasures back to the boy, then rose and nodded to them.

He was mentally thrown off balance when several of the children hugged him. He patted their heads awkwardly and assured them that their secret hideout's location was safe, then went on his way.

"So what was it?" Jaskier asked as they navigated their way back to the road.

"A barn owl. I cast Axii on it to keep it calm and wrapped it in an old cloak I found in the corner. I let it go when I went around the back of the house."

Jaskier laughed, "So you just stomped around, banged on some stuff, and made a bunch of noise to make it sound convincing. And let me guess, you used Aard to throw yourself through the door?"

Geralt: *Affirmative Hmm*

"Well, it was very believable, especially the part where you were struggling with the bogeyman outside. Very convincing. Have you ever thought of going into theater? You'd make a good actor."

"No. I have too much self respect."

"But you would look so good in hose! You have very nice legs, and such a lovely bott-!"

Geralt bumped Jaskier, causing him to step in a pile of fresh deer droppings.

"My boots! These were new, you jacka**!"

They made it back to town, Jaskier had fodder for his next song, and Geralt had a humorously odd story to tell that winter.

[rpgsandbox]

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