#this was the first abandoned station I ever came across

[iteration-penumbra]

Foreboding welcome....

[thebearer]

love, i found you |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: how anchovy berzatto came into your and carmen's lives. or the story of anchovy berzatto, dumpster kitten turned spoiled cat.

contains: mentions of animal being abandoned/ stray kitten. small, malnourished anchovy but nothing graphic (i won't do that to you i promise). mainly fluff. language. richie being a hater a little lol.

word count: 2.9k+

“Chefs, keep the stations clear-” 

“-Has anyone seen Richie?-” 

“-Jeff, I need more branzino for the seven fishes-” 

“-Heard, Tina. There, uh, I think there’s some-” 

“-Carm, have you seen the books for tonight?-” 

“-Has anyone seen Richie? Richie! Where the fuck is he?” 

A chaotic melody of screams meshed together in some kind of disarray of harmony, one speaking over the other, the sound of pots and pans clashing, hisses of sizzling food in them a backtrack to the madness. 

“I’m right here, Sugar.” Richie scoffed, buttoning the front of his jacket. He patted your shoulder in passing, cheek pressing lightly to yours, muttering, “How’re you, sweetheart? Doin’ good?” In passing. 

He was the first to notice you, even over Carmen. The rest of the staff bustling through the kitchen prep, trying to squeeze everything in before the family meal. Carmen had invited you to family, but you were starting to regret agreeing, feeling useless and in the way in the face of the hectic nature. 

“Where have you been?” Sugar huffed at Richie, heels clacking in a stomp towards the office. “I have a million fucking things- oh, hey.” She paused, eyes lighting in a greeting when they landed on you. 

“I didn’t know you were here. How are you?” Sugar hugged you, a soft side hug in greeting that you returned stiffly. 

“I’m good. How are you?” You muttered, eyes still scanning the kitchen. 

Sugar let out a dry laugh, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Ask me in about an hour.” She shook her head. “I have a million fucking things to do as I was telling Richie.” She turned, eyes narrowing pointedly at the man. “Only two dishwashers showed up tonight.” 

“You’re shitting me.” Richie groaned. “That fuckin’ jagoff- take a chance on me, bullshit.” 

“Yeah, so Neil needs to wash utensils tonight between the floor, ok?” Sugar jabbed a manicured nail into her clipboard. 

“Is there anything I can do?” You squeaked, much smaller than you meant it to. Richie and Sugar turned to you, both blinking, like they’d forgotten you were even there. “Carm invited me to family, but I can help. I can wash dishes if you need me too. I don’t have anything else to do.” 

“That would be-” Sugar nodded in a sigh, a small smile spreading across her face. “Did I ever tell you I love you? Seriously.” She turned to Carm, who was passing behind her. “Carm, don’t ever fuck this up with her, you hear me? I’ll kill you.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Carmen muttered, and you knew by the drone in his voice he wasn’t listening, too consumed with other things, discarding vegetable scraps into the trash. 

“This thing is fuckin’ full. Can they not- Oh, hey.” Carmen’s features softened at the sight of you, spine straightening gently. “When’d you get here?” 

“Just a few minutes ago.” You leaned forward, his lips brushing your cheek softly in greeting. “I didn’t want to disrupt. You seemed… busy.” 

Carmen snorted. “Yeah, uh, that’s a word for it. Busy, out of my fuckin’ mind because this trash is fuckin’ full!” He boomed at no one in particular. 

“Now, I gotta take this out and replace it, and that puts us back, and every second counts, does it not, cousin?” Carmen rambled, glaring at Richie, yanking the sides of the trashcan off the rim. 

“Look, I didn’t know that the two didn’t show-” 

“-No, of course you didn’t. Can’t pay attention to shit-” 

“-Alright, let’s bring it down.” Sugar lifted her hands, eyeing Carmen with a slight nod of her head towards you. 

“Sorry.” Carmen muttered, eyes lifting to you. “Sorry, cousin. I-I’m just, we’re fuckin’ booked, an-and I’m so far behind-” 

“-I’ll take it.” You squeaked, a little too eagerly. Carmen’s brows furrowed, you cut him off before he could finish. “No, seriously, you’re all busy. I’ll go take this out and then I’ll help make sure the utensils are ready.” 

“N-No, I can’t ask you to do that. That would be shitty.” Carmen shook his head, pulling the trash bag out of the can. 

“Good thing you didn’t ask me. I offered.” Your hand wrapped over his, squeezing his closed fist gently with a tiny grin. “Go, I got it.” 

Carmen beamed, cheeks tinging pink. If he wouldn’t have been in the middle of the kitchen prep rush, he would’ve kissed you, pressed you right up against the wall and smooched you sloppy. Instead, he let you take the trash. 

“Gary!” Richie called behind you. “Make sure you let her back in, alright? Just knock and he’ll let you back in. You’re a fucking life saver, y’know that?” Richie beamed, pushing the heavy steel door open so you could duck under his arm. 

It was surprisingly warm- well, warm-ish for Chicago in the winter. No snow, no need for a heavy jacket but brisk enough for a chill. The dumpster lid was already flipped over, and you were thankful for that, slinging the bag over the edge, turning to go back inside. 

You stopped, halting just as you’d turned. The tiniest squeak of a cry, desperate and alert. You turned scanning the alley walls, the corners by the dumpster until you heard it again, that same pitiful whimper echoing off the metal of the dumpster- inside the dumpster. 

You hesitated for a moment. You couldn’t leave it, whatever it was, it sounded pathetic and in pain. Your eyes flickered back to the building, you could see Gary in the small window, head turned towards the others. They were so busy, you couldn’t ask Carmen or even Fak. 

“I’ll be right back.” You cooed towards the dumpster frantically. “Just hold tight for me, ok? I’ll get you out, one sec.” It was silly, but you felt the need to say it, even if just for yourself. 

Sprinting towards the door, you knocked on the glass rapidly. Gary pushed it open. “I need your help.” You stopped him before he could walk away. “J-Just for a second. I promise.” 

Gary’s brows furrowed. “Yeah, are you- you’re ok?” 

“Yeah, I mean,” You turned towards the dumpster. “There’s something in there. I think it’s a cat? I think it’s hurt.” 

“A cat?” Gary’s eyes widened, still, he followed your furious pace towards the dumpster. “Wait, I-I don’t think- Lemme get Carm-” 

“-No, he’s busy.” You shook your head. “It will just take me a second. I just need you to help me get down.” 

Gary paused, watching you in complete awe- maybe horror- push off a discarded crate towards the ledge of the dumpster. “This is- no, this is fuckin’ crazy, I’m sorry. You don’t know what that thing has-” 

Your small gasp cut him off, eyes rounding in awe. There in the piles of trash, a fuzzy blip of orange fur nestled into the black bags- a tiny, scraggly kitten, mewling helplessly. 

“Oh my God,” You muttered. “It’s a baby.” 

“A baby?” Gary gawked. 

“A kitten baby.” You corrected, lip jutting. “I have to get it.” 

“I really don’t think you should be doin’ this.” Gary looked back at the door then to you. “You can’t go in the dumpster, c’mon.” 

“You want to go in instead?” You huffed, eyes rolling at his disgusted snarl. “Just- I’ll do it.” You leaned to the side, taking a deep breath of fresh air, swallowing down a gag at the expected smell. 

Holding your breath, you let yourself fall into the dumpster, the squishy bags of trash uneasy under your feet. The small kitten whined, crying at the shift of your weight. 

“This is fuckin’ insane.” Gary muttered, shaking his head. 

“Aye, Sweeps, what the fuck?” Richie’s voice boomed, the slam of the door making both of you jump. “Take your smoke break later, you jagoff, I need your-” 

“-I’m not-” Gary huffed in annoyance. “She’s in the dumpster.” 

“Who?” Richie asked. 

“Me!” You swallowed a retch, the pungent stench of the trash filling your senses as you crouched closer towards the kitten. At least it wasn’t summer. 

“Why the fuck is Carmen’s girl in the dumpster?” Richie roared. “Carmen! Get out here now, cousin!” 

“Why is she in the dumpster? Why the fuck are you in the dumpster?” Richie’s furious stomps were muted from the outside. You cringed, still trying to hold your breath, coaxing the small kitten into your hold. 

The poor thing, so small- so fucking small. Shaking in your hold, crying and whining, but turned into the warmth of your palm. A cry bubbled from your chest, mixing with a gag at the smell. 

“Cousin, what? What the fuck is-” Carmen bounded outside, stopping when he saw the top of your head pop up, out of the dumpster. “The fuck?” 

“Your girl’s in the garbage.” Richie shook his head. 

“Yeah, why the fuck- Baby, w-why are you- What are you doin’?” Carmen jogged towards you, hoisting himself over the side of the dumpster, arm extended for you. 

“She found a cat.” Gary rolled his eyes in annoyance. 

“A cat?” Richie repeated. 

“A kitten.” You showed Carmen, pulling the small thing from your chest, where you cradled him close to you. 

Carmen blinked at you. “You went in the dumpster f-for a cat? A cat?” He shook his head, confused. “Baby, that thing could have diseases a-and rabies and shit-” 

“-He’s starving.” You countered, lip jutting in a firm pout. Carmen hated the way he could feel himself melting. The determination in your glare, ferocious yet soft. 

“I could hear him crying, a-and I couldn’t leave him.” You shook your head, petting the tiny kitten’s soft fur. 

“So you climbed in the trash?” Richie snarled in disgust. 

“Climbed right in the dumpster.” Gary nodded. 

“Alright.” Carmen looked over his shoulder at them, a pointed glare on his face. “Just- Lemme get you outta there, alright?” 

“Here,” You handed him the small cat, carefully cradling him. Carmen hesitated, a grimace in his scowl. Your eyes narrowed at him, a warning. “Hold him gently.” 

So he did, of course he did, it’s what you wanted. Passing him to Richie with the same snarl of instructions, pulling you out of the dumpster, a firm hold on your waist as you climbed back over. 

Richie was passing you the kitten with a grimace of disgust, dusting his hands off dramatically. “There. There’s your garbage cat that can not come back in the restaurant. Cousin,” He glared at Carmen. “We don’t want another fuckin’ C. Get shut down for havin’ fleas or shit.” 

Carmen glared at him. “No, he’s right.” You nodded. “Can you bring me my purse? I’m going to see if I can get him checked out. I’ll be back.” 

“Let me come with you.” Carmen offered, motioning for Gary to go get your things, untying his blue apron. 

“Carm, no. You’re busy. I can do it.” You shook your head. 

Carmen rolled his eyes. “No, I’m comin’ with you. Last time I let you do somethin’ alone. End up in the fuckin’ garbage.” He snorted playfully. “Besides, I think there’s a place down the street. The vet has been in a few times. I’ll see if I can, y’know, coerce him to squeeze us in.” 

“Coerce?” You lifted your brows playfully, petting the tiny kitten gently, trying to still his quivering. 

“Yeah, coerce.” Carmen rolled his eyes, swapping his apron out for his jacket, handing you yours. “Give ‘im a free dinner or somethin’.” 

“No fuckin’ way, no.” Richie shook his head. “Cousin, you’re already late- Sydney is pissed, and you’re not bringing that fuckin’ flea bag in here.” 

You held the small cat close to your chest, still damp from his bath at the vet. Carmen’s coercing had worked, Dr. Vallenti had took the bribe happily, squeezing you both in for a check up. The tiny kitten, barely two pounds, malnourished and positively pitiful. You didn’t even have to ask, Carmen knew from the way you held him close to your chest, eyes rounding just barely when the vet asked if you’d be keeping him. 

“Of course,” Carmen nodded easily, squeezing your knee gently. “Just give him whatever he needs for right now, and what we need t’get. We’ll get it.” 

“He doesn’t have fleas, Richie.” You sneered, cradling the small cat in your jacket to keep him warm. His shake was down to a soft tremble, not as constant but still there. 

“Yeah fuckin’ right, rabies then-” 

“-Cousin.” Carmen sneered. Richie stopped with a huff, throwing his arms up and muttering something as he stormed away. 

“Here,” Carmen muttered, a hand on the small of your spine, pushing you into his office. “I’ll grab you a bowl and a plate for his food, alright? You just, just stay in here, ok? Richie’s right, he can’t be out.” 

“I’ll keep him in here.” You nodded, sitting in the small chair. “Do you have a towel?” 

“Yeah, I’ll grab that too.” Carmen slung his jacket off, running a hand through his messy curls. “I, uh, I gotta get scrubbed up and put my stuff on, but if you need anything just yell, alright?” He ducked out to the small closet, snatching a towel and two dishes off the drying rack. 

“I’ll be alright.” You hummed, fingertip tracing down the kitten’s tiny head. He purred under your touch, made your chest burst with warmth. 

Carmen’s lips pulled in a smile, putting the dishes on the ground for you, shedding his own shirt. You were entirely enamored with the cat, that was for sure, not even a sideways, ogling glance at Carmen’s shirtless figure. 

“Shit.” Your head snapped up, wide eyed at Carmen. “I forgot the dishes. I-I’m so sorry, I can-” 

“-It’s alright, baby.” Carmen dropped his pants, biting back a smirk at how your eyes did drop this time. “Tina got her son and his friend to come in. We’re good, baby.” 

“Oh.” You nodded, eyes lingering on his boxer clad ass, before back to the kitten. “Good.” 

Carmen shrugged on his chef’s coat, walking over to you. “It’ll be kinda a late night.” His eyes softened in apology. “I’ll have someone run you a plate when we get outta the weeds, alright?” 

“Thank you.” You muttered, head tilting back for a kiss. Carmen obliged, your lips pulling him in for a longer kiss than he expected, sweet- left his body burning with heat. “Thank you.” You repeated, eyes shining sweetly. 

“C’mon.” Carmen whispered gently, shaking his head at you. “You know I would do anythin’.” He pressed a kiss to your head, looking down at the small kitten before he left. 

“I think he likes it?” You whispered, on your stomach next to Carmen. 

It was nearly two in the morning, the two of you just returning back to the brownstone you called home. Lying on the freshly laid tile of the kitchen, you watched the small cat explore the space. 

“Yeah, think he’s gettin’ used to it.” Carmen muttered, shaking the small stick so the feather danced over the kitten, grinning when he’d scrunch and bat at it clumsily. 

You pressed your head into your hand, watching the kitten prowl, ears finally perked up instead of flat back in fear. “We have to name him.” You blinked, looking up at Carmen. 

“Yeah,” Carmen grinned. “Yeah, that-that would be a good idea, right?” He beamed playfully. 

You smiled, gently petting the kitten’s back, smiling at how he arched into your touch. “I think it should be something kinda with the restaurant.” You suggested. “Since that’s where we found him.” 

“Yeah? Like Bear?” Carmen muttered. 

Your nose crinkled gently. “He doesn’t really look like a Bear.” 

“No,” Carmen agreed, shaking his head. “More like a Garfield.” 

You snorted lightly, rolling your eyes. “That’s such a gimme name.” You shook your head. “Maybe not the restaurant, exactly, but… similar?” 

“Yeah? Like Trash Can?” Carmen muttered, lips curling playfully. 

You gasped lightly, smacking his leg playfully. “No.” You huffed. “Something maybe with food?” 

“Carrot?” 

“No.” You pouted lightly, head tilting towards the small cat, occupied with Carmen’s sweatpant strings. “What about, like, Anchovy?” 

“Anchovy?” Carmen snorted in amusement softly. 

“Yeah, like the fish.” You shrugged softly. “And cats eat fish- well, in the cartoons they do, y’know?” 

“Yeah, I know, baby.” Carmen grinned softly down at you. “You think he looks like an Anchovy?” 

The small kitten turned, perking towards Carmen, padding happily over to him. Your face lit, glowing with beaming pride and adoration as Carmen scooped up the small kitten, let him rub his face into his chest sleepily- sweetly. You thought you might melt into a puddle on the floor at the sight. 

“Alright.” Carmen laughed lightly. “Think you’re right. Think he’s an Anchovy.” 

“Anchovy Berzatto.” You hummed, crawling between Carmen’s spread legs, petting the tiny cat. You smiled so brightly at Carmen, his own cheeks burned, flaming under your radiant affection. 

Your lips caught him again, pulling him in for a sweet, longing kiss over the small kitten’s head. Your hands in Carmen’s hair, pulling him closer and closer, kissing him like a lifeline- it made his head swim, chest swell with adoration. 

Anchovy chirped, teetering on a meow and yawn, little paw stretching in Carmen’s hold. Your forehead pressed to Carmen's, you ducked down to coo at the small kitten, moving to sit in between Carmen’s legs, your back to his chest. 

Home with your little family, complete with the little kitten, Anchovy Berzatto.

[redroses07]

The Umbrella Academy Season 4 Fix It Fic // Five Hargreeves x Reader Edition

WC: 3.1k

CW: Canon accurate violence, swearing, kissing, use of Y/N, Y/N is a bad ass, domestic fluff, angsty af.

Summary: A Five x Fem!Reader rewrite for the end of season four because I absolutely hated the ending. Five and Lila are not a thing in this fic, because that made me literally gag.

A/N: Hey luvs! I worked my ass off writing this fic because I needed to have a better ending for season four. In my mind this fic is canon. I hope y'all like it because I truly love how it turned out! Have an amazing day and enjoy! - Claire ♡

Five sat on the empty train, riding round in aimless circles. He had no intention of ever stopping. Perhaps he would die here, if death was even possible in this endless void. There was no reason for him to continue, they were out of options.

All he wanted to do was save his family, save you, but he couldn't even do that. At least this way he could escape having to witness the end of their lives.

He couldn't help but feel as if this was all his fault, if only he had listened to Reginald when he told him never to time travel. So much pain, so many lost lives, it never would have happened.

Five looked out the window, he didn't know what exactly for. Everything looked the same. Round and Round again, each identical station feels more hopeless than the last.

After an immeasurable amount of time, days? years? who knows. Something caught Five's eye.

He jumped up from his seat, following the dark figure out into the station.

Was that? No.

"Hey, wait!" Five shouted, chasing him down a staircase.

He rounded a corner, seeing a dimly lit cafe filled with all too familiar faces. The place was filled with several alternate versions of Five himself. It was an odd feeling for him to see himself this way.

Nonetheless, he took a seat across from the Five he had followed.

No more than ten seconds later, another Five served up two pastrami sandwiches. Five number two began to complain about the amount of sauerkraut on his sandwich, staring intently at the meal.

"What is this place?" Five asked, reaching for the cup of hot coffee next to him.

"It's a gas station. What the hell does it look like? It's a Deli." He could see that the alternate Five share his love of sarcasm.

He went on to explain how this was a place where all of the Five's from alternate timelines end up while trying to fix the "broken timeline" issue.

"Okay, so what shattered the original timeline?" Five asked.

"Not what. Who? I'll give you three guesses." Alternate Five held up three fingers.

"We did!" Another Five yelled.

Five wasn't surprised, everything always seemed to be caused by him.

"By we, do you mean my siblings?" Five asked.

"Yep, the morons."

Five rolled his eyes.

"When we come into existence, the timeline is shattered, and then we're stuck trying to save the world. How many times was it again?"

"145,412."

The number seemed almost impossible to fathom, but the more alternate realities, the more opportunity for the world to end. Alternate Five pointed at the wall, which was filled with every possible way the world had ended. Viktor's attempt at blowing up the moon was front and center. Seeing it gave Five an unpleasant sense of nostalgia.

Five came to realize that the commission was created by an alternate Five in an attempt to fix the timeline, but it was never successful since the Hargreeves siblings were the root of the problem.

"I have to get back." Five turned, rushing out the door. He heard the alternate versions of himself begin to speak, but his overwhelming thoughts drowned it out.

Five ran as fast as he could, getting back on the train and returning to his rightful place. With his family.

As Five entered the abandoned shell of his former home, the room's occupants turned to look at him.

The first person he noticed was you. You watched him with sad eyes, eyes he thought he would never have to gaze into again. Yet here he was, and undeniably, he had a plan.

You watched Five scan the room. Dark hair hung in front of his eyes, his chest heaved from running, or perhaps from anxiety.

"I didn't think you'd be back." You purse your lips, giving him a sour look. '

Facing your bitterness was the hardest part of all this for Five. Of course you had every right to feel that way, he had just up and left you. Although, in his mind that was better than having to watch you die.

"Yeah, neither did I." Five muttered.

Everyone looked at him, obviously awaiting an explanation.

"We caused this." Five began.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Alison sighed.

You stared at Five intently, wondering what had changed since he decided to ditch you and everyone else.

"The marigold that infected our mothers bringing forth our births had a side effect, it fractured the timeline, bringing forth the end of the world."

Five looked from person to person, attempting to read everyone's emotions. They were unreadable.

"Extracting the marigold from our bodies is the only way to stop the cleanse, and in short, fix the timeline."

Silence settled over the room. You weren't born with marigold as the Hargreeves were, but due to Ben's antics, this now concerns you too.

"Okay, but how exactly do we do that?" Diego asked.

Five looked over to Viktor.

"Viktor, you can use your powers to extract the Marigold from our bodies. Unfortunately Ben and Jennifer are too far gone to be saved, but their sacrifice will have been for the greater good."

Viktor let out an elongated sigh, and with little to no hesitation, he agreed.

"Okay, let's get moving before it's too late." Viktor said, speeding out of the room.

You followed closely behind, trying your hardest to avoid Five's gaze.

"Y/N, I-" You cut him off, this was not the time to be talking about all the mistakes he had made. Even if those mistakes led to the answer for all your troubles, they were still mistakes.

"We can talk about this later, if there is one."

Five sighed and watched you exit the room, not even bothering to look his way. He had fucked up big time.

You watched Viktor head towards the monster that was Ben and Jennifer. The creature growled, as it hurdled towards your group.

You turned back as you felt someone grab your arm, Five was standing behind you. You saw something in him that you had only seen a few times before, fear.

"Please. If we don't make it through this I want to make sure we're okay." Five begged for your forgiveness.

In any other circumstance you would not have given in this easily, but the dire situation has just begun to settle in. This could be it.

Neither of you wanted to leave this world with so many words unsaid.

Your gaze softened, and you followed Five away from the other Hargreeve's.

"I know what I did was wrong. With every bone in my body I feel that it was wrong."

He spoke loudly enough to drown out the oncoming chaos, but softly enough to omit any sort of aggression.

Five reached for your hands, and you reluctantly let him take them.

Five paused for a moment, trying to find the words that would mean the most, considering he was dealing with limited time.

"My worst fear is to see you suffer, and at the time, running away seemed like my only escape. I feel like I've already caused so much hardship in your life, and the thought of any more terrified me." His eyes stayed glued to you.

Five was the whole reason you had joined The Commission to begin with. He helped you to believe in a cause that you otherwise wouldn't have, and the two of you hadn't left each other's side since.

You didn't regret it per say, but you couldn't deny that you often wished for a different life. You would never blame any of your circumstances on Five though, and you hated how he always chose to blame himself.

"Nothing that has happened to me, or to anyone, is your fault. I think all of us share some responsibility, but blaming yourself is just wrong." You squeezed Five's clammy hands.

Five let out a sigh of relief as he was able to recognize forgiveness in your eyes.

"I love you." He said, fighting the tears that began to form in the corners of his eyes. The phrase was reserved only for you, as it is a concept that has always been hard for five.

Growing up with Reginald as a father, and a family that could win an Olympic gold medal in dysfunctionality, Five didn't exactly have a positive outlook on love.

"I love you too. We've been through worse, we'll get through this too."

Five pulled you into a tight hug, breathing you in as if it was the last chance he would ever get to hold you. The two of you were versed in the end of the world, this was not the first final hug you had shared. Five placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, and he didn't miss the small cry that escaped your lips.

You rarely cried, and when you did it was always around Five. He was the only person you felt comfortable enough with to show vulnerability. It was the perfect moment, and the past few days had worn down your patience. You reluctantly let a few tears slip loose.

"Get your asses over here love birds, Ben is here." Diego called from the other side of the room.

You and Five exchanged a look before running over to the center of the room and rejoining your family.

Ben growled ferociously, the red goo that dripped from his body falling around the room.

"Just so you guys know, I have no idea what the hell I'm doing. So if we all die, I apologize in advance." Viktor said, clenching his fists on either side.

His newly improved orange power began to swirl around his body. He squeezed his eyes shut, clearly focusing on the task at hand.

You reached for Five's hand, interlocking your fingers with his. If these were to be your last moments, you wanted to make sure he was with you.

Five gripped your hand with everything he had in him, every bit of strength was to remind you of his presence.

With each moment that passed, the colorful plume of Viktor's powers grew, encasing not only Ben and Jennifer, but all of you.

You and Five watched as the all too familiar gold marigold specks began to float through the air. It felt odd, it didn't hurt, but it wasn't a particularly pleasant feeling. It was like your whole body was being poked by a prickly cactus.

The air turned cold, and all other sounds were overcome by the rumbling of Viktor's power.

An unbearable wave of exhaustion washed over you, and it became hard for you to keep your eyes open.

You looked over at Five, making eye contact with him one last time. He gave you his signature smirk, funny how in spite of everything he could still be himself.

The last thing you saw was Ben falling to the floor, the marigold protruding from him filling the whole room with a deep yellow glow.

And just like that, the world turned black.

· · ─────── ·☂· ─────── · ☂ · ─────── ·☂· ─────── · ·

Five opened his eyes, the bright light of day overwhelming his vision. The ground beneath him was soft, the tall grass tickling his fingertips.

Five sat up slowly, his eyes adjusting to the sun. He looked over next to him, and there you were. Just as you had always been, right by his side. Your chest rose slowly, a thankful sign that you were still alive.

Five looked beyond you, to see his siblings all scattered around the lawn. They were all exactly where they had been before the blackout. The empty patch of grass, of course, was where the Hargreeve's mansion used to stand.

Without the existence of their powers, The Umbrella Academy was never formed. It was strange, to know that what Five remembered, no one else did. It was like waking up from a strange dream.

However, one thing was missing, Ben. And of course Jennifer. Five wasn't surprised that they hadn't made it, considering how their bodies were overtaken.

Five watched as his siblings slowly began to rise from their temporary comas, their eyes heavy and glazed over.

Five nudged you slightly. Unable to wait for you to wake, wanting to share this beautiful moment with you.

You opened your eyes and felt as if you had awoken from a decades long slumber. The first thing you saw was Five next to you, a genuine smile on his face. That was something you had missed.

"Are we in heaven?" Klaus mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"Well if this was heaven, I'd be awfully disappointed." Lila replied.

You laughed to yourself, and stood up on wobbly legs.

You all had done it.

"Viktor. I think you might have just saved the world." Luther announced.

Viktor smiled and looked down, maybe eventually he'd let himself take the credit.

You began to take in your surroundings. The sound of traffic in the distance, the wind stinging your cheek, the smell of spring air. It was all so normal.

"Guys, where's Ben?" Klaus asked, and your heart dropped.

"Klaus...we all knew he probably wouldn't make it.." Alison said sadly.

Just then, something caught your eye. Something yellow that stuck out in the patch of green.

"Guys, look!" You pointed at the unique plant.

"Marigolds." Five said softly, and you felt his hand close around yours.

Two beautiful yellow flowers sprouted from the earth, a reminder of what was sacrificed. A reminder of what had to happen for all of this to exist, and a symbol of hope.

~~ Two Years Later ~~

You awoke to the sound of birds chirping outside your window, a song that was often your wake-up call. You rolled over to see Five sleeping peacefully next to you. You weren't surprised. He always slept late, after all, he was an old man at heart.

It had been two years of living freely in the new timeline. You and Five now share an apartment next to Lila and Diego and their three kids.

Life wasn't without its challenges, but compared to everything else the two of you had been through this was paradise.

Viktor had started his own Cafe, a small shop on a street corner that had quickly become a local favorite.

Alison had landed a big movie role not long after everything returned to normal. Ever since it hit the big screen, she had no problem with job offers. She didn't even miss her power of persuasion.

Klaus still lives with Alison. He doesn't really do anything specific, he often refers to himself as 'self-employed'. But he was happy, and that was all that really mattered.

Luther had somehow reconnected with Sloane, who had re-appeared after the timeline was fixed. Of course she didn't remember anything, but it must've been fate because they got to fall in love all over again.

Diego decided to put his skills acquired from his power to use and now taught axe throwing classes.

Lila had decided to help people who had ended up in a mental hospital, similar to how she had. She was working on getting her degree in psychology.

As for you and Five. Five kept his CIA job, and you decided to join him in his career. As the two of you had always done everything together, why not this too?

You felt Five stir next to you, letting out a series of groans. He slowly opened his eyes, a smile spreading across his face the moment he saw you.

"Good morning, beautiful." His morning voice is thick and deep.

"I love you." You whispered, pushing his messy hair out of his eyes.

Five leaned up to kiss you but you counteracted it by jumping out of bed. You pulled the blanket off of him and he whined in protest.

"Time to get up, Gramps, Lila wants us to drive the kids to school today."

Five rolled his eyes at the nickname. You snickered and kissed him on the cheek before heading to the bathroom to get ready.

After the two of you grabbed breakfast, you met Lila outside, Grace and the twins behind her.

"Thank you again for helping us out with this, I don't know how I'd ever get to work on time without you." Lila gave you a quick hug.

"Of course, whatever you need." You ushered her away, signaling that you could take it from here.

You were used to driving the kids places, and they always said you were their favorite aunt. Five however, could not surpass Klaus for favorite uncle.

"Alright guys, who's ready for school?" You said as you jumped in the driver's seat.

There was a chorus of enthusiastic cheers from the back, and you laughed.

"I was never that excited about school when I was your age." The kids had no idea how long ago that actually was for you.

You made sure to put on some kid friendly music, anything but Baby Shark. You dropped the kids off and made sure they all got inside safely.

"Anything else on the schedule for today?" Five asked you.

"Nope, we're both off today so I think the rest of our day is free."

"Great, we should do absolutely nothing." Five's eyes lit up with excitement.

You nodded in agreement and drove towards your home.

Once you arrived, the both of you threw on pajamas and cuddled up in bed. Five flung his arms around you and rested his head on your shoulder, simultaneously letting out a big sigh.

"I love you." He mumbled in your ear.

Even after all these years he still made you blush every time he said those three little words.

"I love you more." You pressed a kiss to Five's nose and he scrunched it up before responding with a chaste kiss to your lips.

After breaking apart you and Five settled into each other's arms, excited to spend a calm day together.

He reached for the remote and flicked on the TV. The small kiss he placed on your forehead didn't go unnoticed.

As Five settled into this new life, he found it hard not to expect a new life altering crisis to pop up at any moment. But it never did.

As the day dragged on, nothing out of the ordinary happened; and you could almost say that it was an ordinary day.

Taglist: @xreader-writing @dorkyfangirl24 @dinorawrss @anne-oop @ladynaviamin @i-amtrash @patchesofdreams @sarbear33 @marinalor

[bubonicc-writing]

The Rebound

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3194

Summary: It's been a long time since Cooper has felt a loving touch. Perhaps a little too long because he's not entirely sure what to do with you.

CW: Semi-slow burn, smut, P in V, creampies, loving on a crispy man who needs it real bad. Prob ooc because this is my first fallout/reader fic ever (sowwy)

Cooper was a hard man to break. Downright standoffish and a straight-up jackass. At least that was what he was like when you first met him. Charismatic, confident, an excellent shot, but god, was he a prick. That, though, you had gotten used to the longer you traveled together. As the months dragged on, that standoffishness started to shed from the Ghoul. 

