#the constant pain from my back and dehydration?

[ringchollyandfriends]

I haven't had a panic/anxiety attack in a long long time and I just had one in the bath room at work.

I'm sure there's multiple reasons, but I can't pinpoint which one exactly.

Time for slow deep breaths

[tightjeansjavi]

Forsaken, Forgotten Without Any Love

A/N: PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. THIS FIC IS VERY DARK AND MAY BE TRAUMATIC FOR SOME READERS. PLEASE READ EACH INDIVIDUAL WARNING BEFORE PROCEEDING TO READ. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CHOOSE TO CONSUME. Thank you to my pookie @syd-djarin for betaing and the beautiful moodboard <3 this is for my June writing challenge lovers to enemies

word count: 15.3k

Summary: you and Joel Miller met in the springtime. You were as naive as a fawn, and he was a ruthless guard dog. You were willing to do anything to survive, and he could offer you protection for the exchange of your body and whatever else he wanted. The mutual understanding you had worked…until it didn’t.

Pairing | dark!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: ‼️DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT‼️GRAPHIC NON/CON, HEAVY COERCION AND MANIPULATION, VERBAL ABUSE, THREATS, TRAUMATIC VIRGINITY LOSS, CANON TYPICAL VIOLENCE, GASLIGHTING, MISOGYNY, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF WOUNDS, LANGUAGE, IMPLIED AGE GAP (READER IS OF VOTING AGE WHEN THE OUTBREAK HAPPENS), SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, THANATOPHOBIA (FEAR OF DEATH AND DYING) MENTIONS OF GUNS/KNIVES, SEX IN EXCHANGE FOR PROTECTION, NO HAPPY ENDING, HEAVY, HEAVY, HEAVY ANGST & GRAPHIC THEMES, readers nickname is little fawn, +18 MINORS DNI!

We met in the springtime when blossoms unfold. The pastures were green and the meadows were gold. Our love was in flower as summer grew on, her love like the leaves now have withered and gone.

Forsaken - abandoned or deserted

When you and Joel Miller first met after the world had gone to shit, and the home you once knew was no longer, it was springtime in the Boston QZ. The name Joel Miller rolled off the tongues of many residents of what remained of Boston. But who was Joel Miller really? Just another survivor haunted by the looming shadows of his past? A man hardened by loss, grief, and indescribable pain? Or was he more than just his brute strength, quick tongue, and menacing stature?

You never intended to find out what laid beneath his defensive façade, but like most things, it all happened…unexpectedly.

“I can’t.” You whispered solemnly through the drenched fabric of the bandana secured around your face. A makeshift mask to help with the constant stench of rotting flesh, death, and charred bones. It was one of the many grueling jobs the QZ had to offer, but it was not meant for those with a weak stomach as you learned very quickly.

He turned to you, a ghost of a scoff painted on his cracked and dehydrated lips. He barely acknowledged your presence with a slight roll of his shoulders. His piercing brown eyes hardened on your face, and then the culprit of your reason to bother him. A child, wrapped in a dirty cloth to be discarded with the rest of the dead infected, lay in the open bed of the truck, face covered completely.

When you opened your mouth to speak again, perhaps an explanation as to why you couldn’t dispose of the adolescents body, Joel Miller let out a grunt, brushing against your shoulder rather roughly. His arms tucked under the child’s limp corpse, lifting it from the bed of the truck with ease. He felt nothing, no remorse, not a lick of empathy washed over him.

“Move.” He snipped unkindly.

Your jaw went slack at his harshness, teeth grinding down and catching on the sensitive flesh of your inner cheek causing a burst of copper to ignite on your tongue. You stepped off to the side, body working on autopilot at this mystery man’s gruff command.

Joel could have shown that his latent Texas gentleman manners were not completely buried. He could have, but he didn’t. Instead he marched past you, carrying the corpse to the nearby pit. He paused, looking straight ahead with a dull expression on his face before he dropped the corpse from his arms and into the smoldering flames below.

He walked back to the truck where you were left dumbly standing looking like a lost lamb in all of this surrounding death. He wiped the dirt and grime from his hands with an old rag that was sticking out of the worn denim jeans that clung to his thighs like a vice. “Jus’ a word of advice, don’t let anyone around here know your weakness. They’ll tear you apart before you even see ‘em coming.” His unmistakable Texas twang reminded you of home, a simpler time when the world was normal and each day was promised, or so you used to believe.

“Thank you.” You nodded, reaching your hand out as an offering, an extension of friendship that sent his right eye twitching at your meekness.

“Ain’t a reason to thank me. Didn’t ask for it.” He eyed your outstretched hand suspiciously, eyes narrowed and brows tightly furrowed across his forehead.

You frowned, unable to conceal your immediate reaction to his denial of your kindness. Despite the world fucking ending, and your own losses, you were softer than most, and that made you an easy target. You were as soft as salt water taffy melting on someone’s tongue. Or the gooey center of a charred marshmallow on a stick. Joel Miller wasn’t accustomed to someone of the likes of you. You were foreign, something taboo—too soft for his liking. How the hell you managed to survive the cordyceps outbreak was beyond him.

He didn’t even give you the chance to respond when he abruptly turned on the heel of his steel-toed boots, and stalked off in the direction of where the ration cards for the day's work were being distributed. He staggered at an angle that looked mildly uncomfortable, especially in his lower back, and you could see that he favored his dominant side based on his gait. The words you planned to present to him died in your throat. You couldn’t help but feel miffed by his dismissal, but all the more intrigued to know what this grumpy, guarded man was really all about.

-

Every resident in the QZ had their means to get by in life. Some kept going for family, others for power and brutality—authority above all. Some were like Joel Miller; holding little value to their life, and spending their days drinking like a fish, and popping smuggled pills to alleviate the constant emotional and physical pain that they carried like a heavy burden on their shoulders. As for you? You simply were just trying to get by unscathed. Death terrified you, haunted you even in your dreams. Your survival was purely based on luck, with little to no survival skill sets. It was a fucking miracle that you had survived this long on your own.

That’s why you were the perfect candidate to join the elusive Fireflies. Marlene sought you out one evening before curfew in the QZ’s makeshift community circle. It was an open space sheltered between two buildings where residents could converse freely for a short period of time. Marlene and the Fireflies had one goal in mind; to overthrow FEDRA and liberate all of Boston’s QZ residents from the government's cruel and unjust authority.

Marlene could sense that you were weak minded and naive the second she laid eyes on you from across the way. The way you nervously fidgeted with your fingers in your lap, glancing around every so often as if you had something to hide. You stuck out like a sore thumb, the ugly duckling in a sea of normal…people.

The chair adjacent from where you were sitting scraped along the concrete like nails on chalkboard and your posture immediately stiffened at the sudden intrusion. Your invisible safety bubble had been popped, and there was nowhere for you to hide.

“Easy, friend.” Her tone was a complete juxtaposition to Joel’s innate harshness. Marlene’s eyes were kind, soft in the low light of the slow setting sun. You felt like you could immediately trust her, and maybe even view her as an ally? “Mind if I sit?” She gestured to the chair across from you, the same chair that dragged across the concrete and made you alert in the first place.

You eyed this stranger warily, glancing around before you meekly nodded, not finding your words quite yet. Marlene pulled up the chair, sitting down quietly with her forearms resting against the table in a casual motion.

“So.” She started, “you’re fairly new to the QZ, aren’t you?”

“…yes, how did you know?” You weren’t aware that you were sitting across from one of FEDRA’s most wanted, and the leader of the rebellious group known as the Fireflies.

“Sweetheart, I have eyes and ears all over the QZ.” She gestured to the surrounding area with her hands in emphasis.

“Really?” Your eyes widened slightly in shock and for a moment you were questioning whether you should get up and leave, or wait to hear what this woman had to say. “Are you…FEDRA?”

“No, not FEDRA.” She shook her head, reaching her hand out across the table in your direction, “I’m Marlene, leader of the rebellion, and commander of the Boston QZ Fireflies.”

Fireflies. You had heard the hushed whisperings of the ‘terrorist’ group that was at war with FEDRA. Sometimes there were calculated bombings, planned attacks, all for the cause of liberation and justice for the QZ residents—so you had heard.

You reached for her outstretched hand, giving it a gentle, yet firm squeeze before retracting your own hand back to your lap. You’re just about to tell Marlene your name, when your attention is stolen by something-someone. That someone being Joel Miller. He wasn’t alone. A woman walked alongside him, and from the angle you were sitting at, you could see his hand resting protectively against the small of her back.

His eyes were looking ahead, not behind or the area surrounding him. He was intently focused even as his companion leaned in close to him, her lips moving but you couldn’t make out the words. His chin dipped towards her, thick fingers flexing against that sliver of skin between the top of her jeans and the hem of her shirt.

You found yourself transfixed by his subtle movements, his natural authority permeating the small space. No one even dared to look directly at him, no one except you. He could feel a pair of eyes burning into the side of his face and he clenched his jaw tightly, cocking his head in the direction of the last empty table before he nudged his companion in that direction.

Marlene had said something to you, but you didn’t hear her the first time because you were frozen in your seat when Joel Miller’s piercing glare landed upon your face. He scowled, grinding his teeth together. He recognized you, that was a fact. But just as quickly as you had his attention for a fleeting moment, it was gone and he had sauntered off, taking the seat across from his partner.

Marlene watched the whole silent exchange go down from her seat. She observed your body posture intently, brow raised in curiosity. She leaned forward over the small expanse of the table, tone low, almost at a whisper, “do you know that man?”

You shook your head, meeting her curious gaze. “No—I mean, not really. He…sorta helped me out the other day though. I don’t have a strong stomach in the slightest and—”

An incredulous look crossed her face immediately to hear that Joel Miller ‘helped’ someone? She called bullshit immediately.

“Joel Miller did you a favor? That’s unlike his character. Only good thing that man has ever done is introduce me to his brother.” Marlene said almost bitterly.

So, that was his name. Joel Miller.

“He has a brother? Is he in the QZ as well? I guess…maybe it wasn’t a favor necessarily, but in my eyes it was.”

She nodded. “Yes, his brother's name is Tommy. He’s in Wyoming now. Tommy, like myself, was a firefly and Joel…he wasn’t too keen on his brother joining a rebel alliance. I tried to get him and his partner, Tess, to join our cause as well, but they wanted nothing to do with it. So, Joel and Tommy had a massive falling out, and Tommy left the QZ shortly after.”

“Marlene, when you said that the only good thing Joel has ever done is introduce you to his brother, what did you mean by that exactly? Is he…dangerous?”

“Sweetheart.” She started, almost in a patronizing tone, “he and Tess are the kinda folks you don’t want to associate yourself with. If you’re not careful, you’ll get caught up in their web. They ain’t good people. Did a lot of bad things before they ended up here. Killed a lot of innocent people and now they practically have FEDRA wrapped around their finger…most days.”

You mulled her words over in your head, falling into a silent thought of determining whether Joel Miller was who she said he was, or if he was more than just his past. You imagined he, like most of the surviving population, did what he had to do to keep himself and his kin alive. How could Marlene judge him for that?

“You tell me to look for the light, and I’ll break your jaw.”

His low, menacing tone rumbled like thunder in the distance, and the person he was addressing immediately scampered off into the shadows like a dog with its tail between its legs.

“Marlene, I mean no offense by this, truly, but didn’t everyone have to kill innocent people at some point to survive?” You couldn’t help but question her logic and reason to judge.

“Let me reiterate what I mean by that. You know what raiders are, don’t you?”

You nodded.

“Well, Joel and Tess were raiders at one point. Tommy as well, but Joel was the driving force of their operation. He was ruthless—still is.”

All you were hearing from her words was that Joel Miller was a capable man. More capable than most. He had a history of violence, and whether that was solely for the means of survival, or because he was a murderous, blood thirsty psychopath, did not concern you in the slightest. Joel Miller was exactly the kind of man that you were looking for. The kind of man that would lay down his own life for yours. The kind of man who would tend to your wounds, and then rip your enemies apart limb from limb, and then come home to you drenched in their blood; a badge of his conquest at exacting revenge.

Joel Miller was the type of man who would ensure your own survival above all else.

“If it’s protection you’re looking for, the Fireflies can offer you that.” Marlene interjected after you didn’t initially respond to her previous statement.

You chewed on your lower lip, gnawing on it for a moment feeling vulnerable and exposed when Marlene was easily able to read between the lines. You thought you were more discreet than that. More guarded, not a weak minded damsel in distress.

“What makes you think that I’m looking for protection?” You quipped back, opting to lean into the defensive side, rather than admit that you were in fact seeking just that.

Marlene stifled a laugh, briefly catching the attention of Joel from across the way. “You’ve been on edge since the moment I sat down. You stick out like a sore fuckin’ thumb, and I’m surprised that you haven’t realized sooner that you’re practically a fawn in the midst of a pack of wolves.”

Marlene was right. She hit the nail right on the fucking head. You weren’t cutthroat like Joel. You survived this long purely based on dumb fucking luck. Not because you were skilled with a weapon, or had fists of steel. You were not violent in nature, you had only killed when necessary, and you stayed hidden when trouble arose; much like a fawn in the dense thicket. Marlene didn’t need to know that you were seeking protection, that every night you lay awake fearing death and ending up pitifully alone; unloved.

“You don’t fucking know me, or what I need.” You hissed, finally finding your voice and standing your ground. You pushed your chair back abruptly, the bottom of it scraping on the concrete, and catching the attention of everyone in the secluded, intimate space.

Marlene shrugged at your defiance, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest. She may have not been successful in this first attempt, but she got under your skin, and that was only the start of it.

Unbeknownst to you or Marlene, Joel had silently eavesdropped your entire conversation, growing stiff suddenly when he picked up on Marlene’s little ploy to manipulate you to join the Fireflies. You may have been a nobody, bare bones and all, but he’d be damned if another naive soul would end up wrapped and constricted in Marlene’s web of empty promises and lies.

Preventing you from joining the Fireflies was about to become Joel Miller’s personal vendetta, and you hadn’t a fucking a clue. As far as he was concerned, the only person in this entire shithole QZ who would ever get close to sinking their talons into your flesh, was himself.

He watched you storm away from the table, your fists clenched tightly at your sides. You feel someone’s eyes locked onto the back of your head, but you didn’t dare turn around to see if your assumptions were true; you just knew.

~~

The following morning you and the rest of the QZ residents were required to attend a public execution before work would begin for the day. Three individuals were sentenced to death for breaking curfew, and attempting to leave the QZ without authorization. The three guilty perpetrators stood in a row, their faces covered with a cloth loosely draped around their heads so they could not be identified.

As the charges of the crimes that were committed were read out, you could feel your knees grow weak, and nausea bubbled deep in the pit of your stomach. Could you be next?

Joel Miller was in the crowd as well, concealed and aloof, but you could sense his domineering presence immediately, and he could sense you as if he was like a moth drawn to a flame. He imagined you couldn’t stomach the prospect of a public execution, and his assumptions were true when he saw you slipping between bystanders and fleeing towards the nearest alley.

He was quick to follow you, feeling more intrigued than anything when you scurried away like a little mouse. He took his time as he was in no rush, and well—there was nowhere else for you to go. He shoved his hands deep within the caverns of his jean pockets, his footsteps were heavy and calculated when he turned the corner to the alley.

You were waiting for him with your trusty pocket knife armed at your side, whipping around to face whoever had left the crowd to follow you. Your teeth were barred as if you were a cornered animal ready to attack if provoked.

He slipped his hands out of his pockets, holding them up so that you could determine that he wasn’t an immediate threat. His dark pools of brown locked onto your face and his head was slightly cocked to the side. “Easy there, little fawn. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” He rasped.

You took a shaky inhale, palms beginning to sweat and your grip around the worn hilt of your knife began to slip from the clamminess. You took a timid step back, closer to the impending brick wall behind you. “Yeah? I’d believe that if you—”

“If I what?” He challenged, taking a step closer to where you stood.

“If you didn’t follow me here like a goddamn stalker, Joel!” You half yelled.

“Hey!” He snapped calmly, “easy. Don’t wanna be drawin’ any unwanted attention to ourselves, do we? And for the record, I do believe that you were the one stalkin’ me the other night.”

“Excuse me? I—I don’t even know you! Why the hell would you think I was stalking you?!” You took another step back, the hem of your shirt just barely grazed against the exposed brick wall.

“Oh, so that wasn’t you sittin’ with Marlene?” He questioned you dryly, shaking his head with a grin tugging on the corner of his lips. “It wasn’t you prying for some information on me? Guess I oughta go get my eyes and ears fuckin’ checked then…oh, wait! Can’t really do that, huh?” He scoffed, crossing his arms against his chest.

Who the fuck did he think he was?

“If I’m not mistaken, it sure as hell sounds like you were the one spying on me.” You quipped back, nearly stumbling when the heel of your boot made contact with the brick wall; now he had you trapped.

“No, you are mistaken. M’jus’ a real observant guy. Plus, sniffin’ out a snake in the grass like Marlene ain’t rocket science. She give you her whole ‘liberation’ for all bullshit?”

“I don’t know, Joel. Did she?”

He looked amused by your response, not expecting you to bite back so fast, but at least now he knew you had a little gumption to work with, but instead of indulging you in your insignificant win, he danced around the subject to catch you off guard.

“That’s a pretty dull fuckin’ knife you got there, little fawn. Ain’t gonna do much stabbin’ with it lookin’ like that. When’s the last time you got it sharpened?”

You did not appreciate, nor like how he effortlessly changed the conversation on you in a blink of an eye. You glared at him, struggling to hold your ground when he was nearly on top of you, one step closer and his chest would be pressed against yours.

“I think it’s more than capable of doing a considerable amount of damage to you if you don’t back the fuck up in the next five—”

“Yeah?” He pressed, looming over you like a shadow blocking the sun, “I’d love to see you try.” He snarled.

And well, you did. A pitiful attempt that he immediately saw coming. It took nothing for him to overpower you as if you were a helpless bug beneath his steel toed boots. The knife was yanked from your grip, your wrists pinned in one of his large hands like a dart on a board. His eyes were a shade darker up close and they were locked onto you.

“Now I understand why Marlene wanted you in the first place.” He snickered, “you really are that fuckin’ gullible.”

“Y—you don’t know shit about me! You think you do, but you don’t!” You tried to push against his chest, but he was like a slab of concrete or an unmoving mountain.

“No?” His eyebrows quirked upwards in amusement. Toying with your fragile mind and now wounded ego was easier than he imagined. “Think you’re wrong, little fawn. You’re pretty damn readable, and that ain’t somethin’ that you want to deal with ‘round here. You might actually be the most transparent person in the entire fuckin’ Boston QZ.”

“W—why are you calling me that?”

“Because, you remind me of a fawn. You’re meek, quiet, and…naive.”

You wanted to yell and scream till you were blue in the face, but what was the point? Marlene saw right through you, and so did Joel. Maybe…you could use this to your advantage, somehow.

He backed off you then, dropping your wrists from his grip and gave you the space to breathe finally. He flipped your dull pocket knife over a few times, brushing his thumb against the unsharpened steel with a light scoff and subtle roll of his eyes. “You can’t even kill a clicker with this thing. You realize that, right? What was your plan if someone else followed you back here, huh?”

He was making your head spin, all this back and forth bantering, and him getting under your skin was becoming too much. Why the hell did he care, anyway? Did he always prey on the weak minded? Or did you just happen to become his unfortunate target?

“I didn’t really…have a plan.” You said quietly under your breath, taking a moment to rest your head back against the cool brick wall.

“Good god, girl. You didn’t have a fuckin’ plan of action?! You really are a damsel in distress.”

“I am not a damsel in distress! You’re just some asshole that clearly has nothing better to do except prey on the weak minded! So, how about you just go pick on someone your own size!”

“So, you agree that you are weak minded? Yeah, Marlene sure as fuck would have had you wrapped around her fuckin’ finger and indoctrinated into her fuckin’ terrorist cult.”

“Sounds like you have a fucking problem with Marlene, and not me.” You attempted to walk away for good, but his palm reached out to stop you, pressing flat between your breastbone, leaving you both feeling surprised.

“Relax, would ya? I see right through your little tough girl gimmicks, and so does everyone else. I also happen to know that you, my dear, are terrified. It’s written all over your pretty face, and of what exactly? I can take a few educated guesses, but I think I’ve already humiliated you enough for one day.”

You were stunned into silence. Pacified by his words and the weight they held over you.

“Yeah, that’s what I fuckin’ thought.” He concluded. The rational part of his brain was telling him to ease off and let it fucking go. Hell, maybe you wouldn’t fall into Marlene’s trap after all. The other part of him? Well, you can just imagine how it was telling him to proceed with tormenting you. “If it were anyone else that followed you back here, they would have the means to hurt you. And I don’t mean just by killing you, little fawn. You think that just cus’ we’re under the governments ‘protection’ that evil people ain’t just roamin’ around here freely lookin’ for their next meal?”

“Yeah? And are you one of those evil people, Joel?” If he was gonna go for your jugular, you were gonna go straight for his.

“Might be.” He shrugged indifferently. “If I had the means to hurt you, I would have already done it.”

He did make a fair point. He was a capable guy, and if he had ulterior motives to cause you harm, you would surely be dead already. Still, you were weary nonetheless, but also intrigued.

“Okay, so you don’t have the means to kill me and that’s great, Joel. I’m relieved, but I’m failing to understand…why did you follow me back here in the first place?”

“Because, little fawn, I have exactly what you’re looking for, what you need. No reason to lie to ourselves here, right? Especially when I’ve already got you figured out. You can deny it all you want, but I know a terrified person when I see one. You ain’t gonna last long lookin’ like a fuckin’ target to every passerby.”

“And what exactly do you think that I need, Joel?”

“Protection.” He stated simply.

“And what's in it for you?”