It started with random small talk picking up between you two as you travel between settlements. For the first few months together, it was mostly silence or business talk traded between you. Who was the next bounty? Where were they last? Can you scavenge while I get intel? It was all just business. That was until one night, Cooper started making small talk between their travels. Then came the soft conversations by the fire when they settled for the night. Every week, the weight of that duster and those guns on his back seemed to lighten the more he talked to you. Then came the offered cantine of water on a scorching day. Already an out-of-the-ordinary gesture from him, more so because your cantine wasn’t empty and he was offering his for a sip.

You took it.

The small talk turned into jokes with hushed laughs between you. As Cooper drawled on, you watched him over the campfire's tip. The light it threw cast beautiful shadows along Cooper's features, and when that crooked ass grin warped his lips more and more, you felt a tinge in the center of your chest. A little candlelight flickering and quivering whenever he spoke in that long drawl. It blazed when his eyes flicked up at you, staring at you in a way that made it seem like he could see right through you. It was like he could see that candle burning just for him.

Now, when the two of you slept, you were no longer on opposite sides of the room. You both started to creep toward each other every night until you were only a few feet apart. Cooper never laid down when he slept. Instead, he leaned against the wall and semi-slouched. He’d tilt his hat downward until the brim hid his eyes. Finally, he would cross his legs and arms before drifting off. You, on the other hand, preferred your bedroll. While not much, it was still better than the barren floor or the questionable mattress they occasionally came across. 

Tonight, a storm was coming through, bringing billowing winds and harsh rain that pounded the roof of the abandoned gas station they had sheltered in. You had tried hours ago to sleep, but the chill from the wind crept between the broken boards and cracked windows. You tossed and turned for what felt like hours, unable to get warm in any position. You flopped over one more time, now facing where Cooper was slouched against a wall a good two feet from you. His brim was cast down, covering his eyes as usual, but from how still he was, you figured he had fallen asleep a while ago.

 Chewing your lip, you hesitated momentarily before scooting towards him and bridging the gap. Snuggling up against his hips and thighs, you sighed contently. He smelled of gunpowder and smoke, typical. Slumber tugged at your eyelids, and you finally drifted off within minutes.

A light sleeper for obvious reasons in this hellhole of a wasteland, Cooper had awoken the second you had touched his leg. He waited for you to settle before opening one eye halfway and staring down his brim at you. Studying your peaceful expression and how you pressed your nose into his thigh. Two rouge strands of your hair had fallen against your cheek, slightly curled at the tips.

A former version of himself would have shoved you away, telling you to git back to your side of the station. Except the current version of himself felt something swirling around in his chest. It was slightly uncomfortable but not all too unfamiliar.

It was a sensation he hadn’t felt for over a hundred years, something that longed for that little touch and craved so much more. It flopped around behind his ribcage, and he grits his teeth in annoyance.

Sighing and looking back down, he shifts gently. Bringing one hand down and outstretching two fingers, he tenderly brushes the hair strands behind your ear. With that, he recrosses his arms and sits back, eyes closing.

As the months continue, so do they, but Cooper is different at night. His expressions are somber, his eyes distant while he sharpens his knives. Deep in thought, sometimes it takes calling his name twice before he looks up at you.

“Coop, are you alright?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowed together in concern. You were annoyed when he smiled and chuckled softly, telling you he was peaches and cream. You didn’t push the matter and didn’t have to because he mentioned his daughter three nights later.

He spoke slowly, hesitantly, wondering if he should even be saying any of this to you in the first place. He wasn’t a vulnerable man, not anymore, anyway. 

He spoke, and you listened, night after night, as more pieces of the puzzle of this mystery man fell together. Under all those clothes and behind all those guns, Cooper was still just a man—an ordinary man.

“You’ll find her Coop,” Reaching over from where you were sitting at his side, you placed your hand on his wrist and gently squeezed it, “I know you will.” 

Cooper didn’t respond, but a smile so tiny it almost went missed curved the corners of his lips.

As you lay in your bedroll that night, you felt something shift against your front. Opening your tired eyes halfway, you watched through blurry vision as Cooper lay down next to you. His back was to you, but you scooted against his spine without a second thought. Resting your cheek between his shoulder blades, you closed your eyes again. 

Eventually, Cooper lay facing you. Without saying anything, he would hook your waist and tug you against his chest. Then, you would feel him resting his chin on your head. The first time he had done it, your face burned so hot you feared you might catch ablaze. If Cooper noticed, he didn’t say. No matter, you didn’t want him to stop, and you were sure he didn’t want you to, either. 

In truth, Cooper would be lying if he ever said he didn’t like the sensation of your small palms against his chest. He loved how you played with the buttons on his dirty shirt until you fell asleep.

Each night, you did the same thing, chest to chest, until finally, one night, you nuzzled your face into the nook of Cooper's neck. Soft and plump lips grazed across his scarred skin before placing a gentle kiss on Cooper’s jawline. 

Immediately, Cooper stiffened against you. You felt his fingers tracing lazy patterns on the small of your back pause. You heard him swallow suddenly, and your stomach sank as you expected him to push you away and scold you. 

Instead, Cooper cleared his throat and nestled his chin harder against the top of your head. 

Days in the wasteland dragged on usually, but the following days felt like an eternity since that night. Bounty after bounty, caps collected, and supplies scavenged, Cooper never once brought it up. Instead, he carried on as usual, which, in truth, made your heartache.

It was possible that even after all of this time, the candle he had ablaze in your chest was not mutually lit. 

What you didn’t know was that Cooper's heart had bounced out of his chest and into his throat that night. He didn’t think it was even possible for his cheeks to flush, but damn, they felt hot. It was alien; over 200 years of feeling the kiss of bullets, he had forgotten what a real one felt like. It was incredible but also terrifying.

 He had loved, and he had lost. 

The nights following the kiss, Cooper waited for you to make a move again, but you didn’t. You slept with your back to him and didn’t move when he pressed against you and draped an arm over your waist. After a few minutes, he felt your fingers intertwine with him in a gentle grip. 

The two of you stayed linked that night.

The following night, Cooper watched as you shrugged off your jacket and kicked off your boots, getting ready to sleep after a long day of tracking a bounty through the unforgiving sun. Reaching up, you released your hair from its loose bun and let your locks fall messily over your shoulders.

You half turned when you felt Cooper grab your hand. Watching him bring it to his lips, he kissed your palm and pressed your hand against his cheek.

The brim of his hat temporarily hid his eyes, but when he looked up at you, your heart fluttered. No words were exchanged as you slowly leaned forward, having to stand on your toes even to come close to his marred lips. Centimeters away, you paused, but Cooper filled the gap.

The first kiss was gentle, and your free hand came up to cup Cooper’s other cheek. When you broke away, it wasn’t for long. Reconnecting, your kisses became hungrier, and your hands on Cooper's cheeks drifted downward. Running over his neck, then his collar and chest. You worked your way down as he kissed you until you palmed at his groin.

“Wait,” Cooper pulled away suddenly, stepping back, “wait…fuck” He turned on his heels, pacing back and forth. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, watching him shake his head and curse to himself. “Coop?”

Once he stopped pacing, he sighed and shook his head before glancing over his shoulder at you.

“I don’t think I have it in me no more, sweetheart.” He laughed softly at himself. 

“What do you mean?” Taking a step towards him, she watched as he finally turned to face her.

“It’s… been a long time. A really long time, sugar.” Too long, really, at least, that is what he thought anyway. Nobody had touched him like this since before the bombs. Nobody had loved him. The only thing he knew now was blood, bullets, and ass jerky.

“Coop,” You said softly, moving towards him and wrapping your arms around his towering frame, “let me take care of you for once.” There was silence before Cooper rested his chin atop your head and laughed. Slowly, his hands came up to rest on your hips, his thumbs dipping under the fabric of your shirt to rub at the soft skin there. 

Looking up, you place a chain of kisses along his jawline. Meanwhile, one of your hands pressed against his back snaked back to his front. There, you worked your way down again until you felt the subtle tent in his pants. You palmed it gently, drawing out soft groans from your Ghoul. He shifted in place, sliding his chin off your head and burying his face between the nook in your neck. His hips lean forward into your touch, and you purr at that.

“That’s it,” you whisper, working the top button until it pops. Next, you slide his zipper down and slide your hand inside. “I’ve got you.”

Upon grabbing his stiffening cock, you feel him tense against you, even sagging a little bit as you start to stroke. Your thumb rubs over his swollen head, spreading the generous amount of precum around. You feel it pulse against your palm, and you can’t help but smile when Copper’s breath stutters against your neck.

“Fuck darling,” He drawls, “You know how to drive a man mad.” Bringing his hands up from your hips, Cooper knots his fingers into the back of your shirt. It doesn’t take long to have him unraveling. You can feel his thighs trembling and his grip tightening the closer he gets to release. Like butter, he is melting and fast.

Each new noise you pull from him causes a feverish heat to swell over your form. Your stomach flips, and you feel your heat clench with desire. As much as you would like to keep your composure, you lean into him, pressing your forehead into his shoulder as you stroke faster and faster. 

The choked growl Cooper lets out is the only warning you get before hot fluid coats your palm and wrist. His hips lurch in your grip twice before he suddenly sags hard against your form. Finger still twisted in your shirt, he finally lets go and lets his arms swing heavily by his sides. His legs are like jelly, and it takes him a moment to stand up semi-straight, his hat slightly crooked. He looks drunk, his eyes glossy, that stupid ass grin you loved smeared across his lips.

“That good, huh?” Stepping back to give him a little breathing room, you pluck the first few buttons of your shirt open. Allowing your shirt to part and fall from your shoulders, your breasts become exposed. With your other hand, you reach down and open the first button of your pants.

“Well then,” You coo, “come on then bounty hunter.” You shimmy your pants and panties off, kicking them off to the side, leaving your form raw to his eyes. “Come and get it.”

There was no need to ask twice. Rushing forward, Cooper grabbed your hips and slammed your forms together. Your lips crashed together again and again, and you whined into his mouth, horribly needy. You didn’t doubt Cooper had seen the slick glistening on your inner thigh.

Pushing you backward, you allowed Cooper to guide you to your bedroll. Once close enough to it, he kicked his foot out, hooked his heel around your leg, and pulled it out from under you. As you fell backward, he fell with you, landing flat on his palms. Towering over you now, eyes ablaze as they drink in your beet red face and beautiful puffy pink breasts. 

“You’ve been wantin' this for a while, haven’t yah?” Lifting one of his hands and pressing it against your soft belly, he drags it down towards your heat. Without warning, he slides his middle and ring finger through your folds, running over your sensitive clit. You gasp, tossing your head back.

“Ngh! Fuck!” Looking up between your bodies, you watch as Cooper drags his fingers up and down over and over, teasing your swelling clit. “Fuck Coop, fuck!”

“Well,” He growls, “Who am I to keep a lady waitin'?” Without warning, his middle and ring finger coast downward and dip deep into your gushing cunt. The squeal that escapes your lips has Cooper chuckling. He presses deep into you, humming as your walls grip his digits. 

Burying himself knuckle deep over and over, a squelching noise is followed by each hand thrust. You lift and twist your hips from the intense waves of pleasure. Only when you feel Cooper withdraw his fingers do you flop down, panting harshly.

Through half-lidded and blurry eyes, you watch Cooper bring his hand between you. He inspects them before spreading his two fingers apart, a tendril of thick fluid connecting them.

“You get this wet for everybody else? Or just little o’l me?”

Turning your head away in embarrassment, you feel Cooper grip your chin and return your gaze to him. 

“Eyes on me.” He growls as he rolls his hips forward, running his stiff cock between your slick folds. The head bumps your clit, and for a moment, you think you see stars. Over and over again, he grinds against you, littering your chest with kisses in the meantime. 

When you finally feel him lean back and press his head against your opening, he hesitates. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper as you place your hand on his cheek and run your thumb over his cheekbone. “I’ve got you.” Sliding both arms around his neck, you gently tug him into your warm embrace. One hand rugs between his shoulder blades while your other rubs the back of his neck.

Allowing himself to lean forward, he nuzzles into the side of your neck before biting the soft flesh. 

Rolling his hips forward, he breaches and slides into you with ease. Gasping and choking out a soft cry, you feel him bury himself to his hilt. Hip connected to hip for a brief moment, he finally drags himself out. Rolling forward, the pase is slow, perhaps even loving, before your Ghoul gets hungry.

It doesn’t take long before your hips are slapping together. You can’t stop the sobs of pleasure that break past your lips with each sharp snap of his hips. Digging your nails into his shoulder blades, you feel your eyes cross when the head of his cock punches that sweet, sweet bundle of nerves.

“Oh fuck, Cooper!” Your back arches off of your bedroll, “F-fuck! I’m… I’m” The hot waves of pleasure radiating from your belly to your groin all the way down your trembling thighs to your toes are winding too tight. “I’m gonna cum!” 

He didn’t slow down and instead angled himself better to strike that little bundle of nerves that had your eyes rolling back. It took two hard hits before he felt your beck snap into a tight arch. He felt your chest bump hard against him, and your hips twisted to the right as your climate ripped you apart.

Head thrown back, mouth wide open, no sound came out of you as your climax held you prisoner.

Above, Cooper's thrusts started to become sloppy, losing their rhythm as your cunt clamped down on him spasmodically. As much as he tried to hold on, it had been too long, and you had felt too good.

Grunting hard into the side of your neck, you felt a warmth bloom in your groin as Cooper spilled everything he had left into you. He slammed your hips together, holding you in place and burying himself as deep as he could, pumping you full. The sensation had goosebumps blooming across your skin as your body finally deflated back down against the bedroll. 

With eyes half-lidded and glossy, you made out the foggy shape of Cooper still hunched over you, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. Every other breath was a soft wheeze. Sweat had beaded on his forehead, and a droplet fell and landed on your chest.

Leaning back and sliding himself from your heat, a thick flood of cum followed. You shivered at the sensation and watched as Cooper lowered himself against your form. Resting his head between your breasts, he inhaled sharply and sighed.

Lovingly, you stroked the back of his neck, enjoying the sensation of his hot breath against your breast.

Together, you lay like that while listening to the rain from a passing storm plink against the tin roof.

When you looked down, Cooper's eyes were closed, and his breathing had finally leveled. Letting your head fall back, you closed your own eyes and smiled.

For once, the wasteland was at peace.

[zivazivc]

What was Ish and Lena's relationship?

I made so much for this ask, don't look at me 🫣

The two trolls had a short summer romance at a "no boarders" music festival called Fusion Fest. Back then it was a pretty new and small thing, and the point of the festival is for trolls from all genres to come together and enjoy each other's music and company; celebrating togetherness and acceptance.

(Yes, I made a logo. 😅 This festival is a major annual event for the mixed trolls in my AU.)

Ish and his friend group went to check it out because they're already a colorful ensemble of different genres, and they were curious to see what it was about.

Lena and her friends somehow caught wind of the festival in their backwater village where nothing new or exciting ever happens, and they decided to go to rebel against their closed-minded, racist parents and community, but mostly because they were bored teenagers who'd never seen any trolls other than Rock Trolls before. Despite them wanting to experience something new, their reason for going was very much NOT the point of the festival; They were treating it more like a freakshow to stare at, and them rebelling against their parents was more just to anger them and not because they were any better...

In my mind Lena is very attractive (in a trashy, grunge kind of way), and a 16-year-old Ish immediately got a crush on her from across the room.

He put his Funk moves on her and left her completely flustered from how forward he was. I imagine he was really charming and smooth, but also I can't stop cringing and comparing it to bird mating dances lmao.

(The song Ish is singing to Lena. It makes it feel extra perfect because I just happened to learn the singer was also a 16-year-old when recording it!)

Lena didn't fall for him as hard as he fell for her at first, but she's one of those girls who will go for any bad boy that looks intimidating, and she thought funk trolls were scary and intimidating, because she was subconsciously racist herself too. 🧍 She did really start to like him after they hooked up though, and started liking him for him (so at least she was learning...)

But then they were faced with an unexpected surprise one morning after waking up from a night of concerts and partying (and mixing of substances that shouldn't be mixed)...

Ish panicked hard, he even tried getting rid of the egg, claiming it had to be a dud given the circumstances, but Lena stopped him saying she felt it move. Thank god, because Leslie hatched only minutes later.

Ish was so freaked out that he abruptly left and headed back to Funk Kingdom in the same day, and just abandoned Lena with the baby.

Lena was also very scared but she immediately warmed up to little Leslie and had no intention of dropping him off at an orphanage or doing something similar, despite her friends' encouragement to do just that, claiming her parents were going to kick her out if she showed up back home with a mixed baby.

I'm thinking Ish did try to reach out to Lena by sending her a letter a few weeks later (he got her address before the egg thing happened), but the letter never reached her because she really was disowned and kicked out of her parents' house when she came home and refused to give her baby up...

So Lena never heard from Ish again, and the next time Ish heard about Lena was about 9 years later when Leslie turned up looking for him with his baby brother, and he learned that she was gone...

(Ish having a weird day where he went out after Kymani poorly relayed a confusing phone call from the police station, and later came back home as the sole caretaker of two neglected kids.)

[wizard-on-whales]

Whiskey and Tea (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

No warnings just fluff

Word Count - 1500

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

Arthur Morgan was a powerhouse of a man, but even those needed to rest now and then. But the thought of that seemed to escape not only his understanding but also several other members of the gangs as well. You watched as he came in and out of camp at all times of the day. He was always out fetching things for others and hardly ever got time to himself. The second he did usually ended in Miss. Grimshaw or Dutch hassling him for being lazy or someone asking him for a favor. Even after everything Arthur had done for everyone, he could hardly get a second of peace. 

You were sitting at the fire, your hands occupied with the piece of wood you were attempting to carve into a figure for Jack. Arthur had been in camp for a few hours, busying himself with chores others avoided, like carrying the haybales or fetching water for the wash station. Finally, he decided to sit across from you at the fire. Arthur watched the flames burn, the embers swirling into the sky, mixing with the colors of the oncoming dusk. His shoulders slumped with exhaustion, and the heavy bags under his eyes made you question when he had last slept. He let out a noticeable sigh and wiped his hand over his face, rubbing his eyes slightly. The dance of the fire and soft lullaby from Javier's guitar seemed to be rocking him to sleep. Not long after he sat down, Dutch decided to waltz up to him, a plan clearly in mind. 

“Come on, Arthur, get that man of action back! Get out there and do something! I've got a lead you can check out for me.” You felt anger rise in your chest, and your hands clutched the carving in your hand tightly, your knuckles turning white. You had to physically hold back from chucking the object at Dutches head. Arthur hesitated for a moment before sighing and getting up from his spot, not wanting to disappoint his halfway father figure. 

“Sure, what is it?” Arthur listened to Dutch rattle off whatever idea he had as the two of them walked away from the fire. After they were done speaking, Arthur marched towards his horse, stopping to brush her off first. Before he could mount and head off, your own idea formed. 

You hadn't been with the gang long, only a few months. Dutch and Arthur had been the ones who found you tied up in a cabin in the freezing mountains of the grizzlies. Bounty hunting was a risky job. You knew that and were willing to take the risks, but you also know you made a mistake going after Colm. The Van Der Lindes luckily went after him only a few days after you and attacked the camp they had set up in an abandoned town, finding you in the process. Despite Arthur saving you, the two of you had hardly spoken. But it didn't take much observing to realize Arthur wasn’t exactly the chatty type. 

“Arthur!” You called out, watching him turn your way, “Leaving so soon?”

“Yeah,” He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck and adjusted his hat, “Dutch asked me to help him with something.” 

“Well, before you run off, could you help me with something first?” Arthur thought about it before putting the brush in his hand back down.

“I suppose, whatchu need, girl?” Instead of answering him, you smiled happily and walked off in the opposite direction, hoping he'd follow. Which, of course, like a lost puppy, he did. You marched right through the front doors of Shady Bell, up the old, rotting stairs, and into Arthur's room, “Why we goin’ to my room? We gonna need ammo or somethin’?

“Or something,” You walked up to his bed and sat on the edge, patting the spot next to you. He gave you a dazed look, tilting his head quizzically, but compiled and sat down. 

“You know…I ain't a good therapist if you're wanton’ to talk about somethin’,” He rubbed his sweaty palms across the fabric covering his knees. 

“I ain't here to talk, Arthur,” You brought your hands up to his shoulders, your fingers slowly massaging the tight muscles hiding under his clothes. He tensed at first but quickly relaxed under your touch, “You're always running off doin’ things for people, but you never give yourself time to relax. I ‘bout shot Dutch when he came up to you at the fire.”

“So you dont really want nothin’?” Arthur didn't look at you but instead closed his eyes and leaned in closer to you. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and felt his breath catch in his throat. Arthur had found you exceptionally attractive from the second he laid eyes on you. And he had spent the last few months avoiding you because of it. He knew trying to speak to you would mean flushed cheeks and unclear sentences, so he kept to himself. But now, here you were, sitting on his bed, giving him a massage, and he was too damn tired to feel flustered or to really realize what was happening. 

“I do want somethin’... I want you to relax and get some sleep for once in your goddamn life. Take your vest off,” Arthur didn't say anything in response but did as he was told and took the vest off. He could feel your fingers working at the tight knots better now that it was just the thin fabric of his shirt left. The two of you sat in silence for a while as your hands traveled up and down his back, occasionally stopping just to scratch your nails across it. You could tell Arthur was slowly nodding off. 

“Darlin’?” You say sweetly, pulling him out of his trance. He just hummed in response, “You wanna lay down?”

Arthur nodded and stretched before finally opening his eyes and looking at you. You gave him a soft smile and reached up, pulling his hat off before setting it on the small table he had next to his bed and lying down. You patted your chest, offering it as a pillow, which he gladly accepted and laid down. One of your hands rubbed his back, and the other made its way into his hair. You played with it softly, making it a little messier than it already was. Arthur's breathing got heavier soon after laying down, and you could hear quiet snores rising from him. You smiled to yourself and kissed the top of his head before closing your eyes and dozing off. 

Sometime during the night, your position changed. Arthur's arm now hung heavily over your middle, pressing your back flush against his solid chest. You stirred slightly, trying to blink the sun out of your eyes as you remembered where you were. You could still hear Arthur's quiet breathing behind you, so you assumed he wasn't awake yet. The moment was peaceful. With Arthur's soft sounds, the comforting arm safely holding you, and the songs from birds flowing in through the broken window. You sighed contently and rubbed the lingering sleep out of your eyes before feeling Arthur pull you closer. 

“Good mornin’,” Arthur's voice was still laced with sleep, making it deeper than normal. You felt your heart jump and your face warm. Although you had admitted to yourself that Arthur was attractive, you had pushed down any other thought of the man. He had been your friend, ally, and nothing more. But the security of his grasp and the sound of his voice made it hard to push your feelings down. It made you crave something more. 

“Morning,” You turned in his arms so that you were no longer facing the room but facing him. His caramel hair was tousled, and his eyes were heavy, not from lack of sleep but from what was still lingering. He gave you the softest smile, revealing more of his true colors to you. Not some big rough outlaw, not the camp workhorse, but a man who just needs a little love. You smiled back, admiring the beauty of his eyes. The sunbeams shining through the window hit them just right, making them look like the sea. You reached up to push a few stray hairs out of his face, “Did you finally get some sleep, cowboy?”

“I did, thanks to you,” He returned the favor and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “I guess I should help you out more often.” You laughed slightly, resting your hand on his face, scratching his beard. He closed his eyes and hummed in appreciation. 

“And I guess I should ask for your help more often,” It was Arthur's turn to let out a small chuckle, and without thinking, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. He quickly realized what he had done and pulled back as fast as he had leaned forward. His eyes widdened as he released his grip and sat up, scratching the back of his head. 

“I-Im sorry I wasn't thinkin’...I guess I-,” Arthur stumbled over his words, you cut him off by kissing him again. He stiffened for a second but melted into your touch. He tasted like whiskey and cigarettes, you tasted like honey and tea.

[theweightofakiteofdreamsingold]

Dreams – D. Wagner

Warnings: Explicit sexual content; mature themes; fingering; oral sex (fem receiving); unprotected sex; language; MINORS DNI

A/N: Apologies for being late to the Christmas Party, you guys. I ✨almost✨ abandoned this fic in the swamp, but I’m glad I went back and read it tonight with fresh eyes. Ken’s been trying to get me to finish it for days. Anyways, enjoy a little reunion fic bc late Saturday nights are for Danny smut, apparently (I don’t make the rules).

Bajabule,

-Han

As you moved about the kitchen, straightening the countertops and wiping them down, you found yourself lost in the music that drifted throughout the house. The sound that came from the turntable and speakers in your living room made your entire body feel warm, despite being simply clad in your favorite pair of underwear and one of Danny’s old oversized Christmas sweaters.

You’d decided to get a jump on getting into the Christmas spirit, as you’d found it difficult to do so this year with him and his brothers touring on the other side of the world. The first half of December seemed to have sprinted and crawled by at the same time, and you’d only just put up your Christmas tree and decorations the day before. Today, you focused on making treats for when Danny did come home, which wouldn’t be for another two or three days. Doing all of the decorating and baking did well to change the course of your thoughts, and you took advantage of this.

You mixed ingredients, baked gingerbread cookies, and put together a Christmas simmer pot, all while slowly losing yourself in the silky crooning voice of Frank Sinatra as he sang your favorite holiday classics.

After you’d finished your festivities for the day and cleaned everything up, you decided to trudge up the stairs and settle into bed with a nice, cozy blanket to watch a Christmas movie. After you turned off all the lights, you turned on the TV and flipped through your options. After settling on a movie, you snuggled up in your dimly-lit bedroom and watched the screen until your eyelids grew heavy.

As you closed your eyes and drifted to sleep, you heard the soft, muffled voices from the TV fade as your dreams overtook you.

Your dream started out like the Hallmark movie that was playing on your TV when you fell asleep. You were in a small, cozy cabin in the mountains for the holidays, and Danny was meeting you there. Whenever you arrived first, you went to the nearest store and bought things to bake. On your drive back to the cabin, Christmas music was playing on the radio station you’d tuned in to, and Frank Sinatra’s silky voice wrapped you up again as he slowly sang the first verse to “I’ll Be Home For Christmas.” You hummed along as you pulled up to the cabin and carried your groceries inside.

You put the first set of gingerbread cookies in the oven and set a timer to take them out before you started mixing ingredients to make your second batch. Still humming the song from earlier, you’d just started mixing when you heard the front door open. Excitedly, you turned around, watching as Danny sat his bags down and slipped out of his jacket that was peppered with snow.

You turned back around and continued mixing your batter while you listened to the soft sound of his socks padding across the hardwood floor. You felt him slip his arms around your waist and squeeze you into his frame, his chin resting softly on your shoulder.

“Smells amazing in here. Making my favorite, I see?”

You grinned at him and let out a little giggle. “Of course.”

“You’re so sweet,” he said softly, his hands toying with the hem of your sweater, and tickling the skin on the tops of your bare thighs as he gently swayed the two of you back and forth. You relaxed into him, and he straightened. You looked up at him from below and took in the shape of his face like it was the first time you’d ever seen it; the shape of his nose and lips, the curls in his hair and the tiny flakes of snow that hadn’t managed to melt just yet. He looked down at you and you watched as the sweetest smile slowly spread itself across his face, making the corners of his deep brown eyes crinkle the tiniest bit. He leaned down and met your lips with his, bringing one of his hands up to cup the side of your face.

When he pulled his lips back from you, he kept the tip of his nose touching yours while his eyes softly held your gaze. “I missed you so much, honey,” he said, the pad of his thumb softly skimming over your cheekbone.

“God, I missed you, Danny.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you whined, feeling him press himself into your back.

“Well you don’t have to worry. Because I’m here now, sweetheart.”

You huffed a breath, squeezing your thighs together and holding them.

His hands migrated from your hips at this, and he lifted the hem of your sweater, slowly dipping his hand into your underwear. You sucked in a sharp breath when his skin met yours. “Your hands are freezing!”

“Mm,” he hummed against your ear as he slipped his fingers between your folds. “Sorry,” he chuckled, “you’re so fucking warm I can’t help myself.”

His fingers circled your clit and you moaned, feeling his cock grow harder still behind you. “Fuck, Danny. Keep going,” you said, your breath getting heavier by the second. He did as you asked, and right as you were about to cum, you jolted awake, your chest heaving.

You felt a jolt behind you, making you jolt again, turning your head and your sleepy eyes around to see Danny, eyes-wide, staring back at you from under your blanket.

Lost for words, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and opened them again to still, despite your belief, see Danny sitting beside you in the bed. “What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice still heavily laced with grogginess from your nap.

“We decided to change our flights at the last minute. I think we were all just ready to get back home. I wanted to surprise you,” he said, giving you a small smile.

“Well I’m glad you did,” you said, rolling over to him and straddling his hips. He readjusted the blanket around you as you leaned down to kiss him. The two of you took each other in for a bit, and he pulled back just far enough to speak.

“I missed you so much, honey,” he whispered.

You froze, remembering the exact moment in your dream that he uttered those words and what he was doing when he said them. You replayed it in your head, and felt warmth spread between your legs. “I missed you,” you said, pulling him back to your mouth. You felt his cock start to harden rather quickly under you, and you immediately rolled your hips into him, your breath starting to pick up.

“Is that my sweater?” He asked, his eyes glinting at you from below.

“Yeah,” you said, unsure of what he would say next.

He smirked and flicked his gaze from the sweater to your eyes. “It looks really good on you. I like it.”

You slipped the sweater over your head and let it fall to the floor. “Does it look better now?”

His hands gripped your hips and he let out a hard laugh. He flipped you over so that you were under him, and he peppered kisses from your mouth to your breasts, taking his time to spoil each new area he encountered, leaving your heat more soaked and needy for him than it ever had been.

Once he’d met your underwear, he lifted his head as he hooked his fingers around your waistband and waited. You lifted your hips, and he took his cue to pull your underwear down your legs. He paused after he dropped them on the floor.

His eyes flicked from your dripping pussy to your eyes and back. He let out a small huff of air and chuckled to himself.

“What’s so funny?”

He looked at you and raised his eyebrows before he spoke. “I’m toast.”

“What do you mean?” you chuckled back at him.

“I’m not gonna last two fucking seconds in there. There’s no way.”

“Why do you say that?”

His eyes widened as he dramatically glanced back and forth again. “Baby I’ve never seen you wet like this for me. Ever. And it’s been way too long. This is gonna be a fuckin’ mess.”

“Is that a bad thing?” you asked, raising your eyebrows with a smirk.

You watched his jaw fall slack as he stared at you, almost in a daze, before he slowly started slipping his clothes off and tossing them in the floor.

Once he’d fully undressed himself, he settled his shoulders between your legs leaving soft kisses on your inner thighs, slowly moving closer and closer to your heat. The closer he got, the faster you huffed, your heart hammering with anticipation for the feeling of his mouth; a sensation you’d thought about every single night that he was gone.

Your hands lightly shook as they reached for his hair, knowing full-well you didn’t have the self-control to keep yourself from finishing just moments after he delved his tongue inside of you. Once he was happy with the number of kisses he’d given you, his hands crept up your thighs, and he used his fingers to separate you just a bit, giving his tongue easier access to your already swollen clit.

He started slowly, running his tongue from your entrance to your clit before giving it a few soft flicks before descending again, making your legs involuntarily twinge with every flick. Your hands softly gripped the roots of his curls as he continued.

Slowly, he began to move faster, shortening the time between the flicks on your clit, making you whimper as he did so. Your grip tightened as you felt a burning in the pit of your stomach already. “Shit, Danny,” you moaned.

His eyes flicked up to you from below. “What is it? You need some more?”

You moaned again, his voice making you wetter with every syllable. It was then that he slipped his middle and ring fingers into your folds and moved them around, collecting your juices before slipping them languidly into your core. Your back arched at the contact and your fingers completely wrapped themselves around his hair and pulled harder than before, making him moan into your pussy as he sucked your clit into his mouth. His fingers curled, rubbing the perfect spot, and you cried out, your hips bucking shamelessly into his face. The pit of your stomach was seething, and you didn’t even try to quench the fire.

“Oh god, Danny– I– ohhhhh fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck–.”

He quickened the pace at which his fingers pumped in and out of your entrance, and you immediately felt the warmth of your first orgasm spread over your entire body. His pace was unwavering, and you continually writhed under him and bucked your hips, physically begging for him to be deeper inside you.

You moaned again.

“What is it, sweetheart?” He cooed, “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” His eyebrows raised, soft and expectant.

“Need you–,” you choked between whimpers, “to fffffff–.” His fingers slowed, giving your brain a moment to work through the numbing haze he was causing with his fingers. “Fuck me,” you whispered. “Please.”

“Been dreaming about hearing you say that to me for months, honey. Dreaming about how you’d look with me buried as deep as I can go. Is that what you want?”

The only bodily function you could manage was a vehement nod of your head, making him let out a breathy chuckle. He removed his fingers from you and leaned up, gently placing his lips on your forehead as he lined himself up with your entrance.

You watched as his mouth hung open while he slipped the tip of his cock into your core, letting out a shaky breath like it was the first time all over again. You sucked in a sharp breath as you adjusted to his girth, feeling him stretch the walls of your pussy so slowly you had to make an effort not to drool. Your head fell backward as your chest heaved at the feeling of fullness between your legs while your hands gripped him by the roots of his curls again.

Moving deeper still, he let out a deep groan, fighting the overwhelming urge to press the rest of the way into you to satisfy himself. He lifted his head to make eye contact with you, his mouth still sitting agape as he slowly continued to slide into you.

“Goddamn, honey. You’re so fucking perfect. So fucking perfect.”

Once he reached the furthest he could, you whimpered, very lightly rolling your hips up into him.

“Mmm, you really did miss me, huh?”

“Mhm,” you whined. “Every fucking night, Danny.”

“I’m flattered,” he said, smirking.

He started pulling his hips back and pushing them in, helping you grow accustomed to the feeling of his thrusts before speeding up. You moaned with each push, already reveling in the depth that he could reach in his current position. Unable to help himself, he pushed into you quicker and harder second by second, his grunts being muted by the slick sounds from your core and the sound of his skin meeting yours over and over.

His breath quickly left him as he continued sharply rocking you back into your pillows, trying his best to hold himself up for as long as he could. His rhythm was impeccable, as one would expect, and you felt your second orgasm creep up on you much quicker than you’d anticipated.

“Danny. Danny. Fuck,” was all you could say before your lower stomach burst with warmth again, leaving your legs trembling on either side of his perfect hips.

“Mmm keep going, sweetheart. Just feel it, yeah? Right there?”

You moaned, nodding your head, focusing everything on the feeling oh his cock sliding in and out of you, like he said. Heavy breaths fell from your lips, and your chest was absolutely burning. It was then that he straightened, removing his cock from you entirely and backing himself off the bed, standing at the end of it. His hands encircled the bottoms of your calves, and he gently pulled you to the edge of the bed; so close that your ass was nearly hanging off the end.

He opened your legs wide and lined himself back up before plunging deliciously deeper inside your core, making you cry out for him. Your hands gripped the sheets under you hard enough to turn your knuckles white. He knew you loved being as close to him as possible while he fucked you, so he slid his arm behind you so that the crook of his elbow rested perfectly behind your neck, his hand firmly gripping your shoulder while his other hand rested on the top of your head. You felt warm and wholly connected to him being wrapped in his arms like this, and you knew he felt the same. He planted a lusty kiss on your lips, lingering there, slipping his tongue into your mouth on occasion.

Once he broke the kiss, he pulled his hips back, pulling his cock out of you about halfway, and pressed down with both of his hands, bringing you to him as he brought himself to you, pushing himself into you deeper than he’d ever gone to date. Your back arched, pressing your chest up into his and he forcefully met your hips with his own, the sounds between the two of you becoming louder and messier by the second. His grunts turned into sharp exhales as he tried with everything he had to hold out and pace himself for his own climax, desperately trying to finish you off for a third time before he indulged.

“Ohhhhh my fucking GOD, Danny,” you moaned. “You’re so fucking deep. Don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop.”

He moaned, and you could tell from the sound of it that he was tiptoeing on his edge. You tried with everything you had to squeeze his cock as hard as you could, and you thought you had him. His eyes screwed shut and his mouth fell open, and you watched him fight with his entire being for every second he could stand it.

His grip on your shoulder and your hair grew much tighter as he grit his teeth together, his chest heaving harder than you’d ever seen it. He pulled you impossibly closer to him, every inch of your skin burning against his as he pounded into you the hardest he had all night.

“Cum for me, sweet girl. Show me how bad you needed my cock while I was gone, huh? Come on,” he coaxed. You arched again, harder than you ever had, and you cried out for him again, your entire body trembling as he kept his rhythm perfectly again, making your legs twinge from the immense stimulation.

Soon after, you felt his hips quiver, and it took mere seconds for him to start his release. You did what you could to squeeze around him while he rode out his high, milking his cock while he grunted and moaned into your neck, eventually laying his upper half against yours in a heaving pile. Your hands trailed the expanse of his back as his chest pressed into yours with each breath he took.

When he rose from you, he slipped out from between your legs and padded off to the bathroom for a washcloth. After he’d cleaned the both of you, he settled himself at the head of the bed, pulling you to him. You laid your head on his chest and threw your arm across his torso as he pressed his lips against your forehead, reaching for the TV remote on the nightstand.

After flipping it on, he looked at you and grinned.

“What?” You asked, reflecting his smile on your lips.

“That must’ve been a really good nap earlier to put you in that big of a mood,” he said, waggling his brows at you.

You blushed, looking away from him for a moment with a giggle.

“Actually…”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: @sunandthemoontwinflames

[honorarysimp]

Epilogue: Ex Nihilo Nihil Fit

series masterlist

*Click*

“It’s currently sometime around 10AM this lovely Saturday, my final day in Woodsboro, as I conclude this investigation.”

A small, soft smile tugs at your lips as you sip a cup of coffee you’d gotten from the hotel lobby just earlier.

You have no questions for your coffee anymore.

Your other hand fidgets with your tape recorder, dials spinning within at that familiar slow and methodical pace.

“It’s been three months since the face off on the lakeshore, I find relief in stating on record we’ve finally found bodies, after a bit of patience and reassurance on knowing the lake is currently safe, multiple remains were found in ravines underneath the town, all connected by water channels that span for miles.”

You take a deep breath, wetting your lips as you sit the tape recorder down on the desktop, taking another sip of your lukewarm coffee before quietly continuing.

“Dental records as well as DNA analysis has brought many families peace. Including one Mrs. Becker who will no longer be calling the station every other month. I’ve come to a private conclusion that the entity isn’t invincible, after the face off against it, without a water source it’s required to take a physical form. Which explains how I was able to fight back at the abandon house, without its water and fog, it is vulnerable. If it can be hit, it can be killed.”

Your gaze wanders over your shoulder, heart fluttering at the bare back and mess of brown hair splayed across the pillow.

“And with me, I will be signing off giving all credit to my partner in crime, my beautiful plus one-“

“Watch it. Confirmed girlfriend” you hear Tara’s drowsy voice correct you, making you laugh softly as you sling your arm over the back of the chair and give your spine a little twist, satisfying pops following.

“-unconfirmed if Sam asks” you mutter jokingly before promptly cutting the tape recorded off, that audible click following as you peer back to Tara. She hums, stretches as she sits up, the muscles in her back flexing as she runs her fingers through her hair in an attempt to somewhat tame her bed head.

God, she’s beautiful, you can’t help but just look at her.

The last three months have been blissful, heavenly compared to the shitshow you’ve been through those three months prior. It’s still mind boggling to you just how long you’ve been here, on the excuse of “finishing your job” you came here for in the first place.

Not for sitting in that diner on certain late nights, meeting with a certain first responder as she’s getting off shift, to which you either end up at hers or your shitty hotel room.

Tara says it’s endearing, you hate the uncomfortable mattress, but it’s grown on you too. You’ll never admit it.

When you aren’t worshiping the ground Tara walks on, you’re at the Station with Sam, working with her and the rest of the officers on the searches.

Sam knows, you’re ninety percent sure Tara told her, but she never asks and you’re okay with that.

A hand on your arm snaps you out of your thoughts, it’s then you realize Tara had shifted to the edge of the bed closest to you, that smile paired with those hooded brown eyes do something sinful to your insides.

“Come on, it’s cold without you, finish later” Tara murmurs, biting her bottom lip as she reaches further to give your shirt the smallest tug, the sheet that once elegantly covered her now dipping “I know by now that mouth is good for more than talking to that stupid thing.”

God, the things this woman does to you, how could you ever deny her?

____________________________________________

It’s surreal, packing, tidying up the hotel room that’s become almost like a second home. Even with all things considered, or maybe it just started to feel like that in a fucked up way once the nightmares stopped.

You scoop an old pack of cigarettes off your desk, eyeing them for a moment. You don’t even know the last time you smoked one, and to be frank, you aren’t even sure why you haven’t tossed them yet. So, you do, walking over to trash where remains of your investigation board can be seen.

“Good riddance” you mutter as you drop it into the bin, taking a deep breath as you do a once over of the room, then you grab your single duffle and backpack.

As you head out, you offer a nod Bianca behind the front desk, the older woman smiling and giving you a departing wave goodbye.

As you head out of the hotel, a small smile tugs at your lips at the view.

Leaning back against the hood of your car is Tara, palms flat to the metal as she laughs warmly at something Mindy says to her, the other woman sat next to her while Chad stands off to the side with a smile of his own.

It makes you sad, to know this is all Tara has left of her friends she’s grown up with, she’s told you plenty of stories of the others to make you feel like you knew them to a certain extent.

You feel bad you’re taking her from them, even temporarily.

“You know, you still owe me a ride around in that ambulance of yours” you comment as you approach, Mindy scoffs and rolls her eyes at you.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that making a bet drunk on a game of pool doesn’t count?” Mindy retorts, the same reply as always, “and I don’t owe you shit considering you’re taking my second in command.”

“You’ll be fine for two weeks without me” Tara says with a smile, which prompts Mindy to hug her, making Tara promise to call every day.

Chad follows you around to the backside of your car as you drop your bags into the trunk, next to Tara’s suitcase, your insides churning with a mixture of emotions.

“You know you don’t have to” he says to you, arm coming up to grab the opened trunk as you busy around adjusting things within.

“No, you were right. He should know” you reply, casting him a side glance, “besides I think it’s long overdue, just… be easy on him when he does yeah?”

Chad scoffs and looks off to the side, shaking his head, you see a retort on the tip of his tongue. Pulling back, you both tug the trunk down, lock clicking into place.

“Hey” you stop him before he continues, your head tilting slightly, “you don’t need to forgive him, but it wouldn’t be fair not to give him the opportunity.”

He doesn’t comment, seemingly shaking it off and offering you a half smile “just take care of Tara and bring her back in one piece, alright Detective? Don’t let her get lost in that big ass city of yours.”

You laugh and nod in agreement, extending your hand to which he firmly shakes, pulling each other in for a friendly hug.

“Congrats on the promotion by the way, the High School football team will be lost without their coach” you say as you bump your shoulder to his, he laughs and waves it off as you two round the car once more.

“I’m looking forward to seeing how he’s going to keep those kids in line as a Principal when they barely respected him as a coach” Mindy butts in, causing the twins to break out into a light hearted disagreement.

You smile, turning your head when you feel a finger hook into your pant pocket and tug, your eyes finding Tara’s as she mirrors your smile up at you.

“Sam’s going to meet us at Town Hall, said she had some last minute things to go over with the Mayor. Figured we could make it a two birds with one stone scenario for us” Tara says as you move toward her, standing between her legs as she sits back on the car.

“We can’t just avoid Sam all together?” you mutter jokingly, reaching up to curl a strand of her dark hair around your finger, she scoffs and gives you a look.

“She’ll hunt us down if we don’t, bury you alive, and drag my ass back home.”

You feign a gasp, mortified as you begin to lean away from her “I was buried alive thank you very much, how dare you bring that up-“

She cuts you off with a kiss, laughing softly against your lips. You can help but sink into it, hand coming up to gently cup her jaw.

When she pulls back you groan in protest, making her laugh and swat your chest playfully. You catch her hand, kissing the soft pink scar on her palm, making her breath hitch just the slightest.

Physical therapy hadn’t been easy for either of you, considering the small bit of nerve damage from your injuries. Tara had pushed through in strides far better than you, constantly reminding you that “what happened to us shouldn’t define the rest of our life”.

You couldn’t agree more.

Not to mention the “us” and the “our” she so easily refers to now when it comes to the two of you.

God, you don’t deserve her, but you’ll spend every day doing everything you can for her.

As you bid the twins tearful exchanges goodbye, the two of you slip into your car and head towards Town Hall.

Upon entering, you both make your way up to the Mayor’s office, where you find Sidney in the midst of a conversation with Sam. The two turn as you enter, you tip your imaginary hat towards them both.

“Mayor. Sheriff.”

Tara steps to the side with Sam, briefly hugging before running through a checklist of things Tara may need for her trip. Of course Tara plays it off like she’s annoyed by her older sister’s overprotective nature and concern, but you’ve learned to spot that smile she tries so hard to hide.

“Dinner still on for tonight?” You ask Sidney with a smile, approaching her desk as she rounds it to the other side, digging through one of her drawers.

She casts you a glance, a small smile of her own growing on her lips, it’s good to see her doing better as the days go. “That they are, it’ll be the first time in a few years that Jill and Kirby come back to town.”

“And Gale?”

“She’ll be there of course, still keeping herself as busy as possible” Sidney says as she pulls out a large envelope from her desk, straightening up and forcing her smile a bit more.

You pick up on it immediately, “she’s still talking about moving to the city?”

Sidney sighs, coming around the desk to stand in front of you, tapping the envelope against her free hand apprehensively.

“It’s just… we’re all we’ve got now, it’s going to be hard to see her leave” Sidney admits quietly, looking off to the side as she chews on the subside of her cheek, “but… I understand, needing to go. This town only reminds her of the man she lost.”

Your head tilts slightly, tucking your hands into the pockets of your pants “and you, Mayor?”

She gives you a tight lipped smile, steeling herself as she extends the envelope to you “your final paycheck, Detective. Thank you, for everything. I owe you a debt I’ll never be able to repay.”

With that, you smile again, tugging your backpack off your shoulder and pulling from it your box of tapes. “For you, Mayor” you say, trading her the content within for the envelope.

Her brow is furrowed, looking from the box in her hand up to you, “they’re mine, they have everything you might need to know on them with what all I know, you can repay me by not calling me if and when it ever returns.”

That makes her laugh, nodding once, extending one hand to which you shake, “it’s been a pleasure, Detective, we’ll be seeing you.”

You turn and head towards the Carpenter sisters, both now smiling and talking with less tension.

“Danny has family in New York, so if you keep her for too long, just know I’ll be coming to find you” Sam says the moment you approach, her hard gaze locking on to you.

It’s still as intimidating as the day you met her, but only now you can’t help but smile when Tara slips her hand into yours and laces your fingers together.

“You have all the information on where I live, and you’re both more than welcome to come stay if-“

“Okay! So great, bye Sam! Love you!” Tara interjects, pulling at your hand as she heads for the door.

“Bye Sam! Love you!” You echo, making Sam flip you off as you and Tara move through the threshold, you catch her smiling before she disappears from your view.

As you both get back into the vehicle, you start up the engine just as Tara buckles herself in, and for a moment you pause.

“Don’t. Get out of your head. I’m with you.”

You exhale, looking to her at the sound of her soft tone “but are you sure you want to use all your PTO for this? Just-“

Tara leans across the center console, fingers curling around the back of your neck to pull you forward for a sweet, passionate kiss as a symbol of reassurance.

And when you break apart, albeit just resting your foreheads together as your eyes meet, Tara murmurs “you’ve been in my world for a minute now, it’s my turn to see yours.”

The muscle in your jaw flexes as your teeth clench and unclench, your heart fluttering in your chest “okay, whatever you want.”

“I want you to get me the fuck out of this hellhole, hot shot” Tara says with a full smile that sends a sharp hot jab to your gut, giving you one last chaste kiss before sinking back into the passenger seat.

You mentally add that to the list of things you can’t tell her no to, which seems to grow exponentially the longer you two are together.

You pass by the diner on your way out, and your chest aches, you’ll miss it. Tara seems to read your thoughts, as she rests her hand atop yours on the gear shift. Your eyes meet for a moment and you share a silent look of understanding.

You don’t tell her about your last minute pitstop until you’re pulling down a familiar street, the side glance she gives you tells you all you need to know.

“What-“

“Chad asked me not to say anything, since you’re not really a fan of him” you answer before she can finish, parking the car and looking to her “at least until we got here.”

Her eyes narrow, jaw set as she leans back into her seat “unbelievable, what else are you keeping from me?”

“I’m pregnant and you’re the father” you say without missing a beat.

Instantly she’s fighting back a smile, scoffing and punching your arm as you unbuckle your seat “you’ve got fifteen minutes or I’m breaking up with you.”

“I’ll do it in ten” you say with a wink, quickly slipping from the car and briskly making your way inside.

When you knock, it’s in a far more calmly manner than the last time you were here, your hear the locks click before Randy peaks past the door.

“You’re alive.”

“We did it.”

He opens the door fully, one hand on the doorframe while the other loosely gripped the knob. A dry laugh comes from him, followed by “bullshit, how?”

“It’s not permanent, but we were able to find something temporary” you begin to quickly summarize “I came to tell you that you can go home, Billy and Stu are dead. So is Dewey.”

Randy winces at that, face twisting as he looks away, you continue by softly adding “your family needs you, Sidney needs you.”

For a moment he’s quiet, and then he turns to head back into his apartment, leaving the door open. Unsurely, you enter and follow after him.

You catch a glimpse of him popping free the same floorboard from last time, and from it he pulls a few pieces of paper. But upon standing and approaching you, your stomach sinks as you take in that familiar yellow stained parchment.

Your eyes move between them and Randy’s face a few times, the air sucked from your lungs.

“You tore them out? You had them the whole-“

“Take them” he says, holding them out to you, “I ripped them out when I’d learned just how powerful they were, what the contain, do with them what you please.”

Curiosity gnaws at your mind, but as always, the same singular factor holds you back. The thought of her does that to you now, considering just how much you now have to lose.

“I need to know… did you steal the book from Billy?” You ask him, the way his body stiffens answers your question.

Randy hesitates, but answers after a moment “long story short? I found out Billy had a daughter with a random we went to school with. Billy offered the book to me as a trade, saying it could save Sidney’s life, so long as I never spoke a word about what I knew. If only I’d known Billy had fucked me over the moment he gave me the book.”

You process this new information, your brain feeling like a needle skipping on a record “what- how did you find out? How were you certain?”

“Back then I had my hand in everything. If I didn’t know you to know what you knew, I knew someone you trusted that knew what you knew” is all Randy gives you, looking down to the pages in his hand then back up to you “do you want them or not?”

Still curious and hesitant, you ignore his question “do you know the identity of the child? Does she know who her father is?”

Randy shakes his head firmly, “it’s in the child’s interest that she never knows. So I’m taking this one to the grave, not for Billy, but for that poor kid.”

In a way you understand, Billy wasn’t the best, and if Randy found out about this kid back when they were in high school then she probably would be a little older than you. If you dug, you could very well find out who.

But Randy is right, why do that to someone, and get stamped as a bastard child of a psycho?

You take the pages from him and tuck them in your pocket without reading them, “go home Randy, you’re now unburdened and have run out of excuses to avoid it any longer.”

Neither waiting for confirmation or a verbal response, you turn on your heel and exit the apartment swiftly, heading back to your car.

“Nine minutes, you cut it close” Tara says the moment the car door closes behind you, already smiling when you look to her.

“Early is on time, on time is late” you laugh as you shift the car into drive and exit the parking lot, back on the road, no more stops. At least, not until you get to the first hotel for some sleep on your roadtrip to New York.

“You ready for your VIP front row seat to seeing the span of the whole country?” You say with a half smile, every nerve in your body lighting up as her arm drapes across the space between you and rests on the back of your seat, her fingers gently massaging the back of your neck.

“I didn’t know a view could get better than this” Tara whispers softly, tone vulnerable as her head tilts back on to her headrest, gazing over at you with that becomingly familiar gleam of adoration in her eyes.

This is where you decide you’ll burn the pages first chance you get, the promise of answers and knowledge isn’t worth losing Tara.

Tara fidgets with the radio, converse propped up on the dash, the small crack in the window making a subtle mess of her hair.

She’s beautiful. She’s everything to you.

Your eyes linger on Tara for a moment before you return your eyes to the road, content in your belly and a sense of home in your heart. As the radio crackles and a song begins to play, your eyes catch a street sign off to the right of the road.

Now Leaving California

Come Back Soon!

previous, next

AN: thank you all for following along and reading this story! It’s been a pleasure, an honor, and a privilege.

[theresattrpgforthat]

The computer game Pacific Drive has the player driving a supernatural station wagon and delving ever deeper into an abandoned exclusion zone in the Olympic Peninsula of Washington, dodging anomalies, scavenging for resources, exploring, and seeking answers to what events caused the creation of the zone. The game takes heavy inspiration from the art of Simon Stålenhag, which has its on TTRPG in "Tales from the Loop", but can you recommend any other games that would recreate the experience of Pacific Drive?

THEME: Pacific Drive

Hello friend, so I looked up Pacific Drive and one thing that I found out about it was that it was inspired by media such as Annihilation and Roadside Picnic, so first I’m going to send you to my Fucked Up Settings Rec post, especially to the games titled Trespasser and The Zone.

What I’m getting from Pacific Drive is that it’s focused on travel, exploration, an interesting story, the ability to improve the one thing that you survive with, and experiencing a world that fundamentally doesn’t care about you. So let’s see if we have anything that hits any of those tangents.

The Last Caravan, by Ted Bushman.

In this cozy, melancholy post-apocalypse, the aliens came less than a year ago. The war lasted two months, but nobody won. Now, with an alien army rising from the ashes of war, you will have to make a dangerous journey across a shattered North America in search of a new home.

You are normal people finding heroism in extraordinary circumstances. You will explore transformed landscapes, search abandoned towns, discover otherworldly technology, negotiate with newly-formed factions, outrun alien pursuers, and — and all you’ve got is a car, your fellow travelers, and the road.

The Last Caravan combines the survival-horror genre with the fiction-first ethos of Blades in the Dark and No Dice No Masters. Each character has a list of prompts called triggers that reward you with a narrative resource that can open up abilities as you tell your story. The alien apocalypse has come, but the story isn’t over, as a some kind of threat shows signs of growing as you travel across a cold, frozen highway. If you’re interested in The Last Caravan, but missed the Kickstarter, you can check out the Quickstart while you wait for the final release.

24XX-D: Aftertime, by xiombarg.

As a volunteer for the  private paramilitary group Project Aftertime, your health was altered and your brain preserved so you could be revived after society collapsed. 

You awoke in an unfamiliar base filled with unfamiliar technology, with even stranger ultratech outside. 

The Event the wastelanders describe makes no sense. "The gods left us."

I feel like I’m missing something when I look through my folders because the 24XX system feels perfect for these kinds of ‘exclusion zone” games but Aftertime feels the closest to it, and it’s definitely not perfect. There’s too many people milling about, and there seems to be too much pointing towards some kind of answer about the alien event. However, I think in general, 24XX is a great system to root around in if you want to make something for yourself. A lot of these kinds of games have great roll-tables for events, locations, and missions, and inventory (which seems really important in Pacific Drive) is simple to track but absolutely necessary.

Aftertime is different from other 24XX games in that it uses a pool of resources rather than dice rolls to determine what you can or cannot do. You could stick with that, or mash this game together with some other 24XX games like PREDATORS to incorporate dice rolls, and vehicles. What I like about Aftertime is that it includes a base that you can upgrade over time, similar to how your car in Pacific Drive gets better as you find upgrades for it.

Crush Depth Apparition, by amandalee.

February 1902, somewhere on the North Atlantic. Mountainous waves blot out the horizon, and the wind and thunder roar too loud to tell one from the other. But 200 ft down there’s only still cold darkness and the submarine.  

No one has ever dived this deep before, so far from shore and safety. Maybe no one was ever meant to try. The submarine is 170 feet of dripping pipes and fogged up dials, levers rusting stuck in the damp. It was two weeks into the voyage when things started going wrong.  Little accidents, inexplicable mistakes. Someone heard a noise, like tapping, soft against the hull last night. Bright paint flakes off a torpedo and underneath there is a story scratched into the metal. The Captain turns down a hallway that can’t be there,  into pipes and steel and miles of ocean.

The one thing keeping you safe down here has turned into a labyrinth. 

Crush Depth Apparition is an eerie survival horror stand alone adventure zine for 3-5 players and a GM by Amanda Lee Franck. It  includes rules for running and repairing a state of the art (of 120 years ago) experimental submarine, a map of the ocean, an unnatural labyrinth,  ghostly encounters,  hundreds of things that can go wrong, and a crew that depends on you.

Because you are depending on your submarine for survival, much of the focus of this adventure is going to be on keeping it running. You’ll need to manage your fuel levels, the submarine’s battery, and how deep you go, all while trying to find a way home. The setting is very different from Pacific Drive, and I think the horror amps up a little bit because there are more personal details that will likely worm themselves into this game. You’re also less likely to survive the entirety of this game; but the weirdness that happens the further that you adventure may mirror some of the strangeness of Pacific Drive.

ZONE, by Iron Cutler.

ZONE is a genre-agnostic TTRPG , heavily inspired by Jeff VanderMeer's Southern Reach Trilogy, though adaptable to a wide variety of settings. It is about trespassing in a bizarre and dangerous area—the Zone—and becoming changed by what you find inside.

ZONE is a GM-less ttrpg that uses collaborative worldbuilding to design and deepen the strangeness of the world around you. Each session will contain an expedition of Trespassers, people who enter the Zone without permission, and thus destined to be permanently changed. Your Trespassers will not usually survive from one expedition to the next; this place will change them, and that is why ZONE is described as “un-winnable” by its designer.

Unlike many of the other games on this list, ZONE is very abstract because it doesn’t expect you to succeed. Your characters are destined to fail once they incur too much shock, so managing resources is not really something worth doing in this game. Character creation is also rather simple, and I think that is because the main focus of this game is on the place you are exploring, rather than the character themself. If you want a game about the horror of being changed by something alien and ultimately uncaring about you, I’d recommend ZONE.

RAD, by ¡Hipólita!

We don't know who broke the world, but we know what weapon they used.

In the year 1990, the United States of America fired a nuclear attack on the Soviet Union, immediately killing millions and poisoning the land, air and water for years.

The scarce few survivors were forced into hiding. About 50,000 people fled to the relative safety of the Moscow Metro, with smaller numbers following suit in cities like Novosibirsk, Volgograd, Saint Petersburg, Yekaterinburg, Samara and others.

RAD is a game full of radiation-induced body-horror and all about survival. You have four core stats, and the rest of your character sheet is all about resources and inventory, including three resources called Bedroll, Rations and Battery. The game mechanics are inspired by systems like Mausritter, which means that player creativity and smart item use will take you far. It’s all about a delicate balance of resources, so if that’s what you liked about Pacific Drive, you might want to check out RAD - as well as an adventure for it titled The Technicolor Forest.

Other Games I've Recommended Before

Nibiru, by Araukana Media.

Apocalypse Roadtrip, by Mynar Lenahan.

Roadspire, by Glempy.

[emisprocrastinatingbywriting]

Alone and Forsaken

Chapter 14 Summary:

The road to Jackson had been difficult, lives and bonds having already been tested, but nothing could have prepared you for this. When a petty fight and a subsequent make up session turns into the fight of your lives, will either of be able to escape?

Warnings: Angst, Abandonment Issues, Fluff, Hurt & Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Cults, Blood Sacrifice, Smut, Oral m&f receiving, Breeding Kink!Joel (u can't change my mind on that), Joel Def Has Needed a Hug Since Like 2003, Reader Having Major Anxieties About the Future.

A/N:

Hello my loves, we're back! Missed y'all, I've been putting my whole coochie into this one so prepare yourselves.

This week, the road to Jackson continues. This one is a little heavy on the violence, as different sort of group is introduced to reader and Joel. So if that bothers you, please err on the side of caution. Along with that, some talk about reader's former group(cult) so if there's some religious trauma lurking inside, maybe sit this one out. As always, take care of yourselves and you could always message me for sparknotes later haha. Aside from that, I do feed y'all with some smut too! Gotta have balance ya know :)

Let me know what you think! Enjoy <3

Chapter 14/20

Chapter 14: The Road to Jackson Pt. 2

The second the beaten up truck had crossed over state lines into Wyoming, an anvil of stress had been placed on Joel’s shoulders. Despite the finish line being in sight, it was like he couldn’t breathe without you within arm’s reach. It had been four days since the daring escape from the library in Montana and he had been stuck to you like glue ever since. He was almost manic in the way he chased after you, never allowing you to take a single step without him directly behind you. 

At first it was sweet, albeit a little annoying, but you allowed it because of how scared he seemed. Joel had sobbed, actually sobbed, into your chest before he promptly passed out from the exhaustion of it all against your shoulder. After driving for the entirety of the day, hoping desperately that the signs you followed were somewhat accurate. Did the Jackson community that Joel’s brother lived in, actually reside in the bones of where Jackson county used to be? Was it somewhere nearby? You weren’t sure, but following the blocked letters on the faded highway signs was preferable to waking the man that snored into your ear. 

Once the sun was long gone from the sky and the road became barely visible to your tired eyes, you finally pulled off into a weigh station for transport trucks. Parking behind the small building where the department of transportation had once surveyed the area, you peered out the windows. An abandoned transport sat across from you, but there was no sign of whoever had been driving it twenty years prior. Nor was there any sign of life from the brick building to your left that looked like it had a hole blown into the side of it. With no reason to put it off any longer, you finally bit the bullet and woke Joel up. 

Joel had woken with a start, as you knew he would, which he quickly tried to pass off as a stupid dream. He laughed when you tried to pry at first but all it took was a sideways glance and a sassy, “are you fucking serious Joel?”, for him to break. He sighed, explaining how he was terrified of losing you, despite the constant reassurances that you were fine.

“I just won’t do it, I can’t do it baby. I’ve lost so much and this…,” Joel trailed off, rubbing mindlessly at his chest with his clenched fist. 

“This is a lot,” you finished for him. 

He nodded, his big brown eyes making your heart ache inside your chest. Biting your lip to keep it from trembling, you hummed in acknowledgement. What could you say to quell his fears? This situation, the situations that came before that one, and the one before that, were all a lot. 

Joel was a lot. 

You were a lot. 

The baggage the two of you carried was heavy, along with the baggage you both accumulated along the way, but the pain was worth the prize. Or at least, you thought so. 

You sighed, “What can I do?” 