He thought about coming up with a lie, something that sounded convincing so you wouldn’t question his motives, but he chose the latter in the end.

“Means that Marlene doesn’t get to sink her fuckin’ claws into another naive person such as yourself. Less Firefly scum for me to deal with, and you’re too pretty to end up with a bullet between the eyes.”

Maybe it was the way that Joel Miller was looking at you like you were about to be his next meal, or maybe it was the fact that no one had ever called you pretty before. This guard dog of a man was the first person to ever truly take in your physical appearance, and man, did that feel fucking good.

“You think I’m pretty, do ya?” Your tone came out teasingly, mildly playful, and not what Joel was expecting from you at all.

“Christ.” He laughed, “is that really all you fuckin’ got outta what I was jus’ sayin? That I think you’re pretty? Don’t let that feed your little ego now, alright? That‘ll get you killed, too.”

You wanted to tell him that no one ever called you pretty before, but that felt too personal, too vulnerable. So, instead, you shrugged your shoulders and raised your brow suggestively in his direction. “I heard you loud and clear, Joel.”

“Good. Cause I ain’t gonna repeat myself.” He glanced around the secluded alley for a moment, mulling his thoughts over before he returned your knife to you with the blade facing downwards. His rough, calloused fingers brushed against your own when he returned the hilt of your knife to your palm. “For starters, let’s get that pathetic excuse of a knife sharpened.”

You nodded, tucking it back into your concealed holster around your waist. “Lead the way, Miller.”

He looked you over once more, brows tightly furrowed together, shoulders stiff before he turned on his heel and started to walk towards the opening of the alley. “Hurry up, little fawn. We ain’t got all day.”

You had just secured yourself your very own lethal guard dog, claws and all.

~~

Up until this point, you hadn’t thought about the prospect of Joel Miller wanting to fuck you. In your mind, he truly was just inviting you to his shitty little apartment to sharpen your knife and send you on your way. You were beginning to believe that his little fear tactic in the alley was just his bark, but you were about to experience his bite very, very, soon.

He said no more than a few words to you, a few grunts here and there when you ended up rambling because you finally had someone to talk to. He acknowledged your existence, and that was good enough for you to at least be seen.

“Do you always talk this fuckin’ much?” He gruffed out from where he was hunched over at the kitchen table, dragging the edge of your knife along what appeared to be a large, flat stone.

“Sorry.” You muttered under your breath, sinking further against the old, musty couch that had seen far better days.

“Thas’ better.” He mused.

A man of few words…unless he wants something.

“It’s getting late…I should probably head home before curfew. Can we pick this back up again tomorrow? FEDRA is gonna start patrolling soon and—”

He looked up from where he was focused on dragging the edge of the blade at an angle against the stone to gradually sharpen it. The glare he sent your way immediately had your blood running cold.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually that fuckin’ naive to believe that my generous services are free of charge, little fawn.” He tsked under his breath, shaking his head in disappointment.

Maybe you were the naive one to follow the wolf right back to his den.

Your eyes widened, fists clenching at your sides when the realization that you willingly followed this…stranger back to his apartment hit you and sent the warning alarms in your brain blaring immediately.

“I—I have ration cards.” You meekly responded.

He cocked his head to the side, lips curving upwards into a wolfish grin. “My god.” He chuckled, “you really are that fuckin’ naive, huh? You think I’m doin’ this because I’m a good man or somethin?’”

“Well, you said that you—”

He rose from the chair then, the hilt of your freshly sharpened knife clutched at his side. His eyes stayed locked on you as he staggered forward, coming closer to where you were sitting on his couch.

“And you really believed in every word that came out of my mouth?” He questioned dryly.

“I—I didn’t see a reason not to, you said that if you wanted to hurt me, you would have already done it.”

“You’re right, little fawn. I would have already hurt you if those were my true intentions, but you’re so foolishly naive to believe that I’m doin’ this out of the goodness in my heart.”

You were frozen on the spot when he stopped at the edge of the couch, bending down to meet your eye level, towering over you in such a menacing way, you truly thought right then and there that this man did lie to you, and you were going to die at his hand. Your body flinched on instinct when one of his big palms came to rest against the wall alongside your head, while his occupied hand that was still grasping your knife stayed glued to his side.

“I—I don’t have anything else I can offer you, Joel.” You met his gaze, trembling when he leaned in closer.

“Don’t tell me now that you’re truly jus’ beauty with no brains, sweetheart.” He cooed softly.

Your lips parted open in shock as you began to read between the lines of the words coming out of his mouth. He didn’t want your ration cards, he wanted you, and not just a piece. He wanted all of you.

“There she is.” He preened, “Knew you weren’t all that dumb. Those gears in your pretty little head finally turnin’?”

You wanted to bite back, to snap at him so that you wouldn’t feel so fuckin’ small, but he had you locked in a trance right where he wanted you, and deep down…you liked it.

“…you want me?” You whispered through the thick growing tension.

“Mhm.” He nodded in confirmation. “You didn’t think that I just said you were pretty without havin’ some ulterior motive in mind, did ya? You’re the one who decided to trust me so easily. The second I confirmed that I didn’t want to hurt ya, you wrote me off as a good man. Well, sweetheart, I hate to break the pretty picture you painted of me in your head, but I ain’t a good man. I don’t have the means to hurt you, but I have every intention to take what I fuckin’ want from you.” His forehead was nearly pressed against yours now, hot breath fanning your face. “Jus’ remember that you willingly followed me back to my apartment, and take this as a warning to not be so easily swayed to trust a fuckin’ stranger.”

You swallowed the lump that was gradually growing in your throat as your flight or fight instincts were in full swing. You briefly eyed your knife in his hand, thinking that maybe…you could get out of this, but he would be quicker, surely. He’d overpower you in a heartbeat.

“I’m a virgin, Joel. Are you sure you still want me, knowing what you know now?”

He stalled briefly, caught off guard by your admittance. He thought that maybe this was your cheap way of trying to get out of this situation all together, but based on your trembling, and overall demeanor, he could tell you weren’t lying and he took some satisfaction in knowing that he was about to be your first; completely his.

“You think thas’ gonna stop me from wantin’ to fuck you, little fawn?”

You shook your head quickly and pressed yourself as far against the couch as you possibly could. “No—no, I—I just wanted you to know.” You squeaked out.

He nods, flipping your knife in his hand a few times while his other hand slowly drops to rest against the crown of your head, “if anythin’, it makes me want to fuck you even more now. Can take whatever I want from you, and make you mine. How’s that sound to you, hmm?”

“Can you…promise me it won’t hurt? I’ll—I’ll do whatever you want, Joel.”

Whatever I have to do to live another day, I’ll do it. Keep me alive, and you can take whatever you want from me.

“It’ll hurt a little, sweetheart. Better me than anyone else. I’ll only be gentle till you’re adjusted. After that, I ain’t gonna hold back.” While his words were blunt and straight to the point, his tone was soft, gentle even.

“Okay. I trust you, Joel.”

“Good. Thas’ good to hear, little fawn.” He gently dragged his thumb against your hair, feeling the texture of it beneath his hold, and how if he truly wanted to, he could crush you like a bug beneath his hand.

Your hands worked on autopilot to reach for the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head, fingers shaking against the fabric.

He shook his head, brows raising in slight amusement. “No.” He rasped sternly, “I’m going to undress you. Hands off, and keep ‘em where I can see them, got it?”

You nodded, dropping your hands to rest along your jean clad thighs.

“Wanna show you just how sharp I got your lil’ knife now. Can cut through just about anythin’, I reckon.” He mused, secretly hoping to ease your impending fears just enough that your body would naturally begin to relax.

You took a shuddered inhale when the edge of your freshly sharpened knife rose and rested against your concealed breastbone, sending your heartbeat racing and rattling out of your chest like a stampede.

“Relax.” He whispered, careful to not apply too much pressure, but just enough that the blade easily cut through your flimsy top as if it was made of cheap paper. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

Your words were lodged in your throat as tears began to spring to the corner of your eyes. You couldn’t help it, you were terrified. One wrong move…

“Joel…please.” Was all you were able to get out. His hand that was gently resting on the crown of your head dropped down to gently cradle your face. His big thumb brushed directly under the tears leaking from your eyes, gathering them up with a soft sigh.

“If you listen to me and relax, this will feel good for you, little fawn. You jus’—gotta let me have my fun first, alright?”

You let out a silent sob, squeezing your eyes shut tight as you tried to wrap your mind around how this could possibly be fun for him. “This—this is fun for you?”

His nostrils flared, reminding you of one of those animated bulls from the old cartoons you used to watch as a kid on Saturday mornings. He let out a sigh, grinding his jaw and shaking his head. “Course this is fun for me. I told you already, little fawn. I ain’t a good man.” He carelessly yanked the scraps of your shirt down your arms and torso before he dragged the knife upwards towards your flimsy bra straps. “Only reason I’m choosin’ to be somewhat merciful on you is because you’re a virgin. If you weren’t, I would have shoved my cock so far down your throat, you’d be chokin’ on it, sweet girl. Gonna save that for another time.” He reassured you.

“I’d…prefer if you never did that.” This was your weak and fruitless attempt to try and gain any semblance of control in this situation.

“You ain’t in the position to be callin’ the shots on me. Keep it up, and I won’t be so fuckin’ nice. I’ll stuff your pretty little virgin pussy with my cock like you’re a fuckin’ pig on a spit.” He snapped. “Secondly, I’d prefer if you’d quit your yappin’ and start makin’ yourself useful by takin’ your jeans off—nice and slow for me. Make it last.”

“But you said—”

“Know exactly what I said, sweetheart. M’changin’ my mind, we clear?” He sternly asked while he sliced through one of the bra straps, watching with hooded eyes as it fell from your shoulder.

“Crystal.” You shakily reached for the button on your jeans, slowly undoing it followed by the zipper while he sliced through the other strap.

“Good girl.” He praised you, “you’re a fast learner. Thas’ real good, little fawn. That’ll keep you alive longer.”

“Thank you…sir.” You whispered, feeling your tears begin to dry on your cheekbones when you slowly began to shimmy your jeans down your thighs.

“Mmm…no.” He scoffed at you calling him sir. “Not sir. Jus’ call me Joel. It’s gonna be the only name you’re gonna be sayin’ for as long as I decide you’re worth keepin’ around. Best start gettin’ used to the way it tastes on your tongue.”

“Yes, Joel. I—I understand.”

He was kind enough to help you finish removing your jeans completely so you were left in just your cotton panties that were well worn. A touch of innocence could be found on the little faded pink bow right in the middle of the hem. His lips quirked at this, finding it endearingly…cute.

What remained of your bra fell away in pieces, the clasp old that was old and frayed, came undone easily. Now your breasts were bared to him for the first time. He liked that they weren’t magazine perfect, nothing like he had seen in his teenage to young adult years. They were natural, beautiful, and you.

“I know they aren’t—they aren’t anything special…” you trailed off, moving your arms up to cover your chest.

He shook his head and reached one hand out to stop you from covering them from his perfect view. “They’re beautiful. M’glad they aren’t perfect like the shit I would find in the old playboy magazines.”

“Really?…thank you, Joel.”

He didn’t acknowledge your gratitude and his eyes trailed southwards once more, right between your thighs. “Thought about cuttin’ these off, too.” He casually gestured to your panties, “But I think I wanna keep ‘em as a souvenir.” He mused with a wicked grin. “Don’t go all shy on me now, alright? Spread your thighs, sweetheart.”

You obeyed his request, your thighs falling open to his prying eyes. “You want to keep my panties as a souvenir?”

“Mhm.” He reached behind him briefly to set your knife down along the coffee table so both of his hands were free. You watched as he slowly lowered himself onto his knees between your spread thighs. “You won’t be needin’ them when you’re here, anyway.”

Before you could respond, his warm palms came to rest along your hips where his thumbs gently dipped beneath the hem of your panties and slowly began to peel them down your thighs. “Can’t remember the last time I had the pleasure of tasting virgin pussy.” He chuckled. “Been too goddamn long.”

“I thought most guys weren’t into eating…pussy.” It was your turn to giggle now, and Joel was secretly relieved that you were finally relaxing.

He slipped your panties down your ankles making quick work of stuffing them into the back pocket of his jeans. “What makes you say that, sweetheart?” He shifted his hands from your hips to rest between the apex of your thighs, spreading you open further at his leisure.

“Well, uh—before the outbreak, I had a boyfriend, and all my friends at the time told me that I should ask him to go down on me. I didn’t know what they meant at first, so my friends and I bought a porno from an adult film store to watch, and then shortly after I asked my boyfriend if he would go down on me, he said fuck no.”

Joel laughed, a real hearty laugh that sent a warm vibration and tingle creeping up your spine. He used his thumbs to spread your inner lips apart before he peppered kisses against the inside of your thighs, inching closer and closer to the seam of your pussy. “No offense, sweetheart. But your boyfriend sounds like he was a fuckin’ tool that didn’t know the first thing to pleasin’ a woman and makin’ her sing, and for that reason, I hope he got infected.”

Despite the gravity of the situation you found yourself in, it felt good to confide in someone and laugh about the past. “I hope he got infected, too.”

The tension flipped once more when Joel’s darkened pools of brown flickered up from between your thighs. His hot breath was directly fanning your exposed core, and you watched as he licked his lips. “I take a lot of satisfaction knowin’ that I’m gonna be your first for everythin’, little fawn. You belong to me, your tight virgin cunt belongs to me. Jus’ want you to understand what that means before I defile you, piece by piece.”

You found your words lodged in your throat when you felt Joel Miller’s hot, wet, and skillful mouth press directly against your clit. His thick, dark lashes fluttered shut, and a groan bubbled from deep within his chest. He was immediately a man starved at the first taste of you. Lathing his tongue through the seam of your pussy as if he was a cat lapping up warm milk. And once he got a taste, he couldn’t stop, and you didn’t want him to.

“Sweetest fuckin’ virgin cunt I’ve ever tasted, little fawn. Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you’re like honey.” He rambled on, slurping and obscenely sucking on your sex. He meant it when he said he was going to defile you, and this was just the beginning.

Your fingers naturally found themselves tangled in his salt and peppered streaked curls. They were softer than you ever imagined them to be. And in that moment, when your orgasm rippled through you like a tidal wave, and your pussy drooled along his tongue, you were grateful that he at least took the time to make you feel good first.

But like most good things, it passed just as quickly as it came when he pulled his mouth back from your cunt, a translucent strand of his saliva mixed with your release hung from his lower lip like a thread from a spider's web. The strand reached all the way to your glistening clit and disappeared when he licked the taste of you from his lips.

Your cheeks felt hot to the touch, and there was a sheen of sweat coating your skin when he reached for his belt and began to unfasten it. That’s when the fear began to creep its way back in.

“Joel, do you think that maybe we can—”

“No.” He gruffed out over the sound of his belt buckle clanking open, and his zipper being yanked down in a haste.

You could see just how hard he was through his worn down briefs, and when you finally got a first glance at just how thick and large his cock was, you were immediately trying to clamber off the couch. There was no way he was going to fucking fit.

He let out an annoyed growl, one hand quickly darted out and grabbed your ankle with a roughness that immediately had you yelping in surprise. “Do not fuckin’ test me, or I will really fuckin’ make this hurt for you. Do I make myself absolutely clear?” He glowered, tightening his steel like grip on your ankle. “Get back to how I had you spread open. Don’t make me ask you twice.”

Only when you reluctantly abided by his request did he loosen his grip before releasing your ankle completely. He rose to his full height, kicking his jeans and boxers off to the side as his heavy cock bobbed between his thighs. “Try anythin’ funny again, and I’ll bend your ass over this fuckin’ couch faster than you can say stop.”

“I’m sorry, Joel—I didn’t mean to upset you I’m just—”

“Afraid?” He mused. “Yeah, I gathered that. But I told ya that it’s only gonna hurt a little. All you need to do is relax for me. Thas’ it, and the pain will only be temporary. I promise, little fawn.”

He leaned over you, grasping your thighs in his hands and molded your body exactly how he wanted to take you so that he could easily wedge himself between your thighs. Now your back was against the side of the couch, the arm rest acted as a makeshift pillow for your head while he wrapped your legs around his hips for support. “Missionary is gonna cause ya the least amount of pain, but after today we ain’t gonna play it safe anymore.”

“Joel, can we please—I’m not ready for this. There has to be someone else that I can offer you…right?” You glanced down between your thighs, right where his thick cockhead was lined up at your tight opening. There was a drool of arousal that pooled and dripped down from the seam of your puffy and stimulated pussy right into the already soiled fabric of the couch.

“You jus’ don’t fuckin’ quit, do ya? I’m about five seconds away from fucking you like you’re just a piece of meat. Do you really want that, little fawn? Do you want me to fuckin’ hurt you? Is that it? You’re so goddamn lucky that you didn’t get captured by a group of raiders who would take turns gang raping you, and ripping you apart like a fuckin’ ragdoll. Show some fuckin’ gratitude for the fact that I’m not like them.” He hissed between his teeth. “You are mine. Get that through your pretty little brain sooner, rather than later.”

“You’re not going to fucking fit! There’s no fucking way that you’re going to fit without ripping me apart from the inside, Joel!” You cried out, fists clenched so tightly at your sides, that your blunt nails were digging into your skin hard enough to draw blood to the surface.

“I sure as fuck ain’t gonna fit where you’re so fuckin’ stiff. Ya don’t want it to hurt, d’ya? Well, more than it’s already gonna. Jus’ relax for me. That’s all you gotta do.”

It did fucking hurt. It felt like you were being ripped apart seam by seam when he slowly started to press himself inside of you. Your body seized up around the intrusion, clamping down on his cock like a vice as tears began to leak down your cheeks again.

“You gotta let me in, little fawn. Or so help me god, I will fuckin’ force my way right into your tight little virgin cunt.” He growled out of frustration, wanting this part to be over already because that very minuscule part of him felt bad for what he was doing.

“I—I can’t, Joel! Please! It hurts! You’re hurting me!”

He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping forwards and his forehead came to rest upon your own. His hand that wasn’t wrapped around the base of his cock came to gently rest upon your cheek, a moment of tenderness that sent your mind reeling. “I ain’t tryin’ to hurt you, little fawn. Please jus’ relax. Take a deep breath in and out. Focus on this instead, alright?” He dropped his hand from your cheek and slowly slipped it between your parted thighs so his thumb could gently thrum your clit. “Focus on how good that feels, and not my cock splittin’ you apart and takin’ what’s mine.”

Maybe you were the masochist, and he was the sadist. The mixture of pleasure with pain was something you never had experienced before, and when your body finally began to relax and let him in fully, that’s when you finally understood what he meant earlier about the pain only being temporary. It was numbed the second he started to piston his hips into you, stretching you open more and more with each heavy and calculated thrust. His thumb stayed glued to your clit, rubbing you in steady circles to keep your stimulation present in your mind.

He did defile you, piece by piece. Taking and taking while you continue to give and give. You want to be good, you want him to like you, to want you because if he does, maybe he’ll keep you around. Maybe he’ll fuck you again, protect you, keep you safe, and maybe you’ll never have to live in fear again.

Sometime after Joel had fucked you till he felt satisfied and spent, you passed out on his couch purely from exhaustion. He didn’t tend to you right away. He didn’t kiss your forehead, and he certainly didn’t kiss your lips. He left you there, stained in his cum and completely ruined for anyone else. That’s how he intended to leave things, but his need to care and tend to you ultimately won when he appeared from his bathroom with a wash rag in hand. His footsteps were soft as he padded into the living room and knelt beside you as you slept. In comparison to earlier, his movements were very tender as he gently spread your thighs apart so he could wash between them.

You stirred only slightly, mumbling in your sleep when the wash cloth gently dragged across the seam of your pussy and everywhere in between. And even after he was finished he sat there for hours in a deep contemplation over his decisions. He was a complicated man, with conflicted feelings driven by grief and loss. And that was the reason for his unkindness. His ability to remain aloof and cold. He just couldn’t wrap his head around the notion that someone as innocent as you, had survived the cruelty of the world for this long.

~~

Your relationship with Joel Miller, or lack thereof, turned into a mutual exchange. He offered you his protection, and you offered him your body and some semblance of control. It was his driving force, after all. To feel like he was in control of his life and the remaining frayed threads of it. The more times he fucked you, the more you began to enjoy it. You liked his meanness, and he liked how compliant you were. It was simple, no emotions tied up and he could simply just be.

Sometimes you did talk, and other times he just took what he wanted. You were like his personal punching bag, his means to get his frustrations out through having you beneath his sheets, molded however he saw fit.

Tonight was one of those nights.

“Yeah, thas’ it, little fawn. You can take all of me. Know you can.” He huffs out a hot puff of air against the shell of your ear. His broad shoulders, hard chest paired with a soft stomach, cage your softer frame like a protective shield. He’s drilling into you from behind, strong hips are flush against the soft curve of your ass, where he’s molded the shape of your body into the old, squeaky mattress. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through his tiny apartment, and your mind begins to grow hazy, consumed with pleasure, and him—Joel. He’s got you right where he wants you, where he can take, take, take, and you’ll give, and give, and give. The heady stench of sex, sweat and Joel swarms your senses like bees in a hive. He drinks in the wet, familiar sound of your pussy squelching around his cock, dragging him in further like a never ending vice.

He paints your insides with hot ropes of his seed, spending himself completely before he’s collapsing on top of you, drenched in sweat. His cock pulses inside of you for a few seconds longer before he draws his hips back and sits back on his thighs, resting his weight along his forearms as he catches his breath.

You lay flat on your stomach like a limp fish while you catch your own breath. He has your attention when you feel his hand gently curve around your ankle and you immediately roll over onto your back, silently begging him with your eyes alone to let you breathe a little longer. “I can’t go another round that fast, Joel. I need to catch my breath.”