“Just let me fuss over ya for a while. I promise I don’t mean nothing by it, I just…”

“I get it, you want to stay close to me for a bit. It’s okay, I don’t mind,” you finished for him once more, smiling when he finally released some of the tension from his shoulders. 

He was scared of losing the only person he had, or at least the only person he truly let himself have. That was understandable and you decided to grant him the favor of becoming your shadow as you made the way to Jackson. For the first two days it was cute, but the constant hovering soon got old. Usually it was you chasing after Joel but now it was him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him around, just that you preferred to not trip over him at every turn. 

The fact that the rugged ex hunter, ex smuggler, ex contractor, Mr. Joel Miller was anxious enough to be perpetually underfoot while on the dangerous route was unbelievable. And it was that implausibility that kept you silent on the matter, despite the bitter annoyance that bloomed in your chest. If he was truly scared enough to be careless, you felt as though you needed to grant him his fussing. It was only after Joel had almost gotten the two of you killed in a gas station that you had to finally put your foot down. 

With over half of the fourth day on the road already behind you, along with an upset stomach and the need for fresh air, you had begged Joel to pull off into a rest stop. In actuality, you needed space but the moment your feet touched the ground, he was already in front of you. Normally that wouldn’t bother you but with how tired you were, you had to swallow the urge to snap at him. 

Joel, unbeknownst to your angst, followed closely behind as you trudged into the store. When the door slid open after a few tries, you stepped inside and waited for any sign of predators but none came. When he pressed a finger to his lips, you nodded, vowing to be quiet as you searched the shelves for anything of use. You had halted in one of the aisles to examine a slightly water damaged box of tampons, kicking yourself for forgetting to ask Joel to grab some out of your mother’s washroom before you left. However, the box fell from your hands when a wall of muscle had knocked into you. 

Joel had slammed into you from behind, causing you to trip over a nearby display. He caught you on the way down, ensuring that you didn’t tumble down with the cardboard cutout advertising a new flavor of cola. Although you were safe from falling on your ass, that didn’t stop the loud smack that alerted the infected souls that soon came pouring out of the back room. 

Needlessly cussing him out as you scrambled back towards the truck, Joel had closed the door right in time for a half a dozen clickers to slam themselves into the driver’s side. When he finally managed to shift it into drive, his window was seconds from breaking. The spiderwebbed glass glared at you as Joel veered back on to the highway, making your chest tight with fear and hot with rage. It was truly a miracle that you had made it out of there alive and while he was elated by that fact, you were pissed. 

“Jesus honey, that was fucking close,” Joel laughed. 

The laughter grated on you, forcing out a response that you had been keeping back for days. 

“Well maybe, if you hadn’t been up my ass then that wouldn’t have fucking happened Joel!,” you snapped. 

And so the argument began. While you were trying to explain how you didn’t need him to hover over you like some sort of mama bear, Joel was countering it by arguing that he was just trying to make sure you were safe. It was maddening, the same fight between the two of you being hashed out over and over until one party finally apologized, but this time both of you were unwilling to break. 

Perhaps it was the stress of the road, or perhaps it was the exhaustion that had settled in your bones in the days since leaving the library, but you didn’t have the patience for it any longer. For the entirety of the day, Joel had been forced to constantly reroute the path to Jackson due to the snow or piled up cars and junk in the way. You were getting nowhere fast and with the gas dwindling, the stress of the situation started to weigh down on your increasingly fragile patience. When he had finally found an open road around midday, whooping as he pulled the truck back onto the highway, you were well past being soothed. That, along with the close call that had just happened, had you primed and ready for some desperately needed crying. 

The need for sleep, a deep and peaceful one where Joel was curved around your backside, holding you tightly as you both dreamed, was becoming dire. Bags gathered around your eyes and your skin had grown dull from the small portions you barely managed to gulp down, yet you tried to push through the stress for his sake. You felt ridiculous, cursing yourself for being so weak while Joel seemed completely fine with the few hours of sleep he got during your short turns behind the wheel. Feeling tired of the fighting, of the road, of him, of yourself, you finally dissolved into a puddle of tears. 

The bickering between Joel and you was in full swing. Both of you had already said your piece about his constant presence but he continued to pick and somewhere in the haze of it all, you got lost. Loneliness and exhaustion curved your spine, making you slump down in your seat as Joel ranted about safety. He was missing the point of your argument but you didn’t care anymore. Aching for the quiet home in the woods that you had known for just a little over two months, along with a mate whose emotions weren’t rubbed quite as raw as his were now, the tears came quick. 

The guilt of being upset with Joel for caring too much pressed into your chest, making you hold in all of the pained cries that thickened the lining of your throat for as long as you possibly could. You knew he had reason to feel how he did. Joel had said so himself, he had lost so much. And you? Well, you were the bitch that snapped at him for giving a damn. Feeling overwhelmed and childish, you chewed at your lips until they were red with blood and tried to focus on the road ahead. 

“ - And that ain’t gonna fly with me darling, I’m not letting you out of my sight until - wait, what? Sweetheart, are you crying?,” Joel suddenly asked, his voice growing soft as he looked over and saw the wet trails that glistened on your cheeks. 

“No,” you croaked. 

The sob that weasled its way out of your mouth betrayed the response and Joel cussed. Quietly berating himself as you tried to will the pesky tears away, he slowly came to a stop along the side of the road. Nothing but trees and abandoned cars surrounded the truck, aside from a sign boasting a small town a couple miles away. You stared at the faded faces of town residents that smiled down at the oncoming traffic, noticing how they were all dressed in the garb of their respective agricultural professions. 

The farmer’s face was almost completely blurred with time and it reminded you of the concaved skull of the alpha that had choked you back at the library. His head had cracked open under the strength of Joel’s fists and the sound that it had made while doing so was something you would never forget. Thinking about the wet crunch of his knuckles slamming through bone, you were suddenly reminded of where you were. 

You were bawling in a parked truck in the middle of nowhere, with Joel scooching towards you to provide comfort, and all you could feel was embarrassment. This was no time for a crying session about the woes of traveling, or for petty fights with a partner over someone standing a little too close, it was a time to act. Wiping the tears from your cheeks before Joel could get to them, you quickly plastered on a sugary smile and shook your head at his advances. 

“I’m sorry, it’s fine. I’m actually fine, just a bit tired,” you said in a chirper tone, making Joel’s hands freeze mid air. 

He blinked, “But… You’re crying?”

The laugh you gave him was forced, sounding high pitched and off key to even your own ears, but Joel didn’t flinch. He just looked absolutely flabbergasted as you tried hopelessly to push him away. You inwardly cursed him for being able to read you so well. No matter how hard you tried to fix the smile on your face, it refused to come off as anything other than fake and Joel easily saw right through it. 

“I’m totally fine babe, just a bit tired is all. Nothing a nap can’t fix,” you promised. 

Joel nodded dumbly, seemingly unconvinced but unwilling to push the topic any further in fear that you might start sobbing again. He dropped his hands, looking down at them for a moment before he slowly brought them back to the steering wheel. Clearing his throat as he pulled back onto the road, he continued to give you sideways glances as he drove. 

The constant attention made your cheeks burn and you focused on playing with the hem of your sweater. An awkward silence fell over the truck as it roared down the highway, but you kept your eyes on frayed hem in hopes that he might leave it. In fact, you were so absorbed in the fabric that you didn’t realize he was getting off the highway to park under an overpass until he had already done it. As he threw the truck into park again, you started to object but he held a hand up. 

“Hey, I know you’re fine baby but let’s just rest a while. I’m tired, you’re tired, let’s just take a few seconds to breathe before we keep going,” Joel suggested, rubbing your back with his warm hand.  

“Okay,” you whimpered, biting your lip to keep any more tears away. 

“Okay,” he mimicked. 

Joel opened his arms and you crashed into them, greedy for his touch despite the fact that you were ready to kill him back at that gas station. Although it was him who had pissed you off in the first place with his constant hovering, he was also the only person that could calm you down by simply existing. Without even having to be asked, he spread his legs out on the bench and leaned against the door as you straddled him. Pushing your face into his chest and nosing at his neck until he sighed, you let a few more tears slip as you scented him. 

“What’s got you so riled up baby? I know I’ve been breathing down your neck a bit, but did I say something to piss you off? I know I can be an asshole, but you can tell me. Whatever it is, m’sorry sweet girl,” he murmured. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you tried to think of a response. What was it that was riling you up so much? For that question, you had no answers. Sure, there was the exhaustion, but that had never bothered you before. Was it the injuries you had accumulated finally coming to bite you in the ass? Was it the fact that Joel had acted as your shadow for four days straight? Maybe it was a little of all of the above, but that didn’t account for the way you looked like you were about to keel over. 

“I honestly don’t know Joel,” you answered truthfully, “I didn’t mean to start anything, I just feel so tired and gross. You were looking out for me, I know that, and now I feel like a burden.” 

A fresh round of tears poured from your tear ducts at the admission, making you shove your face deeper into him to cry against his skin. Joel sucked in a breath and reached up to cup the back of your head with one hand, cradling it as you released all of the pent up emotions. As you cried, he snaked one hand under your shirt to draw circles over your hip, his signature move for times of crisis. Just like always, it worked like a charm. 

Ever so carefully, he pulled your head back, shushing your whines as he began to rub his face over the mark on your neck. You whimpered, allowing him to mark you with his scent until it coated the back of your throat. Joel continued his assault, kissing and nibbling on the sensitive skin until you sagged into him. When you were finally sated, he kept one hand on the small of your back and the other dug into your knotted hair, scritching your scalp as you huffed at his skin. 

“Why would you think that babygirl? You were the one that got us out of that town back there, not me. If anything, this old man is the burden,” Joel joked, trying anything to wipe the frown from your face. 

You laughed a little, feeling his small smile of victory against your cheek.  

“What can I do?,” Joel whispered, unwittingly repeating the words you had said to him just days before. 

You smiled a bit more at that. Mutual support with a partner, as flawed as it may be in practice, was something you had only dreamed about once upon a time. A pipe dream, you had thought. Joel wasn’t perfect, and neither were you, but you were both trying to understand the other. After taking one last hit of his musk through your nose, you leaned back and looked at him. His eyes were full of concern, the worry line between his brows sticking out as he placed his hands on your hips. 

“Need me to back off and give you some space while we’re out? Cus I can’t make any promises darling, but I’ll try. If that’s what you want, I mean,” he continued. 

“I don’t - well, I mean I do want you to back off a bit. But maybe just like, two paces back when we are in a high risk area? That way you don’t knock me over and alert half the fucking neighborhood again,” you teased. 

He smiled and gave a mock salute, “Yes ma’am.” 

The giggle he pulled from you this time was more genuine and it softened some of the built up tension in the truck. The two of you fell into a comfortable silence afterwards, you snuggling deeper into his chest in an attempt to fuse yourself to his skin as you drifted in and out of sleep. It was funny, earlier you wanted him to leave you alone but now you needed him closer. He hummed at your constant readjusting, patient as ever despite the requests to hug you tighter and the way your fingers dug into his skin in return. 

Once you finally found the right position, sat between his legs with your back against his chest and his arms wrapped around you, all of the stress of the day vanished and you were asleep in seconds. However, when the driver’s side door was suddenly thrust open in the dead of night and the both of you were tumbling out of the warmth of the truck, you realized that the position had also worked on the man that was supposed to be keeping watch. Joel groaned as you landed on top of him, his entire upper body squished upon your ungraceful fall to the ground. 

“Freeze! Hands in the air, now!,” a gruff voice commanded. 

In a flash, Joel was reaching for the gun that toppled into the snow beside him but it was kicked away by one of the many beings with glaringly bright flashlights. 

“Not so fast big boy, show me your hands or missy here gets one put right between her eyes,” another voice threatened. 

Joel hesitantly followed their instruction, gesturing for you to do the same as he lifted his hands above his head for the group of strangers to see. You paused, trying to think of a way you could get to the knife that you had shoved inside the waistband of your pants but as one of the assailants noisily cocked their gun, you raised your hands alongside him. The fear that Joel felt was reciprocated by you, the bond making your growing panic ping pong off of eachother until you were both rabid with hormones. The need to protect Joel was so powerful that every movement that wasn’t focused on getting him out of here was painful. 

When you caught his eye, Joel subtly shook his head, as if to warn you against any brash decision. Despite the desire to jump up and rip the face off the man who threatened him, you nodded once in return. There would be no getting out of this if you didn’t remain calm. Schooling your face to match Joel’s signature look of annoyed indifference, you attempted to give off the air of not giving a fuck. He was definitely more natural about it, but yours ended up being so convincing that Joel gave you a slight dip of the head in encouragement. 

“On your feet, let’s go.” 

With your hands up, the faceless guards behind flashlights led you away from the truck and towards town. Despite his mask of indifference, Joel’s eyes bounced around and tried to pick out an escape route. However, if it was much too dark for you to see anything, there was no way Joel would be able to. As the wind blew across the flat ground, kicking up snow and freezing the moisture in the corners of your eyes, it was impossible to see anything that was more than five feet away. 

They walked you for what felt like miles, the air depleting your body of the warmth you had been spoiled with in the truck. The coats, along with the food and other supplies you needed to get to Jackson, were tucked away in the backseat and you prayed that wherever they were taking you was close. Joel stayed right at your side, his arm linked with yours as he trudged through the snow. He didn’t look at you aside from a few glances, too focused on the dangers around him until you finally reached the destination. 

An iron gate was slid open with a squeal, the black material rusted around the edges from years of being subjected to the harsh elements. You grimaced at the sound, whipping your head around to look for any sign of infected that might have heard the high pitched shriek. 

“There’s no infected nearby, the chosen ones and their offerings make sure of it,” someone assured you and you scoffed. 

“Is that so?,” Joel sighed, seemingly as unimpressed by the odd response as you were. 

A laugh came from your right and you glared towards the direction it came from. These people were full blooded dumbasses if they thought there was nothing stumbling around in the dark. Even at the camp you were in for most of your life, the one that was secure against infected for decades until one day it wasn’t, still saw both small and large groups stroll on by. The ones that were working the gate didn’t always engage, sometimes allowing them to pass if they didn’t notice the feast in the distance, but even the more fanatic guards never deluded themselves into thinking they were completely safe from them because of their religious beliefs. 

“The Teacher will protect us with her guidance, she makes sure that those who have been given the gift reunite with the truly wise. We cannot know their paths until we reach full redemption,” came from the other side of the group. 

“Oh fuck,” Joel said under his breath. 

Oh fuck was right. 

-

After taking you inside of the gate, you were shoved into the lobby of some worn down luxury hotel. Wax candles covered nearly every surface, giving the room a warm glow despite the bizarre paintings of a naked older woman that were plastered everywhere. Those ones were the least concerning, as the other ones depicted members of the group dancing with what looked to be infected. 

The residents that milled around were all dressed in strange beige garments that did little to compliment their figures, but you supposed that was the point. Josiah had never implemented a uniform for his group, but there were rules about modesty that everyone was supposed to follow which banished fun colors and anything that showed too much skin. The few omegas that you saw in the lobby were in long dresses that came down to their ankles, the high neck looking like it strangled them as they all sewed and weaved textiles for the group. The rest of the group seemed to be let off easy, with the alphas and betas donning flowier pants and a matching tunic that showcased way too much chest. 

Joel squeezed your hand as you were ushered into a larger room that had once been a ballroom. The room was lined with tables where families chowed down on steaming heaps of food. The smell of freshly cooked stew drifted over from their plates and your mouth watered. The way your stomach growled as you watched a young girl dig into chunks of tender meat was almost unbearable. You averted your eyes, choosing instead to focus on the long table that was placed on the stage. 

A group of serious looking older men and women sat there, all scowling down at you as the guards shoved you forward. The one exception being the woman that sat directly in the middle of them all. She was different from the rest of the group by clothing alone, hers being a deep shade of blue that was in stark contrast to the sea of beige around her. As the community members with guns urged you further into the room, she stood and all of the spoons that scraped bits of food off the inside of bowls were collectively dropped. About a hundred voices were silenced by just the act of her standing up and you gulped, coming to the realization that the woman that stood proudly at the head of the table was the woman that was showcased on every wall. 

“My children, it seems we have newcomers. Can we all give them a warm welcome?,” she called, her voice gentle yet clear in the silence of the room. 

A hundred faces turned to look at Joel and you, their expressions completely somber as they heeded her command with a unified, “Welcome to the Thin Space, where The Teacher helps guide us towards truth.” 

“Oh no, no, no, no, no,” you whispered to no one in particular. 

Yeah, Joel had it right when he balked at the guards at the gate. 

As the faces quickly turned away in search of more instruction, you had an odd sense of deja vu. Looking out into the crowd, you saw quite a few children mixed in with the somber adults and wondered if you would have looked like this to an outsider back at your old camp. Josiah ordered the group to be obedient, to dress modestly, to speak a certain way, to act differently, to pray, and to follow the preacher’s words as law. This, despite its freaky ass twist, just seemed like a different brand of the same shit. Two sides of a fucked up coin that you had finally escaped, just to be pulled right back into it. 

“Bring our guests to the detox ward, then we can meet and go over their paths,” the woman commanded the guards, waving everyone off as she sat back at the head of the table. 

The moment she dropped back down to her seat, the rest of the room returned to eating and it made your stomach roil. Josiah had done that as well, stopping dinners to go on long spiels where he twisted the words of some ancient text to suit his own desires. Sometimes it would go on for hours and by the time he was finished, you were too tired to eat the meager portions that your mother allowed you to have. Most times, you ended up going to bed hungry with half cocked dreams about running away from home swirling through your mind. 

This woman, whoever she was and whatever she desired from her own followers, was no different than him. You felt it in your bones. And as the guards ushered the two of you away, the more bitter part of yourself that still had a bone to pick with Josiah made sure to send her a look that said exactly that. I know what you are, it screamed from across the room. It was a look that earned you a smile from her, a glass of red wine being raised in acknowledgement as you were led into a side hallway that held three bathrooms. The guards bypassed the men’s and women’s changing rooms, coming to a full stop in front of the door that said private. 

“You’ll go in first. Get clean and put on the clothes left out for you. Then come out and he’ll go in,” the man closest to you instructed. 

Joel scoffed, “Yeah, I don’t think so buddy. She stays with me.” 

The man scowled at Joel’s insolence but you were quick on your feet. Before a fight could break out between the two alphas, the both of them already red in the face at the slightest provocation from the other, you jumped in with something you knew would work. If they were anything like the group that haunted your dreams, they wouldn’t let Joel come in unless he held some sort of ownership over you. With the marks on your necks as clear as day, as well as your scents fused together from the bond itself, you knew it wasn’t a bond they were looking for. 

“Please sir, I don’t want to be without my husband. He doesn’t trust me to do these things by myself… You see, I’m so easily confused without him,” you whined, making your voice soft and needy to really drive home the point. 

Joel’s brows shot up in alarm and you shot him a look. Luckily, he managed to get it under control before the others could see. He straightened his back, making himself taller as you cowered under him to add to the effect. The man narrowed his eyes, flitting them back and forth between you and Joel before another guard came to the rescue. 

“We cannot take a husband away from his wife, especially not when she is of the simpler kind. That would only aggravate the both of them before The Teacher can see their true nature for herself,” the woman behind Joel argued. 

The man grunted in affirmation, nodding at you to push the door open before he shoved you in. Joel tumbled in afterwards, cursing as you knocked heads in the small space. 

The door slammed shut and you were shrouded in darkness, the only light being the candle that was half melted against the corner of the sink. A shelf with different types of clothes stacked on it was shoved into the corner, while a bucket of grayish water was placed in the shower. A crusty looking sponge laid next to the bucket and you shuddered at the thought of rubbing it across your body. 

“Okay, what the fuck was that?,” Joel whispered, waving his hands around in the air like some sort of cartoon character. 

You rolled your eyes at him, “I grew up with these types of people Joel. Of course I knew that the marriage card would work, you don’t need to get your panties in a twist.” 

Joel scrunched up his face at that, pinching the bridge of his aquiline nose as he huffed out a frustrated breath. 

“Obviously, I’m not talking about you calling me your husband. We’re mated, why would I care about that? I don’t give a shit, we basically already are married anyways. I’m talking about the freaky deeky fucking cult we just walked into!,” he hissed in response. 

Him likening the two of you to a married couple didn’t go unnoticed but you shoved the poorly timed butterflies away, deciding that now was not the best time to pick at him for answers to questions you weren’t sure you wanted to ask. Instead you nodded, focusing on his panicked response to a group that seemed so foreign to him, yet so familiar to you. 

“I know but if they haven’t killed us yet, they probably have something else in store. It’s best if we go along with it for now, just until we know what type of crazy they are,” you muttered, moving to grab the long and surprisingly itchy dress from the pile. 

Joel grabbed the fabric from your hands, tossing it back onto the shelf as you started to undress. You gave him a pointed look, stepping out of your pants and reaching to grab it again but he intercepted every attempt. 

“Stop it Joel!,” you whispered angrily, softly slapping away his hands in frustration. 

He guffawed, “You can’t be serious right now, you’re going to let them put us in these weird ass get ups?” 

You sighed, grabbing the sides of his face and bringing it closer until his forehead rested against your own. Joel allowed you to do it, although you felt the tension that still bunched all of the muscles in his arms as he gripped your hips a tad too harshly in return. With his emotions running high, you knew that it was best to tread lightly. 

The anxiety you felt in that moment was geared towards the purpose of the group, rather than the group itself. For you, these people were easy to read. Whereas Joel was in a foreign place with strange people that clearly had even stranger beliefs. He was in limbo, while you felt like you were back home for a family visit. Sighing at his outburst, you tried to reason with him. 

“We have no guns, no getaway car, and no idea what we are up against here. But you know what we do have?”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, “No, what do we have?”

“Me, someone who grew up with people like this. I know these people Joel, just trust me. We need to know what they want, then we can figure out how to leave, okay?,” you asked, waiting patiently for his affirmation. 

He made a disgruntled noise, starting to fight back with a strained, “Well, I don’t know if your upbringing is gonna really help if they -” 

“And we have this,” you continued, holding up the knife you had tucked away. 

Joel’s eyes widened and he snatched it from you, holding it up to the light like he couldn’t believe it was real. He sucked in a deep breath, nodding to himself as his mind worked through the possibilities your hidden treasure unlocked. 

“Good, this is really good darling. We can use this to get out, just have to find the right time,” he muttered, his fingers drumming against his pant leg as the knife lifted him from complete despair. 

You nodded, “I know, so get your damn clothes off and let’s try to fit in with these freaks. Once we know more, you take point and get through as many of them as you can. I’ll grab something and cover you.” 

Joel’s face drifted into shock for a second. The directness of your words surprised him, you could tell by the way his eyes flicked up and down your figure like he was seeing it for the first time. Then he looked almost proud as he nodded in agreement. 

“Well ain’t you full of surprises? Alright troublemaker, I’m game,” he agreed. 

“I try,” you said cheekily. 

After a few loaded seconds where Joel stared at you, analyzing for any sign of hesitation, he finally allowed you to pick up the terrible dress again. He began with begrudgingly taking off his thick flannel, whipping off the white tee he had on underneath before he quickly added his jeans to the pile. The long shirt that they left for him showed off a good chunk of his chest yet was long enough to fall almost to his knees, making him frown as he slipped it over his head. 

Once he had the loose linen pants on, you watched as he tried to shove some of the excess fabric into the waistline to aid in his appearance. It sort of worked, but you couldn’t help but think he looked like was supposed to be in a circle somewhere, poorly playing the bongos as he talked about free love and the best kind of pot to smoke. 

“Hey Joel,” you called out, a cheeky grin tugging at the corners of your lips.  

He stilled his efforts, turning to face you as the dress finally rolled over your thighs. The fabric was tighter than you thought, with the beige material practically strangling you until it randomly got flowy at the knees. Clearly whoever had made this didn’t account for your body shape, as your breasts were pushed into your lungs, making breathing difficult with the pressure. The waist barely fit around the fat on your hips that Joel loved to squeeze, and you had the feeling that a single sneeze would burst the curves from their cruel beige confines. 

“Yeah baby?,” he answered, concern etched into his face as he dropped the hands that fussed at his waistband. 

“Looking far out man,” you teased, giving him a peace sign that made him snort. 

“How in the hell do you know what that means? Fuck it, you know what? All you need is a fucking sleeping cap and a candle, and you’d be the spitting image of Ebeneezer Scrooge. So, take that you dork,” Joel bit back. 

You rolled your eyes, “Jokes on you old man, I’ve got no fucking idea who the hell Ebersneezer Stooge is.” 

“What the fuck did you just call him?,” Joel snickered, groaning about his age when you shrugged in response. 

“Whatever hippy,” you giggled. 

The sound of his muted laughter echoed throughout the room, leading to three solid raps against the door that made you both jump. Joel flicked his eyes towards the entrance before he glanced back at you. A reassuring look was plastered on his face and you tried to mimic it for his sake. Whether you achieved it or not, you couldn’t say. The door being slammed open by the gun toting guards forced you back into a much darker reality, one that didn’t leave time to check on Joel’s feelings. The only consolation you had in the dire situation you found yourself in was the fact that he had the knife hidden somewhere on him, ensuring that he could protect himself if this went sideways. 

“Out, it’s time for you to meet her,” the guard said, urging the two of you out of the room with the barrel of his gun.

Walking through the dingy space, you were led out to a longer, more smokier hallway that was lined with a ridiculous amount of candles and burning herbs. Your nose wrinkled from the smell of incense, tobacco, sweat, weed and blood. The air was thick, weighing down on your chest like it was a living being. Joel sneezed loudly behind you, muttering to himself about new age stoners and hygiene as he grimaced at the state of the place. If the situation had been better, perhaps his grumbling would have made you laugh. But instead, you were tense as the guards led you to the room at the end of the hall that had strange symbols painted across it. Mesmerized by the loopy script that covered every inch of the wood, you took a step closer to examine it. 

Just as you reached it, a guard pushed you back with his forearm, knocking you directly into Joel. He caught you in his arms, barely able to keep his threatening growls to a minimum as he lifted you back on to your feet. Rage simmered off of him, so much so that you felt it when he geared himself up to spit out an insult. Sensing the disaster that brewed in the air, you pressed your spine into Joel’s front, grounding him with the proximity. 

“Breathe baby, eyes on the prize,” you whispered into his ear for good measure. 

Joel’s body remained as taught as can be, but you squeezed his hand in thanks when you felt his jaw click shut. The sound of his angry teeth grinding was never pleasant and would certainly give him a hell of a migraine later, but it was better than the alternative of him being shot for mouthing off at one of them. 

The door opened after the guard knocked twice, revealing another dimly lit room that was filled with half melted candles and reeked of a mix of bodily fluids and incense. There were more paintings pinned to the walls, depicting different scenes with the group and the beings they seemed to revere. It was the one at the center that took you off guard. The painting showed a woman holding a baby in her arms, while an infected person is wrapped around them both, almost as if they were protecting them. 

“Ah, I see you have found our scripture. Beautiful, isn’t it? Nature becomes one again so that the world may heal, that is our truth,” the woman practically sang. 

The guards behind you all made a noise in affirmation, nodding at her words as they waited for orders. 

“Fabian, stay here with me. Elaine and Thomas, go back to your posts, and the rest of you guard the door,” she instructed. 

The door swung shut behind the four that left, leaving Joel and you alone with the woman and her loyal servant. Fabian stood to the side, his hands folded behind his back and his eyes straightforward, looking out into a void as he waited for her signal like some sort of highly trained guard dog. It made you sick. 

“Please, do sit,” she said, gesturing towards one of the couches that had way too many throw pillows and blankets on it. 

Joel went first and you followed, gingerly sitting on the edge of your seat as the woman drifted throughout the room. She grabbed three mugs from a desk in the corner, along with a steaming kettle that filled the room with the smell of citrus and herbs. Placing each cup down on the coffee table, she filled them and gestured for you to take the tea before she took hers. You looked at Joel and nodded towards the cup, motioning for him to follow your lead as you picked it up. 

The smell of the tea, whatever kind it was, was mouth watering and you had a hard time convincing yourself not to drink it. It was only after you watched the woman down half of her cup that you decided it was safe enough. Absolutely parched from the road, you gingerly allowed yourself a small sip. The tea was bursting with different fruit flavors, making you muscle through a moan as your weak stomach was finally soothed by the delicious hot water. 

“Good right? We make that ourselves, along with everything else you see here,” she explained. 

Taking one last big gulp of the drink, you sat the mostly empty cup back down and straightened up. Again, Joel followed your lead and discarded his cup on the coffee table before he sat back. You could feel his concern and reached back to squeeze his thigh, earning a pat to the back of your hand in the process. 

“Interesting,” she smirked. 

You cocked an eyebrow at her, “What’s interesting?” 

“The dynamic between you two is interesting, I’d like to know more,” she answered. 

Joel scoffed and you narrowed your eyes at her. That statement sounded like a slight but to which party? You weren’t entirely sure. Clearly, Joel thought it was himself that had been insulted because he quickly started in on a defense. 

“With all due respect ma’am, I’m not -”

Fabien was over in a flash, smacking Joel against the back of his head with a rolled up newspaper like he was some sort of abused dog. You shot up out of your seat, placing your hands on Fabien’s chest to push him back in return. The loyal servant stumbled back, glaring at you before he stepped forward to strike again, but the woman raised her hand in the air. Upon seeing her hand raised, Fabien went back to his job as a statue. 

“That’s enough Fabien, they are new. They don’t know our rules,” she crooned. 

“One is not to speak to The Teacher unless The Teacher speaks to you,” Fabien answered coolly, almost like he was reading from a script. 

She nodded and raised her eyebrow at Joel, refilling all of the cups once more before she leaned back against the cushions. Bringing her feet up from the floor and wrapping herself in a blanket, you suddenly felt like it was you two who were intruding on her day. Despite your growing frustration at the situation, she was as cool as a cucumber. 

“I was talking to her, the guard dog will get his turn soon enough,” she said to Joel. 

You balked and looked at him, noticing how blotches of redness bloomed across his cheekbones from the slight. Despite the urge to comfort him, you looked back towards the woman and responded for the both of you. 

“Sure, maybe our dynamic is weird to some people but why would I talk to you about it? I don’t know who you are or what you want from us,” you argued. 

Taking a sip of her drink, she mulled it over a second. Joel sighed in annoyance, with his patience for the situation already growing slim, and you grabbed his hand, squeezing it three times to calm him down. He was right, what she was doing WAS incredibly annoying. She was playing with you two, pretending to think things over before she gave the answers she had already thought up beforehand. You knew it and Joel knew it, but you had to stay calm. 

“My name is Aspen, but my group has taken to calling me The Teacher. You may call me whatever you wish to, it is not up to me to decide how I am labeled,” she explained. 

You raised an eyebrow at that, “And what is it that you teach them exactly?” 

Aspen smiled then, gesturing to the paintings around her with bright eyes. Her smile was wide, showcasing a clean set of teeth with long canines that put you on edge. The wrinkles on her face were few, yet her hair was completely gray. You couldn’t tell if she was 60 or 85 and every second that passed only made you more unable to figure it out. 

“This place,” she said while holding her hands out wide, “Is the Thin Place. It is the one place on earth where our world and theirs come together, creating a thin space for us to reside in until we may all be one again.” 

Looking at all of the paintings around you, a funny feeling began to bloom in your chest. Maybe this group was a bit different than yours afterall. To quell the nerves that beaded sweat along your hairline, you picked up the cup and chugged it down. Scenes of infected dancing with humans, bringing them into their horde before turning them made your stomach flip. Along with the more brutal scenes of people being strapped down before being bled, their blood gifted to the growing horde as some sort of offering. And one of the main paintings, the sick piece with a woman birthing a baby, only to allow herself and her child to be coddled by an infected man. 

“And how,” you cleared your throat, “How do you do that? How do you make the two worlds come together?” 

Aspen chuckled, “All in good time my child, you will know when the truth is revealed.”

Joel huffed out a breath and rubbed his eyes, unable to stop himself from grumbling at her response. She narrowed her eyes at him, examining his face in a way that made you want to shield him from her gaze. It was like he was a piece of meat, her tongue running over her gleaming teeth as she raked her eyes up and down his form. 

“And what is it that you have to say sir? Please, we’re all friends here,” she declared. 

Joel huffed out a laugh, “How ‘bout you cut the shit and tell us why we’re here, hm? Cus with all due respect ma’am, I’m not buying what it is you’re selling. If I need God, my mama raised me in a church, I know where to find him. Until then, I’m good.”

Aspen laughed, a shrill and grating sound that had you wincing as Joel shifted uncomfortably beside you. Looking over, it seemed she was getting to him too as sweat had begun to dampen his tunic. The light of the room shined down on his face, making him look almost ethereal for a moment and you had the strange urge to lick him but ignored it. Instead, you watched as he gulped down his second cup of tea and placed it next to yours. As he leaned back, Joel’s hands came up to rub at his eyes and you couldn’t help but notice how the hair on his arm moved as though there was a breeze in the room. It was strange, you had never looked too closely at the dark curls smattered across his forearms before but now they were all you could see. 

“I’m not talking about God. I’m talking about the only truth in this world,” she explained, standing up and walking over to the paintings to point at what she meant. 

“Th-the infected?,” you asked, feeling a little dizzy as you tried to understand what she was trying to say. 

Aspen hummed, “Yes, only a select few are chosen as an offering to them. Once they are given the gift, they will know the truth of the world. And us, their humble servants, will be rewarded with a feast. That is, until the messiah comes to bring us all together.” 

Joel giggled beside you and you turned, noticing how your vision stuttered before finally focusing on his face. His head was laid against the back of the couch, a lazy smile on his face as he laughed at something that you couldn’t see. Leaning forward, you cupped his cheek and tried to bring his face forward but it only slumped back the moment you let go. He laughed again and your heart sank. 

“You - you drugged us,” you choked out. 

The room was stifling, making you sweat as the walls swelled and shrunk with each breath you took. As Joel continued to giggle, you scooched closer to him, seeking the comfort of his body despite the fact that his mind was in lala land. Gripping his arm and sliding up next to him, you pressed yourself against his side and tried to focus on the woman in front of you. 

“Your fingers are pretty baby, way prettier than mine,” Joel mumbled, laughing softly to himself as he played with your digits. 

You let him do it, too busy trying to pull yourself out of the nightmare you found yourself in. Everytime you focused on something for too long, it would slowly get warped until it was almost unrecognizable. The only thing that grounded you was Joel’s hands pulling your fingers up to his face, examining them with so much scrutiny that you were worried he was going to strain his eyes. 

“A part of stepping into the next part of life is forgetting this one. In order to cleanse you of the toxins of this world, you’ve drunk the tea along with me. Now, the ceremony can begin,” Aspen said excitedly, reaching forward to ring the bell. 

“What ceremony? What? What the fuck is happening?,” you cried out, ripping your hands from Joel as the guards at the door barged in. 

Joel whined at the loss but you ignored him. Instead, you shot up and stood before him, ready to fend off the guards as they crept closer. It was hard to tell how far away they were, as your depth perception and internal clock was all off. One moment the men were standing menacingly in the doorframe, the next moment one of them was lifting you over his shoulder. You screeched, uselessly pounding against the man’s back as he carried you away from the room but it felt like you were fighting someone while locked in a dream. The punches you landed were weak, almost laughable, but you still tried to squirm your way back to Joel. 

The blood rushed to your head, gorging your brain with the thick liquid and making you even dizzier as the guard carried you out into the hallway. Just as the edges of your eyes began to darken, signaling that the drug was starting to pull you into a deep sleep, you heard Joel call out from the other room. 

“Wha-? Whas - What’s happening? Where’d she go?!” 

That was the last thing you heard before passing out. 

- Joel - 

Joel’s head felt heavy as he lounged on the couch, playing with the fingers of his sweet girl while she talked to some lady. He didn’t remember getting to a safe place but maybe it was because he was so sleepy. As they conversed about things that were beyond his understanding, he brought her fingers up to look at them. 

Compared to his, they were so small. The skin was relatively unscarred, save for a few nicks and scrapes that would likely heal over in a few days. The only thing he was unsure about was the wrist. He grimly remembered shoving it back into place by himself after he found you and upon closer inspection, it looked relatively straight but the bruising was still pretty bad. Still, Joel couldn’t help but worry, especially with how the dark spots seemed to grow and shrink with every passing second. That couldn’t possibly be healthy. He giggled as the bruise shrunk again. What do I know, he thought, I’m not a fucking doctor.

Leaving the wrist behind, he returned to your fingers. They were the same digits that played with his hair until he fell asleep, the same ones that cupped his jaw and traced the scars on his chest, the same ones that brought him toe curling pleasure just days before, the same ones that did brutal things just to see to his freedom. He loved these hands and he loved you. Warmth filled his chest and the world got brighter as the euphoria he felt because of his love for you bled into his vision. 

“Your fingers are pretty baby, way prettier than mine,” Joel mumbled, continuing to move the digits around in his grasp. 

Turning his head for a moment, you were still engaged in the conversation you were having with the woman. Joel tried to wrack his brain for any elderly friends you had mentioned but couldn’t think of anyone other than Miriam and Rachel. Was she one of them? No, Joel thought, she couldn’t be either of them. They were dead, you had watched them die yourself. When his brain couldn’t conjure up an answer to the question, he let it go and watched you speak to the mystery woman. 

The way your skin glowed was breathtaking. Sweat dampened your hair,  making it look like it was encrusted with jewels. Everything about you screamed Goddess and Joel had a hard time not breaking into tears of joy. He always felt this way, like he was a mere mortal and you were the sun shining down on his face but in this moment, in the funny smelling room where he held your hands in his, it was overwhelming. The radiant woman that sat against his side was his mate and he couldn’t believe it. To keep himself from crying in front of the stranger he couldn’t place, and not wanting to embarrass you in front of your friends, Joel returned to examining your fingers again. 

Although, he was surprised when they were suddenly torn from his grasp and he whined at the loss. Joel’s vision went fuzzy for a second, the colors in the room swirling as his head buzzed with an unbelievable amount of pressure. He squinted, trying to figure out what was going on as the voices around him turned more urgent. By the time he managed to blink away the stars in his eyes, you were gone. 

Joel gasped, looking around the room with increasing urgency when you were nowhere to be found. Instead, all he saw was your friend talking in a low voice to another stranger. The man she was talking to looked familiar and he tried to remember how he knew him. Was he one of Sarah’s teachers? He kinda looked like the art teacher she liked that always smelled a bit like weed. Joel never said anything about it, preferring that his pup have a pothead for a teacher rather than a drunk. And plus, an art teacher smoking a joint in between classes was practically a cliche. Yes, he thought, this had to be him. Nobody else in Texas would be dressed like that. 

It took a few seconds of wondering why he was hanging out with Sarah’s art teacher, but he slowly remembered that his daughter was gone. And not just that, Sarah had been dead since his 32nd birthday, which was twenty four years ago. If that man, by some miracle, was still alive, he would be grayer than Joel by now. After a flash of a memory that involved him tumbling out of a truck and a gun being shoved into his mate’s face presented itself, the reality of the situation came back to him. 

“Wha-? Whas - What’s happening? Where’d she go?!,” Joel asked, his heart beginning to beat harder as he realized his words were slurred. 

When Joel locked eyes with the woman across from him, it clicked. The truck, the hotel, the clothing swap, the meeting and finally, the tea. The two of you had been drugged by this woman. This was not his first experience with drugs by a mile, both recreationally and in similar situations such as these, however this was the first time he was stupid enough to drug himself. Usually whoever did the drugging was less sneaky, stabbing him with a needle or shoving a bitter smelling cloth under his nose to knock him out. But this was different, these drugs weren’t meant to knock him out. 

Tommy had convinced him, about forty years ago, to take acid with him at a Pink Floyd concert that he had snuck out of his parent’s house for. He remembered standing in the crowd, his mouth wide open as he looked at all the lights that dazzled and dizzied him. The crowd danced and sang around him, Tommy even got into the center of the floor to pull some moves on a cute guy that was giving him the eyes, but Joel was stuck in place. He couldn’t take his eyes off the lights that bounced off the crowd. As he remembered how your face had glowed, shining in the candlelight like it was the sun itself, he quickly drew the connection and realized that he had been given a hallucinogen. 

“D-drugged us? Umpf - why?,” he managed to get out, his tongue feeling like a dead weight in his mouth. 

Aspen slunk over, shushing him as she kneeled at his feet. Joel straightened up, feeling uncomfortable at the way she clasped his upper thighs under her talons. The only person he wanted anywhere near where she was touching him was you. She smiled at his attempts to get away, reveling at his discomfort for a bit longer before she granted him space by leaning back on her heels. 

“You sir, are special. The chosen comes to us as someone who is closed off to any truth except for the one before themselves. They do not seek the answers we do, which is why they must learn the ultimate truth,” Aspen carefully explained. 

Joel made a noise of impatience, squirming as he tried to will his limbs to cooperate. He didn’t give a shit about whatever crap she had to say about being chosen or ultimate truths. All he cared about was where the fuck you had gone. 

“Where is she?,” he grunted, straining all of his muscles to lift himself into a shaky standing position. 

She stood from her place on the floor, so close to him that he could smell the way her scent was marred with something foul. It was a scent he had smelled many times on himself. Joel had noticed the aroma of blood that tainted the air when he walked in, but this was something more. This was the acrid smell of death itself. 

“The chosen is an offering, he will learn the truths of the world. For his sacrifice, we are rewarded with enough sustenance to sustain us until the next pair are found. She shall sustain us,” she sighed, gliding back over to the man by the door. 

Cannibals. These people were fucking cannibals, and not just the run of the mill cannibals that were scattered around the world. Joel had been alive long enough to encounter the groups of people who were led by desperation to feast on the flesh of others until they could finally take down another deer. He understood those people, even empathized with their plight. Hell, he had been one of those people before, when a hard winter forced the hand of the humans left trying to survive a few years after the outbreak. 

These people were not the same. They sacrificed bonded pairs, deluding themselves into thinking that if they gave one to the infected that they deserved to eat the other. His stomach panged, the tea he swallowed rising to his throat as the world swirled around him. He gagged, fear and disgust pushing the small amount of sustenance he had in his stomach to his mouth. 

Slapping a hand down on the side of the couch, Joel spewed watered down chunks of vomit against the ground. Hands that were too cold to be yours rubbed his back, making him puke even more until he couldn’t possibly release any more bile. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Joel turned back to Aspen and her servant. 

“You’re fucking sick,” he spat. 

Aspen smiled, “You’ll see soon. Once the truth is revealed to you, this will all make sense.” 

Rage prickled at his skin, sobering him a bit as he took in the entirety of what Aspen was saying to him. There was no way he was letting them toss him to a horde, only to celebrate afterwards with a quick bite of you. Joel focused on the heavy weight of the forgotten weapon he had tucked into the fabric of his pants. All he needed was the right moment and he could lean forward, slicing the carotid in Aspen’s throat with a quick flick of the wrist so that he could enjoy the warm spray of her blood against his face. The drugs intensified every emotion he felt, especially the bloodlust he had for an adversary worth killing. He was practically frothing at the mouth while he imagined it. 

The corners of Aspen’s mouth turned downwards, her eyes widening slightly at Joel’s reaction to her plans. He smirked in return, picturing all the ways he could destroy her as her face alternated between warped and clear with every blink. Joel could practically taste her fear and he wanted more. She breathed in sharply through her nose, hardening the expression on her face as she called out to her guards. 

“Come, take him for preparation. I’ve had enough of his ignorance, we must teach him before it’s too late,” Aspen called out. 

Two guards came in, their faces distorted as they walked over. As they made their way to Joel, he couldn’t help but notice the way their shadows danced along the wall. The contrast of the dark figures against the cream colored walls was enough to make his mind spin. However, as hands latched on to his arms and shoved him forward, he was forced to remember what he was gearing up to do. As they yanked him out of the room, with Joel stumbling along as he tried to think of an escape, Aspen called out to him. 

“Bless you for being the chosen my child, your sacrifice will allow us to keep going for another winter. The death of the chosen one, along with the reward you have brought with you, will not be forgotten,” she promised. 

Reward? She thought that killing you was a fucking reward? Joel felt every muscle in his body pull taught against the scratchy fabric, a flush growing up the side of his neck as he chewed at the inside of his mouth. The guards managed to finally pull him out into the hall, shoving him towards whatever preparation area they had for him, but Joel wasn’t worried about the secondary location. He needed a moment alone with the freaks that had been threatening him and his mate for far too long. He needed it like he needed air. 

It didn’t matter that the floor looked like the surface of the ocean, even forming ripples with every step he took. It didn’t matter that the effects of the drug were blurring the lines, making him rabid as he thought of the most gruesome ways to take care of his enemies. It didn’t matter that you were in a different room, going through God knows what while he was being led towards death. None of it mattered. Joel wasn’t dying today and neither were you. It was everyone else that was fucked and they didn’t even know it. The fates of everyone who got in his way was getting more solidified with every step of the way. 

The guards led him to the back of the building, stopping before a maintenance door to unlock it. Joel breathed in deeply, noting how there was a distant smell of you drifting from somewhere nearby. You were close, so close that the slightest hint of peppermint and lavender hung in the air. He reared his head back, looking around for any sign of his mate. 

There was nobody else lingering in this side of the hotel, yet the sight of a glass door marred with unfamiliar symbols stirred something within him. As the man to his right gripped his shoulders harshly, using all of his might to push against the wall of muscle that was his backside, Joel swore he could hear your voice. He wasn’t sure if it was the drugs, the bond, or the love he felt, but he knew you were behind that door. 

“Get - oomph - get in there you big oaf,” one of the guards panted, finally managing to force Joel into the room. 

Joel stumbled in, catching himself on one of the industrial sized washing machines that lined the walls of the room. Piles of discarded clothes were everywhere, with every piece of beige clothing reeking of the rancid smell of terror. One of the guards shut the door behind them, making sure to lock it for good measure. They thought they were locking Joel in with them but it was the other way around, they were locked in there with him. 

“Take off your clothes, there will be no need for them in the next life,” the man closest to him instructed. 

Chuckling to himself, Joel shook his head and answered with a simple, “No.” 

That seemed to anger them, the smaller one pushing off of his place by the door to stalk over. They were both younger men, too green to see how cornering a rabid beast may get them hurt. As the space between Joel and the guards grew smaller, he focused on stilling the waves in his vision so that he could strike. 

“If you don’t want to take it off, we shall take it off for you,” the larger man sneered, taking one miscalculated step forward to grab Joel’s collar. 

Fingers grasped at the fabric, pulling it half an inch from his skin before they abruptly let go. Instead, they were pulled back to uselessly cover a gash that sprayed blood onto everything in sight. The guard gurgled out a protest and swung with his free hand, sending a weak punch towards Joel that he easily ducked. Stumbling forward, the larger man was already dead before his partner had a chance to draw his weapon. 

The remaining guard fumbled with the strap on his holster, giving Joel the perfect chance to slam him to the ground. A whine crawled out of his throat, muffled by Joel’s palm clamped over his mouth. A sharp sting came from the man biting him but he ignored it, suddenly mesmerized by the way the red stains of blood on the man’s face danced across his sallow skin. 

“Stop,” Joel mumbled to the squirming guard, putting more weight on the hand that shoved his face into the floor. 

A crack and a muffled scream resounded in the room, causing Joel to shudder at the sound. The mirage was shattered, replaced by a sickening reality where he was crouched over a man who groaned in pain from his jaw being shifted about three inches to the right. 

“Oh fuck,” Joel mused, huffing in amusement at his own blunder. 

The man hissed a garbled response, something about him being fucking crazy, but it was cut off by a knife slicing through vocal chords. Another misting of blood found Joel, baptizing him in the torment he caused with his own hands. He wanted to linger, to see if those dancing streaks would return again as the man took his last breaths, but he shook himself from the fog that clouded his judgment. 

Lifting himself from the floor, Joel stumbled towards the door and tore it open. The walls of the hallway shivered as he ping ponged off of them, trying desperately to keep himself upright even though his legs felt like wet spaghetti. All he needed was to think of you, his mate, possibly in danger at the other end of the hallway and he was using all of his might to overpower the effects of the tea. As he came to the opaque door, panting from the effort, he smelled it again. 

Lavender and peppermint, the scent that he would know anywhere. One that had mingled with his, creating a soft undertone to your scent that was all him. And one that was now bitter with fear and overpowered by the smell of death. Unsure of what he was about to see, Joel held his breath as he opened the door. 

- You - 

The candles that lined the pool dripped down the edges, creating piles of goopy wax along around the shallow end. The deep end however, that was where the wax got lost in the impressive layer of thickened blood that coated the bottom of it. As you lay strapped to a wooden table, your whole body tilted with the way the floor was slanted, all you could think about was how many people had been in the exact position. By the looks of it, a fuck ton. 

Women buzzed around you, covering your nude body in fragrant oils and soothing herbs, all while they boasted about how lucky you were for The Teacher choosing you. It was enough to make you barf. And you had, twice already. Each time made you feel slightly clearer but the waves in your vision never quite went away, along with the vibrancy of every color. 

At first you were outraged, having never taken any drugs other than a few hits of a joint that the older kids had shared with you and Jake behind the chapel. Now, it was just annoying to be incapacitated in such an inconvenient way. Although your mind was clearer, your limbs were weighed down against the wood. Even if you could get away, there was no telling whether you would be able to run. The only hope you had was Joel. 

“She looks perfect, my children. A beautiful reward for our offering. The others have taken her mate through the preparation, his ascension should come at any moment now,” Aspen’s voice called out, echoing around the abandoned swimming pool. 

The women all bowed to her, hurrying to their places along the wall as their leader descended the steps and drifted over to you. Her breasts were bare, painted in more symbols that held no meaning to anyone outside of the group, while her waist was covered by a blue skirt that flowed behind her. A long knife was strapped to her hip, bouncing with every step she took. The closer she got, the more blood you smelt and you realized that the paint they used for everything was not in fact paint. 

“I knew there was something about you, something that was begging to be unleashed, and now look where we are,” she sighed dreamily, brushing the hair from your face in an almost loving gesture. 

You tried to scooch back but couldn’t, not with the leather that strapped you down to the wood. 

“Why?,” you hissed, squirming uselessly. 

She hummed, “Why have they chosen me to be the one that speaks for them? Why has your mate been chosen to know their truth, while we all must wait for the messiah to understand? Why do people have to die? There is no one answer my child, it just is.”

The answer unnerved you, forcing you to freeze the attempts at escaping despite the fact that you were quivering with fear. This woman was crazy, completely deranged in her own self made delusions that she could speak to fungus controlled beings. Joel was right to worry about these people. 

Josiah had believed in a social hierarchy, one that left you at the bottom and everyone who presented differently above. And you never questioned his devotion to his backwards beliefs about marriage, modesty, or correct social norms. However, as far as the actual religion went, he was mostly just using it as a backbone to prop up the bullshit he wanted to advertise. Christianity was just a tool to propel himself forward, landing him a role as leader and preacher in a world that was primed for someone to take advantage of people. 

Paul’s group was different in action, but they also held similarities to Josiah’s. They strictly enforced a hierarchy that cherished only the group of alphas on the in, mowing down any possible competition for the crown with the arena. Meanwhile, your kind were used and discarded. Only the unlucky ones were kept. Violence was the tool Paul used and boy, was he good at it. However, his purpose was the same; to propel himself forward off the backs of others. 

Aspen was not like either of them. 

“J-Joel, my m-mate -,” you stammered, working hard against the effects of the tea. 

She clicked her tongue, “He knows what we cannot, they have taken him as one of their own by now. And you shall be our reward for the offering.” 

Aspen’s hand cupped your cheek, making you wince at the smell of stale blood that lingered under her fingernails. 

“You will have the most tender meat, the well loved ones always do,” she cooed. 

You balked, “What the fuck?” 

As the women that had lathered your body circled around the table, holding hands as they began to chant in a foreign language, you saw how devoted each of them were to this cause. It would have been fascinating, if you weren’t being inducted as their next meal. And as to Joel’s ascension? You weren’t sure what exactly that entailed, but it didn’t sound good. 

Aspen floated around the room, making odd screeching and clicking noises that resembled her supposed gods as she lifted the knife in the air. They all screeched, the sound of it piercing your ear drums for a few seconds before it suddenly stopped. The women let go of each other's hands, turning to march straight into the deep end of the pool. Dipping their hands in the muck, they smeared blood across their bodies while continuing to mumble the words they had been taught. Aspen cried out, ordering them back with a single noise. 

They turned back towards you, surrounding the table in a way that had you sweating. Aspen kissed each one of them as they stepped forward, the gesture almost like a blessing before they pressed their bloody hands against your body. By the time they were finished, every inch of your skin was covered in the semi-congealed mess. 

“To your places, it is time,” she bellowed, forcing all that had marked you to scramble back to their place along the wall. 

Tears stung your eyes, threatening to spill over onto your blood soaked face as the rotted smell reached your nostrils. The fear had grown into an all out panic as Aspen approached the table. Joel wasn’t going to make it, you were going to die here. Was it because he was dead? You hoped not. 

Of all the ways to die, becoming food for a group of freaks had never crossed your mind. You could think of a million other ways you had fretted over, this had never once made the list. 

“Please,” you whimpered. 

Aspen sighed, bringing one hand to your chest and the other to your belly to ground you. Her hands were cold and only worked to sober you even more to the impending doom you faced. 

“Hush now child, you will be remembered by the Thin Place as heroes. Your mate has ascended to take his place and you shall sustain our -” 

She stopped her speech, lifting her hands from your body as her eyes flicked up to meet yours. The intensity of her gaze made you raise an eyebrow, confused at her sudden hesitation. 

“What?,” you asked meekly. 

Carefully, Aspen laid her hand back down against your belly and leaned forward. She placed her ear against your lower abdomen, making you squirm in discomfort at the proximity to your more intimate parts, but she quickly shot up again. 

“It is her, she is the one who carries him for us,” she announced. 

Excited whispers and hushed squeals of eagerness filled the air. Aspen smiled brightly at you, reaching forward to unclasp one of your hands. 

“I had begun to have my doubts, but you have come! Your mate has ascended but all is well, he shall return to you once the babe is born. The connection between worlds will be complete through the son, he will show us the truth of his father’s kind,” Aspen prattled on. 

“The - The what?!,” you sputtered. 

Just then, the door whipped open with such force that the glass on the top half of it shattered as it smacked against the wall. Joel stumbled in, looking delirious yet hellbent as he zoned it on you. Blood covered nearly every inch of him, making you whimper in fear. How badly wounded had he been wounded to cause that much blood?

“You motherfuckers!,” he roared, sprinting towards the shallow end at full speed. 

He skidded to a stop on the side, leaping down only to be confronted by one of the women. Joel didn’t hesitate, mowing her down the second she lept in his way. The woman dropped and another took her place, quickly being disposed of by the vengeful spirit that had possessed your mate. 

“STOP! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! SHE WILL SAVE US ALL!,” Aspen screeched. 

You cringed at the older woman’s poor choice of words. She couldn’t possibly understand the fire she had lit under Joel’s ass with her plea. 

The fury in Joel doubled, with the memory of someone else who had been strapped to a different table setting off the alarm bells in his mind. As chaos ensued, you reached down and groggily undid the rest of the straps. The second you were freed, you moved to get up from the wood but were stopped by Aspen. Tears were in her eyes as she grasped your shoulders in desperation, shaking them back and forth in an effort to lift you from the fog of confusion.  

“Please,” she cried, “This is the key to saving everyone, he needs to ascend before it’s too late.” 

Your mind remained blank. No matter how hard you tried, not a single thought came to aid in your response to the sobbing woman. The only thoughts you were able to conjure up were terrifying, with a million unanswered questions starting a dull throb in the center of your brain. Was it possible? Of course it was, Joel had been cumming inside of you for months. Was it true? You had no idea. 

“Please you need t-”

Aspen’s pleas were cut off when Joel rammed a knife into the side of her neck, effectively ending whatever she had to say about babes and messiahs. Watching as she scrabbled at her neck, you did nothing but stare. The effects of the tea were muted by the shock of Aspen’s words, making her death seem almost surreal as Joel ripped the blade from her. She fell to the floor, giving one last pained wheeze before she stilled for good. 

“Darling, hey, hey, it’s me,” Joel said, cupping your face in his hands. 

You wanted to poke fun at his reassurances. Of course it was him, you had watched Joel run in here and tear through the group. Who else would it be? That would’ve reassured him, perhaps even earned a laugh, but you remained mute. Studying his ridiculously long eyelashes as he nervously examined your face, you tried hard not to look him directly in the eye. If you did look at him, you were worried that all of the things Aspen had said would come pouring out of your mouth. 

Joel brought his head down to knock against yours, sighing as he tried needlessly to reassure you that everything would be okay. He whispered sweet words in hopes of soothing you, but it was pointless, you were already calm. So calm that you felt untethered from reality. The drugs mixed with the shock and you ended up tuning out for most of what Joel was saying. After letting him frantically check you for the source of blood, he put it together that it wasn’t yours all by himself and gently lifted you from the table. Normally, you would protest his babying, but you were barely present as he stomped out off the pool deck. 

The next few minutes blurred together and suddenly, you were being lifted onto the back of a horse and riding out into the night. Hugging Joel tightly, you buried your face into his back to shield yourself from the wind and tried to remember what had happened. Aspen had made her announcement, Joel had mowed down her followers, he had carried you out, and then nothing. 

You had a vague memory of him killing other people, the blurred faces of two guards who jumped out from around a corner during the escape flashing in your mind. Despite the hallucinogens that kept his eyes glossy, you remembered how Joel’s brute strength had allowed him to beat the two men into the ground with his bare fists. His movements were erratic rather precise, his tact seeming to be to overwhelm his victims and use their surprise to end them. You watched the display, too soaked up in your own thoughts to aid, yet unable to look away from the more menacing side of Joel. It was a side to him that you found oddly comforting. 

It was also a side that was in sharp contrast to the man that picked you back up and backtracked to the closet to reclaim your lost clothes. Muttering angrily about Aspen and her women stripping you of the tight dress, he carefully wiped as much blood and oil as he could from your body before he redressed you. 

Once Joel was fully dressed himself, you leaned up against the wall, rubbing at your chest to calm the erratic beats while he stuck his head out of the door. After seeing it was clear, you remembered that he had scooped you up again, but the rest of the escape was too distorted to understand. It was fine, you weren’t sure you wanted to know the details anyways. There were bigger things for you to worry about. 

“I’ve got ya honey, don’t worry. S’okay, we’re gonna be just fine,” Joel called over the wind, kicking the horse in the sides to start a gallop. 

His comfort did little to help you but you hugged him tighter, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck to satiate his own nerves. As the horse tore through the night, taking you further and further away from the remainder of Aspen’s followers, you couldn’t help but think of what she had said. The baby, those two words rang in your ears until a migraine began to bite at the backs of your eyelids. 

Wincing from the ache, you closed your eyes and snuggled closer to the broad expanse of Joel’s warm back. He squeezed your arm in response, a brief moment of comfort amidst the chaos, before he returned them to the reins. As the night wore on, you focused on the sound of hoofs taking you away from danger, trying desperately not to think of the dangers that the future may hold. 

- Joel - 

Two more days of living rough, huddled together at night inside of a former auto shop and even a tool shed to withstand the elements. Two more days of him watching you pick at the measly portions he was able to scrounge up. Two more days of him babbling to himself in hopes that you might finally speak up. Two more days of Joel anxiously hugging you tightly as you pretended to sleep beside him. It had been two days of hell for him. 

The first night, he had given you a pass. He didn’t sleep either. With the drugs still swirling in his bloodstream and the adrenaline of the escape making his heart thump painfully hard in his chest, Joel had finally directed the horse into a former auto shop. After clambering off the horse and stumbling through a rudimentary inspection of the place, he jogged back outside to pull the horse in through the half opened garage door. You were slumped over in the seat, gripping the sides of the leather to keep yourself from sliding to the ground. He understood the feeling, for the past hour his head had felt like it was weighed down by a ton of bricks. 

Easing you off the seat, Joel had thrown you over his shoulder and led the horse in through the tight opening. After closing the bay doors as gently as he possibly could, he patted the stallion’s side before walking through the shop to get to the office in the back. The air was stale there, with the dust particles tickling his nostrils, but the door had a lock and the loveseat shoved in the corner would be comfortable enough to ride out the rest of the effects together.  

For the next four hours Joel had held you in his lap, rubbing your back and leaving the occasional kiss to soothe the both of you as the drugs left your bodies. The dead weight slumped against him was almost enough to convince him that you were asleep, but he was too attuned to you to be fooled. Your breathing was quicker than usual, a dead giveaway that you were still keyed up to let yourself fall into a slumber. He let you pretend anyways.  

When the morning came, Joel had even pretended to wake you. He whispered soft greetings in your ear, kissing your cheek gently until you hummed in acknowledgement. After a hazy smile was sent his way, a tiny bit of the weight on his chest was lifted. Perhaps you would be okay. Maybe you just needed the night to come to terms with everything that had happened. 

“How do you feel honey? Are ya alright? I know that must’ve been scary for you,” Joel asked, fussing over the errant strands that clung to your face.  

“I’m fine Joel. It was just a lot is all, are you okay?,” you answered sweetly. 

He hummed, “I’m okay, was just worried ‘bout you. Drugs can be fun but not like that. That was… Not the best place for you to try ‘em for the first time. 

A devious smile had graced your lips, easing more tension from between his shoulder blades. 

“God Joel, what do you take me for? That wasn’t my first time trying drugs, I’ve smoked weed before. Definitely my first time doing that kind of stuff though. Can’t say I’m a fan,” you joked. 

The pair of you had laughed and once again, Joel was deluded into thinking that you would be okay. But that’s not how life worked, not in his experience anyways. An entire day passed with you glued to his back on the horse, completely silent as he followed the trails to the best of his memory. At first he thought it was you being tired and he said nothing, allowing you to doze if that’s what you needed. Nevertheless, as the day wore on and you remained locked within yourself, he began to ramble about anything and everything to fill the silence that suffocated him. 

During his time as a smuggler, Joel had always preferred his counterparts to say as little as possible to him. That’s why he and Tess worked so well together, she understood that he liked space. But he wasn’t a smuggler anymore and you weren’t his accomplice, you were his mate. Joel couldn’t stand the silence, it felt like it was filled with nothing but impending doom. Like at any moment you were going to turn around and tell him you were leaving him. Distant memories of Sarah’s mother standing over her crib, apologizing to him through tears before she left for good, plucked at his oversensitive nerves. Joel clenched his jaw, working hard to not let his memories of that woman distort the situation. You weren’t her. 