“I wasn’t gonna suggest that, sweetheart.” He rasped softly, stroking your skin gently with the pad of his thumb. “I was—uh, gonna ask if you were hungry?”

You blinked a few times, trying to understand if you were hearing him correctly. Was he…offering you a meal? Did hell freeze over?

“Oh.” You couldn’t help but smile a little. “Yeah…I am a little hungry.”

Maybe he’ll ask you to make him a sandwich, hah!

“I ain’t got much to offer, unfortunately. But I think I got a couple cans of Chef Boyardee and some stale bread?” His cheeks are flushed from exertion, but there’s a hint of nervousness in your tone. It’s not like he said he loved you, he was just offering to feed you.

“Oh, man. That guy was great!” You sat up on your elbows watching his lips begin to curve upwards into a half grin from your enthusiasm.

“I actually agree.”

You ate in his bed, sitting across from one another in comfortable silence. Your knees were lightly touching, but neither of you seemed to mind the closeness. He even offered you the last half of his bread and you felt your heart swell at his selfless gesture.

A dog only bites when provoked. Maybe your guard dog was growing soft for his little fawn.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” He asked suddenly, breaking through the comfortable silence like a knife.

“Of course you can, Joel.”

He was never good at this sorta thing; talking about his feelings and emotions. He swallowed his last bit of food before reaching across to set both of your empty plates on the nearby nightstand.

“What are you gettin’ out of this? And don’t lie to me or try to give me some bullshit.”

“You make me feel safe…and protected.” You murmured softly, looking directly into his eyes for the first time that entire night.

He scoffs, gnawing on the inside of his cheek with his canines, “I ain’t a fuckin’ charity service, or your knight in shining armor.”

“You’re right, Joel. You aren’t. And that’s okay. I don’t need you to be either of those things. But—you’re all that I want, all that I need.”

His face softens slightly, that permanent frown between his brows and pout of his lips is almost not so permanent before his scowl returns.

Deep down in that black pit of his heart, he wants that too. To be relied on, wanted, needed. He likes that what he has with you is something that he doesn’t have to fight for. He could get all of this and more from Tess, but she always challenged him and wanted more. She would lay her life down for his own and he hated that. He was the type of man that would rather lay his own life down in the place of someone else. He valued his life very little at this point, and here you were acting like he had done something monumental by keeping you safe, fucking you, and providing you with a meal.

“Joel, can I ask you something?” You interjected through the silence, hoping that he wasn’t upset with your honesty.

“Depends what it is that you’re about to ask me, little fawn.”

You want to reach out and grab his hand, to feel his fingers lace through your own. You wanted him to hold you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. You were his, but only under his terms. He wasn’t yours and he would never be. But that didn’t mean that you weren’t inclined to try and break through his nearly impassable walls that he had laid down himself, brick by brick.

“Why do you wear that watch on your wrist…if it’s broken?”

He froze like a deer in headlights as his ears began to ring, the blood rushed in his veins and his heartbeat began to race. His fingers twitched at his sides, and by the way his eyes began to darken, you realized very quickly that you had crossed a boundary. He didn’t speak, he didn’t even scold you. He ignored you completely and threw his legs over the side of the bed and snatched up the two discarded plates.

“Never fuckin’ ask me that again.” He muttered in the doorway, his back facing you and you could only see his side profile before he stomped off towards the kitchen.

Moments later you heard the sound of the plates breaking in the sink, one by one. You had never heard him sound so…violent before. He was yelling, but you couldn’t make out the words he was saying. He might have been crying at one point, but you didn’t dare investigate.

Only when you could no longer hear his pained yells, did you finally reach for your discarded clothes and quickly redressed before tiptoeing out of his bedroom. Your plan was to slip out the front door of his apartment undetected and never look back.

That plan went to shit when you stumbled upon the massacre in the kitchen and a broken man standing amongst shattered plates and shards of glass. He looked defeated, unmoving amongst the wreckage. His hand was trembling as small droplets of blood dripped from the open wound on his palm, the same hand where his broken watch was strapped to his wrist. The crimson droplets landed on the scuffed up floor beneath his feet. He heard the floorboards creak beneath your weight and he whipped around, eyes rimmed red from his incessant, crestfallen tears.

“Where the fuck are you goin?’” He croaked out, his voice sounding like it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper.

“Home?” You didn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but even you couldn’t determine exactly why you were trying to leave.

“Did I say you could leave?” He took a step towards you, somehow avoiding the stray shards of glass.

“N-No…I just thought that—”

“Yeah?” He questioned, cocking his head to the side as he observed your timid demeanor. “Well, unthink that. Please.”

He was…asking you to stay? Not only that, he said please?

“You’re bleeding.”

He glanced down at his hand in surprise. He didn’t even feel the glass cutting through his palm or the familiar wetness from the blood dripping from the fresh wound.

“Let me patch it up for you, okay?” You took a small step forward in his direction while he wearily watched you. He brought his injured hand down to his side, holding it out of your reach.

“Are you going to stay?”

You nodded. “Yes, Joel. I promise I won’t leave.”

So, he chose to trust you and allowed you to touch him and guide him to the couch where he was forced to sit down while you rushed to the bathroom to grab his first aid kit. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling when you gently grabbed his hand and rested it palm side up on your knee and began to tend to his wound. He wasn’t capable of love, not after she died. He wasn’t capable of softness and kindness, not when he watched the light fade from her eyes, and yet he sat quietly under your soft touch and gentle eyes. You had become like his supply, a new addiction, a craving, a need that could only be satiated by you. It scared him down to his very bones.

The personal vendetta was long since forgotten and was replaced with his latent nature to protect and care for. You had given him that purpose again, and maybe he could do better and become a good man again because of you. Maybe you were the answer to it all.

And unknowingly, and unintentionally, you had tapped into his inner psyche, one soft touch and gentle gaze at a time. And he was beginning to believe that maybe he wasn’t better off being alone and forsaken, after all.

~~

When Tommy Miller hadn’t returned any of Joel’s radio calls for two weeks straight, Joel was facing a tough decision that he ultimately was going to have to make. His kin was out in bum fuck Wyoming, he could be dead for all Joel knew. Despite how rocky his relationship with his brother was, he was still family, and now Joel was going to leave the QZ and find his younger brother.

This was the beginning of the end of yours and Joel’s mutual understanding, and it was happening before your very eyes.

Tonight he was in a haste after fucking you for hours. Usually he would stay in bed, his limbs tangled with yours, locked together like two puzzle pieces. You learned that sometimes he liked to be the little spoon, but he would never ask, not verbally at least. He’d turn his back to you, reaching for your hands to wrap yourself around him. Tonight, neither of those things happened while you watched him gather up his discarded clothes, throwing on his briefs over his thighs and hips.

You sat up slowly, using the old sheet to cover your breasts. Your heart began to sink when he sat on the edge of the bed, revolver in hand and bullet cartridges in the other.

“Joel?…” you asked in an unsure tone. Would this turn into another one of his meltdowns? You had hoped that it wouldn’t.

“What?” He gruffed out, reloading the bullets one by one.

You recoiled at his tone, chewing on the inside of your cheek to try and distract your mind from assuming the worst was about to happen.

“Is everything okay?”

He sighed, rolling his shoulders forward as he finished loading the revolver and looked over his shoulder, refusing to meet your eyes and instead focused on the peeling wallpaper along the walls.

“Everythin’ is peachy, little fawn.”

Even he didn’t sound too sure of his words. You had been around him long enough to pick up on his changes in demeanor. Sometimes they were subtle, less easy to detect, but tonight it was clearer than day that there was something deeply troubling him.

“You’re acting really fucking weird, Joel.”

He laughed dryly and turned to face you completely. “That’s because I got something to tell you, but you ain’t gonna fuckin’ like it.”

Your face fell immediately and your loose grip around the sheets became tight, as if the fabric between your fingers was the only grounding source available in the vicinity.

“Please, don’t look at me like that. Like I’m about to break your heart or somethin.’” He sighed. “You can’t look at me with those—eyes.”

“Well, are you about to break my heart, Joel? Cause if that’s the case, just rip the fucking bandaid off already.” Your voice cracked, and tears were already threatening to spill, but you held them at bay.

“I need you to understand that I don’t have any choice in this, alright? Tommy hasn’t returned any of my messages in two weeks. It usually only takes him a day to respond, and he’s gone completely radio silent. I’m leavin’ the QZ as soon as Tess and I can locate a truck battery, and I’m goin’ to Wyoming to find him.”

He didn’t have any choice?!

“Joel, do you realize how fucking insane you sound right now?! If Tommy hasn’t responded in two weeks he’s probably—”

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ say another word, ya hear me?!” He growled, cocking his revolver and stood up abruptly from the edge of the bed. “You don’t get a fuckin’ say in this! You ain’t my family!”

His words stung, slicing your heart in a million tiny pieces from the venom dripping from his lips. Maybe this was the wake up call you needed. The rose colored glasses were beginning to lift, and the ship that you and Joel had sailed for so long, was finally sinking.

“You’re right, Joel.” You agreed with him. “I’m not your family. So, what the fuck am I then?”

He looked at you coldly, eyes narrowed into slivers. His jaw clenched and unclenched. He didn’t want to be having this conversation with you right now. He needed to focus on finding this damn truck battery and going after Tommy. But of course you just had to be fucking stubborn about the whole thing.

“You’re nothing but a goddamn liability.”

There was no emotion in his tone, just the cutthroat truth of what you truly meant to Joel Miller.

“You don’t mean that. You’re just trying to hurt me!” You tried to convince yourself that this man did care for you in a sense. That he thought higher of you than just someone he fucked, someone he held, someone he shared his meals with.

“Why are you makin’ this so goddamn difficult, huh? You want me to stand here and tell you that I love you?! That I care for you further than what our relationship is?! Would you like me to spell it out for you?!” He yelled exasperatedly, throwing his hands up in the air out of frustration.

He didn’t even flinch when you scrambled out from under the sheets, desperately reaching for your discarded panties and shirt. You felt more exposed than ever in front of him as hot tears flooded and rolled down your cheeks. The same cheeks he had tenderly held between his calloused palms.

“You’re practically…a prostitute.”

You reached for your own gun that was resting on the nightstand closest to your side of the bed, and once you had a firm grip on the base of it, you whipped around to face him, gun aimed directly at him, mirroring his own.

“How—how fucking dare you! I’m not a prostitute, Joel! We—we have a mutual understanding! That’s how it’s worked, that’s how it’s always worked!”

“Had.” He corrected you coldly, cocking his head to the side. “And mutual understanding?! You mean our exchange?” He laughed and shook his head, “you offered me your fuckin’ body, and in return I’ve kept you alive! That ain’t a mutual understanding, sweetheart. Thas’ an exchange of services.”

“So, the time that I patched up your hand, and stayed with you even though I knew I shouldn’t have, meant nothing to you?!” You were full on screaming now, seeing red through your blurred tears. “My kindness meant jack all to you, Joel?!”

“Don’t stand there and act so surprised! I told you from the get-go, I am not a good fuckin’ man! You made those choices, sweetheart! I didn’t hold a fuckin’ gun against your head and force you to stay!”

You laughed, throwing your head back slightly because you couldn’t believe how fucking delusional he was being. As if he ever gave you a choice in the first place?!

You took one bold step in his direction with your gun still aimed and at the ready. “Choice?! Oh, please enlighten me on what choice you’re speaking of when you never even gave me a choice in the first place, Joel!”

“I ain’t got time for this. It’s fuckin’ done, alright? We’re done and you’re just gonna have to find someone else to keep you alive, little fawn. You can be someone else’s liability!” In the midst of his yelling, he eyed your gun wearily, already mentally planning in his head how he was going to disarm you if you made the stupid decision to lunge at him.

“I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU, JOEL MILLER! I HATE HOW YOU HAVE MADE ME FEEL! DON’T YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME?! I—I HOPE THAT YOU NEVER FIND TOMMY. I HOPE HE’S DEAD, AND I HOPE YOU DIE ALONE, AND UNLOVED. I HOPE SOMEONE HURTS YOU THE WAY THAT YOU HAVE HURT ME AND—”

He wasn’t ready to admit just how shattering your words were. How it felt like someone had just ripped his heart out and tore it apart, piece by piece. But this is how he got by in life, by hurting those who he loved.

“I’m so fuckin’ relieved that you’re finally wakin’ up from whatever fairytale land you’ve been livin’ in, little fawn. There’s some hope that you won’t end up with a bullet between your eyes. Congratulations on joining the rest of society.” He muttered condescendingly. “Now, you’re gonna get that fuckin’ gun out of my face and go home, and you’re gonna forget all about me.” He deadpanned.

You did just that. He stood there just watching you quickly redress and tuck your gun into the waistband of your jeans. You strode past him, shoulder checking him on your way out.

“Careful. You might end up shootin’ your damn ass off.” He commented from the open doorway.

You didn’t have the strength to snap back at him. You felt broken, beaten, and defeated. He had taken all of you, and you felt like all that was left was your shell; withered and cracking away under his harsh cruelty and scrutiny.

You grabbed your backpack from the hook alongside the door and yanked the handle open, swinging it open loudly on its hinges. He waited till he heard the apartment door slam shut before he left his bedroom, padding quietly down the hall. He went straight to the door and locked it for good measure.

~~

When Marlene found you, you were in a drunken stupor after spending a day in lockup because you had stupidly punched a FEDRA officer in the face, oops. You traded a few ration cards for a cheap bottle of hooch, and proceeded to drink it in broad daylight in a deserted alley. It was nearing curfew now, and the bottle you had been nursing was completely drained and discarded by your feet. Marlene found you slumped over, covered in dried blood, vomit, and tears. You were curled up like a little fawn hiding in the thicket. She checked your pulse before you sputtered awake, lashes fluttering and eyes squinting through the massive hangover you were experiencing.

“M—Marlene?” You croaked out as you tried to wrap your drunken mind around how the fuck she found you here in the first place.

“He broke your heart, didn’t he? Told you he was bad news, sweetheart.” She sighed with a disappointed shake of her head. “Take my hand and we’ll get you cleaned up, okay?”

You neither confirmed nor denied her assumptions of why you were piss drunk in an alley. You simply reached for her outstretched hand and let her help you up from the ground. You were wobbly on your feet, like a drunk Bambi on ice, but she let you lean your weight entirely into her side.

A week later, you were officially a member of the Boston QZ Fireflies and under the direct protection of Marlene. If only you had known then that you had signed off on your own death certificate.

You were assigned to Riley’s position in the QZ mall making bombs for the Fireflies to use on an upcoming attack on FEDRA. When you asked Marlene what had happened to Riley, she cut right to the chase and told you that Riley had been bitten by an infected person. You didn’t ask for any further explanation, or where Riley had been bitten. Had you known that she was bitten in the mall, you would have begged Marlene for a different post instead.

When you proved yourself loyal to the Fireflies, Marlene decided that you were ready to be on the frontlines of the attack. Right in the midst of it. One of the bombs that you made with your own hands was about to be used in warfare; what a twisted turn of events.

~~

Tess Servopolous was having a shitty fucking day. After being jumped by a couple of Robert’s goons, and then finding out that he sold the truck battery that her and Joel needed, she was ready to go home and drink the whole thing off, when an explosion went off directly outside of the building that she, Robert, and two of his men were occupying.

She stumbled out of the wreckage, dazed and confused when she saw a FEDRA vehicle demolished and in flames. She squinted through the blinding sun when someone from a nearby rooftop yelled, “free Boston now, motherfuckers!”

And then, directly across the street, she caught a glimpse of you; Joel’s ex little fawn turned rebel scum. You were fleeing the scene just as FEDRA had shown up. Tess claimed she wasn’t a Firefly, but they threw her into lockup, anyway.

“He sold our battery to someone else, Joel.” Tess was sitting across from Joel in their shared tiny apartment. She had just disclosed to him that the men that had jumped her were with Robert, and she was in lockup all day. Joel was fuming.

“Who the fuck did he sell it to? That fuckin’ snake. Swear to god I’ll—”

“Joel, I need you to take a breath.” Tess said plainly, rubbing her sore temples with a sigh.

“I need that battery, Tess. It’s the only way we’re getting to Tommy and without it, we’re shit out of luck. He could be fuckin’ dead out there already for all we know. Where the fuck are we gonna find a battery now?”

“I saw her.” Tess said above a whisper to draw his attention.

“Don’t.” He warned her.

“Joel, I fuckin’ saw her! She’s—Firefly scum now. She was across the street when the bomb went off. She’s with Marlene now. She was fleeing the scene like a goddamn coward, too.”

It felt like Joel’s entire world was crashing down around him all at once. He hadn’t thought about you since your ugly departure from his apartment, but to hear that Marlene had sunk her venomous claws into you after all? He was furious, disappointed, and above all, he felt betrayed.

“You swear that you saw her?”

“On my life, Joel. It was her.” Tess would never lie. She had no reason to.

He swallowed the thick lump growing in his throat. It felt like hot bubbling tar was melting his insides away, melting the flesh from his bones and leaving him bare and brittle. He could taste the bitterness of betrayal on his tongue, and the dull ache in his heart. His fists clenched and unclenched, his brows furrowed tightly and his lips were in a straight, emotionless line. He looked across the table at his partner, giving her a slight nod of acknowledgment. “If I ever see her face again, I will kill her, Tess. I’ll make it hurt. I’ll kill her with my bare fuckin’ hands.”

He was a man of his word, but he was secretly praying that day would never come because he wouldn’t have the guts to do it. Not even after he promised Tess to her face that he would kill you. You were that weakness that he couldn’t shake free from.

“Good.” She nodded. “Now let’s go hunt that motherfucker down, and get our battery, our truck, and then we’ll go find Tommy, alright?” She reached for his hand that was clenched in a tight fist along the table.

“Alright.” He nodded.

Joel and Tess had a stash of weapons and supplies scattered about in different areas in and outside of the QZ. One of these areas included the boarded up mall, and this was Joel’s first stop. He had heard rumors sprinkled about that there were a handful of infected roaming the mall, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. He snuck into the building the same way he always did and retraced his steps purely from memory.

His confidence only began to waver when he approached the same door he had entered through over a dozen times and saw the unmistakable Firefly logo spray painted right across the frame of the door.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath and withdrew his concealed gun before pushing the slightly ajar door open with his broad shoulder.

On the other side of the mall, you were dealing with trouble of your own. Why hadn’t you asked Marlene more questions about Riley’s death—specifically where Riley had been bitten. Would Marlene have even told you the truth?! You were beginning to question the Fireflies true motives when you overheard Marlene and a few others talking about taking this girl out west to be tested in a hospital. This wasn’t just any random girl; she was immune to the Cordyceps infection. She could possibly be the cure to save the world, but even you were smart enough to know that Cordyceps grow inside the brain. This poor girl was going to die, and you wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.

From that point forward you decided that you were going to sabotage Marlene and Fireflies plans. After setting off a bomb in the QZ, you fled back to the mall to dispose of the rest of the bombs you had made that week and then you were going to leave the QZ for good. It was supposed to be simple and go exactly as you planned it to, and it did up until the point when you ran into an infected person.

Your gun was knocked from your grip leaving you with only your knife for protection when the infected person shoved you against a nearby wall, knocking the wind from you. You fought like hell, stabbing wherever you could reach till the infected collapsed to the ground after you jabbed your knife directly into its neck before you sank down against the wall to catch your breath. Its body lay in a heap at your feet, blood pooling and leaking from the deep gash in its neck.

A few minutes later you heard a door nearby open and close followed by heavy footsteps. You scrambled to your feet, wiping your knife along your jeans and snatched up your gun that was on the floor a good few feet away. Your boots slipped in the puddle of blood and created a trail of crimson footprints. So much for remaining concealed.

Joel appeared shortly after you had taken off. He could smell the stench of blood and death permeating the air upon his approach. When he found the dead infected, he kicked it with the toe of his boot, checking to make sure it was actually dead. When the body didn’t move or twitch, he let out a brief sigh of relief before he noticed the trail of bloody footprints and followed them.

It didn’t take him long to find the room that you had been occupying. The trail of footprints had led him straight to another door and that’s when he noticed the fresh blood on the handle and proceeded with caution. When he pushed open the door, he expected to find a person on the other side but there was no sign of anyone. He was drawn to the table in the corner of the room where he recognized a plethora of materials used to make a bomb.

Jackpot.

He surveyed the small room with his gun still drawn at his side as he crept around. You were hiding in the supply closet which was an uncomfortable tight fit. You had no idea who the fuck was on the other side of the door, but you didn’t intend to find out anytime soon. Through the small gap in the metal closet, you were able to make out a pair of all-too familiar black boots.

No, no, no. Please. Anyone but him. Anyone but—

your foot slipped from the blood causing something from the top shelf of the closet to fall and cause a loud racket. Moments later the janitor closet doors were yanked open leaving you exposed. Joel didn’t see your face at first when he grabbed your arm and yanked you out onto the ground with his freehand.

You let out a yell, trying to claw at the man when he yanked you onto the floor. You scrambled to sit up, raising your arms above your head when he trained his gun on you. Your eyes simultaneously widened in shock. The masochist and the sadist together again.

“You have got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” He let out a scoff. “So, Tess wasn’t lyin’ huh? You really are…Firefly scum?”

“You are quite literally the last person I ever wanted to run into, Joel.” You hissed between your teeth while you were at his mercy.

“Well, sweetheart, that makes two of us.”

“Hilarious, I’m absolutely dying with laughter right now.” You rolled your eyes and he scowled at your sarcasm.

“Turned into a joiner just like Tommy. How fuckin’ predictable.” He shook his head in disappointment. “I promised Tess that I would kill you with my bare hands if I ever saw your face again, but…I can’t bring myself to do that, little fawn.” He lowered his gun slowly just as you began to lower your arms.