Still, Joel couldn’t help bemoaning the fact that you were supposed to be the one talking his ear off. As someone who wasn’t great with words, he loved the fact that you were a storyteller. Before he had taken you for the first time, before he finally allowed himself to indulge in the woman that plagued his every thought, you had charmed him with the way you spoke. 

Joel would come back from whatever bogus job he made up to keep the distance, make a meal for the two of you, and then he would sit and listen to every thought that ran through that pretty little head. He was almost jealous of your ability to make anything seem interesting and it made him want to get better at it. And now, with your mind a million miles away, it seemed his rusty sociable skills were being tested. 

By the time Joel stopped for the second night, you weren’t even pretending to listen to him anymore. He knew he wasn’t being particularly interesting, prattling on about a job he had done in Austin nearly thirty years ago, but he was slowly running out of memories to help pull you from the abyss. And usually, when his words failed him or came out entirely wrong, you were the one that swooped in to save the conversation. This time that didn’t happen and he was forced to awkwardly rush through a tedious speech on the importance of applying the finish to a deck equally to protect the wood. 

While Joel talked, he formed the most rudimentary bed anyone had ever made with tarps and fishing nets. Meanwhile, you stared at the walls, so checked out that he had to practically drag you into the makeshift nest when it was time to go to sleep. When he had finally curled himself around you, holding you close to preserve body heat while the night passed, Joel decided to push the issue. 

“Honey, are ya alright? You’ve been mighty quiet today and well… If you’re feeling a certain way about what went down, I’d like it if you talked to me about it. I - I mean, we could work through it ya know,” Joel whispered, rubbing every inch of skin he could reach to calm you. 

There was no response at first but he knew you heard him. The way you tensed against his body was enough of an indicator. He waited, allowing you a moment to collect your thoughts before pushing you to speak. Just as Joel was about to press it again, willing to face a wrath if he must, you spoke up. 

“M’okay baby, I’m just tired and I still don’t feel very well,” you mumbled against his chest, looking up to press your chapped lips to his in thanks. 

The sickness that had come over you while on the trip to Jackson worried him, but he accepted it as a reason why you might not be particularly chipper. For once in his life, Joel had never desired to be in his brother’s commune as badly as he did now. The allure of an actual doctor checking you out was driving him mad. Everytime the wind shook the shed that night or you shifted uncomfortably beside him, he wanted to throw you on the back of the horse and ride until he got to the gates. But Joel wasn’t stupid, he knew his eyesight wasn’t what it used to be and riding around in the dark like that was pointless. It was the thought of you finally getting the help you needed safely that got him through it. 

After the two of you departed from the shed, it was that second day on the road that had broken his spirit. Jackson was so close, another hour and he would be at the doors, but the temperatures had quickly dropped to dangerously low levels. Joel had shook with each sharp gust of wind, a movement which was mirrored by you in the saddle behind him. After trying to tough it out for the majority of the miserable day, he had finally decided to pull off until the weather broke. 

The luxurious home near the ski lodge Joel found was a god send. It even had a gate that he quickly latched behind him before he led the horse towards the side of the building. And to his surprise, there was nothing lurking within the abandoned place. The only scary thing that was in the beautifully built home was you, sitting in complete silence as he fiddled with the large fireplace that sat in the living room. 

After breaking apart some discarded boxes, books, and a kitchen chair, he managed to spark a flame that quickly grew into a blazing heat. Closing his eyes, Joel allowed his limbs to unthaw for a few breaths. Then he hummed and turned, about to offer his hand for you to join him, but you weren’t there. Glancing around the room, you weren’t anywhere to be found on the open concept first floor and Joel’s heart lurched, a sweat breaking out on the back of his neck instantly. 

“Darling? Where’d ya go?,” he shakily called. 

No answer. 

Joel cussed, leaving the fire to search the house. He checked the second floor first, finding nothing but a couple of chairs that looked out upon the frozen landscape. Jogging down the creaking steps, he ran towards the kitchen. He skidded to a stop in front of an open door, panting as he spied the steps to the basement. A chill ran through him at the sight of the shut door at the end, childhood fears about monsters in his parent’s cellar hitting him like a ton of bricks. He had never even thought to check the basement. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

“Honey?,” he tried again, his chest growing unbearably tighter by the second. 

When no response came for the second time, he broke. Taking the steps two at a time, Joel landed at the bottom and swung the door open so hard that it shook the frame. 

And there you were, arms thrown around yourself in comfort as you faced the glass doors that lined the back wall. Only the top half of the glass showcased the view that was currently shrouded in darkness, the rest of it covered by thick layers of accumulated snow. In four long strides he was at your side, placing a hand on your shoulder that finally made you jump out of your stupor. 

“Oh!,” you gasped, blinking rapidly as if you had just been woken from a dream. 

Joel raised his hands in the air, giving you a worried look as you tried to regain the mask of indifference that hid your true feelings from him. He longed for you to scream at him, to say the pettiest shit you could possibly throw his way, to hurl insults that would make his heart ache for days, anything would be better than this. There was no fixing a non response, there was only the stress of trying to find the missing puzzle piece. If it was him you were mad at, Joel needed to know why.

“I’ve been calling you baby, did you not hear me?,” he asked. 

You blinked, turning from him to look back out at the inky sky. He wanted to grab your shoulders and shake you, to force out the truth the only way he knew how, but he could never be that cruel to you. Especially not with how beat down you looked. What you needed was for him to listen, he just needed you to fucking speak to him first. 

Joel gulped down all of his hesitation and aversions to prodding, placing himself directly in front of the glass to obstruct your view. He grabbed your hands, squeezing them as he lovingly waited for your eyes to stop looking through him. When he finally felt your gaze focus on the fine lines that stained his forehead, Joel decided that that would have to be good enough. 

“Please darling, please talk to me. I’m beggin’ ya. I know you’re not okay but neither am I. We almost lost each other AGAIN and now it feels like I’m still losing you. S’okay if you’re cross with me, just fucking say something. Say anything baby, please,” Joel begged. 

Your eyes met his for the first time in what felt like eons and his heart stuttered at the contact. Butterflies erupted from the growling pit of his stomach, threatening to explode from his mouth with a plethora of praises, but he reined them in. He didn’t want to spook you back into the shadows by coming on too strong. The look of your face was conflicted so Joel stepped forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead as an encouragement. 

“I know m’not the best at this, I’m new to… Talking about feelings and um, stuff. But that don’t mean that I don’t wanna hear about how you’re feeling. I don't want you to keep it secret from me if you’re hurtin,” he tried. 

“Joel, I think maybe we’re… I think that I’m…”

The words trailed off into more silence and he pulled back. Joel pushed a few loose strands behind your ear, nodding his head in encouragement. 

“Go on sweetheart, you can say it. Please, whatever it is, I can take it,” he pleaded. 

You swallowed hard, looking away from him again as you whispered, “I’m just tired, it’s nothing Joel.” 

Joel flinched like he had just been slapped. The frustration he had held back grew hot in his chest, making him dig his teeth into the inside of his mouth to keep back any harsh words that may be hidden beneath the surface. This was something more, something that you were hiding from him. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. 

The fact that you felt like Joel couldn’t handle whatever reality you were stuck in right now broke him a little. Memories of him breaking down, sobbing into your neck against the truck over the fear of losing you, blowing up at you after you went into the library without him, even showing you the wreckage he had made in the kids rooms back at the cabin, all made his stomach twist. Had he been wrong to open himself up like that? Did it ruin any chance of you trusting him to take care of you, to safeguard your heart? And finally, did the time with Aspen’s group awaken you to the fact that Joel couldn’t fulfill his duty as a provider? Was it over? 

“I uh -,” Joel cleared his throat, willing the tears of betrayal that threatened his waterline to go away, “I’m gonna go upstairs then, there’s a fire going. I’ll um… I’ll give you some space.” 

Joel turned away, leaving you in the dark basement to be alone with your thoughts. He felt stupid. Of course you thought of him as weak, he couldn’t seem to protect you from anyone or anything. He was unable to care for anyone properly, despite the fact that it was all he had ever really wanted to do. 

It was Joel Miller’s curse. To love someone so dearly, yet to not be able to safeguard them or cherish them in the way that he should, which inevitably would lead to their demise. Rinse and repeat. The moment he got you to Jackson at least you would be safe, even if you didn’t want anything to do with him afterwards. Rarely did omegas ever leave their alphas after being claimed, and vice versa, but Joel wasn’t surprised that he was about to be one of the few. 

“God, I’m a fucking asshole,” Joel muttered as he walked back upstairs, ignoring the creaking in his knees at the movement.  

The mark on his neck burned with despair and Joel cupped it, swallowing hard as he made his way back to the fireplace. Was it yours? Was it his? He couldn’t tell, all of the pain seemed to blur together as of late. His eyes were glossy as he pulled throw pillows and blankets onto the floor, creating a comfy place for you to sleep in front of the roaring fire. Once he was finished, he bent down, scrubbing angrily at his puffy eyes as he tried to let the flames to soothe him. 

Before you crashed into his life, Joel hadn’t cried for years. Only in dreams would a few strays come to the surface, but he didn’t count those. He had been a steel trap, a hardened shell that kept out any human emotion that could either harm or help him. But you, you had pried him open with your bare hands embarrassingly fast. He hadn’t even had time to realize it, but you released the softer part of him that had been trapped for years. Joel was constantly in awe of how you managed to get him to fold, easily opening the floodgates that had been sealed off for way too long by just being you. He was usually pretty thankful for that, but not now. Not when he couldn’t seem to get his damned emotions in check anymore, not when you had lost trust in him because of that. 

Just as Joel was about to lift himself from the floor to go find you and bring you towards warmth, he felt two soft hands on his shoulders. He froze, not wanting to scare you away by doing anything wrong, but he softened when a kiss landed on the bald patch in his beard. You continued, giving him a few more pecks and he soon felt his cheeks grow warm from the attention. 

“Come lay down with me,” you whispered. 

He did not hesitate, jumping to his feet instantly and turning to face you. The smile you gave him was the first real one in days and although it didn’t totally wipe out the tightness in your expression, it did brighten your eyes. Joel watched while you discarded the majority of your clothes, leaving you in nothing but an old shirt and a pair of panties as you snuggled into the sheets on the floor. He stared down at you, not sure of what you expected from him. Did he leave his clothes on? Would you care if he rid himself of his filthy jeans? 

“Joel, just get comfortable and lay down. That’s all I’m asking,” you huffed, patting the place by your right. 

Joel nodded, dutifully shimmying off his dirty clothes until he was in nothing but his boxers. He knew he probably should have kept some of them on, especially with god knows what lurking outside, but the allure of feeling your soft skin against his after days of being shut out was too tempting. Drifting over to you, he groaned as he dropped to the floor. Uncomfortable zaps of pain shot from his lower back, making all of his muscles tense from the feeling but he managed to clumsily flop onto his back beside you. 

Like ice against an open flame, you melted against his side and Joel pulled you close. He sighed as your hand came up, twirling his chest hairs between your fingers as he tangled his legs with yours. With the fire roaring in the background and you stuck to him, he finally felt courageous enough to ask the question that had been on his mind all day. 

“When we get to Jackson, what are you going to do?,” Joel asked. 

A beat passed. 

“What do you mean?,” you returned, sounding incredibly confused at his wording. 

He swallowed around the lump in his throat, “M’just wondering if you were planning on… I don’t know honey, clearly I haven’t been what you needed. And now, you’re probably realizing that and I just… I wanted to know if you had made plans for when we get there.” 

Another pregnant pause passed, making Joel regret everything he had ever said in his entire life. Why did he have to ask that when you were finally coming around? Maybe you weren’t even thinking about it until Joel had to go run his stupid fucking mouth, he had probably just said goodbye to every bit of good in his life. Dread curdled the lining of his stomach and he suddenly felt like he was waiting for the guilty verdict that would send him straight to deathrow. 

“Oompfh! Fuck’s sake darling, watch it,” Joel groaned as you clambered up onto his lap, kneeing him in the groin in the process. 

Two hands cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at you in the dim room. Gazing up at you, he noticed how the orange glow of the fire illuminated your skin. A few scrapes and bruises remained but aside from that, you were as beautiful as the day he pulled you from that river bed. Joel sighed and grasped your hips as your thumbs brushed across his face. He knew what you were going to say, that you were planning to leave him despite the bond, that he wasn’t enough. At least this way, with him taking in your gorgeous body for the last time, he could cherish this as his last memory of being able to hold you. 

“Is that what you want me to do?,” you whined. 

The desperation in your voice distracted him from the downward spiral he was in, forcing Joel’s attention back on you. 

“It doesn’t matter what I want sweetheart, you - ,” he choked on the words, looking away so that he could collect himself before he whispered, “You need someone who can be a better partner than me. That’s clear as day to me now and m’sorry I held ya back for so long.” 

The tortured sob that came from your lips surprised him. The cry was garbled, sounding like it was somewhere between a whimper and a howl. Joel gasped as you cried out, digging crescent moons into his shoulders as you shook him wildly with your hands. The pain was minimal but the shock of watching his mate absolutely lose it was something else. This is not the reaction he had wanted, all he wanted to do was give you the out you so clearly needed but were too afraid to ask for. 

“I don’t want anyone else Joel! I want you, so stop trying to leave me! PLEASE! I fucking need you, you asshole!,” you shouted, practically shaking the walls with your booming voice. 

Joel quickly rolled you over, blanketing your body with the solid weight of his own. Your arms and legs wound themselves around him tightly, keeping him trapped in your embrace. Not that he minded. Joel grasped your chin, opening your neck up for him to scent along the line of your throat while you sobbed uncontrollably. 

“S’okay darling, I already told ya that I won’t ever leave you. Was just tryin’ to give you an out in case you needed one honey, I just want you to be happy is all. You’ve been so sad, I thought it was my fault,” he mumbled in between kisses and nips. 

You sniffed with a vice like grip on his curls as he laved his tongue over the mark. Joel debated on biting into it again. The hormones it would release would certainly calm you, but he decided against it. He reminded himself that it was gentle that you needed. 

“I’m only happy when I’m with you. I’ve only EVER been happy with you Joel, so please, don’t say shit like that to me anymore. No matter how many outs you give me, I’m never going to take them so cut it the fuck out. How would you feel if I did that all the time?,” you sobbed. 

Joel sighed, “Okay, I’m sorry baby. I guess I just got stuck in my head these last few days with everything, but I was worried sick. You saying nothing isn’t exactly normal.” 

Again, the room filled itself with the sound of the crackling firewood and the snow pelting against the glass windows. Joel winced but continued to dote open you, hoping to unlock any piece of information you were willing to give as he brushed his lips over the mark again and again. Finally, with his scent covering yours and the weight of his body crushing you into the plush blankets, you let something slip. 

“I’m… I’m scared Joel,” you said, the words barely a whisper. 

Joel pulled himself from the crook of your neck, propping himself up by placing his forearms on either side of your face. With him positioned this way, your bodies intertwined and the both of you breathing the same air, he looked deep into your eyes as he asked you, “Why?” 

Your eyes shifted away from him but they couldn’t go far, instead tracing the outline of his nose as you mumbled a response that was so quiet he could only make out one singular word. 

“Family? You’re worried about your family? Do you mean your mom and Jake? I don’t know where they are honey, but I’m sure they’re alright. Seemed like tough cookies to me,” he soothed. 

The crinkle in your nose made his brows furrow. Joel frowned as you shook your head at his guess. He sighed, frustrated at your unwillingness to elaborate and his own inability to read you as well as you did him. Then, it dawned upon him. 

Joel sucked in a breath, “Then it has to be…”

Of course, how could he have missed it? The exhaustion, the nervousness, the mood swings, the lack of appetite, that could only mean one thing. Even now, as you stared up at him with terrified eyes, you were too afraid to tell him. Terrified of what he might say at your completely reasonable discomfort, you had made yourself sick from the anxiety. Joel kicked himself for not realizing it sooner. He could’ve stopped all the negative thoughts that were running through your mind if he had known. 

“You’re afraid to see MY family, not yours,” Joel exclaimed. 

The way your eyes widened told him that he was right on the money. He sighed, knocking his forehead against your own in a playful manner. 

He tsked, “Should’ve just told me sweetheart, I wouldn’t have been mad at ya.”

You nodded shakily, “Sure yeah, I uh… I think they’re going to hate me maybe.” 

Joel sucked his teeth, cradling your head with one of his hands while the other caressed your cheeks. He leaned in, brushing his nose with yours before he kissed you once, then two more times after that. Each of them were slow and sweet, like little bursts of sunshine on a rainy day, and the way you were calmed by them made him smile. 

“Tommy might be a lot, you’ve heard the stories, but he’s always been the friendlier Miller brother. There’s nothing to worry about there. Maria is a bit tougher, she kinda scares me, but I think you’ll get on just fine. She’s fair, just doesn’t take any shit. And Frankie is only four, so I don’t think he’ll mind ya much,” he joked. 

You gave a small smile but it still didn’t fully reach your eyes, “Okay baby, I’m sure you’re right.”

Fuck that. 

Joel wanted, scratch that, he needed you to understand that you were wanted. That you were loved by him, meaning that his brother would love you too or he’d have to pay for it. He might be older now, but he wasn’t above using some good old fashioned schoolyard justice on Tommy if he didn’t accept his mate. Not that he thought he would have to, Joel was pretty sure the only unwelcome guest upon arrival to Jackson might be him. 

“Hey, none of that. You’re the only person I want to see, day in and day out, for the rest of my life. You’re the only person who I would do anything for. Honey, you’re it. They ain’t blind, m’sure they’ll see that. Hell, they’ll probably throw you a damned parade for putting up with me. And if they don’t, fuck ‘em,” Joel said simply. 

And he truly meant that. You were the one anomaly in his life. Find a girl and have a daughter, lose the girl and lose the daughter. Find another girl who turns out to be his best friend and find another daughter through unusual circumstances, lose the girl and lose the daughter again. When Joel left Jackson in a haste after Ellie death, having done nothing more than drink and grouch for the two days he wandered the streets, he decided he was finally going to take himself out of the equation. And then, you happened. You, who survived time and time again against all odds. You, who understood him in a way no one else ever could. 

Joel didn’t give two flying fucks if Tommy and Maria didn’t like you. He didn’t care if they thought the age difference was strange. He didn’t even mind the sideways glances he might get as he strolled through town with you on his arm. The only person’s feelings he truly gave a shit about was yours. As long as none of the negativity blew back on you, he didn’t care. Joel would happily take it all. 

“You’d love me no matter what, right? Even if… Even if I had to - Like if I told you that I’m uh, well that I might be - ,” you sputtered, unable to fully get the words out. 

He leaned down and captured your lips, pressing his mouth against yours until you relented. Feeling it when you finally allowed the tension to release from your muscles, Joel smiled into the kiss as you tugged on his overgrown curls. Pressing his tongue against the seam of your lips, he breathed in deeply when you let him in, tangling your tongue with his. There was a bit of heat to it, growing in intensity by the second, but mostly it was just about exploring each other. He squeezed every bit of skin he could, humming in satisfaction at the weight of your curves beneath his palms. 

When Joel finally parted from you, your lips were swollen and shining. A haze covered your eyes, making you look almost drunk beneath him. It made his cock stir between his thighs but he pushed any thoughts of that nature away. The only desire he needed to quench tonight was his desire for you to finally be happy again. 

“I love you, no strings attached. There’s no ifs or buts - no exceptions. I just love ya darling, that’s all there is to it,” Joel murmured against your lips. 

You sighed, “I love you too Joel, so much that it scares me sometimes.”

He grinned at that, feeling giddy at your admission. Joel was an all in type of guy, in every possible way. Even before your paths crossed, he was a little bit unhinged. A lifetime of trauma and violence had loosened a few screws in his mind, that was for sure. But after meeting you, after claiming you as his own, Joel was downright feral at the drop of a hat for you. He’d bring the entire world to its knees and dance around in the ashes of the fallen for you. And for some reason, he was lucky enough to fall in love with a woman that would match his energy in that way. 

“What’s got you smiling like that lover boy?,” you cackled. 

Joel opened his eyes, having slid them shut as you played with his mussed strands. He couldn’t help it, the feeling of your fingers against his scalp was his kryptonite. 

“Just thinking about you pretty girl, s’all I’m ever thinking about,” he sighed into your mouth as you latched onto him. 

The kiss you shared was sweet, or at least that’s what Joel had meant for it to be when he accepted your advance. However, when your tongue flicked against his and your heels dug into the small of his back, forcing his hips flush with yours, he couldn’t help the pornographic moan he released. In return, he sucked on your tongue, making you claw at his bare shoulders and squirm beneath him in desperation. 

“Please Joel,” you panted when he finally let up. 

Kissing down the side of your neck, Joel stopped at the indents his teeth had left on you forever. He grabbed your throat, holding it still as he bit down with enough pressure to break the skin again. Your garbled scream of pleasure was cut off by his hand pressing over your mouth, effectively silencing you as Joel licked the wound clean. When he finally pulled away, your pupils were so wide that they eclipsed any bit of color that your irises usually held. He licked his lips as he stared down at yours, suddenly starved for any scrap of affection you could possibly throw his way. 

“What’s that baby? Tell me what you need,” Joel pleaded, knocking noses with you once more. 

With the glow of the fire warming the both of you, the storm raging outside, the pile of rich fabrics saving you from the hardwood floor, and your bodies intertwined, it felt like you were the only two people left in the world. There were no infected, no raiders, no annoying brothers, no scary mothers, no damaged pasts, it was just you and Joel. 

“I need you Joel. Love you too much baby, need to feel it,” you whined. 

Joel nodded, kissing both of your cheeks before he brushed away the stray tear that rolled down your face. He cooed at your teary eyes and kissed you again, softly this time, before he traced the column of your throat with his lips. Working his way down your body, Joel stopped and suckled at your nipples. Pulling on both of them with his mouth until you squealed, he stopped to admire the hardened peaks. 

“S-sensitive,” you moaned as he blew cold air against them, making them tighten up even more. 

“I noticed that darling, so pent up aren’t we? Love hearing how good I make you feel, let it all out for me,” Joel said, continuing his wet kisses until he reached your mound. 

The curls that covered your mound made his breath hitch and he quickly parted your legs, famished for the taste of your weeping slit on his tongue. Joel looked up at you, maintaining eye contact as he licked a stripe up the seam. Circling your button with the tip of his tongue on the upstroke, he hummed at the delicious taste of your essence. It was like the sweetest honey he could possibly imagine and he was shameless in the way he began to greedily suck it from your folds. 

“J-Joel, oh my gooood,” you cried out, shaking in his grasp as he threw your legs over his shoulders and pressed your hips down so he could properly devour you. 

With you properly warmed up for him, Joel pressed two fingers inside with ease, slowly thrusting them with such precision that your eyes were rolling into the back of your head. He grinned and leaned back, enjoying playing with your pussy for a moment as he watched you shake. Slick slid out of your slowly tightening hole, dripping down his arm and ruining the sheets below for any future use. 

He grinned, “Does that feel good baby? Feels so good when I’m right there huh?”

You keened and he took that as all the response he needed to add another finger, he kept the slow pace but used more and more pressure to rub at that one spot until you were right on the edge. Sweat dripped down your body, making the moisture glisten in the light of the fire. Joel knew what you needed, teetering on the brink until he decided to grant you mercy, but he wanted to hear you say it. He craved to hear you call for him, to hear how much you needed him, he was sure that he would explode if you didn’t. Just when Joel was about to start begging you for it, you called out for him. 

“Please baby, m’so fucking close. Need you to f- ha!,” you cried out, yanking ruthlessly at his hair as he sucked your clit into his mouth. 

Slick sprayed out of your core, the wetness drenching his face as you shivered through your orgasm. Joel groaned at the explosion of flavor on his tongue, lapping up every drop that you graced him with. His fingers squelched inside of you, never letting up on their pace as your walls clenched and unclenched around them. 

He was so out of it, entirely focused on quenching his need for your slick in his mouth at that moment. So focused that Joel didn’t even realize he was working you up for another, more intense, orgasm that had you thrashing against him. With Joel whining at how your nails dug into his scalp, feet kicking at his back as he held you down, he was in heaven. He stayed stuck to your core until you cried out, breathily reminding him of how sensitive you were today for some reason. When Joel’s head popped back up from your bottom half, his entire face was shining with your juice and he grinned down upon you like a madman. 

You laughed, “What’s that look for?” 

Joel shrugged, playing off his giddiness with a shake of the head. He wasn’t sure what was making him so giddy but he knew it had something to do with you. Nuzzling your neck, he placed a plethora of sloppy kisses there until you sunk even deeper into the floor. Lifting your chin, you allowed him more space to work as he licked over the wound he had made again. 

“Need you inside please, right now,” you sighed, the sentiment half a whine and half a demand. 

Pulling back, Joel pressed himself up on his forearms so that he could get a look at you. With flushed cheeks and a sparkle of lust in your eyes, you had come alive again. He understood and he felt the same. Being without your attention for two days had felt like he was going through withdrawal, his body and mind had rebelled against every second of it. But now, he felt whole again. 

“Okay darling, I gotchu. Always gotchu, until the day I die,” Joel promised, leaning forward to capture your lips as he positioned himself. 

A whine came from your mouth when he pressed himself inside, slowly burying himself to the hilt and hungrily devouring each sound that the weight of his cock pulled from your mouth. Still hungry for more, Joel slipped one leg over his shoulder and sunk so deep that you had to pull your mouth off of his to gasp. With every inch of him inside, throbbing against your twitching walls as you struggled to adjust, Joel’s mind felt fuzzy. 

“Big s-so big Joel, s’too much,” you whined against his mouth. 

Joel groaned, “I know honey, but you can take it. I always make it fit, don’t I? My sweet pussy is so good at letting me stretch her out, isn’t she? Listen to her baby, she loves it.” 

You whimpered at his filthy words, leaving red scratch marks on his back and shoulders as your hips started to grind down against his. Joel chuckled, taking that as all the green light he needed for him to start thrusting away at your dripping hole. 

“Yes, yes, yes, so good Joel. Too good for me, love it, love you,” you babbled with fresh tears shining in your eyes. 

The praise released some of the stress that had worked its way into his muscles, making him sink further into you until not a single inch of space remained. Sweat slicked and panting, the two of you writhed together on the floor, working yourselves higher and higher with each movement. The leg over his shoulder began to shake and Joel turned his head, pressing hip lips to your calf before he nipped it. You yelped at the sting, clenching down on him so hard that he almost lost it. 

“Shit babygirl,” he groaned, “Don’t do that or unless you want me to fucking fill you up. God - fuck, make you mine.” 

“You already have,” you sobbed, pulling him down to pant against your mouth as the tension rose, “I’m already yours Joel, it’s yours baby, shiiiiit.”  

When he felt your pussy spasm, preparing to gush around his cock and milk him for all he’s worth, Joel pressed his mouth close to your ear. Groaning as he focused on keeping the pace, he managed to grunt out a command that he knew would finish you off. 

“All mine hm? Such a good girl honey, now cum for me. Show me how good my cock makes you feel and fucking cum,” Joel ordered you. 

Joel kissed you then, greedily taking all of the choked noises you released and drinking them down like they were the finest aged brandy he had ever tasted. Your pussy choked him, holding him in a vice grip before your walls began to pulsate around him so hard that the intensity of it almost hurt. He hissed, his pace faltering a bit at the feeling of your drenched walls trying to hold him hostage, and barely managed to hold on. 

He wanted you to be able to ride out your orgasm, to let every bit of pleasure roll over you until you were boneless and sated, but you had other plans. Almost as if you had sensed Joel holding back, you grasped the back of his neck and brought him closer. With one hand to his throat, gently nudging his chin upwards as your other remained buried in his hair, you nosed at his neck for a moment before clamping your teeth over the spot you had already claimed. 

A high like no other rushed through him as you broke the skin, further cementing your place in his life with yet another claim over his mind, body, and soul. He whined loudly, shoving all of himself inside of you with one brutal thrust that forced you up the makeshift bed by a couple of inches as you stayed latched onto him. Pure ecstasy raced through his veins, making him collapse on top of you as his cock spurted a seemingly endless stream of cum deep inside of you. When you finally pulled away, licking up the blood that rose to the surface and sealing the wound with your tongue, Joel was completely boneless. 

“I’ll only ever choose you Joel, over anyone and anything. You’re stuck with me, I hope you realize that,” you sighed into his ear once you were done. 

Joel hummed, “Sounds mighty fine honey. Being stuck with you is the only thing I’d ever want.” 

The laugh you granted him lit up his insides, making his heart swell with all of the thick emotions that the poets used to write about before the world went to shit. He wished that he had the words to explain to you how he truly felt, how he would tear out his own heart and give it to you if he thought that’s what you wanted, but he would have to settle for the laugh that warmed him after he said something cheesy. Which was alright, the latter still seemed to work on you. 

When Joel finally gathered his wits and his knot had gone down enough, he moved to pull away but you stopped him. Whining and locking your legs around him even tighter, you effectively kept his hips hostage. 

“Darling, let me get you something to clean up with. Then we can cuddle,” he tried, stroking your sides to comfort you. 

Sometimes after sex, it was him. Sometimes after sex, it was you. Or sometimes, it was the both of you. Either way, at least one party was always greedier for the proximity than the other and the other was always more than happy to oblige. No matter who started it, it always ended with the two of you staying wrapped up in each other for hours. Not that Joel was complaining, it was usually him falling asleep while buried inside of you. With you wrapped around him in every possible way as he slept, he always felt so safe. He couldn’t help it, Joel was an old man and cumming inside of your pussy was like taking a pre-outbreak prescription grade xanax.  

“Please, can you just stay inside for a bit longer? I just want to feel close to you right now, I’ve missed you,” you begged him. 

And who was Joel to say no to such a request? Rolling himself back over the length of you, he groaned as his cock nestled itself back inside. The whine you let out at the feeling made him involuntarily twitch, the blood rushing back to his groin quickly. When you clenched around him, he had a hard time trying not to start thrusting again. 

“Was getting me to stay inside just a way for you to get me to fuck you again because if so, you could’ve just asked,” Joel laughed. 

You giggled, “No, that’s just your dirty mind, old man.”

He guffawed, encouraged by your taunting to start thrusting his oversensitive cock in and out until he was fully hardened again. His cum squelched inside of your pussy, pouring out around the sides of him and dampening the curls that rubbed at your clit. 

“Old man huh? When are you gonna admit that you like that I’m older -umph, shit - you like that I know how to take care of that little pussy, hm?,” he taunted, making you moan and begin to swivel your hips against him. 

“Yesss, I love it. F-fuck, love how you know how to fuck me, take care of me, nobody else could ever do it like you do daddy,” you gasped. 

The squeal you let out when Joel threw both of your legs over his shoulders, effectively bending you in half as he slid even deeper than before, was music to his ears. Fingernails scrabbled at his strong arms as they pressed the backs of your knees up by your face, gifting him with even more angry red marks to remember you by. The thought of you marking him up, showing that he was undeniably yours, made his cock jump inside of you. 

“Fuck yeah darling, know you do,” he moaned, picking up the pace until he was slamming himself into you hard and fast. 

The room was filled with a cacophony of slapping skin, whines, and groans. The squelching of your cum soaked pussy was lewd, but it made him groan and pound into you even faster. Joel smiled devilishly when your eyes rolled back, legs shaking as you clamped down on him again. He grunted as your release splashed his lower abdomen. 

“Aw honey, already?,” he chuckled darkly, “Well, I’m not done with you yet. Not even fucking close.” 

Just as your fourth orgasm petered off, making you a mess of splayed limbs and sweat against the floor, Joel pulled out and flipped you onto your front. As you arched your back, lifting your hips and dropping your chest to the blankets to present yourself for him, Joel bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t even have to ask you for it. 

One of his hands came up to your ass, rubbing the skin softly before he slapped it. You moaned, more slick dripping down your spread legs as you wiggled in anticipation. He grabbed his cock, trying desperately to ward off the ecstacy that loomed in his gut as he watched a glob of your shared release drip onto the floor. Joel couldn’t cum yet. First, he needed to wreck you. 

“So beautiful like this, perfect for me,” Joel whispered, leaning forward to kiss up your spine. 

The soft kisses he left on your back was in sharp contrast to the way Joel pushed himself inside, driving himself to the hilt without any warning. He reared back, drawing himself almost all the way out before he slammed back in. Starting a ruthless pace that had you babbling nonsense into the blankets, Joel could feel his balls tightening up already. Your pussy was too wet, too warm, to fucking tight around him, with each thrust forward making you grip his cock harder. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could last like this. 

“Daddyyyy, fuuuck! Please, please, please, please, I’ll be good, so good for you,” you cried. 

He wasn’t sure you even knew what you were begging for, so lost in the fog of pleasure that you were just spewing pleading sentiments to call for something you didn’t know you needed. Luckily, Joel was fluent in the babbling whines you let out during sex and blanketed himself over you. Pressing the weight of his body into yours, he grinned when you dissolved into high pitched keens that made him twitch in turn. Gripping one of your breasts in his hands, his heart soared when you laced your fingers with his. 

“Joel,” you sighed, squeezing his hand. 

“Yeah honey?,” he panted, trying hard to stave off his incoming orgasm until he felt your release. 

“I love you,” you said. 

And just like that, he was done for. Joel’s mind went blank and he heard an embarrassingly loud whine crawl out of his throat. Thrusting up hard two more times, he cried out as his cock locked inside of you and released a torrent of cum, coating your walls with milky white. Joel’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as you finally came around him, your walls sucking him in, tightening and untightening around him hard as he gave you every last bit of his release. It just kept going and going, until he felt like he was never going to stop cumming. It was only when the pleasure started to fade off into overstimulation that your pussy was finally sated. He collapsed, maneuvering you so that you were comfortable in his arms as he curled around you. 

“Fuck honey, that was…,” he started. 

“Yeah,” you dumbly agreed, still panting as you came down. 

Joel laughed and so did you, ushering in a silence that wasn’t filled with hidden resentments or fears. It was peaceful and loving, his heart warming as you reached back to play with his curls. He hummed and nosed at your throat, brushing sweet kisses along the fresh bite as he watched the way the crackling fire glinted off of your sweat soaked skin. 

“I love you too, so much,” Joel finally answered and you hummed, leaning back to capture his lips in a sweet kiss before you snuggled back down into the blankets. 

On the strict agreement that you would wake him if he fell asleep for too long, Joel laid behind you and pressed his face into the crook of your neck. You sighed, hugging the arm slung around your chest and reaching back to play with his hair every so often as he softened inside of you. Every part of him was glued to you in the stillness of the night, making sure he stayed as close as humanly possible as your heart rates slowed down together. 

When you finally fell asleep, not faking it for the first time in two days, Joel was extremely careful not to wake you when he pulled out. After pausing with every inch, he was graced with the sight of his own cum spilling out of you and onto the blankets. He grinned, having to shake himself from the far off fantasy of a swollen belly that the view sparked in his mind. It was ridiculous of course, he was much too old and the world was way too fucked up, but he had to admit that the thought of it was nice. Perhaps in a different life the two of you would have made it a reality. 

Shaking himself from the fantasy, Joel carefully tiptoed from the room and managed to scrounge up some abandoned baby wipes stuffed inside one of the bathroom drawers. The moisture in them had long since dried up, but the wipes themselves still smelled nice and were perfect for cleaning the both of you off before he eased himself back down. You turned over, mumbling something about family again in your sleep as you threw a leg over him. It made him smile. Never in his life had Joel thought that it was Tommy of all people that would be giving you all this grief. 

“S’alright sugar,” he sighed, “You’re easy to fall in love with.” 

Wrapping his arms around you and pressing a firm kiss to the top of your head, Joel felt himself being lulled by the sounds of the dying fire and your muffled sleep talking. To ward off the incoming chill of the morning, he pulled a few blankets up around your bodies and pressed himself even closer to you. Finally, with you peacefully sleeping in his arms for the first time in days, he dozed off. 

It was only the next morning, when a familiar voice jolted him from sleep, that Joel had wished he thought to put on some clothes. His eyes snapped open, quickly finding a pair of brown ones that matched his own. Joel lurched forward, clutching at the blankets that had been kicked away, trying the best that he could to protect your sleeping form from an unwanted gaze. 

Tommy raised his eyebrows at him, politely averting his eyes as Joel’s fussing caused you to stir with an annoyed groan. 

“Joooooel, stop it! You fucked the shit out of me last night, it’s only fair that you let me sleep in you asshole,” you whined. 

Joel’s eyes widened, his face turning even redder as he looked up at his grinning little shit of a brother. Tommy chuckled and shook his head, looking like he had about a million jokes to crack as the eldest Miller did his best impression of a deer caught in headlights. You were none the wiser, already fast asleep at his side again and completely unaware of the bomb you had just dropped in front of the person you had been terrified to meet hours earlier. 

“Well howdy to you too big brother, looks like we’ve got a hell of a lot to catch up on.” 

[j-eryewrites]

The Great Game (II)

Part 20 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221 B Baker Street

Previous | Next

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Word Count: 5.7k

Author's Note: Agh! Finally. It has been so long since I have been able to write for Sherlock, John, and Y/N. Man, am I glad to be back? The chapter is not as long as I hoped it would be, but I am proud of it nonetheless. I hope I haven't made you all wait too long for this chapter.

Warnings: Crime scenes, gore, mentions of violence, canon typical violence, Sherlock is Sherlock (Let me know if I missed anything)

There was something weird. Greg couldn’t grasp it as he sat across Sherlock, John, and Y/N. John was fine if Greg excluded the serial bomber/killer case that they had on their hands. No, John wasn’t the problem. It was Y/N and Sherlock.

Greg’s eyes narrowed on the two of them. Sherlock bore his ever-expressionless face, but Greg was a cop, which meant he could read people, even if it weren’t up to Sherlock’s standard. It was the eyes that gave the consulting detective away as they subtly glanced over at Y/N. Greg stifled a snicker. Sherlock, no matter how hard he tried, could never be subtle. The man’s nature was to be bold and straightforward, something that became even more apparent in areas outside his expertise, such as love.

“She lives in Cornwall,” Lestrade began upon realizing he’d been staring at them for a few minutes. “Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park, and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house. Told her to phone you. She had to read out from this pager.” Greg placed the small pager on the desk in front of them.

Sherlock immediately snatched it away like an overzealous toddler. “And if she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off,” Sherlock finished.

“Or if you hadn't solved the case,” John added. He crossed his arms and looked down. The lines marking John’s face began to deepen just as they did during his time in the war.

“Oh… Elegant!” Sherlock smirked.

Greg, Y/N, and John collectively raised their brows. “Elegant?” Y/N questioned. Sherlock didn’t answer her.

“But what was the point? Why would anyone do this?” Lestrade asked, sensing something more behind Sherlock’s words.

“Oh, I can't be the only person in the world who gets bored,” Sherlock said, and an unwavering worry filled Y/N’s eyes.

“Sherlock, what do you mean by that?” Y/N wondered.

However, the pink phone buzzed before Sherlock could send her another glance. “You have one new message,” it chimed before beeping four times. The group froze.

“Four pips,” John noted.

“First test passed, it would seem” Sherlock pulled out the phone, and a new image displayed on the screen. “Here's the second.” They all leaned close to get a good look at the pixelated photo. “It's abandoned, wouldn't you say?” Sherlock questioned.

The image displayed was a car. Blood covered the seats and stained the inner lining of the vehicle. From the image alone, they all knew there was a murder. It was another puzzle Sherlock would need to solve.

“I'll see if it's been reported,” Lestrade said before turning his laptop to scan the incident reports filed by the station.

A new noise entered the fray as Greg clacked away at the keyboard. It was a knock on the door. The air soured as John, Sherlock, and Y/N looked to her, who stood there, Donovan.

Distaste marked her face as she scowled at Sherlock. She raised a phone. “Freak, it's for you.”

Y/n tensed upon hearing those words. No matter how often she came to Sherlock’s defense, that name always floated around. It was inescapable. She hated how a brilliant mind like his was hated and feared. Watching Sherlock calmly retrieve the phone from Donovan’s hand made Y/N’s heart clench. She knew he wasn’t okay with the name that haunted him. Maybe one day, she’d be able to get them to stop. Maybe Y/N could make Sherlock no longer hurt. She’d save him.

“Hello?” Sherlock lifted the phone to his ear.

A hesitant breath echoed over the phone. It was as if whoever was on the other end was terrified of breathing incorrectly. “It's okay that you've gone to the police,” the voice spoke. It was a young man based on intonation and pitch.

“Who is this?” Sherlock questioned. His phone gripped the phone tighter. “Is this you again?”

The voice ignored Sherlock’s questions and continued reading the message the true villain had written. “But don't rely on them. Clever you, guessing about Carl Powers. I never liked him.” The sound of traffic blared through the phone, and Sherlock’s breath hitched. The voice was somewhere crowded. “Carl laughed at me and her, so I stopped him laughing.”

Sherlock’s ears perked up. The killer had slipped up. A small smile crept onto his face, and his blue eyes peered over at Y/N, who was watching him. “Her?” Sherlock repeated. The voice over the phone was silent. An answer was not coming, so instead, Sherlock changed his approach. “And you've stolen another voice, I presume.”

“This is about you and me,” the voice said.

“Who are you? What's that noise?”

“The sounds of life, Sherlock. But don't worry…I can soon fix that,” The voice shuddered as a sob broke through. “You solved my last puzzle in nine hours. This time, you have eight.”

Withdrawing the phone from his ear, Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Whatever this criminal would throw at him, he’d solve it. He’d do anything to keep everyone safe.

“Okay… Great. We've found it!” Lestrade beamed. John and Y/N sat up, eager to hear what was in store. “The car was hired yesterday morning by Ian Monkford. Banker of some kind, City boy. Paid in cash. He told his wife he was going on a business trip but never arrived.”

Sherlock nodded his head. There was a momentary pause and a consensus agreement. All at once, Greg, Y/N, John, and Sherlock turned to leave the station and head to the crime scene. Sherlock led the way, and John and Lestrade trailed close behind. Y/N’s pace was slower than the others, and as she attempted to catch up to them, a head of dark curly hair stopped her.

Donovan held out her hand to Y/N’s chest, stopping her movement. She looked Y/N up and down before opening her mouth to speak. “You're still hanging around him.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, well…”

“Opposites attract, I suppose,” Donovan interrupted.

Y/N’s eyes widened, and before her silence could turn into a confession, she exclaimed, “Sherlock and I aren’t–”

Donovan couldn't care less as she spoke over Y/N once more. “You should get yourself a hobby – stamps, maybe. Cosmetics. Safer.”

Scoffing, Y/N brushed Donovan’s hand away. “If anyone needs to get a hobby, it’s you. After all, you like sticking your nose into people’s business and marriages.” Y/N didn’t stay to see Donovan’s stunned face. After all, the woman wasn’t worth it.

_____

A deep sigh escaped Lestrade's mouth as he placed his hands on his hips, watching Sherlock dive his head into the abandoned car. "Before you ask," Lestrade began watching as Sherlock's mouth instinctively closed. "Yes, it's Monkford's blood. The DNA checks out."

John and Y/N frowned as they peered into the car. Policemen and women were hard at work scouring the crime scene for anything that could be evidence. Forgotten buildings between destruction and construction made it hard to determine what was part of the crime and what was just there. The noise of everything around them was deafening, drowning out the puzzle pieces of the crime scene. Blood was everywhere in the vehicle, and…

"No body," Sherlock stated, placing a small slip of paper into his pocket. Y/N's eyes narrowed as the sheet of white disappeared into his coat. She couldn't help but smile softly at herself.

"Not yet," Donovan corrected as they walked past, dropping off a new bag of potential evidence.

"Get a sample sent to the lab," Sherlock instructed before moving on to his next target: the distraught woman standing at the edge of the crime scene. "Mrs Monkford?" Sherlock asked.

The woman looked up at Sherlock, tears in her eyes and trails of mascara running down her face. "Yes." She looked Sherlock up and down, raising her head to meet his gaze. "Sorry, but I've already spoken with two policemen," Mrs. Monkford explained.

"No," John corrected. "We're not from the police, we're…" His eyes glanced over to Y/N, who gave him an uncertain shrug. They were from the police, but not the police. They solved crimes and cases, but it was more of a personal business consultation.

Suddenly, a sharp sniffle escaped Sherlock's mouth. With stunned faces, John and Y/N whirled around to see Sherlock's eyes pink and tears rolling out. The shock soon faded to reveal confusion. What the hell was Sherlock doing? It was the collective thought between the two friends.

"Sherlock Holmes," he tearfully introduced. "A very old friend of your husband's. We, um…we grew up together."

Y/N was the first to catch on to Sherlock's bluff. She had to admit it was compelling. Each pause and somber glance at Mrs. Monkford seemed to grow in sincerity.

"I'm sorry, who?" Mrs. Monkford took Sherlock's hand and shook it. "I don't think he ever mentioned you."

"Oh," Sherlock said, "he must have done. This is… this is horrible, isn't it?" He looked to John and Y/N, who did not waste time nodding solemnly to Sherlock's act. "I mean, I just can't believe it. I only saw him the other day. Same old Ian – not a care in the world."

The saddened look in Mrs. Monkford's eyes hardened upon hearing Sherlock's words. "Sorry, but my husband has been depressed for months." She stood up straighter to get a better look at Sherlock. "Who are you?" She asked once again.

If Y/N weren't looking, she wouldn't caught the slight smirk that flashed across Sherlock's face. Soon, the sadness in Sherlock's voice was replaced by his calculated nature. "Really strange that he hired a car. Why would he do that? It's a bit suspicious, isn't it?"

Shaking her head, Mrs. Monkford refuted Sherlock's question. "No, it isn't. He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that's all."

Instantly, the mask was back on and amped up the act a hundred times stronger. "Oh, well, that was Ian! That was Ian all over!" Sherlock exclaimed, earning looks from the policemen and women working the crime scene.

"No, it wasn't," Mrs. Monkford snapped.

"Wasn't it?" Any trace of deception was gone. Sherlock was back. "Interesting," he muttered before turning on the ball of his foot out of the crime scene.

Y/N and John darted after Sherlock; their lungs heaved when they reached him. John silently cursed Sherlock's long legs. "Why did you lie to her?" John wondered.

"People don't like telling you things," Sherlock explained smugly, "but they love to contradict you. Past tense, did you notice?"

"Sorry, what?" Y/N asked, trying to match her pace to Sherlock's.

"I referred to her husband in the past tense," Sherlock noted. "She joined in. Bit premature – they've only just found the car."

"You think she murdered her husband?" John questioned, quickly glancing over his shoulder at Mrs. Monkford, whose figure kept growing smaller and smaller with each step he took.

"Definitely not," Sherlock stated. "That's not a mistake a murderer would make."

"I see," John nodded. Y/N peeked out in front of Sherlock's body to look at John and raised her brows, asking for a clue. In response, he shrugged and shook his head, " Never mind, no, I don't. What am I seeing?"

"Where are we going now?" Y/N interjected as Sherlock led them to a cab waiting on the side of the road. Hoping in, he patted the seat next to him.

"Janus Cars," Y/N and John trickled into the leather seats. Once the doors closed, Sherlock pulled out the tiny card he had collected from the rental car. "Just found this in the glove compartment." He passed it over to John and Y/N, who took turns observing the paper. JANUS CARS was in all caps in the center of the business card.

"A bit bold for my taste," Y/N muttered, earning a few smiles from her companions.

______

It was a typical car garage. Mechanics scribbled on their clipboards as they diagnosed the issue with the cars in the shop. Y/N stood at the office window, watching them work so as not to acknowledge the overzealous man sitting behind the desk.

She had glanced at the man in his freshly pressed suit, sharp tan lines, and overly gelled hair. Working with Sherlock had its ups and downs, and one such down was running into men like Mr. Ewert, who believed they deserved the world just for existing.

"Can't see how I can help you, gentlemen," Mr. Ewert said. Y/N cleared her throat and continued to look out the window with a careful ear listening in. "And lady."

"Mr. Monkford hired the car from you yesterday," John read from Lestrade's notes.

Ewert nodded and slumped back into his office chair. His hands came to rest on top of the walnut-colored desk. "Yeah. Lovely motor," Ewert said. "Mazda RX-8. Wouldn't mind one of them myself!"

He flashed a smile and glanced around the room, looking for validation for the comment about the car.

Sherlock allowed the urge to roll his eyes to overcome him. He glanced over to Y/N. His eyes dissected every part of her as his heart pounded in her chest. Quickly shaking his head, he tore his focus off Y/N and onto the car, visible through the window. "Is that one?" He asked.

"No," Ewert shook his head. "They're all Jags." He peered at Sherlock and chuckled, "Yeah, I can see you're not a car man, eh?"

Sherlock frowned, unsure of what Ewert was insinuating. "But, er, surely you can afford one – a Mazda, I mean?"

Ewert sank even deeper into his chair and grinned. "Yeah, it's a fair point. But you know how it is." He looked to John, who sat in front of him. "It's like working in a sweetshop. Once you start picking at the licorice allsorts, when does it all stop, eh?"

"But you didn't know Mr. Monkford?" John asked, ignoring Ewert's attempts at relation.

"No," Ewert shook his head. "He was just a client. Came in here and hired one of my cars. No idea what happened to him. Poor sod!"

At this, Y/N peered over her shoulder and frowned. Her eyes caught sight of Sherlock's, who honed in on hers. His blue eyes flickered with the same realization. They had only come asking about Mr. Monkford and the car he hired—nothing about anything happening to the man.

"Nice holiday, Mr. Ewert?" Sherlock inquired, sending Y/N a brief smile before returning to his questioning subject.

"Eh?" Ewert frowned.

"You've been away, haven't you?" Sherlock clarified.

"Oh, the-the…" Ewert's relaxed expression faltered under Sherlock's harsh gaze. "No, it's, er, sunbeds, I'm afraid, yeah. Too busy to get away. My wife would love it, though – a bit of sun."

"Have you got any change for the cigarette machine?" Sherlock blurted.

"What?" Ewert asked.

"Well," Sherlock sighed. "I noticed one on the way in and I haven't got any change." He took out a bill and showed it to Ewert.

Y/N bit her lip, hiding her frown. Her and Mrs. Hudson's mission was to get Sherlock to stop. Mrs Hudson stated that Sherlock needed to pay her for all the damages in his flat, but Y/N knew it was because she genuinely cared. They both did, and with each day, Y/N cared more and more. Maybe she cared too much for her own good.

"I'm gasping," Sherlock pleaded.

Pulling out his wallet and flicking through the colorful bills, Ewert shook his head. "Um, well…No, sorry."

"Oh well," Sherlock said before strolling to the door. "Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Ewert. You've been very helpful." Noticing John and Y/N still stood in their places, Sherlock called out to them. "Come on, John and Y/N."

John hurriedly shut his book full of notes and pocketed them before pulling out his wallet. Meanwhile, Y/N pulled her attention away from the cars. It was honestly like watching some paint dry.

John opened the wallet and pulled out some change. "I-I've got change if you still want to, uh…" he motioned to the cigarette machine before catching sight of Y/N's eyes. Ashamed, he looked down and hid his wallet away.

"Nicotine patches," Sherlock proudly announced. "Remember? I'm doing well."

"I told you to cut back on those, Sherlock," Y/N hissed. She'd swore she'd gotten everything out of the flat the other day. However, Sherlock's elusiveness always got the best of her.

"I need them to think," Sherlock defended.

"Well, that doesn’t sound very healthy to me," she retorted. Sherlock huffed and peered down at the woman.

Sensing a brewing argument, John stepped in and took charge. "So what was that all about?"

"I needed to look inside his wallet," Sherlock stated.

"Why?" John wondered.

"Cause he's a liar/Mr. Ewert's a liar." Y/N and Sherlock said at the same time.

Sherlock gazed down at Y/N in awe. A proud smile adorned his face as he hopped in the cab awaiting them. As John and Y/N made their way into the car, they found their path stopped by Sherlock.

"What are you doing?" John asked as he was pushed out of the cab and onto the curb with Y/N.

"Going to the lab," Sherlock announced. John and Y/N frowned. "I need silence."

"He means he doesn't want us going with him."

"An astute observation, Y/N." Sherlock sat back in the seat. "We need beans and milk."

With that, the cab door closed, and Sherlock was gone. Y/N groaned into her hand as John cursed, hailing another cab.

It was a couple of moments before another cab came around, and the two of them scrambled inside. Once the door was closed and on their way back to Baker Street, Y/n turned to John.

"Tea at mine?"

John nodded. "How's Bjørn? Haven't seen him for a while."

"He's good." Y/N chuckled. I'm starting to think Bjørn's in the right with his dislike of Sherlock.

John snickered, "the animals always know."

"That they do."

A wave of giggles filled the back seat of the cab. Y/N smiled. She was glad she had a friend in John. It was safe to say John felt the same way.

______

The lab was quiet—just as Sherlock liked it—had. It was too quiet now. His thoughts thundered and screamed at him—thoughts of Y/N, the cases, who M may be, and most of all, thoughts of Y/N.

The shoes that started this all were found in her flat. It was a message not just about the shoes but also about her. M knew. M knew Sherlock held sentiment towards her. That Sherlock loved her. Sherlock shook his head. Sherlock had to protect her from M, and so to protect her, he'd make himself stop loving her. He had to, even if he knew it was an impossible task. Sherlock had to make himself stop, even if he knew he never could. He loved her. So, deciding the next best thing was to make her stop caring for him. Sherlock was good at that; that task itself was not impossible; just figuring out how was the next step.

While his mind configured a plan, Sherlock narrowed his eyes and peered into the telescope before him. He pulled back and frowned. Just then, the pink phone on the countertop beside him rang.

"Hello?" Sherlock answered.

"The clue's in the name," the voice announced. "Janus Cars."

Sherlock furrowed his brows. "Why would you be giving me a clue?"

"Why does anyone do anything?" The voice spoke. "Because I'm bored. We were made for each other, Sherlock." The man reading the message sobbed.

"Then talk to me in your own voice," Sherlock demanded.

"Patience," the man said, and the call ended. Sherlock sighed and glanced around the room. It was empty except for him, and he grew to hate the loneliness he felt. He missed Y/N and John's presence. He missed his friends. He missed her. Groaning, Sherlock began to realize how difficult his plan would be, and for the first time in his life, he was not sure he had the strength to see it through. But for now, a case needed to be solved. Solving the case was the best way to keep those he loved safe until he could figure something else out.

_______

"How much blood was on that seat, would you say?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

"How much? About a pint," Lestrade replied, shoving his hands in his coat to conceal his shivers. The garage where the police had stored the car from the scene only seemed to amplify the freezing temperatures outside. It appeared that even John and Y/N were inflicted by the cold. All except Sherlock. Lestrade peered at Sherlock and the coat he wore. Now that he thought of it, Lestrade wondered if he'd ever seen Sherlock shiver. Maybe he needed to ask Sherlock where he purchased his coat.

"Not 'about," Sherlock corrected. "Exactly a pint. That was their first mistake. The blood's definitely Ian Monkford's, but it's been frozen."

"Frozen?" Greg repeated.

"There are clear signs," Sherlock noted, and Y/N sighed, recalling the frozen and boiling blood experiment Sherlock had conducted in his flat not too long ago. "I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago, and that's what they spread on the seats."

"Who did?" John wondered.

"Janus Cars," Sherlock answered, murmuring under his breath, "The clue's in the name."

"The god with two faces," Y/N blurted, missing Sherlock's proud smile. "Sorry, I was really interested in mythology as a kid. "

"Exactly," Sherlock beamed.

"Mmm," John hummed, looking at how Sherlock gazed at Y/N. Upon hearing John's gaze, Sherlock tore his eyes away and strolled to the car.

"They provide a very special service," Sherlock began. "If you've got any kind of a problem – money troubles, bad marriage, whatever – Janus Cars will help you disappear. Ian Monkford was up to his eyes in some kind of trouble – financial, at a guess; he's a banker. Couldn't see a way out. But if he were to vanish if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the driver's seat…"

"So where is he?" John asked.

"Colombia," Sherlock replied.

"Colombia?!" Lestrade gasped with his eyes growing wide. Dealing with police affairs in London was hard enough as it was, but to add a case involving another country? He certainly was not paid enough for that.

"Mr. Ewert of Janus Cars had a twenty thousand Colombian peso note in his wallet…" Sherlock glanced at John and Y/N, hoping they'd connect.

"That's why you asked for change," Y/N said.

Sherlock nodded. "…Quite a bit of change, too. He told us he hadn't been abroad recently, but when I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly. No one wears a shirt on a sunbed. That, plus his arm."

"His arm?" Lestrade asked, confused by all the inside knowledge shared between John, Y/N, and Sherlock.

"Kept scratching it," Sherlock explained. "Obviously irritating him and bleeding."

John opened his mouth to say something when Sherlock cut him off, anticipating his question. "Why? Because he'd recently had a booster jab. Hep-B, probably. It is difficult to tell at that distance. Conclusion: he'd just returned from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Columbia. Mrs Monkford cashes in the life insurance, and she splits it with Janus Cars."

"M-Mrs Monkford?" John questioned.

Sherlock's eyes widened. "Oh yes. She's in on it, too." Lestrade felt his head growing dizzy from all the back-and-forth. The calling of his name snapped him out of the daze. Looking to who called him, Lestrade found Sherlock, who was ready to relay his next instruction.

"Now go and arrest them, Inspector. That's what you do best. We need to let our friendly bomber know that the case is solved. I am on fire!" Sherlock's cheer and a particular pink phone ringing echoed throughout the garage.

Sherlock answered, placing the phone on speaker. Lestrade, John, and Y/N grew silent as they listened. "He says you can come and fetch me. Help. Help me, please."

______

It wasn't until they had stopped at Speedy's to recuperate that Y/N realized her exhaustion. Her head hung heavy as it rested against the table. Once full of eggs, toast, and some sausage, her plate was now licked clean. John was in a similar state. However, he chose to lean back in the chair rather than collapse on the table. Sherlock, however, sat tall. His spine was as straight as a needle, and his blue eyes were observed in his companion's sluggish behavior.

"Feeling better?" Sherlock uttered.

"Mmm," John groaned. "You realize we've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started? Has it occurred to you…?"

"Probably," Sherlock answered.

John shook his head as Y/N tilted hers to look up at him and Sherlock. "No, " John continued. "Has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope, breaking into Y/N’s flat, the dead kid's shoes – it's all meant for you."

At the mention of all the cases, the shoes, the break-in. The group grew quiet. Y/N gulped and suddenly wished she hadn't stuffed her face with food a few minutes prior.

"…Yes, I know." Sherlock was the first to break the silence.

"Is it him, then? Moriarty?" John asked.

Y/N's ears perked up. There was something about that name—Moriarty. Yes, it was part of the case. "M" equaled Moriarty, but that didn't interest her. Something long and forgotten called to her via the name. Although a part of her desired to understand, another feared what would happen if it was discovered.

"Perhaps," Sherlock muttered. The pink phone on the table buzzed before chiming three times. The three of them peered at the photo that appeared on the screen. While Sherlock's face was confused, John and Y/N's eyes widened with recognition. The bleached blonde hair in a choppy bob, well-defined side part, dark purple eye shadow, red lips, and big, bold, shiny earrings could only be one person.

"That could be anybody," Sherlock grumbled.

"Well, it could be, yeah." John shrugged. "Lucky for you, Y/N and I have too much time on our hands."

"How d'you mean?" Sherlock asked, glancing between the two of them.

"Lucky for you, Mrs. Hudson, Y/N, and I watch far too much telly," John clarified. Turning over his shoulder, John pointed to the television in the cafe's corner.

The woman from the photo appeared on the screen. She said With a bright, cheery smile, "Thank you, Tyra! Doesn't she look lovely, everybody, now?"

Suddenly, the pink phone rang, pulling the group's attention away from the telly.

"Anyway, speaking of silk purses and sows' ears…," the television continued.

"Hello?" Sherlock answered.

"This one… is a bit… defective. Sorry. She's blind," the voice cracked. Y/N's eyes widened, and she quickly covered her mouth to silence any leaking noise. "This is… a funny one. I'll give you… twelve hours."

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock asked.

"I like… to watch you… dance," the woman gasped, and the phone call ended.

Y/N paled as she looked at Sherlock. She always called it 'dancing' when Sherlock solved his cases. That's the only way she could explain it to others. With each puzzle, the fear in Y/N's stomach pooled. Yes, this was for Sherlock, but she began questioning her role in it all. Not everything could be a coincidence: her flat, the familiarity of Moriarty, now the dancing. It all leads to her being a target, too.

The telly seemed to deafen Y/N's anxious thoughts,"…continuing into the sudden death of the popular TV personality, Connie Prince. Miss Prince, famous for her make-over programs, was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in Hampstead…"

As they watched the television, Y/N made a silent prayer. A prayer that they'd solve these cases, catch whoever Moriarty was, and, most of all, have everyone make it out in the end. Peering over at Sherlock, she prayed that he'd solve it in time and, if her worst fears were confirmed, save her.

______

Y/N only needed one glance at the body before she was confident she was going to be sick. She'd seen bodies before. It was all a part of the job, but after the dancing men case, seeing the dead only made things harder. Y/N blamed it on her empathy. She cared too much about people. It didn't matter if they were people she knew, watched on the television, or just everyday folks whom she passed by on the street. People were people, and no one deserved to die in a manner like this. No one deserved to be killed.

"Connie Prince," Lestrade stated as he looked down at the body on the slab. Sherlock circled around the table, scanning every aspect of the deceased woman. "Fifty-four. She had one of those make-over shows on the telly. Did you see it?"

"No," Sherlock shook his head as Y/N and John nodded.

Lestrade took note of John and Y/N's reaction and turned to the conversation with them, allowing Sherlock the space to work his magic. "Very popular. She was going places," Lestrade said.

Before John could concur, Sherlock interjected, "Not anymore."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group, and Y/N felt the contents of her stomach stir. She swore there was a bathroom somewhere down the hall.

"So," Sherlock continued, unaffected by the silence he created. "Dead two days. According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound," he noted, looking at the cut along the palm of her hand. "Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream. Good night, Vienna."

"I suppose," John murmured.

Sherlock stopped prowling around the body and frowned. "Something's wrong with this picture," he said.

"Eh?" Lestrade raised a brow.

"Can't be as simple as it seems," Sherlock explained. "Otherwise, the bomber wouldn't be directing us towards it. Something's wrong. John?"

"Mmm?" John hummed, looking away from the body.

"The cut on her hand: it's deep; would have bled a lot, right?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded, "Yeah." Then he began to walk around the body just as Sherlock had, hoping to uncover the fault in the picture. However, no matter how much he scrunched his face, he could find anything.

"But the wound's clean – very clean and fresh. How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?" Sherlock questioned.

"Eight, ten days," John answered. Immediately, his eyes widened. "The cut was made later."

"After she was dead?" Greg asked in clarification, stepping to the body to look at the cut.