“You were leaving me behind, Joel. What—what else was I supposed to do, huh? Marlene found me in an alley, covered in blood and vomit because I had gotten my ass thrown in lockup after punching someone from FEDRA in the fucking face. I had nowhere else to go, no one to turn to, and Marlene offered me protection.”

“You punched someone from FEDRA in the face?” He couldn’t help but feel a little amused with this knowledge. “Never expected those words comin’ outta your mouth.”

“Yeah, well, things have changed, Joel. I did what I had to do to survive. I’m sure you think I did it to betray you, right? Not everything is about you. And even if that were the case, why would you even care, considering I’m just a liability in your eyes.”

“You’re right.” He stated simply. “I do think you did it to betray me, but clearly Marlene’s war ain’t goin’ to peachy with you fuckin’ it up. If I’m not the one to kill you, then I’m sure she’s hot on your trail already.”

“You’re probably right. After I set that bomb off I decided that I was fucking done with the Fireflies. I came back here to destroy the rest of the bombs and then I’m leaving the QZ tonight.”

“Wow.” His eyebrows rose in surprise and he couldn’t help the grin that slowly tugged over his lips. “Look at you havin’ a plan of action. I’m impressed.”

“And I take it you haven’t located that truck battery, huh? Man, that’s gotta suck.” You snickered softly.

“Watch it.” He snipped, “We ain’t friends or nothin’ and I still can kill you.”

You both fell silent as your emotions swirled like a dust bowl. You could only imagine the hate that could spew from his lips next.

“Did you…” he was referring to the dead infected that you had killed earlier.

“Yeah, I did.”

He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he observed you from where he was standing. “And you didn’t get bit, right?”

His question hung heavy in the air between you. You don’t remember if you were bit or not. It all had happened so fast—

“I—I don’t think so.” You were unsure as you slowly rose to your feet and that’s when he noticed your hand and the obvious teeth indentations in your skin. The same hand that patched up his wound, the same hand that wrapped around his middle when he wanted to be the little spoon.

“Oh Christ.” He whispered in disbelief, taking a small step back from you, his instincts kicking in immediately.

You looked down at your right hand, noticing the bite and the blood slowly leaking from the grooves in the indented marks. You quickly wiped the blood away, thinking that the bite mark would suddenly just disappear.

“No, no, no!” You yelled a broken cry, “I don’t—I don’t want to turn into a monster, Joel!” You continued to furiously wipe at the bite mark, growing more and more frustrated—afraid when it wasn’t going away.

His heart sinks and he doesn’t know what to do, or how to react. His eyes are fixated on the bite mark and what it means, and he isn’t sure how much time he’ll have left with you. The one thing that he does know for certain is that he won’t let you turn into a monster. He’ll make it quick, painless. You won’t feel a thing. It’s the least he can do for you after all the pain he caused. It’s really starting to hit him now, all the hurtful things he said. The cruelty he thrashed upon you. God, how could he do such awful things to someone like you?

“I—I need you to take a deep breath for me, little fawn, okay? Please. You need to calm down.” He tried to reason with you as he took a half step forward.

“Calm down?! You—” tears began to profusely roll down your cheeks when you faced your own realization that it was only a matter of time before you would turn into one of those monsters.

“I’m—I’m not going to let you turn into a monster, okay? I swear on my life, I’ll make it quick. You—you won’t feel a thing, okay? I’m so sorry—I’m so sorry that I’ve been nothing but cruel to you. I pushed you away, I forced you to leave. I’m the reason you joined the Fireflies. It’s all my fuckin’ fault.” He was struggling to hold his own tears at bay when he saw your body begin to tremble.

“Let—let me be till…my last breath, okay? Please, Joel. Can—can you do that for me? I’m—I’m so afraid.”

He nodded and slipped his gun into his holster. “Until your very last breath, little fawn.”

You slowly sank to the floor and despite every cell in his brain telling him not to join you, he ignored his instincts and found himself sitting alongside you.

“Will—will you hold me? I—I want one last comfort before my mind and body is no longer my own.”

How could he say no to your final request? He knew it was risky, and the Cordyceps were already laying their claim inside of your body. “Of course I will.” He whispered softly.

You slipped into his arms as if they were made for you, and he held you close, resting his chin along the top of your head.

He told you about his daughter Sarah and how he closed himself off to all feelings after she died. He told you that she died in his arms on his 36th birthday and that he wore the broken watch on his wrist because it was her birthday gift to him. He was wearing it when she died, and the bullets ripped through her body. A stray bullet had pierced the glass on the watch and her time of death would forever haunt him.

The last words you spoke to him were of forgiveness, and the last touch you felt from him was his lips pressed to your forehead before your mind and body were no longer yours.

He could sense that your time was up, and that you were no longer with him. He had gone numb when he reached for the gun in his holster and quietly removed it. When the infected head turned towards him and he was met with its dead, glossed over eyes, this was his final confirmation and nail in the coffin that his little fawn was no more.

He mouthed, I’m sorry, before he locked the infected in a headlock. They tussled on the ground momentarily before he pressed the barrel of the gun between its eyes and pulled the trigger.

The body went limp in his loosened grasp, slumping into his arms like a bag of bricks. He broke down into silent tears that wrecked through his body as he cradled you in his arms, rocking back and forth to try and calm himself down.

“I’m so sorry, little fawn. You deserved so much better.” He pressed one last kiss to your forehead before he lifted your corpse into his arms. He wanted to lay you to rest someone soft and comforting in hopes that wherever you were now, was filled with nothing but peace, love, and no pain.

He found a bed of moss nearby and gently laid you down upon it. His fingertips brushed across your eyelids, pulling them down gently so that it would appear as if you were sleeping peacefully. He placed your pocket knife between your hands and said his final goodbyes.

When your body rotted and decayed, you became one with the moss and only your bones remained.

Years later, Joel still thinks about you, his little fawn. He wonders if you’re dancing amongst the stars when he sits out on the back porch of his home in Jackson. There’s frost in the air, but it’s a clear night with the moon shining bright. His guitar sits off to the side and his mug of coffee has steam billowing off the rim of it. He catches a glimpse of the tail end of a shooting star striking brilliantly against the jet black sky. He knows in his heart that it’s you up there.

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broken promises, part three

« part one | part two | part three (the last one)

coriolanus snow x fem!reader

word count: 3.4k

warning: angst, we used to be close but people can go from people you know to people you don't, mention of helping in the rebellion

summary: In Snow's world, only one thing mattered more than his family's reputation—you. But that was before he met Lucy Gray.

a/n: so,, this is the end of this little story of a heartbreak. thank you for sticking with it<33 for more coriolanus content, feel free to drop by my inbox where you can leave your ideas for the next oneshots!!

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

taglist: @metalarmsandmanbuns @mavkaorlova @strangegril002 @thathoefromcollage

gif is not mine, credit to the owner

You'd be lying if you pretended not to be invested in the 10th Hunger Games. With Academy students participating this year, you had no choice but to follow the competition's every twist and turn, but even if it had been different, you'd have still tuned in from your home's television screen.

Despite the heated exchanges and angry words directed at Coriolanus, your best wishes were always with him. You genuinely hoped for nothing but the best for him, believing he'd achieve the deserved success he'd strived for and reach his craved scholarship, a gateway to boundless opportunities. In your heart, you rooted for Lucy Gray Baird's victory, as that seemed to be the only path leading to Coriolanus's dreams coming true.

Seeing Coriolanus each day in his perfectly fitted Academy uniform, hiding behind a facade of indifference that he never pull off around anyone outside his inner circle, playing the part of the model student, brought you pain. He gave off the impression that your past relationship had left no mark on him, leaving you in the dark about his true emotions and what was going on within his mind for the first time.

You were aware that everyone in your class had picked up on the shift between you and Coriolanus, though they tactfully avoided discussing it openly. You appreciated their silent understanding; no one was prying, and it allowed you to avoid discussing the painful change that had taken place. You didn't owe anyone an explanation, but it was easier to bear the weight of the situation when it remained unspoken. It stung to know that some girl from the District now held a more important place in your boyfriend's heart than you, someone he had known since childhood and shared the darkest moments of his life with.

The breakup with Coriolanus hit you like someone’s death. When you returned to the family penthouse, tears flowed endlessly from your eyes, and you couldn't seem to stop them. The persistent crying left you dehydrated, lying on your bed, cocooned in a blanket, your eyes red and swollen, and a pounding headache. The idea of consuming even a morsel of food felt impossible, and every inch of your room was a constant reminder of the moments you had shared with Coriolanus.

At times, you really wanted to approach him, to take the blame, to apologize for reacting hastily and to tell him that you should have let him handle things. But he treated you as if you were transparent. He had to feel your gaze on him, yet he chose to act as if you didn't exist, focusing all his attention on the Arena's broadcast screens, eagerly awaiting Lucy Gray's appearance.

As soon as the victory of the tribute from the Twelfth District became evident, you leaped to your feet, a genuine smile lighting up your face. Joining in the cheers and applause of your friends, you felt an urge to rush towards Coriolanus, but the memory of his distant gaze held you back. You knew you were no longer part of his happiness, no longer someone he wanted to share joy with.

With a lump in your throat, you discreetly cleared it, glancing around at other students. They seemed too absorbed in their own celebrations to notice your abrupt outburst. And so, you continued clapping, though the enthusiasm had waned, and the smile on your lips had dimmed.

You watched as Festus and a few other students hoisted Coriolanus onto a chair and paraded him around the podium and when they eventually placed him back on the ground, he turned his gaze toward you for the first time since your break up.

It was a brief look, lacking the joy in his eyes from seconds ago, but tinged with sense of satisfaction. It was a satisfaction born from the unexpected outcome, a result opposite to your wish for him to lose.

Afterward, all the students were directed into the dining hall to celebrate Coriolanus's victory with cake and posca.

And no longer after, the boy simply disappeared, slipping away from the festivities.

As the final echoes of the Games' noisy cheers faded away, an unsettling silence descended upon the Capitol, and your mind was left in a whirlwind of questions and concern. The explanation provided by the Academy for Coriolanus's sudden departure to one of the districts, where he was enlisting for as a Peacekeeper, seemed like an ill-fitting puzzle piece in his life.

You knew Coriolanus better than most, his ambitions, his dreams, his unrelenting pursuit of victory. This decision, so out of character, scratched at the corners of your consciousness like an itch you couldn't quite reach. The nagging sense that something was amiss and missing from the narrative was an ever-present companion, casting a shadow over your thoughts.

But the mystery didn't end with his sudden departure. The day following the Games' conclusion, it was as if someone had meticulously wiped away any trace of the event's existence. Records, footage, and even the very name Lucy Gray Baird were methodically excised from history's pages. The thoroughness of this situation left you in a state of bewildered disbelief. The memories and echoes of the Games, once so vivid, now seemed to have been cast into a gap of forgotten time.

Your mind was a whirlwind of questions, each one clamoring for answers, but you knew that the truth was hidden beyond your reach. In all of these Capitol secrets, you had no choice but to accept the narrative spun by Doctor Gaul and Dean Highbottom, even if it left you feeling like a mere puppet, dancing to their tune.

You just clung to the belief that Coriolanus was out there, safe, and somehow untouched by the Capitol's ominous machinations. You didn't know the real reason for his leaving, but thoughts of his comfort were your only solace.

You longed to see him again, not only because of the warmth of his presence, but also because of the secrets he could hold. Yet, deep down, you knew that even if he were to find his way back to the heart of Panem, you would likely be the last person on his list to seek out.

On a day that was just like any other, as the Capitol went about its business, you found yourself outside your penthouse. It was just another moment in your everyday routine, all you wanted was to go for a walk, enjoying the last few days before university starts, unaware of things that were about to happen.

You were lost in thought, just looking around the familiar place when suddenly, someone stepped into view and your heart stopped for what seemed like a split second. It was Coriolanus, no doubt about it, but he had changed more than you could have imagined. He used to have those distinctive curls, but now, his hair was much shorter. His whole presence felt more reserved. Even the way he carried himself seemed different from what you were used to. Something about his aura had shifted, and it was not the same energy you once knew, not even the one he usually projected to others. It was a subtle change, but it was there.

Upon realizing that he was heading towards your shared building, a mix of emotions surged within you. Surprise and happiness due to the sight of the person you had missed so intensely warred with the memories of his abrupt departure, and the months of estrangement.

As he drew closer, you couldn't help but hope for a friendly reunion. You wanted to forget the past and bridge the distance that had grown between the two of you, but the Coriolanus who now stood before you was colder, more distant than ever before.

His eyes, which once held warmth and familiarity when they met yours, now seemed to pass right through you, leaving you with an unsettling sense that the Coriolanus you once knew had changed into a stranger.

“Coryo?” you cautiously greeted him as he drew closer, employing the affectionate diminutive form of his name. “I didn't expect to meet you here.”

Your friendly approach fell upon a wall of silence, an awkward pause hanging heavily between you. The air seemed thick with unresolved tension, and you questioned whether you should have simply pretended not to notice him.

“Dean Highbottom mentioned that you departed for Twelve to join the Peacekeepers,” you continued, attempting to engage him in conversation. Your gaze remained intent on his, even as his bored expression showed little sign of interest. This was undoubtedly one of the most awkward moments of your life, and the hope of a warm reunion was fading with each passing second.

You couldn't help but inquire further, “Was it because of Lucy Gray?”

Upon the mention of the tribute girl's name, a subtle shift occurred in Coriolanus's demeanor. He raised his head slightly, his gaze narrowing and his jaw clenching. The unexpected reaction baffled you, and a crease of confusion formed between your brows as you tried to comprehend his change in demeanor.

“Lucy Gray is gone,” he stated, his words dripping with coldness and arrogance, once again underscoring the transformation in his character. The warmth and compassion that had once defined your interactions now felt like distant memories, leaving you in the stark shadow of your shared past.

“Gone?” you repeated. His statement was quite confusing, and you struggled to grasp its meaning.

Without offering any clarification, he continued his stride towards the building's entrance, as if your presence had become irrelevant to him. Desperate for answers that had slipped away form you for far too long, you reached out and gently grasped the sleeve of his shirt to stop him.

“Coryo, wait,” you begged, looking into his eyes for a flicker of the person you used to know. The frigid stare he returned sent a chill through your spine, but your curiosity pushed you forward. “What happened? After... well, after you disappeared.”

His gaze dipped to where your fingers held on to his shirt, and the tension between you grew palpable. When you finally let go, his eyes met yours once more, and he spoke in a voice that held a hint of gentleness. “Do you really want to know what happened?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. He maintained his distance, standing tall and appearing to gaze down at you.

You didn't particularly like this version of Coriolanus, but at the same time you couldn't back down now; you had yearned for this moment for months.

In response to his question, you offered a simple nod, a silent invitation for him to share. The silence hung between you, heavy and full of unspoken emotions. Coriolanus glanced around, checking for any unwelcome listeners nearby, before answering.

“I've been through a living hell,” he responded curtly, leaving a trail of unresolved questions lingering in the air, but before you could voice these unspoken thoughts, he continued.

“I was forced to follow relentless orders each day, enduring the scorching sun that left burns on my skin, and the agony of taking three lives,” he recounted, as if each experience weighed equally on his conscience. “And those damn songbirds... they're a nightmare. They can drive you to the brink of insanity.”

You sought answers in his eyes, searching for any glimmer of the person you had known, but what you found was far from the warmth and compassion you remembered. It was as if something within him had been replaced by a hint of disdain.

“She betrayed me,” he continued, his voice carrying the weight of bitter disappointment, before you had time to sort out the chaos in your head. “Just when I thought I could escape it all and start a new life without constantly looking over my shoulder, she chose to abandon me.”

“What do you mean, Coryo?” you questioned, your forehead creased with worry as you gazed into his eyes.

“I killed Sejanus Plinth,” he confessed. Your lips parted in shock, and without realizing it, you instinctively moved a step away, creating a physical gap between you and someone who had once been an open book. Now, it felt as though you knew nothing about him.

You had heard rumors of Sejanus Plinth's death, but the details were murky. The nature of Coriolanus and Sejanus's relationship had always been a subject of speculation, leaving people to wonder whether they were genuine friends or just collagues. Coriolanus had occasionally expressed his frustration with Sejanus to you, but you had never imagined he would go as far as to take such a drastic step.

Coriolanus seemed oblivious to your reaction, his words continuing in a torrent of frustration. “But he deserved it. He could have listened to me and followed the rules for once. Instead, he chose to be a rebel, wanting to play the savior of the districts. That's how rebels end up,” his words were like shards of ice, driven by a wrath you had never seen in him before.

“I killed people who threatened her. I killed those who could be dangerous to Lucy Gray,” Coriolanus murmured. You gazed into his empty eyes as he continued and a sense of dread creeped over you. “And in return, she betrayed me, willing to see me suffer the same fate as Sejanus,” he said with a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't risk being caught when I was mere hours away from leaving this wretched district.”

Your world seemed to crumble under the weight of his shocking confession. The inhumanity of his actions left you speechless, but Coriolanus appeared unaffected by your stunned silence.

He took a step closer, diminishing the gap between you, and you fought the urge to move back or look away from his piercing eyes.

“I'll make them all pay for it,” he declared with a small, unsettling smirk tugging at his lips. There was something in that expression that scared you, and now you were sure the boy standing in front of you was not the Coriolanus you had grown up with. “Every last one of them,” he added, presumably referring to the district residents with disdain.

With those words hanging in the air, he turned and disappeared behind the door of the apartment building, leaving you in a state of confusion and fear.

Many times, as you lay in bed at night, you often found yourself imagining the chance to see Coriolanus again. You wished that somehow, things could go back to the way they used to be, and that the warmth you once shared might return. But, the version of the man you just had a chance to look in the eyes filled you with nothing but fear now.

He seemed colder than his very name.

64 YEARS LATER

The underground room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a single overhead bulb casting elongated shadows on the faces gathered around the table. Maps, documents, and a tactical board cluttered the space, a visual representation of the Rebellion's intricate plans. The tension in the room was palpable, and when you walked in with a woman who bore a striking resemblance to a tiger in her appearance, the rebels shared uncertain, questioning looks.

Katniss, her unmistakable braided hair and fierce gaze, was the first to break the silence. Her voice cut through the tension like a blade, “Why are you doing this?”

Her eyes bore into yours with a mix of curiosity and concern, and you felt a dozen pairs of eyes in the room fixate on you. “Risking your life to help us take down Snow?”

You inhaled a quivering breath when the memories and thoughts weighing heavily upon your chest. In your mind, a series of images flashed – a time when Snow had been had been a very different person. You paused for a moment, your thoughts returning to the Coriolanus you had once been so familiar with. The recollection painted a vivid picture of Coryo as you remembered him: his charming smile, which he had once reserved solely for you, and his distinctive, curly hair.

“I'm doing this,” you began, your voice tinged with pain and longing, “because I used to know him very well.” You deliberately used the diminutive form of his name that had once been so familiar to you, “Coryo. We were close, once.”

The room fell silent, and a myriad of emotions passed over the faces of those assembled. Your words seemed to have caught them off guard, and you could sense their curiosity and concern.

“We were in a relationship, but he's not the person I once loved anymore. This Snow, the one we're fighting against now, is a monster. He's not the Coryo I knew. He deserves the worst.”

Peeta, who sat beside Katniss, let out a sigh, and his eyes held a profound understanding. His gaze, a clear blue in the dim light, softened as he looked at you.

“Sometimes people change,” Peeta said, his voice gentle. “I've seen it happen before.”

Katniss's expression hardened with resolve, her determination unwavering. “He's going to regret everything he has done in his life,” she said.

As Katniss's words hung in the air, you felt a wave of knotty emotions churning within you. Your gaze drifted downward to the shelter's dirt floor, where the tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to overflow. For years, you had yearned for justice to be served to Coriolanus, for him to face the consequences of his oppressive rule over Panem. It had been a sincere desire, one that had simmered in your heart, yet now, with the Rebellion's cause so close to success, you found yourself grappling with a bewildering conflict.

Coriolanus had long disregarded you, deeming you unworthy of his attention and companionship. He had tear your connection, but it didn't mean that you had forgotten the feelings you had once for him.

It was his treatment of those who still loved him, the suffering of his cousin Tigris, who had been a close friend of yours, that weighed on your heart. She had selflessly helped Coriolanus throughout the war, supported him during his first mentorship and long after, but his attitude toward her changed with each passing year, and you couldn't understand why.

Over the years, Coriolanus had allowed the Hunger Games to evolve into something even more grotesque and brutal, making even bigger spectacle out of the tributes' deaths. It had been a source of disgust, a reflection of his growing cruelty. You were repulsed by the Capitol, sickened by Snow's insatiable thirst for power and the desire to see him removed from his seat of authority had been a driving force.

Yet, something within you was blocking your resolve, sowing seeds of doubt and uncertainty. The conflict within your heart was a huge storm, with one part pulling you toward the rebellion and the other tethered to a past that still held the remains of the Coriolanus you had once known, loved, and miss.

But that boy from your youth was a distant memory, swallowed by the Coriolanus who had emerged over the years, especially during his time in the Twelfth District shortly after his victory in the Games.

You raised your eyes to meet Katniss's, and in that moment, your mind drifted to Lucy Gray Baird, an ironic twist of fate that wasn't lost on you.

As Katniss observed your internal struggle, her sharp instincts sensed that there was more to your hesitancy than met the eye. She furrowed her brows, her gaze unwavering, and asked, “Is there something else you would like to share?”

Peeta, who had been observing you quietly, echoed her concern with a compassionate look in his eyes. His gentle tone conveyed understanding as he said, “You can talk to us, you know. We've all had our reasons for joining this fight.”

Your throat felt constricted, and you struggled to find your voice amidst the chaos of emotions. With a hurried swallow and a deep breath to steady yourself, you cleared your throat and shook your head. You offered a smile, though it felt forced and inadequate for the gravity of the moment, as you moved closer to the table filled with scattered papers.

“So what’s the plan?” you asked, attempting to shift the focus away from you. Your eyes darted around the faces of those gathered around the tabletop, eager to immerse yourself in the cause, to be part of the solution to the crisis at hand.

[punkeropercyjackson]

🍫Zuko headcanons🍫

🍫Multiracial asian but mainly japanese ancestry.It's confirmed in one of the novel's there was a cultural unification in-universe so as a biracial latina,i'm taking this as mixed-coding

🍫Trans man who dosen't mind dipping his toes into femininity when asked(usually by Aang)but generally strongly perfers masculinity in his presentation.His egg cracked in his toddler years and due to his societal position,getting t and surgeries was very easy and his top surgery scars are dragon wing shaped

🍫Also sorry short king Zuko nation but i'm a 2nd tallest member of The Gaang Zuko truther.Katara is 6'7 and Zuko is 6'4(and goes without saying she uses it to tease him and calls him 'Squirt' and he sputters and yells at her every time)

🍫Autistic with anxiety,bpd,npd and ptsd.That no masking game rbf is iconic and he also has chronic pain and fatigue and uses a tricked up cane Sokka made him that's also a sword and goes with saying he's legally blind in his scar eye

🍫Tradgoth.Emo Zuko is fake and so is punk Zuko and grunge Zuko and literally any non-goth Zuko and i'm including poser goth Zuko.In a modern au he'd walk around looking like Spencer's ate him up then vomited him out into an empty grave he dug his own way out of Jason Todd style and a cunti maximus.He would also listen to death rock,Korn and breakcore,slander Hot Topic,encourage diy and online store shopping,play pirated horror games(and Animal Crossing),collect lost media items,do deepdive research into urban legends as a special interest,attend moshes,skateboard and do piercings for neighbourhood kids who ask him(including Aang🫶🏽)

🍫Fat/Dad bod.Give that guy some REAL thickness,none of that dehydrated bodybuilder bullshit.It was caused by him eating a lot more and a lot healthier,both from his healing arc with a new enviorment that's actually good for him and to sustain himself in training and Aang also has some chub going on but from the start of the series and he helps Zuko know there's nothing wrong with big builds and Zuko has pretty much no body insecurities as a result just like he does(it dispelling fears of resembling Ozai as he got older certainly didn't hurt)

🍫Katara and him are honorary siblings and she's his way cooler little sister figure and he's her older brother only she can bully 2:Electric Boogalo.I like to think they make matching friendship bracelets with eachother's aesthetics(so a sea themed one for Zuko and a gothic themed one for Katara)and Zuko convinces Katara to emotionally rely on him even if she'll never see him as a dad like Aang and Toph do and it eventually works

🍫He also is the reason she discovered cat cafes and she goes to them bi-monthly now as comfort and to unwind from all her constant activism.Zuko's a huge fan of cat cafes too and they were safe spaces for him pre-banishment and one of the first thing's he did when the war ended was go to one again.Whoever Zuko is dating is given cat cafe punch cards by him as one of the ultimate romantic gestures in his mind(he right though)

🍫Calls Aang 'My Sunshine',a nickname that fits his sunny personality but also to say he gave him the strength he needed to connect to his own power to save himself by bringing the sun back into his life in his hand,extended to him to give him a chance even when he was too caught up to see he had one.Less setimentally,he also calls him 'Mittens'

🍫Bites as affection,little nibbles or straight up enough for the other person to bleed depending on how cool they are with it.He asks and establishes consent first obvs even in the former cases

🍫Boba is the only kind of tea he likes.Don't @ me with 'he spit it out when Iroh invented it and had him try it',he was just surprised at the tapioca balls.His favorite flavors are brown sugar,cotton candy,funfetti,berrymix and oreo

🍫SUPER physically affectionate with Aang and it started one sided on his part but Zuko soon starting instigating it too instead of tolerating it to enjoying it about two years into their friendship.If he goes too long without an Aang hug he finds it upsetting and it pisses him off

🍫Very into gems,odd rocks,seashells,etc and has a secret stockpile in his room

🍫Pretty long hair,all the way down to his hips and perfers it out of his face,in a back of the head ponytail or half-up in a bun with the rest loose

🍫Always knew he was bi subconciously but didn't realize it until he was 16.He's that one tweet-'I'm probably a faggot x2 combo but i got a quest so idrc about that rn'

🍫Modern au Zuko is obsessed with PushPops.Don't question it,just know i'm right and may figure out a way to canonize them to core Atla

🍫Apologized to Azula and rebuilt a relathionship with her as soon as he released her from prison as The Gaaang were struck with how broken and not 'too far gone' she is.It took a long time and so much fucking work but The Fire Siblings finally felt comfortable seeing eachother as family and acting as not legit beefy but healthy siblings

🍫Has a voice tic where he constantly sounds angry and can't control it and he has to learn to tell people so they don't mistake it for lashing out at them

🍫Likes wearing long sleeves for that flap stim and drumming his fingers but to create a musical sound rather than for the sake it of as a stim too.Crushing stims are a Zuko trademark

🍫'Why does Zuko call you babygirl?''Aang,how about we just stop talking for a little while?' < every Zuko ship

🍫Dangly lemon quartz material dragon earrings

🍫Adores Choose Your Own Adventure comics and books!!He loves choosing his own destiny alright /lh /pos

[girlwiththoughts13]

A Vicious cycle

Coriolanus Snow x Wife!reader

Warnings: Dub-con/ violence/ kidnapping

Word count: 3k

~~~~

The silence that fills every empty space within the room is thick. So heavy, that your head feels the pressure of the silence and your ears are plagued with a low ringing.

You wouldn't be surprised if you lost your hearing completely as you haven't heard a sound from the outside world in quite some time.

It's because of this that when the door suddenly begins to open and the hinges creak, it sounds foreign and too harsh for your sensitive ears.

You're not sure how long you've been in here. Not very long you figured, considering you hadn't felt the effects of starvation or dehydration. Though it could be possible that your constant state of sleep has allowed you to escape that part of captivity. What else is there to do? Regret every choice and decision that has ultimately led to you ending up in this room?

Who knew a smile could be so fatal.

Lying on your side on the bed, faced away from the door, you could hear every step he takes, all calculated of course. You don't need to look up to know he's striding across the room, standing tall with his shoulders and chest puffed proud, commanding in every aspect of his life.

"It doesn't have to be this way darling" Coriolanus makes his way over to the small table in the corner of the room that holds a pitcher of water and cups, the very table that has been taunting you with your inability to reach it. He pours a glass as he continues "If you promise to be the good girl I know you are, you can come back upstairs"

You don't answer, don't move or even dare to breathe.

Coriolanus makes his way over to you, setting down the glass on the nightstand before crouching on his hind legs. He reaches out a hand to caress your cheek and tuck away a bit of stray hair behind your ear before moving to pinch your chin between his fore-finger and thumb in order to tilt your head to meet his eyes. "mmh? what do you say"

You glare at him, eyes filled with the flames you wished to burn him in. He ignores this, looking back at you with a small smirk. You lift your head a tad and spit directly onto his face. You had no control since the day he put the shackle on your left hand, the weight of the band a constant reminder of your lost freedom; but you still had control of your body, that was still your own, at least you hope it was.

Coriolanus removes his hand from your face slowly, to wipe your spit off of his eye and cheek, while standing to his full height. He suddenly grabs at your upper arm to yank you in an up-right siting position on the bed. The chain on your wrist that's connected to the headboard rattles violently. He grabs the glass of water and brings it to your lips. "Drink" He grits out

You slowly shake your head back and forth, your act of defiance.

"Drink or I'll force it down your throat. No matter how ungrateful you are you're still my wife, I won't let you die". You stare at him for a moment to long which prompts him to grab your entire jaw in one big hand, gripping so tightly, your mouth pops open from the force. He takes this opening to pour the water in your mouth which you slightly choke on. He stops for a beat before resuming his onslaught. Your entire chest and top of your sheer nightgown is drenched in the fallen water. He finally relents and allows you to lean forward to cough your lungs out. He pats your back for a few moments before you quickly swing your hand out to swat his away.

Between coughs you spit out "I...hate..you"

Coriolanus moves toward you once more and attempts to wrap his arms around you in order to bring you into an embrace. You resist and thrash around to knock him away from you, but he's stronger, bigger. He places one knee on the bed and tucks your body into his chest, you have no choice but to rest your head in his inner neck. He whispers to you "You don't mean that, you love me".

As much as it pained you to admit. You did love him, you wouldn't be here if you didn't. But you also hated him and more than anything else you feared him. He knew this, thrived off it. Coriolanus Snow was the scariest man you'd ever met and you had his full love and attention, the center of his universe, his entire world revolved around keeping you by his side, what a terrifying prospect.

"I wanna go home Coriolanus" you whispered, it was futile but every now and then you'd try to appeal to his empathy in case he suddenly developed emotions. Coriolanus eyes hardened just like it always did when you mentioned leaving him. "Corio". He corrected, not liking the formality of his full name. "And you're already home" he finished, letting you know this was the end of it. But you couldn't take this without some type of fight. You hadn't seen your family in a long time and you knew they were asking for you, capitol elites didn't handle being treated less than.

"Coriolanus please, I won't leave I just want to see them I swear". This was a variation of the truth. You wanted out of this house, possibly this marriage. Ever since you had said I do, Coriolanus ran you like a dictator, supervising where you went, what you wore, who you spoke to, even what you ate. You've tried to leave a few times before, every time ended the same way. You remember him whispering to you after your first attempt, "I'd never harm a hair on your head but when you do something wrong someone has to pay for it and it won't be you sweetheart" he says this as he forced you to watch one of the staff members who had become a cherished friend to you- one of the only people you're allowed to talk to and who helped you out past the doors- get beaten by two peacekeepers til her body was mangled beyond recognition.

You pull your face away to look at him your hands reaching up to hold the sides of his face, the heft of the chain resting on him surely bothering him but he wouldn't say anything. You saw his anger flare and you felt him begin to pull away, so you wrapped one of your hands around his back and the other to the nape of his neck to hold him to you.

His arms around you tightened. This was what you hated the most about yourself. The sudden heat that would consume the pit of your stomach. Just from being held by him, being this close that you can smell his strong scent that was all man, a man of power. Every move you made was because he allowed it, he could predict everything you'd ever do, maybe just this once taking him off guard would be rewarding.

You pull away from the embrace by an inch and bring your hands to his cheeks once again, resting there gently instead of the firm grip he usually holds your face in. You look him in the eyes briefly and see a crease between his brows appear from confusion. You don't let him think on it for too long before you're smashing your lips onto his. He kisses back immediately and you continue on like this for a minute or so before he's grabbing your shoulders and shoving you back. "What are you doing?" Coriolanus wants nothing more than this, to kiss you until there's no more air in your lungs, to take you and fuck any ideas of leaving him out of your head, but he also doesn't want to be tricked.

You don't answer just lean up to kiss him again, this seems to be enough for him. Coriolanus practically pounces on you, wrapping one hand around your throat while the other goes down to your lower back, pressing you into him. The rattle of your arm reminds him of the chain on your wrist, he pulls away and hastily digs into his pocket to pull out the key. He unchains you and you throw yourself back on the bed, arms reaching out for him in faux yearning. Though it isn't entirely in-genuine, despite your distaste of his control over you he never fails to make your body light up like the brightest burning star. It spreads down further into your center at the sight of his striking blue eyes and you know your panties are drenched with the overwhelming lust heightened by the intermingling fear.

Coriolanus climbs on top of you and you're quick to lower your arms around his neck when he slots himself between your legs. His palms resting on the sides of your head to keep his weight off of you. His lips come smashing down onto your lips as if he's attempting to meld you together. If that were possible you know he would, to know you'd be his forever. The passionate kiss continues as Coriolanus brings one hand down to the hem of your nightgown, fingers caressing your exposed skin with a feather-light touch. He brings his kisses down to your jaw slowly and sensually, a complete switch from the untamed way he had been before. Finally landing on your neck where he sucks a mark on your soft skin strong enough to elicit a moan from deep within you.

The hand that was ghosting on your nightgown at last pulls the fabric up until it bunches up high on your thighs. Coriolanus releases the gown to trail his fingers across your clothed cunt, he smirks as he feels how wet you are. He begins to rub up and down slowly but with a harsh pressure, the pleasure makes your teeth vibrate.

"Your body could never lie to me, you crave me, need me, you're nothing without me" Coriolanus whispers in your ear taking a lobe lazily in his mouth to nibble on it. You hate that his words hold truth to them, you feel ashamed. And it is that exact emotion that reminds you what you almost forgotten. With Coriolanus head tucked away in your neck, he is unable to see your hand let go of the bedsheet you were gripping onto for dear life and slyly take hold of the abandoned chain.

You were somebody without him, he made you into nothing. But you knew if you could just be strong for this next part you can be free to be the person you truly were, the one he long ago exhausted.

With the heft of the chain in your hand, you tightened your hold and wasted no time taking what could very well be your only chance and brought it down with all your might to the side of his face that wasn't covered by your neck.

Coriolanus lets out a shout, you don't let him recover before you're pushing against his shoulder to slip out from under him. You run as fast as your legs will carry you and rip open the door. You can hear Coriolanus yelling and crashing into things no doubt rushing after you already. You will your body to run faster but your legs are practically numb from laying in bed for god knows how long. It isn't much later that Coriolanus body crashes into yours halting any further movement.

He spins you to face him and yanks you by the throat, cutting off your air immediately. The side of his face already dripping with blood that lands on his pristine white shirt. Your hands come to his arm in order to claw at him off you. "Where do you think you're going?"

He doesn't let you answer before he's releasing you to crouch down and throw you over his shoulder, like you weighted nothing at all. He storms back into the room and throws you on the bed, you land on your back with a thud. He waste no time climbing on top making sure to press one knee on your thigh to subdue you. Your hands come up waving violently every which way. "Get off of me" You scream, Coriolanus latches on your wrists to end the digs you're getting on his face, no doubt worsening his wounds. "Stop fucking moving".

Coriolanus lowers his weight upon you and reaches between you to free his cock from his pants, having no plans to remove any articles of clothing. 

"Coriolanus stop it" You squeal after he rips your panties off in one swift move.

He presses his cock against your pussy and rubs it up and down, until you slowly relax. You try to push away the building arousal but find it difficult to resist the ache that's begging to take over your senses. Eventually you begin to pant and you know your resolve is at the point of breaking. His cock moves upon your clit and your mouth flys open to release the sweetest sound his ever heard.

“What do you want?” Coriolanus will never miss the opportunity to make you beg.

“Please.. Corio fuck me” Gone were any reservations of Corio’s dominion over you. 

A sharp gasp is ripped through you as you feel his cock push inside you. A full blown moan rushes out as he hits the barrier of your womb. His mouth falls open against your shoulder, a desperate groan leaving him as he sinks into you, he bites clamps down his teeth into your skin to tether himself to you, you know from the sting that his teeth marks will be present for days to come. 

Coriolanus is so big, thicker and long in a way that matches his dominant nature, every time he fucks you the stretch teeters on the edge of pain and pleasure. When he pulls back and pushes back in with rapid movements, the sheer desperation makes you both moan. Coriolanus begins to pound into you at a frantic speed. One of his hands leaves yours again, coming up drag your the top of your gown down enough to expose one your breast, he kneads your full breasts, mouth coming down to put one nipple in his mouth, sucking powerfully, coming off with a pop. You can feel every inch of him inside, he’s so deep, hitting all the spots that make your head spin.

“You’re mine, do you hear me? You're not going anywhere you're gonna stay right here, where I could have you like this all the time” The hand on your breast goes up to lace his fingers through your hair at the back of your head, too pull you back to look at him. His beautiful face at ease—no one but you has ever seen this look— though his eyes never get rid of that dangerous glint.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

Coriolanus begins to fuck into you faster as if to warn you to answer correctly. You glance down to where you are connected and watch as his cock disappears into your cunt. You let out a high pitched yelp at the sight and the arousal it spurns.

“I’m yours, Coryo, only yours.” His face is flushed with relief at the proclamation falling from your lips, at that you lean up to kiss him sloppily. 

Amongst the pleasure you feel as his fingers catch your clit and rub quick circles on it, shame rises within you. Your hand rests on his wrist, attempting to give you reprieve from his measured circles on your clit but this only makes him speed up.

The sound you let out is entirely pornographic, everything inside you seizes when you finally reach your peak. His hand falls from your clit, moving both hands to your hips in order to chase his own high now. The grip he has on you hurts, but despite the terror he instills in you, you find that it heightens your desire for him. 

Faintly in the back of your mind you notice yourself falling back into the pattern, because the thought of leaving him seems impossible, it pains you. You know he’s about to burst when his cock throbs incessantly inside you and his groans get louder against your ear. His hips stutter and then ram inside once, twice, before he releases, teeth digging into your shoulder again and cock buried to the hilt. 

After a long beat of silence, his head moves up from your shoulder and he grasps your jaw again. At this your eyes open wearily. He simply stares at you for a moment as if you're the most uncomplicated thing in his life that he’s conquered. His cock now softened, slips out of you and you can feel the rush of his cum spilling out and dripping along your inner thighs. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl now?” His eyes dare you to challenge him, you won’t, you know better. You nod your head within his grip. He tightens his hold. “Words sweetheart” 

“Yes I’ll be good” Corio smiles like he always does when he knows he’s won. You can't remember how many times you’ve seen this particular smile. 

“Good, let's go back upstairs”

Corio tucks himself back into his pants before helping you off the bed and straightening out your nightgown. He holds out his hand for you to take which you do eagerly. The both of you walk out of the room, when you reach the door he lets go of your hand to push you forward lightly by the small of your back. He pulls the door shut and locks it tight. 

Once again taking your hand in his,  you climb the stairs that lead to your actual home but you can’t help but think about the next time you’ll be down there because you know for certain you haven't seen the last of that room.

[the-raven-lady]

(Not) The Savior You Long For [Part 3]

[Masterlist] [My Ko-Fi]

Pairing: Night Lord (OC: Elias Rushorik) x serf!Reader [fem]

Song Inspiration: Nocturnal Me - Echo & The Bunnymen  [YouTube] [Spotify] “Do or die, what's done is done / True beauty lies on the blue horizon / Who or why? What's one is one / In pure disguise of vulgar sons / Oh, take me internally / Forever yours, nocturnal me.”

Warnings: Getting tattooed in detail (needles and pain), vomiting / emetophobia, illness and recovery, mentions of violence and gore, cannibalism, food (and lack thereof) talks, partially unreliable narrator?

Word Count: 3.3k

Author’s Note: Thank you everyone for being straight feral for this man. It makes writing for him far easier. Thank you @mothiir for keeping me company as I wrote and happy late birthday.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual 

@lemon-russ @moodymisty @dedios-of-the-word @pickpocketing-your-gender @historitor-bookshelf

The needle digging into your skin alternates between a carpet burn and the drag of a razor blade as the apothecary packs black pigment into your nape. Vibrations electrify your entire nervous system and tingle deep into your bones, sending all of your systems haywire. You lost the ability to hold yourself upright through the pain a long time ago, your master having simply pivoted and shoved you face-first into his bed when the iron grip around your neck wasn’t enough to silence your incessant whimpering. 

You ball your hands into fists and press them hard into your lap as an aggravated spinal nerve shoots lightning down your arm. The apothecary hisses in Nostraman, but the foreign words are lost to your pain-addled brain, too much blood whirring in your ears. The Contekar holding you steady digs his fingers into your jaw, the greater pain refocusing you and inadvertently soothing the ache in your clenched teeth. Your eyes blink open to his creased brow and tired eyes glaring at you in warning. You hadn’t even noticed the high pitched whimper leaving your throat with how focused you’d been trying to hold your breath, but it’s not a difficult leap in logic to realize that your tattoo artist was getting annoyed with the constant sound of a balloon leaking air.

The next time it happens is after you cry out from a stab to a particularly tender area above the spine, and both parties were substantially less polite about it. The apothecary lifts the needle from where it bore into you, and you don’t even have the time to catch your breath before someone kicks your chair and spins it round. The next thing you perceive is total darkness and the inability to take a full breath, as well as an immovable force preventing you from lifting your head back up. Your entire body tenses up as the needle once again makes contact and angry vibrations rattle down your spine.

Gentle wipes of a cold cloth against the entirety of your nape jarringly signaled the close of the session, temporarily calming the constant burn. What felt like an eternity had at most been three hours, but by the end your entire body was exhausted. You were dehydrated and nauseous, trembling from adrenaline and low blood sugar. Your limbs were torn between desperately needing to stretch out and being completely uncooperative. 

On legs of jelly, you slowly stagger up out of the chair and lift your face off of the bed, firmly planting your hands into the soft mattress to stabilize yourself. Moisture from where you had been crying stains the blanket and your cheeks. Disorienting static buzzes within your head.

The apothecary is packing up his cart, tossing used supplies into a bag on the side and putting the used needles in a rigid case with an occasional clink, clink. You squint as you notice a scarlet ink cup on the tabletop, not remembering when that had been poured despite trying to pay attention at first. The terminator and apothecary exchange quiet words in their native tongue before the apothecary pulls a tub of… something from one of the cart’s many drawers. The terminator accepts it with a scoff, shaking his head in annoyance, and puts the object next to his ornate armor. 

The back of your neck is lit up like a severe sunburn, curling around the edges of your traps and up behind your ears. Turning your head from side to side gives no glimpse of the new ink (but it does remind you of how stiff your body is). Whatever substance had been put on top of the tattoo is greasy and warm; you guess it must be there to protect the fresh wound.

The creak of the door opening and closing alerts you to the apothecary taking his leave, dragging the cart out behind him. The terminator gives the room a once over, then turns his black eyes to you. Your brain is too tired to react to the weight of his gaze at the moment, clouded by adrenal buzzing, and you feel the corners of your lips quirk up as you meet his stare. The slivers of white in the corners of his eyes make him look like an overgrown dog.

He huffs and looks away, sitting back against his table and grabbing the tub of whatever from earlier to read its label over. The way folds his arms over his broad chest conceals several of his larger chest ports, and you wonder why they’re placed along his body in each specific location. Questions for another day.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you find yourself moving in the direction of the bathroom. Each step is messy and uncoordinated, feet dragging, but you manage to not fall over as you push yourself off of support of the bed. Getting tattooed so close to the head must be making your brain do spirals. Head warm and floaty, vision dreamlike and unfocused. Everything simultaneously feels better than it ever has and dreadfully wrong, but you can’t find it within you to care. The world has never been so ethereal.

You jump as you recognize the face in front of you. When had you gotten to the mirror?

Craning your neck to the side, you catch sight of the red and black artwork wrapping around your neck. Inflammation has set in over the entire area, an angry flush from head to chest. The thick black outline of a bat wing curves down from behind your ear to the top of your shoulder, packed with crimson. Red waves and spirals flow along its webbing in cascades. You turn fully to your side and drag the skin of your shoulder down to see the rest of it.

Subtlety was not considered for this design.

A skull sits between the bat wings along your spine, perfectly aligned with where the vertebra of your neck meet those of your back. Above the skull sits two symbols you don’t recognize: one in the shape of a cross, and another like a rotated ‘F’. You’ve seen similar script on some of the older Night Lord’s armor, but you never inquired about their meaning before. Whatever they are, they likely serve some function beyond purely aesthetic.

A sudden warmth overtakes you. Your hand slips from its perch on the oversized sink basin, and you nearly topple over, just barely catching yourself in time as a wave of vertigo washes over you. Alarms ring in your ears, tinnitus deafening everything around you. The grey tiled floor begins to swirl, churning tides at your feet that double and triple. Dull throbbing pounds from the inside of your skull. 

The only warning you get before the contents of your stomach paint the surface of the sink is a furious twist in your gut. You violently retch the remainder of your last meal, coughing and sputtering sour yellow chunks off of your tongue. 

You meet your own bloodshot eyes in the mirror as your legs begin to give out, clutching weakly at the sink to keep yourself upright. A sheen of sweat coats your face, cheeks flushed despite a sudden pallor to the rest of you. Each breath you take is labored and intense, diaphragm screaming at you for oxygen you can’t seem to get. 

What is happening–? You try to speak but the words won’t come out, tongue too large for your mouth. Am I dying–? 

The slam of the door is the only thing that reaches your fogged brain, and you sluggishly turn your head to meet it. Shadows crawl in from the opening like licks of dark smoke.

Everything tunnels around you, and a sharp sting of blinding white floods your vision.

Soft. The surface is soft, warm. 

You can’t remember the last time you’d felt so comfortable.

The heavy blanket around you anchors your sore body down, faux fur and minky sending little prickles up your arm as you brush your fingertips against the fabric. You must not be in your spot on the floor, unless your pillow had grown three sizes from the last time you checked. 

Honestly, you couldn’t tell if it did or not. A heavenly glow basks the room around you, hazing the edges of your vision. 

The tattoo had killed you— it must have, for why else would you be so at ease? This couldn’t be the Nightfall. 

An angel walks into your view, a vast colossus of perfection. Its form radiates with light, grey eyes dotting along its body in random locations that all seem to stare right at you. You’d dare call it beautiful. Gingerly, you reach a hand out towards it, hoping to share in its magnificence.

The afterlife wasn’t so unwelcoming after all.

Elias swears if you grab his leg one more time he’s going to tie you to the chair and leave you outside for the vermin. For the tenth time he swats away your hand, trapping it against the edge of the bed. He pushes away the blanket covering you to check over your weeping tattoo as the apothecary instructed. His eyes hone in on the subtle beating of your heart, capillaries expanding and contracting as lymph tries desperately to carry away the astartes blood in the ink. You haven’t died yet, which is a positive; it would reflect poorly on his abilities and reputation otherwise.

Your frail little body treats him like an infection. Elias had heard you vomit from the bathroom and surged in just in time to watch your head slam into the metal sink as you collapsed. There’s still a yellowing bruise on your cheek from where it had impacted, but the deep purples and reds have dissipated. He couldn’t remember a time when he was so delicate, even as a human. 

…however long ago it had been since then. The Night Haunter had only just been found by the Emperor and joined forces with the Imperium at the time Elias became a neophyte. 

You give a pathetic whine at his touch, and it grates him. It’s as if Apothecarion Rathal had tattooed the intelligence straight out of you, reducing you to a groveling ape and no more. Your skin was perpetually damp and perspiration soaked into the fine linens of his bed sheets, which made them reek of you (did you not understand how difficult it had been to acquire those?). You moan and hyperventilate in your sleep, demanding his attention away from the responsibilities you had shirked in your illness.

And now it was his responsibility to care for you? Absurd. Still, the human medicae would surely do no better than he could. It was bad enough that he can’t even use his own bed during this extended downtime because you’re in it.

It isn’t as if he hasn’t tried, but it’s difficult to focus on his own activities when every few minutes a sick human is trying to clutch onto you like a child in need of comforting. 

First, he had been attempting to clean off the plates of his armor while you were unable to do it for him. Elias sat over the edge of the bed to avoid getting any of the flakes on his expensive spread, when your needy little hands had snaked around his waist and pulled at him. “No,” he had scolded, pushing you off, but your foolishly feverish mind wouldn’t take that for an answer. You redoubled your efforts, forcing him to move to his far less comfortable chair to finish. 

Second was after a brutal training session. Elias had worked himself nearly to collapse, pushing the limits of his underfed body. He returned to his quarters drenched in sweat and exhausted, ignoring your sleeping form as he walked past you to take a much needed shower— he didn’t subscribe to the filth of the rest of the Eighth, taking more pride in his image and heritage than the lowly degenerates that had recently populated it. Dried and clean, he pushed you as far to the side as he could before taking up his spot in bed, sinking into the soft mattress with a sigh.

Only to wake up to you snuggling against him.

His back had begun to ache from the amount of half-sleep spent in his chair to accommodate for your needs. If you had been any less diligent at your job, Elias would have already disposed of you like the rest. 

The previous serfs he’d acquired had proven inadequate. Some would beg and cry to him for their freedom— freedom, as if he had not offered them a better life than they ever could have hoped for on this wretched ship. Others had damaged his armor or belongings, which infuriated him to no end. You at least seemed to know your place and understand the magnitude of the gifts he had given you, even if it had taken multiple days for you to use the pillow and sheet he provided for your floor spot at the foot of his bed.

He may not have kept you around at all if one of his useless younger brothers hadn’t been present in the armory he found you in. 

Elias had just returned from a six month long campaign on a noncompliant feudal world, utterly ravenous and annoyed. The fleet had stopped supplying rations to the squads weeks prior as ‘encouragement’ for them to finish their mission faster. The casualty rate had shot up as a result of the ration cuts, each Night Lord left to fend for themselves. The civilians and guardsmen stood no chance.

Elias had already never been given proper portioning for his body size to begin with, being larger than the majority of his legion by a substantial margin. He left most meals hungry, but he learned how to make up for it in his own ways. 

And there you had been, crying in the corner against a storage locker as his brother cornered you in while spewing ridiculous notions about gutting you. There had been two priorities on Elias’s mind at the time: have his armor refreshed so that he would stand out amongst his squad, and have his belly filled. How kind of his brother to so willingly volunteer for slaughter, getting in his way as he did. Elias had been craving such a protein-dense meal for ages.

You had done an admittedly excellent job cleaning his helmet as he ate. It brought him something akin to happiness that you were intelligent enough to shut up and just work, leaving him to his devices. He was almost grateful he wouldn’t have to devour you. The chances of finding a serf that didn’t question or cry about every little thing were slim.

Speaking since his lip had been torn a half-century ago brought Elias no short amount of annoyance. Sharp consonants like F’s, P’s, and S’s would catch on his lips, causing them to whistle and lisp. It was even worse in Gothic than his native dialect of Nostraman. Eloquent speeches and curt words were softened by the reality of their vocalizations, and over time Elias decided to speak only when necessary to avoid the stress.

He wasn’t ‘self-conscious’ about it. He doesn’t get self-conscious. That was only for the weak minded, and Elias is not weak.

The jar of antibiotic balm has gotten warm in his hand. Deftly unscrewing the lid and dropping it aside, he hooks a dollop onto his finger. The apothecary made it very clear that the tattoo had to be kept moisturized and coated to protect it and have it heal properly, and Elias wouldn’t settle for any imperfections in the design. He had overseen the entire process from start to finish to assure the outcome was as favorable to him as possible. The best tattoo artist, the finest supplies, the most reliable machine, everything. He wouldn’t skimp on the recovery process no matter how difficult you intended to make it.

The terminator kneels down on the bed and rolls your head to the side once more to apply the ointment, diligently spreading it over every exposed inch of the tattoo. The process would go so much more smoothly if you would stop nuzzling into the hand holding your head like a damned kitten. He needs to use both hands to lift the back of your collar up, but your complete inability to stay still and let him work stalls the process. 

An annoyed grunt leaves him, and he sits back to glare down at you. Your eyes are half-lidded and unintelligent when they meet his, and you give him another useless smile. Never learning your lesson, you lean forward to rest your head against his knee, letting out a deep exhale at the contact. It’s ridiculous, the basal creature you’ve become.

But it also puts you in the perfect position for Elias to finish his work. He supposes this is fine if it means you’ll cooperate with him, and he allows himself to relax. He’s only taking advantage of your weakness.

He hooks a finger into your shirt and pulls it away, working the balm down under the fabric to make sure the entirety of the tattoo is coated, rolling it an inch farther out than necessary in all directions in the event you smudge it. He relinquishes your collar and stares down at the runes between the wings. On a whim, he scoops up another small dollop of the salve and focuses more attention to the area. He would prefer his claim on you be clear if nothing else, and no part of the tattoo was more important than his name.

Content, the Night Lord pulls the blanket back over the area and reaches for the lid of the jar to close it.

“Thank you, my lord.”

He stops at your words, returning his gaze to where your cheek rests on his thigh. Your eyes are cloudy and red, pupils dilated so large they nearly envelop your iris. The look is almost pathetic, so reliant on him for your needs.

You have been since he chose to keep you. Unable to stand up to any of his brothers and most other serfs before. You could not find your own clothes, find regular sleep, or find consistent food. Elias had so generously made up for that, providing you new garments and a safe place to sleep, and you still tried to leave at first. Perhaps if you had just spoken up about your needs, he would have known you were hungry sooner. Taking the finer foods the Imperium provided to the remembrancers had been tantamount to stealing from children. No one dared stop him from entering their hall and commandeering what he saw fit to nourish you.

He has now sacrificed his bed for you, but at least it is visible how grateful you are for it. It stirs an odd fluttering in his hearts that makes him grimace.

“Elias.”

Your eyebrows knit together as your obtuse brain thinks loud enough to hear each cog within whir. Are you always so transparent?

“Pardon me, my lord?” you reply, unable to piece it together yourself. Perhaps he has given you too much credit.

With a sigh, he responds, shaking his head. “My name is Elias.”

A light enters your eyes for the first time in a week, a modicum of intelligence coming back to you. The adoring smile on your face widens to a full fledged grin as if you have just been given all of your dreams in life. It would be impossible for another human to look more reverential than you do in the moment, face pressed against him like you’re venerating a god.

If you could purr, Elias swears you would be.

If he still could, he might be too.

And here's the tattoo you got. Hope you like Night Lord Tribal!

They say bold will hold for a reason. Unfortunately for most serfs, it doesn't have to hold very long. I overlayed it on top of some skin tones so you guys had a better idea of what it looks like on the skin.

I debated doing the entire Fenty Beauty shade range but the time sink was high, so here are 18 common shades. If your skin tone isn't on it, feel free to send me a picture and I'll throw the transparent tattoo on top of it :)

[bangchansgirlsblog]

Him.

Warning: Abuse, Angst/comfort, crying, blood.

Pairing: Hyunjin x reader

Summary: Hyunjin saves you from an abuse relationship.

Hey😆 if you don’t like graphic things please don’t read. Thank you! Not the best one shot but yeah hope you enjoy it :))

-🩷

**

"Alex please! I'm sorry!" I yelp as I scrumble on the floor trying to get away from my now angry boyfriend. My hands trembled and my body was now vigorously shaking on the ground.

This had been going on for 30 minutes and I was exhausted and dehydrated. My hands were slippery from the blood that laid on them. All my senses were gone at this point but he kept going and going.

"You'll be actually sorry when I'm done with you," his fist connecting with my chin as I scream in pain from the constant beating of his hands against my limbs. His steps were loud and his breathing was even louder. His face occasionally getting really close to mine.

"Please forgive me! I didn't mean it! Alex please!" I get on all my fours and take a few crawls away from his standing figure but his hands wrapped around around my ankle and yanked me back to his body.

He had a smirk on his face. He enjoyed this. I knew he did but the constant manipulation and lying words tricked my mind into thinking that maybe he was just stressed or tired or maybe I did something to trigger him whenever this would happen.

This time was done I know I had to get away somehow. I knew that if I didn’t leave him I would end up dead or I could put anyone at risk with him around.

I’m ripped away from my thoughts and prayers when his voice booms into my eardrums. A ringing sound now playing really loudly.

"You think you can be a little slut huh?! You think you can get away with this shit?! You're fucking pathetic!"

My eyes are glued to his body. His arms were both grasping and digging into my flesh. Small whimpers are leaving my mouth. I couldn’t see anything due to the tears that fogged my site but I knew he was so proud of himself.

He knew he could control me. He thought I wouldn’t leave him but this time I was thinking about it. Thinking about getting here alive.

I pray that it’s all over when he just glared at me and it is when he spits on me and walks away. His saliva is hot against my face. My body laying on the ground as I tried to get energy to get up. I slowly look up to see if he was still In the room but thankfully he was gone.

The slamming front door confirms it.

The world seemed to be moving in slow motion. The plate that was once neatly stacked with food was now on the floor and shattered.

Pillows were everywhere and the painting Hyunjin had made me was now ripped on the floor.

Heavier sobs leave my mouth as I slowly get up but I’m unable to. My body wouldn’t allow it. My shaking arms couldn’t support the weight. My breathing was getting worse but the sound is covered with my phone was ringing non stop.

Hyunjin's name popping up time and time again.

The warm sension of blood oozed from my nose. The throbbing pain of my nose and now black eye lingered. My body ached.

This was a normal thing tho. Alex didn't have the best temper and I knew that. It was my fault.

I knew he didn't like his food served at this hour but yet I thought that if I somehow convinced him to eat now I could go out later to hangout with the guys. He didn’t like them at all but he always found himself around us trying to make a point about who could come near me and who couldn’t.

I slowly help myself up by leaning on the couch.

My arms were bruised and the breaths I would try to take hurt really bad. Tears continued to roll down my cheeks. I limp towards the messy area trying to clean it before he came back. Before he would have another reason to snap.

The apartment was quiet. Khami was locked in his cage. The lights were dim and the kettle was boiling.

It was the knock on the door that got me out of my trance. My neck snapping towards it.

Who could be out there? Everyone knew not to come announced. The more I thought about it the more scared I got. Was it the neighbor? Did someone call the cops?

I try to avoid the door but the knocks get more frantic and loud. Hyunjin's voice now coming through.

"Y/n?! Y/n it's me! Please open the door. Are you hurt?! I can see your shoes out here! I know you’re in there!”

**

I was in the kitchen when Alex had come into the room. He was wearing his work suit and a smile played on his lips. He placed a kiss on my forehead and sets his briefcase on the table.

"Hey love, how was your day?" He asks. I look over at him and give him a tiny smile.

"It was good and yours?" I automatically ask him. My hands were stirring the cooking pot and the kettle of warming water sat besides the sauce pan.

"Yeah just tired,” he tans and furrows his eyebrows while looking at his watch “what are you doing?"

I run my hands nervously and turn towards him.

"Oh I'm just making you a plate of food before I go,"

"Go where?" His eyes furrow and I gulp, "remember I told you that I was going out with the guys? You let me go,”

"Go where? I don't remember this," his eyes squint "why would you go out with the boys?"

"Baby remember when I asked you?" I frown and look up at him. My hands play with the strings from the apron.

"You’re not going-" his voice is firm and now he is towering over me.

"But babe-"

"I said you’re not going and it's final," he snaps before turning around and leaving the room.

I let out a sigh thinking that maybe he was just in a bad mood but nevertheless a no was a no.

I put everything down and pull out to phone Chan who wasn't picking up so the next best option was Hyunjin.

"Hyunjin?" I say softly,

"Hey! How are you?" He beams through the phone. His voice was soft yet excited. The thought of no seeing them hurt my heart. I had been avoiding them due to the clear visual bruises that lay on my body from the fight I had gotten in either Alex a few days ago.

They were all so attentive when I was around them so I knew it wasn’t a good idea to be around when I was covered in bruises. Too many questions.

I begin to explain, "Oh I just come today, I'm sorry-"

"What? This is the 3rd time you've cancelled this week," his voice is layered with confusion, “are you trying to avoid me because of the kiss?”

My heart stops beating for a second and butterflied start to invade my stomach. It was definitely not because of that. I start to blush, I feel it.

"No Hyun it’s because Alex-"

"Who the fuck are you talking to?" A voice booms causing me to jump. I turn to see Alex stood by the door. His frame covering everything.

"It's no one Alex it's just Hyunjin,” I try to explain,

"Hello? Y/n? Is that Alex?" I hear Hyunjin's voice from the other side of the phone before glass shatters causing me to drop the phone.

"What the fuck is your probekm you bitch?!" He yells and charges at me.

"Alex no! I was just-"

I feel a hot sting on my cheek and my body being pulled by my hair to the living room.

I let out a scream causing him to let go and put his palm against my mouth

“Shhh don’t say a word, why the fuck are you telling Hyunjin about our business? Huh?! Is he part of our relationship?!” My eyes go wide and I frantically shake my head no. I can fear the tears starting to form in my eyes.

He lets go of my mouth and I take on a deep breathe trying to regulate my breathing. Trying to get away but my body is thrown to the floor.

“Alex please! Please I won’t do it again! I’m sorry,” a squeal leaves my mouth as I grab my rib cage that was now on fire because of the impact.

His eyes were dark and his fists were clenched and red from the previous fights we had gotten into. He was wearing his normal sweatpants, Shirt and his hair was a mess.

“Do you think you can play me?!” His voice booms through the room.

“No no no , I love you Alex-“

“Then act like it!” He is calm for a second before charging at me again causing me to scream in fear, “You’re the fucking problem. You little pathetic nobody!” His hand wraps around my neck trying to grab me off the floor.

My hands automatically try to remove his finger but his grip is too tight causing me to lack air. Not to breathe.

“Seems you don’t listen? Today I’m going to discipline you again.”

**

“H-Hyunjin go away please!” I whisper through the door.

“No Y/n! open the door right now or I’m calling the cops,” he threatens. My body goes cold, what could I possibly do?

“No no no! Please don’t!” Panic feels me before my shaky hands slowly open the door and a peep through the little crack.

“What is it hyun?” I whisper. I examine him. His wearing a flannel and some jeans. His airforces on and his jyp budge attached to his shirt meaning he had come from the studio.

“I heard everything Y/n open then door please?” His eyes are soft, warm and glistening.

“No-no you can’t Alex-“ by the time I try to finish the sentence he had managed to push himself through, frantically looking around the room.

“Is that son of a bitch gone?” He looks over at me when his done looking around the room.

“Yes yes- Hyunjin you have to go- he might be back-“ he takes a step back and looks at me in horror.

“Your face-“ he gasps then proceeds to step closer to me.

Sobs leave my mouth again. I try to hide it with my sleeves, “No don’t look at me-“

“I’m killing this motherfucker.” His body is tensed up and his jaw clenches.

His hands reach out to examine me. My face but I wince and try to step back.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here on time my love, this is my fault, I knew he wasn’t okay! Fuck. Are you okay? What hurts? Let me see please princess? Let me take care of you-“ he pulls me on his body but I try to resist. This doesn’t let him let go though.

“Hyunjin-“

“It’s okay, it’s okay” is all he says and that makes me fall against his body. It was overwhelming. I was tired. I was crying. I was a mess. I was in pain. Really bad pain. My chest hurt. He carries me to the couch before examining the bruises even more. His eyes squinting. The room is silent only a few barks from Khami.

His hair was in a ponytail and his nails were painted in black. The little things I was noticing as I stared at him trying to make out what his face was saying or what his brain was thinking.

He gets up and gets the first aid kit and some cleaning supplies before sitting back down.

“I’m going to touch you okay? And it might hurt but I’m just cleaning you up okay?” I just nod trying not to fight or say anything.

“We’re leaving, you’re going to stay with me until we can find you an apartment and you’re leaving this bastard.”

“But he’ll find me Hyunjin,” I cry in a panic.

“Hey hey hey, even if he does, which he won’t. I’ll whoop his ass and give him a big beating. Nothing will happen, plus his going up against 8 boys I think we can take him,”

“What about-“ I wince when he puts a bandage on my arm. My concentration now turning to the throbbing wrist.

“No I’m not taking no for an answer. You’re coming with me, stay here.” He gets up and I watch him closely. He enters Alex’s room and disappears. Knowing I couldn’t argue with him I knew I had to get Khami because that witch would try and hurt him. I limp over to Khami’s cage and get him out. He starts licking my face and whimpering. Knowing he had been watching everything in the apartment from moments before.

“I got your bags love,” Hyunjin says coming back. He gives Khami a small smile before he wraps his hand around my waist pulling me onto him.

“I love you,” his lips touch my softly. His fingers wipe the tears that had fallen from before. His body is warm and he smelt like flowers and blueberries…maybe strawberries.

“I’m going to protect you. I have to protect you.”

Before I can say anything he grabs my stuff and guides me to the car outside closing the door.

This was a new beginning to the end.

[gamblersdoll]

Thankyou for answering my question!

This week is 2 years since my best friend was killed, grief sucks ass and not in the fun way.

I’d love to request a Katsuki x fem!reader who’s best friend passed away suddenly and how he helps them cope with it

Thanks DV! <3

first off, my condolences. angst turned to fluff

an: i hope this was satisfactory, added some things a bit.

two years since they died, and it still feels like yesterday since it all happened. the memories of the constant confusion, the fact they weren’t answering the phone, to getting the call that they had perished in the worse way possible.

you remember feeling your heart drop to the pit of your stomach, the other person on the line barely giving any answers, a reason, nor comfort to the sobs that you choked out and feeling the world starting to spin.

luckily, katsuki was there just ready to help. he knew what death felt like, experiencing it briefly himself when he was merely sixteen in a war he shouldn’t have been in. he held you until you couldnt cry anymore, only rubbing circles in your back and stay quiet, warming his palm and reach over in the mini fridge to grab you water.

but yet, it was two years ago when they had perished. and here were you, stuck in bed and have yet to get up. along the lines of nightmares, the days that led up to their death, the last phone call from them, all just to everyone not even answering your questions.. you hated how depression and grief got to you. especially just doing motor functions or basics of life.

your job had given you the week off, knowing how it was and they graciously believed in mental health. and you needed the week anyway..

yet, you still feel stuck, your mind still in and out of the black waves of your pain and emptiness that you felt without having them here. you couldnt be social after that, feeling like it would be wrong to have a new best friend or just have a associate. your head hurt, becoming dehydrated from the lack of water you consumed. and somehow though? even if you didnt drink anything, you had to pee. yet, you physically can’t move.

everything felt way too heavy to even get up, costing your skin to become dry and scaly, your bladder becoming full and kidneys starting to hurt from the back up. you started to lose some pounds due to everything.. and you felt like you were going crazy—

“bad day, huh?” katsuki enters, kicking off his boots and taking off his gauntlets. he struts over, a gloved hand wiping tears and hair from your face. “you eat yet?”

you shook your head no, him nodding and scooping you up.

“can tell youve been in bed all day, dragon breath.” he mumbles, hearing your distasteful groans and plopping you onto the porcelain seat. “youve gotta piss though, cant fuck up your kidneys.” he reminds, the water faucet running and he dobbles a dip of toothpaste on the bristles, pressing your lip up and drawing circles on your teeth with the toothbrush.

“you dont have to baby me, katsuki.” you mumble, him snapping his fingers and quietly telling you to stick your tongue out so he can use the tongue scraper on you. “this is embarrassing” you say with your mouth open.

“try again?” he asks, pulling the scrapper away.

“it’s embarrassing you have to do this..” you say, him flicking your forehead. “ow!”

“yer my gahdamn girl, ain’t nothin’ embarrassing about me takin’ care of you.” he says, pointing at the mouthwash cup next to you. “now swish. im going to go get dinner started and get some clothes for your bath.”

you sigh, nodding your head, no strength in fighting with him. you hear the bath faucet start up, the strong current of water flooding into the tub and watching the stream go in.

“arms up.” he says, pulling your shirt over your head and tying your hair up. your pants were already off, due to him forcing you to express your bladder. he scoops you up again, gently sitting you into the bath and turning the water off. “stay here, ill bring you everything.”

maybe about fifteen, twenty minutes had passed? you don’t remember, the concept of time was little to non existent right now. but you hear him come in with some pasta, had cajun in it. and luckily, just a shirt and shorts to keep you in.

“you didnt have to do all of this.” you say, rubbing your eyes from exhaustion and potential tears bubbling down your face. “i should be able to do all of these things, im a grown woman.”

he only sits and listens, him picking up a rag and gently scrubbing your back, neck and shoulders. “let me tell you something,”

your ears perk up, slowly lifting the fork and eating the portion of pasta.

“when izuku lost his quirk, i was like this too a bit.” he says, recalling the day that allmight and izuku told katsuki after everything they had went through, he had been back to quirkless. “it was like a piece of me had died, and it felt like i had nothing to rely on, or anything.”

“yet, the only things that really helped me were a goal, and the extras around me that were in my ear everyday.” he says, watching your face light up just a little bit, turning up to look at him. “the memories of izuku being quirkless didnt die, we just.. made him a suit that did everything he did.”

“their memories dont have to die either, all you just have to figure out or remember is what they always told you.” he squishes your cheeks together with his fingers, and he watches your nose scrunch. “i know they arent the same, definitely not, but im trying.”

“it.. it helps, since youre here feeding me and washing my ass.” you chuckled, him rolling his eyes and scoffing in a joking manner. “thank you, katsuki.”

“you want me to shave yer pits too?” he asks, water being splashed at him and he growls. “cut the shit, forest fire.”

“choke on my smoke.” you say, doing the great lord explosion god dynamights impression.

they always told you several different things, being along the lines of them loving you, about how close they were to you, or about their obsession with bumblebees.

bumblebees? like.. the transformer or the actual insect? no, definitely the insect.

and with the turn of your head, finishing up putting on your clothes and hearing katsuki go down the stairs with the bowls of the eaten pasta , you saw them.

the biggest bumblebee that they raved about.

[drabbles-by-branwen]

Jim didn't get himself. Romantically he was only attracted to men, but every time he'd try to get physical he was unable to do so. Physically women he had no trouble with, but he couldn't form any romantic connections with one. He tried, he tried so damn hard to find someone who he could have the connection he desperately craved. He refused to lead people on, to get their hopes up and be unable to be who or what they needed. He was just lonely, so damn lonely.

He flirted, and acted a good game, and wished he was normal and could have a real relationship, but something inside was broken.

The first few months at the academy he developed a reputation of hopping from bed to bed, and hated every single second of it. He just wanted someone who was his, someone he was capable of both loving and wanting physically, and the constant attempts to find his person drained him.

His roommate didn't know what he was going through, he'd hidden what he was doing and feeling with jokes and half-flirty words and just plain avoiding him on days that Bones was too observant for his liking.

There was always this tingling sensation ever since he arrived at the Academy. It wasn't unpleasant, in fact it made him feel great, but he had no idea what was causing the sensation. He tried to ignore the feeling, as well as the whispers about him that were running rampant across campus. He'd be dead of dehydration and starvation if he was as "active" as the rumors stated.

He'd started spending most of his time in a quiet corner of the library, not wanting to risk his heart any more than he already had. He was tired and lonely and feeling isolated, but no one understood what he was going through, how could they when he didn't even understand it himself.

There was someone sitting in his usual place when he arrived that day, the tingling almost painful with its intensity. The man was a professor, as his uniform showed, but he didn't seem that much older than him. Jim turned to leave, not wanting to confront the person who stole "his" spot, deciding to just go back to his dorm and Bones' questions, something Jim was trying to avoid.

"Don't leave," the man said in a voice that sent chills down his body and a surge of arousal to settle at his groin. "You feel it also, don't you. The bond begging for completion, like little shocks of electricity coursing over your body."

"How..."

"You came to the Academy six months ago."

Jim nodded silently.

"It started as soon as you arrived, didn't it?"

"How can you know that? I've never told anyone about it. Especially not my roommate, he's a great guy but give him a vaguely medical mystery and he's all over it."

"Because I felt it as soon as you arrived. I have been attempting to locate you the whole time. But since I don't know your name, it's been difficult."

"Jim, my name is James Kirk, but my friends call me Jim."

"Jim," the name was whispered in a breathy purr that almost made Jim moan. He was standing, and in Jim's personal space in seconds, "My name is Spock."

Jim shuddered, his pulse racing, "Are you the reason? Are you why I'm so broken?"

Lips brushed against his ear, "You're not broken, Jim. Your mind and body were keeping you... keeping you from bonding with someone else."

"Why?" Jim gasped, closing his eyes in pleasure and slight embarrassment at the way his own voice sounded.

"Because you are mine. As I've been yours, for almost my entire life. I've been searching for you since I was three years old."

"How old..."

"I'll be 26 in another day. Twenty-three years of looking and I have finally found you."

Jim didn't know what to think, his body was overwhelmed with pleasure and contentment and relief at finally understanding just what his issue was. He felt a sense of arousal unlike anything he'd felt before, and the sense of home he'd never felt. Spock was barely touching him, the only skin contact his lips which still brushed his ear. Spock's hands ran down the sleeves of Jim's uniform, stopping just before reaching his hands.

"Why me?" Jim asked, needing answers.

"I don't know, Jim, all I know is that you are it for me. The only being in the galaxy who completes me," his hands finally touched Jim's, and they both gasped at the rush of emotions that raced back and forth between them, "and I am the only one who can complete you. You can feel that, can't you?"

Jim closed his eyes, overwhelmed by sensations and emotions. He gasped as Spock's fingers trailed over his own, and his knees almost gave out as he was struck by an orgasm out of nowhere. He panted loudly, body shaking as pleasure coursed through his veins, only staying on his feet because Spock was holding him upright, and he could tell that Spock was in the same condition as he was by the way his body trembled against Jim's back, the way his breathing had changed.

"This isn't the best place... I mean anyone could walk in and see us like this."

Spock nuzzled his neck, "I know, but I don't want to let you go. I finally have you in my arms and I am loath to let you go, even to find somewhere more private."

Jim would have answered, but the door opened, and a very annoyed looking Bones walked in, whatever complaint he had for Jim dying on his lips as he saw their embrace.

"Figured it out, did you?" he asked, giving Jim a pointed look. "With how twitchy you've been I figured it was a case of accidental bonding."

"You knew? You could have said something sooner. I could have... I don't know, I could have asked Captain Pike to have a Vulcan check me out, to try and figure out what was going on."

"Jim, I thought you... At first I thought you were a widower, that you'd lost your bondmate. But over time I figured out that you didn't even realize that you were bonded. How the hell was I supposed to broach that topic? You refuse to talk."

"He didn't know. How could he, Dr.," Spock asked, "as we've been bonded practically our entire lives. He's never known anything else." He gave a soft kiss to the side of Jim's neck, "And I was only days before my third birthday when it happened, so it wasn't my fault."

"Bones, just... Spock and I need to talk, to figure out what we're going to do. Let's just call this a belated birthday present, and you and I can talk later."

Bones nodded, stepping towards the door, but paused before he reached it, "When exactly is your birthday?"

"Tomorrow," Spock answered distractedly, most of his attention still on Jim.

"Two days after Jim's. How long before your third birthday did you... did you notice the bond?"

"Two days..."

Jim's eyes widened in realization, "We bonded when I was born. How can that happen?"

"I don't know, but we'll figure it out together."

Jim nodded slowly, then took Spock's hand in his own, "But right now..."

"We should go to my apartment. It's closer and... private."

They walked away, both lost in each other, and for the first time since he'd met Jim Bones knew the kid was going to be okay.

[fancyfeathers]

The Moon Will Sing (Yandere Rex Lapis/Zhongli x Goddesses!Reader) (Normalized Yandere AU) (Sneak Peek) (+Art)

A/N- the full fic may not be published for quite sometime, but if you wish to read it early let me know and you can be one of my (first) beta readers or you can let me know if you wanted to be added to the tag list for when the full fic gets published

(TW- kidnapping, restraints, extreme isolation, semi torture, dehydration, starvation, marking/body modification)

Inspired by this post

(Edit- the full fic has been published, read it here)

You sat on the hard cold ground, it felt like ice in here despite this cave being carved out by the lord of geo himself. Speaking of the lord of geo, you haven’t seen him since he locked you in here, how long has it been? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? You didn’t know anymore. Your clothing was tattered, you sat here half naked, and that was putting it nicely. You may not need to eat but it was still unpleasant not to, one of the cons of you choosing a mortal form.

That’s not the worse of it, you can forget that when you sleep, escaping to your dreams. The dreams are full of the days where you would lay in the field with your sister and watch over your people in their village. There is only one thing you can’t escape, the constant pain in your body, every time you move the searing pain that rips at your wrists ankles, even in your dreams you can escape that pain, it ruins the happiness you get from those memories. 

Chains…

Enchanted chains…

A special gift from Rex Lapis himself…

The chains linked around your wrists and ankles and attached to the floor of the cave. Sure they were long and if it was just that you would be able to pull yourself to the wall to have something to lay against, but it’s never that simple. Every time you move the chains surge geo energy into your body, it feels like you bones are shifting like tectonic plates during an earthquake. Even breathing hurts now, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was due to to the geo energy literally grinding most of your ribs to dust. A mortal would be dead by now, but not you, you just went through the same pain, and it never ended. You could only lay here, on your back, and stare at the same spot on the rock ceiling as dust and dirt collected on your body. But never any water, this place was bone dry, fitting for a place meant to hold the goddess of rain and moonlight.

Then there was the silence, it was maddening. The first few days, or maybe weeks, you sang to break the silence, keep your sanity, but most importantly fulfill your godly duties. But that was Celestia knows how long ago, you could only hope your sister was doing the best she could to watch over the day wherever she was now, because now you could only guess how violent the night has become in your absence. The night was already unsafe, but without the light of the moon, it was deadly.

A soft steps echoing in the cave snapped you out of your thoughts of simply reminding yourself to breathe in an out since it has become such a task. But now there was only one thought in your mind, after all this time he had finally come to see you again in this stone cage he made for you.  You could not even turn your head to look at him in fear that your neck would break from the pulses from the chain, nor could you give him one of your usual witty greetings due to your throat being as dry as sand in the Sumeru desert in summer from the lack of water or even moisture in this cave. 

You could only see him when he stood right beside your broken body, gazing down at you, but you were to weak to even make out the details of his face. He stared at you for a long time before kneeling down so that he could get a better look at your limp form. You could finally make out his expression, calm as ever, but it was unsettling for you to witness. He was ever so calm as he reached out his clawed hand and ran his finger along your cheek, collecting the dust that had landed on your skin. He looked at the dust on his fingers then back at you, like how you would treat a vase on the shelf you had forgotten to dust off. 

“Oh my dear…”

He sighed as he reached down with his hand to graze over your arm, down to the chain that was sealed to your wrist without a lock. Suddenly he gave it a pull which resulted in a bloodcurdling scream ripping from your throat as your felt the surge of geo energy surge from the chain into you arm and your bones began to rub against each other and snap like twigs. As he does this you can feel your arm rapidly repair itself and breaking it again as your limb begins to change, the skin turning black and where you could feel the surges, golden markings begin to form the same one the Geo Archon bares himself.

“It seems perhaps the punishment was too strong for the crime.”

[hyperfixationstation128]

So, we all know that the tadpoles pretty much "cure" their hosts' afflictions, right? Or at least puts them on pause.

For instance, Astarion's ability to walk in the sun was done by the tadpole. I can't remember if any of the other party members get this special treatment, but it did get me thinking:

If I, someone with a chronic illness and pain, were to be infected with that magical tadpole, would it rid my body (if only temporarily) of my illness? Would my connective tissue be replenished? My stomach aches cease? My constant dehydration and migraines? Would I stop dislocating my shoulders every time I pick up something heavier than a piece of paper? Would the bones in my legs stop bowing slightly whenever I step from a tall height?

If yes, then the next question is directed at myself: Would I be strong enough to let it go once everything is over? Would I be ready to go back to my constant aches and pains? I've never lived without pain. Not since I was a child.

I'd like to say I'd be strong enough to let it go. Of course I can do it! It's so easy! Like settling back into an old routine! Except... it isn't. It's more akin to momentarily lifting yourself off of poisoned spikes, but knowing you'll have to eventually lower yourself back into them. Old puncture scars reopening as you take your place in pain.

This got "rambly", but I've been thinking about this for the past few days, and I just had to get it out of my brain.

AND PLEASE FEEL FREE TO ADD ONTO THIS!!! I'd love to hear what others think!

[gerudoevernight]

Arctic Fox Was Abducted (By Doc)

Lots of lore in this one, compared to anything else I've said about Do Not Call! This snippet stars Doc and Arctic Fox in a plot point I have had planned from nearly the beginning of the planning process. So yeah. Enjoy!

Oh and for anyone who found this randomly scrolling through Tumblr, this is part of my story currently still being mostly planned, Do Not Call Any That You Cannot Put Down, which is a (very AU) fic written in the universe of @watcheraurora's Even Ice Walls Fall Down!

The blackness stirs. It is heavy, pulling him back inside. Fluorescent lights peek through the blackness, fading away as he's pulled back again.

Light?

An ache in his head forms. Or maybe he only just became aware of it. With pain though, comes awareness of his body. Cuts and scrapes ache, but…duller. Heavier.

Sound emerge from the blackness. Whirring and humming. A steady clank-clank-clank beating a rhythm into the air. Footsteps. He tried to force his eyes open, tried to see where he was, but all that did was expose more of the bright - too bright - lights. Pain flared in his skull, and he let out a yelp before he could stifle it. A new sound emerged - a voice? "…open? No…gave…-point." He tried to shake his head, clear his hearing. He had to listen. But he could barely move. Oh. His wrists were shackled far above his head, and now that he was noticing, his ankles were shackled as well, barely touching the ground. The shackles on his ankles had no chains between them, basically preventing him from being able to effectively fight (or get away) at all.

Time passed, and slowly, the blackness lifted. Hearing came first. He didn't have to move to do that. The footsteps clearer, the constant clank-clank-clank now more aggravating than grounding.

Then he could just barely get his eyes cracked open, past the initial flare of the bright fluorescent lights. The room was…darker than he expected with the lights, filled with various machines that had lights of their own. Finally, he fully opened his eyes, and tensed when he could now see the creator of those machines.

White lab coat. Goat-like horns. Doc.

Oh right, that was how he ended up here. Etho remembered now. Searching a building, eerily empty in the way of things that aren't truly empty. The click of a lock behind him. Blackness blotted the rest out like ink stains.

He lightly shook his head. No. Focus. Any situation with Doc was a dangerous one.

…How long had he been out? Etho swiped his tongue around his mouth. He was fairly dehydrated, so it had to have been at least several hours. His wrists and shoulders were sore, and the lack of bloodflow to his hands would make it difficult to do much fine motor movement with his fingers for a while even if he managed to get free.

"Back to the land of the living, eh?"

The low rumble of a voice like the eerie hum of unremembered wilderness shook something in Etho's core. He didn't say anything.

…His mask had been removed. For that matter, he was only in his undershirt, pants, and socks. Of course.

"Feel free to attempt escape," Doc continued. He had yet to even look at Etho. "It does not concern me." Etho had never liked Doc's voice, though he wasn't as determined as Lore to get the man to shut up. Or whatever Doc was, anyways. So he stayed silent.

Instead of pulling on the chains or kicking (though Etho noticed he might have enough leverage on the ground and enough pull on the chains to vault himself up), he looked around. His eyes adjusted to the flourescent lights more and more, the shadows no longer seeming as deep - though the edges were still blurred, like someone took their finger and smudged the charcoal. But the room was fairly well-lit - if one could even call it a room. It was more of a space, hollowed out of…something. Etho couldn't even see the walls, now that he realized it. The space simply vanished into blackness beyond the reach of the lights. But within this space were several machines undoubtedly of Doc's creation. The whirring sound they made was smooth, each piece working in perfect tandem with every other to complete…whatever task these machines had.

Something flashed with light on the floor, and Etho looked down just in time to see some sort of circular design vanish before he caught any details. Still, the outline of the circle seemed to burn itself onto the back of his eyelids when he blinked, squeezing his eyes shut to wipe it away. He opened his eyes -

Doc was right in front of him. Staring Etho dead in the eye. Watching him. Observing. Like a mad scientist observing his subject - except this is Doc, and if one called him insane, it was in the way that is as awed and terrified as it is desperate for something to name this thing no name is worthy of.

Doc hummed, the sound rattling around Etho's skull, and he was grateful then for whatever made him resistant to…whatever it was about Doc's voice. "Suitable," Doc decided. Etho remained silent. Something clinked above Etho's head, and whatever held his wrists suspended released - just in time for Doc to snatch the few chains between his wrists. Etho stumbled as his feet hit the ground, Doc yanking him off-balance and dragging him across the space. Just fast enough that Etho couldn't get his feet under him, and his muscles still did not want to obey him. Trying to move even slightly felt like being a parachute in water, the very air resisting him. Doc swiftly dragged him across the room with no such issues, and the shackles were reattached - wrist and ankle - in a more center location, surrounded by the machines.

Except…now that Etho was closer, and more in the middle, he realized that these weren't many machines. It looked that way from where he'd been before, but now seeing the ways they connected, fueling each other, feeding to and from tubes of…something that made a tingle deep inside him scream and laugh. No, this was all one great machine…and Etho still couldn't see what it was doing. Not that he expected to, really. This was Doc. Whatever he was…he was secretive.

The floor flared with light again, and this time, the light stayed. Etho could see it better now, lines weaving across each other, down, up, left, right, occasionally ending in a circle, all inside one larger circle - and many of them intersecting at the spot he was chained to. The tingle inside him changed, from screams and laughter to an eerie hum. Etho shivered. Doc chuckled.

The villain stood just inside the circle, hands folded behind him. Watching Etho. Always watching, always observing. Always analyzing, always planning. Always scheming. Etho only hoped Doc hadn't gotten his hands on Lore, too. Who even knows what Doc would do to him in the secrecy and territory of a lab. Or whatever this place was.

With a simple, decisive nod, Doc left the circle - and the small little circles at the ends of lines flared again, and the light began to drain away from the circles and across the lines…and up Etho's shackles and onto his skin, reweaving the pattern.

It did not burn. It did not hurt at all. In fact…it felt numb. Cold, even.

"Normally, I do not bother with circles such as these," Doc hummed. "But sometimes they are simply more efficient." At what, of course he did not say.

The light vanished from the floor, from the shackles, and flared even brighter, Etho winced against the harsh white light. What was before only a hint of a cold numb where the light touched him now was a blizzard whipping around him yet not stirring the air at all. He clenched his teeth against screaming, against asking what this was even for, the purpose.

Another flare of light. But this one not from the lines on Etho's skin at all. On part of the machine, a large flat section of metal, the same circle was inscribed. It flared, and flared again. One more flare - this one matched by the lines on Etho's skin, painfully cold. Spots of blackness danced in his eyes.

"Suitable indeed."

And Etho sank back into the blackness.

[songsnstars]

normally im not one to make personal posts

once in a blue moon really

tw for under the cut: animal death, cancer, face wound (this post includes pictures)

but yesterday i had to do something really tough

first some context

five months ago on august 30th, i saw a tiny black kitty outside my window on the sidesteps of my neighbors house. id only seen her one other time before and i knew she was friendly. so i grabbed a churu treat to bring to her. i pretty quickly noticed the large open wound on the left side of her face, exposing her long front fang, it was narly to say the least. (at this point i thought she was a boy but i figured out soon that she wasnt) i didnt know what to do to be honest, i didnt have the money or the time to take care of her. dispute this i took her in after some deliberating, (at one point i had gone back inside and almost panicked when she wasnt where i left her but eventually she cake back to the steps) i picked her up and placed her in my bathroom, my other cat curious as to who i brought in.

the one thing i did have connections, im a volunteer for the local cat coalition, so i emailed our coordinator. she helped me get into contact with some of the fosters and one of the vet techs we work with.

after a few weeks we had her blood work done and had gotten her on pain meds and antibiotics. at this point all we could assume was that it was just a wound, god i wish it was just a wound.

she was very dehydrated and malnourished, and from her blood work, had hyperthyroidism. after some trail and error i found what she liked to eat and got her on medicine for hyperthyroidism. (later i would figure out that the main reason she didnt want to eat was because her stomach didnt like the antibiotics very much, we had her on antibiotic shots after a couple weeks anyway because it was going to easier) she also didnt have a microchip despite having been neutered and her tail obviously been surgically removed at some point. and she had a flea and tick collar when i picked her up, she was owned but not cared for or lost.

she was the sweetest old lady (the vet tech estimated her to be around 10 years old), her meows sounded like she smoked a pack a day and she loved getting pets and scratches. she was gaining back weight at a constant rate and she seemed to be getting better.

but well, in december while getting her antibiotic shot for the next couple weeks, the vet tech brought up that it probably wasnt a wound. it was a mass, an aggressive malignant cancer that would eventually take over her whole face.

as you can imagine i had already passed into the first stage of grief, denial. i couldnt believe that such a sweet girl could have such a thing, the rest of her body be completely healthy but she would be suffocated and starved from the tumor on her face.

i was told it was my choice when her painful journey would end.

i was selfish.

i brought her with me to my parents for christmas, i left her with a sitter for two weeks when i visited my partner. just barely two weeks have i come back from that trip when i brought her in to visit the vet. i thought it was just going to be a normal visit to get an antibiotic shot and to get more pain killers. i had just bought more goats milk, it was her favorite, i was still in denial. i had only had her for 5 months but she had already nestled herself in my heart. i had so many plans for her.

but she was in pain, more than i could ever know, i love her and i knew she loved me back in only the ways a cat could. and i had to do what was right for her, to end the pain and suffering, to stop it before it got to the point where she couldnt breath or eat or be a normal cat.

the vet was so kind, to both of us. and i made a decision. i had to let her go.

yesterday on february 7th, at 6:20p,

i held her as she fell asleep forever, wailing over her like she was my own flesh and blood.

i will love and miss you forever and ever my sweet baby girl nari. you will be in my heart and bones and flesh and mind until i also pass.

[byjove]

Tommy. Tell me about her. What wisdom does she hold?

She was born in the rafters of an abandoned barn one day in early May of 2017. She and her siblings had not yet opened their eyes when her mother decided to move her babies to the abandoned house about 50 yards from the barn. It was a grueling task. Tommy waited for her turn, sightless, helpless and so tiny. Her mother never returned for her. She abandoned her to die in that barn. It’s not an unusual thing for a feral cat to do. 80% of kittens born in feral colonies die before the age of 1. Tommy was so sick. She didn’t look like a normal kitten and she never would. Perhaps her mother knew she could not save her on her own. Perhaps her mother was young and sick herself and only had the strength for the other kittens. Either way, she left her.

Tommy’s digestive system was in tatters. She had multiple parasites. She was dehydrated. She still had the strength to scream, she always has, and she did. My father found her, got her down, took her to the vet. She opened her eyes later that week. She had to be bottle fed. It took several courses of antibiotics and anti-parasitics to get her back on track. She fought so valiantly. She always had an appetite as a kitten, no matter what was going on in her insides. She was so screamy. She loved to be held, loved to run up to the door every time you opened it.

Her struggles have never really stopped. She’s brachycephalic, she sneezes and wheezes, her sinuses are deformed, her eyes are crusty. She’s 6 now. My mom’s dog broke her jaw when she was about 2 and my mother rushed her to the emergency vet to get jr wired back together. Didn’t tell me what happened to my cat until I got home from high school that day. Last year I found Tommy in obvious distress, weak and drooling blood. I took her to the emergency vet and they found evidence of previously undiagnosed stomatitis and more pressingly, a mass on her jaw. Biopsy showed it wasn’t cancerous, it was an inflammatory reaction to her back teeth. She needed surgery to remove some of her severely deformed teeth and the bleeding painful mass.

She was out on steroids for the stomatitis for a few month. She didn’t seem to be getting better. She was dropping weight. Initially I thought it was just her mouth pain but I took her to the vet anyway. She was diagnosed with diabetes and sent home. The two days later she had an episode of hyperglycemia so severe I didn’t think she’d survive the night. She spent a week in the cat ICU.

Right now she’s regained her weight. She’s chilling at the edge of my bed. She’s snoring in her sleep.

She’s taught me a very important lesson. Don’t give up. Her constant and remarkably passionate fight for survival keeps me going. Her odds have always been so slim and yet she doesn’t know it or simply doesn’t care. She always has zest for life but in the most sinister cartoon cat villain way possible. I’ve always wanted to give up on myself and she’s never wanted to give up on herself. It doesn’t cross her mind.

[snapghoul]

Okay so now I’m stuck on phantom pains for the twins, so like could Tyler feel when Jake broke his collarbone (also feel like I made that up in my head oh well) or like could Jake feel when Tyler got all his injuries in rodeo

Also could Jake feel the fear Tyler felt when Tyler realized Kate went into the EF5???

The Twins can sense each other’s pain to a certain extent. It’s not overwhelming, more like a deep muscle ache or the discomfort of a healing bruise. This connection isn’t constant; for example, Jake didn’t feel all of Tyler’s injuries from the rodeo—only the moment Tyler suffered a third-degree concussion, which coincided with Jake experiencing a severe headache. Conversely, Tyler didn’t feel Jake’s collarbone break but did sense the pain when Jake was kicked by a horse on the ranch.

They don’t experience each other’s anxiety directly but rather a vague, inexplicable sense of dread. During the El Reno, Jake couldn’t tell if the dread he felt was due to mission nerves. Tyler, being more empathetic, experiences intense dread when Jake is in danger, such as during the rescue of Rooster and Mav. This often leads him to overthink, resulting in anxiety attacks or vomiting because he can’t pinpoint the cause of his fear, which frightens him even more. Throw the thought of Jake in danger in the mix and it makes it worse.

Jake squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, the heavy weight in his gut making him uneasy. The mission should have been straightforward: a high-altitude bomb drop with no bandits or dogfighting. Yet something felt off.

He released one hand from the stick to rub his aching leg, but the discomfort lingered.

“Getting a little quiet over there, Hangman?” Phoenix teased, sensing his anxiety even though they were en route to the mission area and normally avoided banter.

“Missing my voice, Nix?” Jake replied on autopilot, not bothering to glance back at her jet, where she was surely glaring.

“Missing the peace and quiet,” Bob added with a chuckle. Jake shook his head, appreciative that his squad and friends recognized his anxiety and were helping to shift his focus away from it. Still it lingered.

Tyler felt sick, his stomach knotted with a gnawing dread that made his head spin with anxiety. He braced himself against the side of his rig, taking deep breaths as his throat tightened with nerves.

Nausea threatened as a cascade of past and future scenarios flooded his mind, leaving him unable to pinpoint the source of his discomfort.

“Hey, Tyler?” Boone’s voice pierced through his thoughts, initially light-hearted but quickly turning concerned. “Are you alright, man?”

Tyler nodded, trying to attribute his discomfort to dehydration. The heat was intense, and he couldn't recall the last time he had a drink. “Yeah, just need a moment. I think the heat is getting to me.”

He made his way to the driver’s side and climbed in, gulping from his steel water bottle in hopes that the icy water would ease his anxiety. Boone, though still concerned, gave him space, trusting Tyler’s assessment.

For reasons he couldn't quite understand, Tyler grabbed his phone and tapped out a quick message to Jake.

Hey, how’s Miramar?

He then repeated the process for his family, sending texts to his parents and sister to make sure they were all okay.

[whump-about-it]

The Fault is Mine

@whumpuary Day 12: Day 6 prompt (I accidently posted the prompt I meant to post today on the 6th) Share your favorite whump creation.

Because I am vain apparently, this is one of my own creations. It's part of a longer whump story I am too chicken to post in full. But this is my favorite chapter that I wrote.

CW: dissociation, beating, belting, conditioned whumpee, aggravating injuries (accidently), passing out, referenced branding,

Time was irrelevant. Unreal. Seconds, minutes, hours. They all dissolved down to moments. Undetermined, indiscriminate crumbs of existence marching one by one in single file through reality. If you could survive one moment, you could survive the next, and the next, and the next. And if you could survive all the moments you'd already survived through, then you could survive all the ones you still had to survive through.

That had become Heather's existence. No more memories. No more thoughts. Even the fear seemed to have faded into the background. She just lived in each separate moment. Surviving it so that she could get through the next one as well.

She hadn't had feeling in her arms since she had kicked the box out from under her, who knows how long ago. The ringing in her ears had become constant and grading. Her throat was chapped from dehydration and screaming it raw, and she could taste the metallic flavor of blood though she couldn't imagine how it had gotten there. Everything below her neck felt shredded and pulled apart. Excruciatingly painful, but so tangled and mottled together that she couldn't identify the sting of an oozing cut, or throb of a bruise, from the ache of her lungs that were still so diligently insisting on working. She couldn't even differentiate the pain of the brand anymore, though she knew it was still burning hot as an ember sucking all of her heat away into itself and festering somewhere against her t-shirt.

Cynthia had come once since she had branded Heather. She'd landed a badly aimed punch to her face that had left Heather with a bloody nose, clogging one nostril, and what she assumed was a black eye under all the tape. Cynthia had then beat her with a belt across her less injured back.

It was sickening how comforted Heather was by the familiarity of the belt. Cynthia's favorite method of punishment. Even when the beating went on for what felt like eternity and Cynthia started venturing lower on Heather's body to the sensitive backs of her legs. Even when she'd turned it around and started smacking the metal buckle hard against Heathers broken body, the last bit of warmth she had left in her curled and hummed with joy that even if the ground she was standing on was on fire, it at least was solid.

Heather had been too exhausted at that point to flinch away when the leather or metal made contact with her. She didn't even have it in her to try and make a sound. Cynthia had stopped twice to check her pulse and breathing, and after the second time had seemingly given up. Apparently bored now with the state of things. Heather had had enough wherewithal then to know that wasn't a good thing. That Cynthia was dangerous when she was bored, and was going to return diabolical. But even the thought of what Cynthia might do to Graham could only do much to keep Heather alert.

It wasn't that she didn't care about him anymore. Or that apathy had set in and she was hoping he'd take some of the burden. She wanted to protect Graham, and wanted to think of a way to keep Cynthia's attention on her. But she couldn't think. Every thought in her head slipped away like she was trying to hold water. The more she struggled to keep it, the faster it disappeared. Graham seemed nothing more than a dream now, and she was neither asleep enough to grasp him, nor awake enough to wonder about him.

She had long lost the cognition to notice the vibration of the storage container when the garage door opened, and the ringing in her ears was so loud that she couldn't even hear the incomprehensible sounds of a struggle, or yelling. So her first indication of a change in the status quo around her wasn't until someone practically slammed into her. The sudden abrasive contact lit up all of her wounds at once, especially the burn which began to sting so fiercely she managed to identify it over every other pain spasming through her.

She took a strangled breath in through her one functioning nostril, because she could take a breath. Who ever had slammed into her had grabbed her around the waist and lifted her just enough for her to take a real breath. And they were holding her there too. It was the most pain Heather had been in so far. Whoever was holding her was pressing too hard against the welts in her back, pushing in on her cracked ribs, and somehow managing to continuously rub the fibers of her shirt into her burn.

The pain made her teeter so close to the edge of unconsciousness that she actually fell off, dicending into the void and the darkness. But with the oxygen filling her lungs had come thought.

Graham

Heather grabbed onto the last bit of consciousness she could reach and pulled herself back. If someone was holding Heather, grabbing her, hurting her, that meant Cynthia was back. And Cynthia had been bored. Which meant Graham was now in imminent danger.

With some new found strength Heather didn't know she had, she began to struggle against Cynthia. Twisting and kicking her legs. Doing anything to fight her. At the very least pique her interest again. If only she could get her arms free...

Her arms were free. Almost as soon as she had thought it her arms had fallen from their place above her head and all her weight was collapsed on Cynthia. Thankfully, Heather couldn't feel her arms. And as it turned out couldn't move them either. But every already aching muscle in her back suddenly screamed and stretched as though being ripped. Even as that was happening, her chest muscles relaxed and Heather took in an almost involuntary deep breathe of air.

All the new pain, combined with the sudden ability to breathe again made Heather dizzy. Her existence turned grey for a moment, and when she pulled herself back she realized for the first time that there was more than one set of hands on her.

Cynthia, or who she had thought was Cynthia, had their arms firmly around her waist. they were holding her pressed to them and lowering her to the ground. Heather could feel their fingers pressed into bruises on either side of her waist. But there was a third hand spread over the back of her neck and supporting her head.

Was Cynthia making Graham help her? Had he given up and talked? Panic rising in her chest Heather began to struggle again. Only now, being on the ground, totally engulfed by maybe-Cynthia's embrace with one leg on either side of their body, Heather had much less leverage to fight with. She couldn't do much more than squirm, and maybe-Cynthia held her tighter to them while maybe-Graham held her head steady and pushed something pointed against the tape by her ear.

A few moments later the pointed object broke through. Heather could finally hear something other than ringing in her ears, and it was the sound of multiple people talking at once. One of the voices waas very close to her.

"Heather, it's us!"

It wasn't Graham's voice. Nor was it Cynthia's. It was Pete's.

Heather froze. She had all but forgotten that they were waiting on a rescue. The Family must have finally tracked them down and come to get them out. Bring them home. For the first time since Cynthia had first captured them, hope began to bubble in her chest.

Heather tried to turn her head towards Pete's voice, but found that her neck was too stiff to move and pain shot up over the back of her skull and shoulder blades. The hand on the back of her neck, she was pretty sure now it was Pete's, curled gently and began to stroke feather light against the unmarked skin there. She hadn't noticed before that the hand was warm against her icy skin, and his gentle touch, the first thing she had experienced in ages that didn't hurt, sent a ripple of pleasant warmth through her that made the pain a little less excruciating.

"Hold still for a minute" Pete continued speaking and the hand disappeared from the back of her neck "I'm going to get this tape off and I don't want to cut you"

Heather tried to hold still as best she could, but she had only just remembered she had arms as feeling came rushing back into them. From her shoulders all the way down to the tips of her fingers it felt like she was being branded again. A million hot rods pressing into her skin and burning her down to the bone. She wanted more than anything to try and shake the pain out of them, like you do to wake up a sleeping limb, but her muscles and nerves didn't seem to want to work yet and they hung limply around the neck of whoever's lap she was in. As though in compensation, she wriggled more or less unconsciously in their arms to try and deflect the pain somewhere else as she simultaneously focused on reminding her self that it was Pete picking at her face with a knife and not anyone she needed to be afraid of.

Whoever the other person holding her was wrapped their arms a little more tightly around her again, unknowingly brushing up against the bruises from her belting and tried to hold her still.

"I know you must hurt so much Baby" They said "Just hold still until we can get this tape off of you and then you can shake and cry all you want."

It was Lincoln. Even if Heather couldn't recognize the voice, he was the only person she knew who called anyone baby. She hated the pet name, but he did use it for everybody so he got a free pass. And right now the term of endearment made her want to melt into him.

She tried to get the squirming under control, and just about had until Pete ripped a large chunk of the tape freeing the entire front of her face. The sensations that hit her were numerous and overwhelmingly intense, not least of which the feeling that she had just lost her eyebrows and eye lashes.

Her contacts had long since dried out, leaving her eyes irritated. A fact she had been able to ignore up until this point. Suddenly being able to see again aggravated them and made the itching flair, even as she couldn't make anything out with her new found sight other than blurs of light in various shapes and colors that all seemed far to bright and harsh.

With her mouth uncovered her jaw fell limply open and she drew in a breath that felt like a balloon expanding in her chest. The breath was too quick, too deep, she could feel her lungs press against every single one of her ribs, moving them in ways they weren't meant to, and the sore, stiff muscles around them began to spasm. Before Heather could feel the dizzying relief of oxygen again, she was coughing. Her whole body jumping and shaking as her lungs fought to bring in air while her chest pleaded to stop being moved. Her vision went white with the pain of it and she felt shredded again. She couldn't even feel Pete and Lincoln's hands on her, tipping her back, trying to open her airway and mumbling soft encouragements as they did so, until she finally got her breathing under control.

There was something wet on her lips now and she could feel one of the boys run a finger over it to brush the moisture away. There was an extended silence and Pete murmured something about Heathers arms. Lincoln took one arm off Heather's back and moved it to the back of Heather's head, replacing Pete's hand. He then maneuvered her until she was leaning forward with her forehead pressed into the crook of his neck. One of her limp elbows lay on the opposite shoulder while her other had slid down his fore arm, held together still by the handcuffs that Heather thankfully couldn't feel yet as her nerves and muscles still burned with their newfound blood flow.

Lincoln replaced his hands at the waistband of her jeans and ran tiny circles over the visible skin there with his thumbs, rocking ever so slightly as Heather breathed unevenly against his skin, letting out exhausted sobs at the pain each breathe sent sparking through her.

"That's it Baby," he cooed "Just breathe. That's all you gotta do right now. Pete and I will take care of the rest. We got you Baby."

Heather's vision had never come back after her white out, but she realized after several shaky breathes that it was because her eyes were closed. Remembering the too bright lights and fuzzy shapes that were useless for identifying anything, she decided it was better to keep them closed for now. Pete jostled her arms slightly and Heather made a tiny noise of protest deep in her throat as sparks of pain shot up from her wrists. He apologized profusely and explained that he was getting the hand cuffs off of her along with a promise that he would be more careful.

Heather didn't protest any further, preoccupied with the newfound realization that she could make noise. If she could make noise then she could talk, probably, and though she knew she was quickly approaching unconsciousness, there was something she had to make sure of before she passed out. After taking several preparatory breathes Heather attempted to swallow and had the immediate sensation of razorblades in her throat. She took several more breathes to recover and then with a mighty effort attempted to form a word.

"Gr-gra-gr"

It was all she could get out. A small pitiful noise like a dog's whimper that she could feel rather than hear. It was all she could do though, and miraculously Lincoln seemed to understand.

"Oh Baby" he cooed "Shh. Graham's fine. His brothers are taking care of him. He's going to be okay. Just focus on yourself now. Everyone is safe."

The relief felt euphoric. Warmth and comfort washed over Heather and for a pleasant moment all her pain melted away into a numb joy.

Graham is fine

He's going to be okay

He is safe

He's with his brothers

And then the illusion broke so quickly Heather actually gasped.

This is all your fault

In the whirlwind of rescue, Heather had forgotten her promise to Graham's brothers. She'd forgotten that she had failed to protect Graham, and forgotten just how far his brothers were willing to go to protect each other. Her brain fizzled and short circuited on the sudden confusion of what was going on.

Why were Lincoln and Pete helping her? Why were they being so nice? Surely Graham's oldest brother, Adrien, the leader of The Family, would have ordered them to leave her behind. Or maybe he wanted her rescued so that she could answer to him before he threw her back out to the wolves.

Cynthia wasn't Heather's only enemy. When she had tried to give up her life of crime and went to go live with Cynthia, most of her former associates had taken the move personally. Marked her as an enemy and a double agent. Even now that she was clearly a failed convert, the only reason she could walk the street without fear of the many crime lords she had wronged was because she was under the protection of The Family. Without that she wouldn't last a week.

This is your fault

You're a bad person

You deserve everything that's happened to you

As Heather's mind spun woefully out of control Pete finally finished picking the lock on the hand cuffs and pulled the arms apart with an audible squelch of coagulated blood. They had cut so deeply into her skin that Pete had to tug at them to get the metal off of her. He miss calculated the amount of force he needed though and jostled Heather's entire upper body as he pulled. Every single one of her muscles spasmed and she tensed against Lincoln. Her vision sparked white again and she let out a tiny cry of protest before finally, blissfully, falling into unconsciousness.