"Must have been. The only question is," Sherlock wondered, "how did the tetanus enter the dead woman's system?" Sherlock whirled around to John and Y/N. "You two want to help, right?"

"Of course," John replied. Y/N nodded, trying to keep her food down.

"Connie Prince's background – family history, everything. Give me data," Sherlock instructed.

"Right," John said, making haste to leave the room. He flashed Y/N a look of concern as the two of them left the room, who whispered she was fine.

"There's something else that we haven't thought of," said Lestrade once Y/N and John were gone.

"Is there?" Sherlock pondered.

"Yes. Why is he doing this," Lestrade began, "the bomber? If this woman's death was suspicious, why point it out?"

"Good Samaritan," Sherlock jokingly stated.

"…who press-gangs suicide bombers?" questioned Lestrade.

Sherlock frowned. "Bad Samaritan."

"I'm – I'm serious, Sherlock." Lestrade pulled Sherlock to face him, staring him deep in the eye. "Listen, I'm cutting you slack here; I'm trusting you, and so is John and Y/N – but out there somewhere, some poor bastard's covered in Semtex and is just waiting for you to solve the puzzle. So just tell me - what are we dealing with?"

"Something new," Sherlock said with an unconscious smile growing on his face. "Come with me, Gary."

"Where are we going?" Greg asked as Sherlock hastily left the room without answering him. "…and it's Greg."

It was not long before Greg discovered their destination, 221 B Baker Street. However, he was still unsure why Sherlock had him come along. His dark eyes watched as Sherlock paced and twirled around the room, muttering to himself. Sometimes, Lestrade questioned whether or not this was all a show. Sherlock seemed to enjoy impressing an audience, not that Greg doubted Sherlock's abilities. The consulting detective was a genius; that knowledge was a certainty. It was the performance, the pauses, eye rolls, and smirks as he deducted each crime scene. It was almost as if Sherlock was excessively enjoying this all.

"Connection, connection, connection," Sherlock mumbled. "There must be a connection. Carl Powers was killed twenty years ago. The bomber knew him; admitted that he knew him." Lestrade nodded, trying to follow along." The bomber's iPhone was in stationery from the Czech Republic. First hostage from Cornwall; the second from London; the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent." Sherlock stopped and looked at his makeshift mural on the living room wall with pictures of evidence from each puzzle. "What's he doing – working his way round the world? Showing off?"

"Sound like someone I know," Lestrade wanted to say, but the pink phone rang before he could.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" the old woman repeated to Sherlock. "Joining the… dots. Three hours. Boom… boom," she sobbed before the phone was cut off.

Sherlock lowered the phone. The game had begun long ago, and now it was nearing its end. He could feel it deep within him and was determined to win.

_____

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_____

[tunastime]

A Moment Called Forever

waves my hands about! this is the first chapter (ish) of the docsuma SEN fic for my au I created for Stretching Endless Night!! it is. eventual docsuma! but I wanted to go into detail about who xisuma and his crew were before the Prometheus, before tango met jimmy, and before ethubs had their near fatal mission :3 so here it is! yaay!!

Xisuma pilots a ship known as the HSS Moonrise. His career begins--and nearly ends--with the crew and missions aboard during the first five years of his captain's career. Doc, the right hand to a captain far too young to be piloting, rebuilds himself from the ground up alongside the crew of a ship that's become family. At the same time, he watches his captain grow and change and root himself firmly into his life. Or: Doc and Xisuma watch their lives change and reflect each other. Or: how the Prometheus station came to be, and how its Admiral, alongside his captains, help it blossom. (2414 words)

Stationed ELMSC-14, stardate 2204.60. Deployed: Cpt. Xisuma V. LtCmd. Doc M., LtCmd. Cleo Z., Lt. Slip G., Lt. Mumbo J., Lt. Tango T. Stationed: Lt. Biffa T.

Conditions: visibility, 50km, clear, winds NW 2km. Communications established. Radar operational. Pinging team leader.

Xisuma shuts the screen on his visor, blocking out the binary suns and washing the world in shade and orange grids. Elm is devoid of surface life, long since uninhabited by the companies that had mined underground. In front of him stretches orange-red sand and large, smooth cliffs. It reminds him a lot of pictures of Earth—deserts and mesas with the sun high ahead of them. Tango’s voice crackles to life, then smoothes out as he speaks.

“So what’re we lookin’ for, X?”

X turns his head, glancing back at Tango a pace behind him. To Tango’s left is Mumbo, with a bag slung across his chest, much like Xisuma. Tango hefts the core sampler further up onto his back—likely less from the weight and more to keep balanced. 

“Anything,” Xisuma answers truthfully. “Like you both know, this place was abandoned ages ago. Anything we can find to either prove it’s worth using or prove it’s good to leave is good for HASA.”

Mumbo sighs. 

“Wow,” he says. “Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen soil this orange before.”

“I’ve never seen soil,” Tango jokes, voice dipping as he elbows Mumbo. Mumbo snorts, shoving him sideways.

“We get it, robo-man.”

Tango scoffs—or makes a noise that sounds just like it.

“Android! First of all!” he huffs. Xisuma sees him fold his arms when he glances back. “Anyway—the red comes from enriched iron deposits in the sediment. Partially magnesium as well.”

Below his visor, Xisuma grins.

“Says the man who’s never seen soils,” he pipes up. Mumbo laughs.

“Just because I’ve never seen ‘em doesn’t mean I didn’t learn everything I know from skimming Biff’s books,” Tango says. 

“You’ve got a point,” X says. He hears Tango agree with him, something that crackles into obscurity as Cleo’s voice rings clear through the communicator.

“Xisuma,” she says.

“Go ahead,”

“Hey—” Cleo starts. “We’ve not found anything over here yet, and we’re about a kilometer or so from the first dig point. Should we keep going?”

“Affirmative, Cleo,” Xisuma says. “You all can keep going—we’re about 800 meters from ours, so we’ll stop here before we move onto the next one.”

Tango jogs to walk at his side, pulling up his projection of Elm’s surface. Laid out in a flat grid, Xisuma can see their current point, a small blip on the screen, and the location they’re trying to reach, a larger, solid shape behind the next crest. He leans into Tango’s space to glance at the map, and Tango bumps their shoulders together. Leaning back, smile on his face, Xisuma says:

“I want to get at least two done each today before we get back to the ship. That only leaves three total for tomorrow, and it’s more than likely we’ll be able to extrapolate one from orbit.”

“Heard,” Cleo says. “We’ll let you know if we find anything interesting, yeah?”

“Please do!” X chirps. “That’s the whole point of us being out here.”

Doc’s voice breaks through the communicator as he laughs. 

“Aye, aye, Captain,” he says. X snorts, shaking his head.

“Be safe out there, you lot—” he laughs. “Cleo, Slip, Doc—”

“Why me?” Doc cuts through. 

“Accident prone,” Tango supplies. 

Xisuma laughs, waving his hand. 

“Okay, okay,” he says, trying to quell the conversation. “Let us know if you find anything of note, or if we can help you at all after our two digs. We’ve got about 3 kilometers total today, so we may have a little less further to go than you.”

“Will do, Captain,” Cleo says. “Thanks, X.”

“Sure thing.”

Xisuma hums to himself, amused, as Cleo’s transmission ends. The three, Tango, Xisuma, Mumbo, walk in a line along the orange rock and sand, following the path of the map and Tango’s guidance. Tango steps ahead of Xisuma, curled over the map, shoulders hunched as he walks. He walks with the surety of someone who can see nearly everything around him, without interference or blindspots. He follows the bob of Tango’s head, caught in the yellow shimmer of his overlay as they walk. They make it up a rise and partway down into a valley. The sand kicks up behind them, swirling and settling as they go. Their bootprints in the rock and dirt are obscured as soon as they’re made.

The valley sits in a low between two other large faces, though the area itself is raised high above the ground. The rocky plateau dips and curves, creating large holes in the rock, smooth hills, and flat rises. If Xisuma were to walk a kilometer out to the west, he could see where the cliff face drops into the depression below, a sunken crater from mining operations in the years prior.

After a few minutes, Tango slows to pause, turning to look back at the two behind him. Though Xisuma can barely see his bright, neon eyes from behind the visor, he can tell when he meets eyes with both of them, nodding. Xisuma tilts his head.

“Here?” he asks.

Tango nods.

“Looks like it from our map, here,” he says, holding it out for X to look at. The blip of red against the screen is right over their geographical point for their first dig. Xisuma nods, then, unclipping his data pad from his hip and beginning to note down their surroundings.

“I’ll start field conditions while you two start the sample,” he says. “You remember what we’re looking for?”

“How could I forget?” Tango pipes up, patting his helmet with his glove. Xisuma snorts. He’s not sure it picks up through their linked comms, but he’s sure the shake of his head gets his notion across.

“Let Mumbo help you, alright?” he says. Tango shoots him a thumbs up. 

Mumbo unhooks the drill machine from Tango’s bag, setting the chunky piece of equipment into the dirt. The two begin the process of setting up the sample drill together, lifting the bulky box to release the feet, straightening it to level. Xisuma turns away from them, staring out across the orange sand and yellow sky, still instinctively shielding his face from the binary suns. He can see across the valley and to another crest, the wide slopes bright orange and gold in the early day light. From behind his visor, Xisuma smiles, laughing to himself.

The conditions are clear, low wind, cold. It’s not a planet that ever housed life on the surface, so the frigid conditions aren’t an issue. X is certain something likely could survive, human, humanoid, or otherwise, but nothing ever did that anyone saw. He was hopeful that it remained that way, though no scan of the surface and ten feet under gave anything away. He marks down what he could classify the soil as by sight, but the soil tests would have to confirm what he knew once they got back to the ship. When he turns back to Mumbo and Tango, Tango is crouched by the core-sampler, watching it dig into the sand and rock, and Mumbo is sitting against a rock, staring at the orange sky. He makes his way back over, setting the data pad back on his hip.

“Workin’ fine?” he asks.

Mumbo nods, giving him a thumbs up.

“Working great,” he says. “Looks like it’ll be about fifteen minutes until we get a complete sample, and we can start analysis while we’re hiking to the next point.”

X nods.

“Tango,” he asks. Tango’s head perks up. “Where is the next data point?”

“Good question,” Tango starts. He unlatches his communicator, pulling up the map projection. “It looks like about a kilometer. To the northeast, so we might meet Cleo, Doc, and Slip on the way, if they haven’t reached their second waypoint. Theirs is due north of ours.”

Xisuma nods.

“About a thirty minute walk?” he asks. Tango nods. 

“Just about.”

“Fantastic.”

For a long moment, Xisuma watches the core-sampler rotate slowly. He watches the percentages rise and fall as Tango starts to talk about what he expects the composition of the soil will be. Mumbo pipes up at some point, adding to the bidding, though the two quickly lapse into chatter about the next project they might receive. Where Mumbo specialized in many of the ship’s electronic components, Tango had quickly caught on, in their nearly two and a half, if not three, years together, to how the major functions of the ship worked. He could make repairs quicker than the rest of the team, especially in orbit. There was more EVA time recorded by Tango than any other member of the crew—with no need for oxygen, and with sun exposure being his only real worry, Tango could work quickly outside in minimal conditions. In fact, if Xisuma hadn’t been worried about wind and UV damage, Tango probably wouldn’t have donned a suit for this mission. But he did, and he stood looking small against the orange sand.

As the drill lifts the sample into one of its chambers, Tango begins the shutdown process. He and Mumbo lift the legs into the machine, boxing it together and reattaching the carrying strap. Dusting off the surface, Tango slings it over one shoulder, resettling it on his back.

“Alright,” Xisuma says cheerily. “Are you all ready?”

There’s a beat between when Xisuma finishes speaking and when Tango goes to answer. In that beat, no more than a second, there’s a high-pitched ringing in Xisuma’s ears. He squeezes his eyes shut. And in the less-than-a-second afterward, the air and ground wobbles, and something, not even two kilometers away, explodes. 

Xisuma ducks on instinct, stumbling as the sound and air hits him. He hears Mumbo’s voice through the communicator—what he thinks is Mumbo’s, because he doesn’t hear anything else until the ringing fades and he rights himself. He whips around, trying to find the source of the explosion, searching for anything, really, to make things make sense, to place a face to the sound, sharp and still stinging his ears. He sees a plume of sand and smoke in the distance. The back of his mouth suddenly feels very, very dry.

“Tango—” he shouts. “Mumbo, are you two—”

“Fine!” Mumbo says. “Tango’s fine, too—”

“‘M right here, what—”

“An explosion?” Xisuma manages. “I dunno—”

Xisuma chokes on his next breath as he tries to force the words out. His hand comes to his wrist, fiddling with his communicator.

“That wasn’t that far—” Tango starts.

“Cleo,” Xisuma starts, paging his lieutenant. “Cleo, Doc, Slip, are you three all alright?”

“Xisuma—” Cleo says, words crackling. The crackling never fades, though, like she’s caught in static. Her words come choppy through the haze. “Something just—we hit something—”

“Cleo, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Cleo manages. Her voice is wobbily. “Something we dug up—my vision’s busted, I-I can’t find Slip and Doc—”

Xisuma freezes. Very quickly, all of his joints go cold, down to his wrist and fingertips. He swallows hard, forcing down the heartbeat in his throat and pulling in a breath of oxygen too sharp and too cold.

“Tango,” he starts, voice leveling. Static surfaces and fades in his visor, the remnant of heat and dust washing over them as he tastes the tang of filtered air in his mouth. “Comm Biffa and tell him to bring the ship as close as he can to the second extraction point—” he turns, facing the two of them. “It has a bigger trauma kit on board. If someone’s suit got damaged it’s not gonna last long.”

“Okay,” Tango manages, taking a step back. Xisuma watches him fiddle with the transponder on his wrist before he sees his name blink from his HUD as he switches channels.

“Mumbo how far is their extraction point from here?” Xisuma asks, recalling the projection of the map of their portion of Elm. He can see the faint blip of Cleo’s transponder across the terrain.

“It’s—maybe a few kilometers. It’s not far? I think—I think it’s not far. I—” Mumbo stutters. “Yeah. Why?”

“Biffa won’t make it in time—” Xisuma says, tightening the straps for his bag, the data pad at his side. He brings up the overlay for both the extraction points and the dig locations. “I mean—he can get to you, but I need someone on board who knows how to set up the trauma kit, and that’s you, Mumbo. And I need someone to make sure we don’t damage the sample.”

“Do you think you’ll make it in time?” Mumbo asks.

“I—I have to, don’t I? I need you and Tango to stay here.”

“Woah—” Tango starts. “Captain, I—that’s a huge risk—”

“Tango,” Xisuma starts. “Lieutenant, I need someone with Mumbo, you’re the only one who can co-navigate with Biffa out of the two of you, and I need Mumbo in medical. And someone has to fetch the sample. Can I trust you to do that, Tango?”

“Yes—yessir.”

“Good—what’s Biffa’s ETA?”

“He—with takeoff sequence, he’ll be able to make it here in 35 minutes.”

“That’s good,” Xisuma manages. “That’s all we can ask for—we can work with that, can’t we?”

He laughs. It’s thin and weak, but Mumbo lets out a heh in response that washes over his nerves like a salve. He swallows, trying to get the dry feeling out of his mouth. He turns toward the plume of smoke for a moment, eyes flicking back to the group.

“X,” Tango says. “Be careful.”

Right. Okay. Xisuma shudders out a sigh. It’s more of a whistle, really, through the helmet. He does it because he thinks he can feel bile rising in his throat, and he’d really not like to get sick with no way of cleaning anything out.Something small in his abdomen curls up, tight and heavy. In that same moment, he sets his jaw. His vision is clouded with the heavy orange overlay, cutting through the rise of smoke that’s just started to cloud his vision. Turning back to Tango, he nods firmly.

“Tango—”

“I have comm until you get back,” Tango says, nodding back at him.

“Yes—” Xisuma starts. “Good luck. Good luck.” 

Stepping backward, Xisuma feels a cold rush through his body. Then he turns, fully, toward the smoke.

[tulipe-rose]

My contribution to the Dazai week 2024→ Day 1

"A good night's sleep isn't so bad sometimes..."

TW: Dazai typical suicide mentions, and sleep deprivation

This will include hcs, a little theory, and a little bit of platonic KuniZai. I deviated a little from the main point for the majority of the fic, but I tried ig TvT

Prologue

Dazai, and sleep.

Their relationship has been strained for as long as he could remember, and while it might not be saying much due to his usually awful memory, it was one of the things he had absolute certainty over when it came to himself.

He had always been a light sleeper, his body refusing to sleep anywhere with a fraction of light, feeling too vulnerable, and exposed, which prompted him to take an abandoned shipping container stationed at the Yokohama docks as a sleeping quarters. His Boss, Mōri Ōgai, tried to offer him a befitting apartment on numerous occasions, but Dazai always turned him down bluntly. Dazai preferred loathed the solitary atmosphere of the container, and found himself leaning towards not owning many material possessions; his suicidal tendancies came hand in hand with a minimalistic nature, since he believed his life would end up falling short in the end. This mindset carried over with him to later years, his current apartment, and over all lifestyle as proof.

Dazai's sleep schedule was mostly controlled by his mood, and assigned missions back in the day, usually dropping himself face first into his pillow after a mission that dragged out for too long, and he was absolutely beat; his naps never exceeded four hours because of either discomfort, or notice of another mission.

During the two year gap between his defection, and employment at the agency, Dazai's paranoia demon haunted him for days on end which prevented him from resting well, further worsening his mentality, and physical health; he ended up collapsing on the spot one day, so he started forcing himself into a sleeping state for just about long enough to keep himself alive.

Finally out of hiding he is, which leads us to now, where Dazai is a new hire at the armed detective agency, a very annoying loveable one to a dear co-worker amongst others at that, bringing his terrible relationship with this body necessity along with him as it presists.

____________________________________

It's been a few weeks since Dazai was hired at the armed detective agency, and since the azure apostle case was resolved. It is another tedious day on the job, or as tedious as it could get in their line of work, and as per usual Dazai is lounging about, doing anything but his job. He is humming tunes to his favorite song, he is reading his suicide hand book, and serving as an ever torturous pain to his co-worker, Kunikida Doppo, and his schedule.

Kunikida, and Dazai have fallen into a routinely set of arguments over the past few weeks that mostly entailed Kunikida punching sense into Dazai that didn't seem to ever reach into him, and the latter throwing back teasing remarks at the bespectacled man, laughing away at his partner's reaction.

Today the agency doesn't have any investigations sent it's way this far, so Dazai, and Kunikida were instead assigned to run a few errands that were pushed aside in favour of more urgent matters this week. The president entrusted them to get them done by the end of today, and Kunikida decided that he isn't going to disappoint, taking it upon himself to whip Dazai into not being a flaming disapointment for once by extension.

Dazai on the other hand was feeling exceptionally drowsy, not really caring much for the task, sleep was too hard these past few days; it was terrible to the point where he couldn't even force it– the blinds weren't enough to block out that detestable bright sign set up by their neighbors across the street. His eyes are droopier than usual, and his eye bags are slightly heavier, which went unnoticed by his colleague, for now. Dazai being himself managed to put up his usual playful, and teasing demeanor despite himself, already plotting ways to take down that wretched banner. Until then, he'll keep himself composed enough around his co-workers until office hours are over, won't be that hard.

After a verbal match between the two, Kunikida managed to get Dazai to finally leave the office.

“Kunikidaaa-kuuun!! I want to stop by the Cafeeee I heard they hired a beautiful waitress there! I need to ask her to a double suicide before someone beats me to it! I have a feeling she's the one~~”

“Have some decency, and stop harassing people!”

“But Kunikidaaa-kuun! It's not harassment!”

“Your definition of harassment is definitely distorted then!”

Dazai continued to give out a series of exaggerated complaints as they walked down the street, loudly crying about how unfair his partner is to him before pausing for a moment to let out a long yawn, much to Kunikida's already peaking irritation.

“Stop causing such noise pollution to your surroundings!! Your complaining is slowing us down, we're already a whole minute off schedule. We need to focus on our next destination–”

“The Cafe?”

“The post office." He gritted out “The president needed us to compose a letter to one of our clients, but she refuses to use technological means, so we'll have it sent the traditional way.”

They got through this errand fairly quickly, even with Dazai's background chatter being headache inducing. Kunikida's veins were a small shot away from popping.

Speaking of, Kunikida noticed something strange about his coworker, how overly chatty he was throughout the day, how back at the office, he'd been spacing out a little longer than usual before they left for their errand run. Kunikida wouldn't have paid it much mind if it weren't for those little moments when Dazai shut up, he was slightly swaying in his steps. Kunikida started observing him closely, noticing a slight change in his complexion, with it written all over his face I didn't sleep for over a week with his eyes being puffier than usual, and other obvious signs of lack of sleep.

Dazai shot him a teasing comment, something about his captivating face, which came out a little lower, and groggier than what he wished for; he exhausted too much energy into keeping himself awake, and it's backfiring on him now. He'd been pressing down the screams of fatigue that were killing him, begging him to just sit down somewhere, and maybe drop dead then, and there. With every step Dazai took, his brain threatened to shut down at any second. He pushed himself to keep it together since they were almost done, and didn't realize that he was falling moments later until it happened.

Kunikida reacted quickly, dropping the documents in his hands to catch Dazai's collapsing figure; his concerns were well placed after all. He pulled him onto his back adjusting the documents under his armpit, walking in a steady pace towards the agency, formulating an explanation in his head, along with plans to postpone the remaining work to tomorrow.

The sun has officially set on arriving at the agency dorms, with Kunikida passing by Dazai's apartment, and realizing he didn't have the key, in favour of not waking him up, the man of ideals headed towards his own home, planning to tend to his colleague, possibily letting him stay the night if he slept in, nothing but concern behind his actions.

Dazai woke up hours later, two hours before midnight, in a dark room, finding himself laying in an unfamiliar futon, an unfamiliar pillow below his head, and an unfamiliar blanket on top of him. He sat up feeling quite stiff, and dizzy, yet miles better from his condition prior to his collapse. His coat was neatly folded at his side, which prompted a small smile on his face. He went to the door, and found it unlocked as expected. He stepped out, and headed towards the living room to find his idealist colleague sitting at the sofa with a small book in his hands.

Kunikida acknowledged Dazai's presence, and looked up at him with a seriously concerned look on his face.

“If you hadn't been feeling well, you could've said something, you idiot. I got sensei to look at you, and she said you'll be fine after some good sleep.”

Dazai smiled sheepishly, and it felt near genuine.

“Would my dear colleague mind hosting me for the night then?”

“Is there something wrong with your apartment? You don't seem to have slept for a good while.”

Dazai was silent for a moment, contemplating his next words, ultimately deciding that the truth wouldn't hurt. He'd be honest this one time because the man in front of him, with his manner of speech right now reminded him far too much of an old friend, but he wouldn't admit it.

“The sign across the street was pretty irritating, I couldn't sleep well because the light kept getting in my eyes.”

“Then I'll see what we can do, you can stay until then I suppose. Don't do anything stupid.”

“Yessir! No promises though.” With a soldier-like salute, and a robotic march to the room.

Kunikida sighed as he watched the man retreat to the bedroom, then picking up his notebook to add discuss the sign situation with the store across the street to his schedule for tomorrow, praying that Dazai would be cooperative since it concerned him.

Dazai meanwhile rested his head onto the comfortable pillow, the darkness surrounding him, the strangely reassuring presence of his colleague, and the comforting quiet lulled him to sleep like a lullaby sung to a baby. The next morning rolled around like nothing, and for the first time in years, Dazai felt refreshed.

“A good night's sleep isn't so bad sometimes...”

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

Sjjdjwdjwb it's finally doneeeee I would've written a mini epilogue/bonus part if it weren't for how freaking late I am. I've never written Kunikida, and I'm bad at writing Dazai, but this mackerel deserves his bday presents. I'm excited to write the romance prompt 🤭.

[nxrdamp]

For a S/V prompt, how about some fluff with Arven & gender-neutral MC taking a well-deserved rest after the events of Area Zero.

I used to have a puffy vest like his, and they are SOFT. I imagine resting one's head on his chest must feel like heaven.

Arven x Gn! Reader -Comfort at Last

Masterlist

After the devastating realization that the only parent he “had”, hadn’t been there the whole time, Arven felt more alone than ever.

Even when Nemona insisted they all walk back together, he stayed silent.

“How the hell can she be so happy?! That was my parent, back there as a AI!!! The AI even left me….”

I don’t even think my (mother/father) got a proper burial….” Arven thought to himself, struggling farther and farther behind the group

After a few moments, the group left him entirely, as he snuck away. While everyone else was headed back to (Naranja/Uva) Academy, he ran back to his (mother’s/father’s) old research center by the lighthouse

He locked the door as soon as he ran in, and collapsed, letting the tears flow from his eyes.

Mabosstiff came out of his pokéball on his own, snuggling up to Arven to comfort him.

“Why Mabosstiff? Why did you have to raise me? I love you, but I just want them back. I want my (mom/dad)….”

Mabosstiff let out a sad bark, nuzzling his face into Arven’s neck.

Days when by, and still not sign of Arven. Nemona couldnt really bother herself to look and Penny didn’t really know him that well.

(Y/n), however, was searching all over Paldea for him. Even going back to Area Zero to see if he was hiding in the 4th research station to mourn his loss

Eventually, they were walking back to their mother’s house, to seek advice.

Arven was loosing his mind, first he lost his parent, and then Mabosstiff ran away. Was it because he was too pathetic to face reality? Or something else. He didn’t know.

————

(Y/n) was strolling down Poco path, before being pinned to the ground.

“H-Hey! What the hell?!”

They crawled out of the captor’s grasp, to get a good look at them.

It was Mabosstiff, he had left Arven to find help.

“Hey Mabosstiff” (Y/n) said, worried,”Where’s Arven? Is he okay?!”

Mabosstiff shook his head no

“Can you show me to him?”

Mabosstiff gave a bark in reply, agreeing to their request.

“Alright” (Y/n) replied,”We’re going to him right now. I’m……I’m really scared Mabosstiff. I want my friend back. I want him.”

Mabosstiff took that as all the confirmation he needed, and took off, dragging (Y/n) behind him across Pogo Path, leading to the place where they first met, the place where Arven’s (mother/father) used to conduct research.

The two of them walked up to the door, before letting out a shaky sigh.

“Here goes nothing…” They whispered to themselves

(Y/n) then gave a firm knock on the door, only to hear a response of shuffling around the room, and disgruntled noises.

“Ugh. Go away.” Arven said, not even bothering to open the door to see who his visitor is.

Mabosstiff barked, demanding the door to be opened at once.

He ripped the door open, ready to pounce on whoever had his partner.

“YOU-“ Arven said, stopping in his tracks before locking eye contact with (Y/n).

Mabosstiff jumped on Arven, giving him a puppy-hug, as (Y/n) stepped into the dusty, once not so long ago abandoned, research facility.

They coughed from the dust being stirred up, only to find an inflatable mattress on the floor, that looked as if it had seen better days. It was adorned with tear stains and shedded fur.

“Why are you here? Student council girl send you for ‘attendance’ or something?” Arven said, shutting the door to let no one else in.

“No. She actually doesn’t know I’m here. Penny either. I……I care for you Arven. I do. I know Area Zero must have fucked with you in the head. I know that, but….please…I wanna be there for you. I’ll never be or replace your (mom/dad), but you do have people that care for you in your life! Well, I don’t know anyone else’s true feelings, but I know mine. You….mean so much to me. I can’t stand you being so….alone”

They walked over to him, cupping his cheek as tears flowed from his eyes at their sweet, encouraging words. “Arven…” (Y/n) said,”I love you. Always will. Plus, you can’t get rid of me. Mabosstiff will just team up with me again.”

Arven let out a chuckle, before hugging them so hard they both fell onto the aged mattress.

“A-Arven!!” (Y/n) laughed, crawling out from underneath him. They then rested their head upon his fluffy, yellow vest.

“I love you too (Y/n)….please know I wasn’t abandoning you-“

“Don’t apologize.” They said, holding him tighter to hear his increased heartbeat,”You lost a parent for Arceus’s sake! I was worried about you, not mad Arvy.”

He sniffled,”Thank you” He said quietly,”Thank you for always being there for me….no one else is-“

Mabosstiff let out a rebuttal, but in the form of an angry bark.

“-besides you and Mabosstiff” Arven finished, laughing his tears away as Mabosstiff tried to smush the both of them on the mattress.

“Just rest” (Y/n) told him,”We’ll worry about Clavell and Nemona chewing our asses out for attendance later”

He gave them a kiss on the forehead, and the three of them got some well deserved rest

Word Count: 898

[gratelove]

I Can’t Lose You

Kenny Liu x Reader

You head out to do a perimeter check before darkness falls. Night comes too quickly and you find yourself stuck, having to hide to survive. Kenny is worried sick all night, thinking he may have lost you. When morning comes, Kenny realizes life is too short to hide his feelings for you.

The night came faster than you anticipated. What had started as a quick run to check the perimeter of an abandoned house on the edge of town turned into something far more dangerous. The door you had come through was jammed, and the other exits were either boarded up or too risky to try without attracting attention from the creatures that roamed outside.

You were trapped.

Your heart raced as the sounds of the night grew louder, the telltale signs of the monsters creeping ever closer. You had no way to get back to the station. No way to let Kenny know what had happened. And he was expecting you. You had promised him you’d be back before dark, and now…

Now it was too late.

You curled up in the farthest corner of the room, your flashlight flickering as it threatened to go out completely. You weren’t sure what scared you more—the monsters outside or the thought of Kenny thinking the worst. He’d worry. You knew he would. But all you could do now was wait for morning, praying the creatures wouldn’t find you before then.

Kenny paced the station, his anxiety twisting tighter with every passing minute. You should have been back by now. The sun had long since set, and the darkness outside was alive with danger. Every sound made him jump, imagining the worst. What if something had happened to you? What if one of those things had found you? What if you were hurt, trapped, or worse…?

He slammed his hands down on the table, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to find you.

Grabbing his rifle, Kenny made for the door, his mind racing with a single thought: Find her. Now.

But as he reached for the handle, Boyd stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “Where do you think you’re going?” Boyd’s voice was stern, but there was an understanding in his eyes.

“I have to find her,” Kenny snapped, his panic rising. “She’s out there, and I can’t just stand here—”

“Kenny, you leave now, and those things will kill you before you even get halfway across town.” Boyd’s voice was steady, but firm. “If she’s alive—and I believe she is—then you need to be here for her in the morning. Going out there now won’t help her.”

Kenny clenched his fists, his body trembling with frustration and fear. “I can’t just do nothing, Boyd. I can’t just sit here and—”

“You need to stay calm,” Boyd interrupted, his voice softening. “If she’s smart—and we both know she is—she’s found somewhere to hide. She’ll make it through the night. But you need to be here when the sun comes up. If you go out there now, and something happens to you, how do you think she’ll feel?”

Kenny’s breath caught in his throat, the truth of Boyd’s words hitting him like a punch to the gut. If something happened to him, if he didn’t make it back… He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you behind. Not like this. Not without…

He sighed, dropping his head, his heart still pounding in his chest. “I just… I can’t lose her, Boyd. I can’t.”

Boyd placed a firm hand on Kenny’s shoulder. “You won’t. But you need to be patient. Wait for morning.”

Kenny nodded, though every fiber of his being screamed at him to run out the door. But Boyd was right. He had to wait. For you.

The night dragged on, every creak, every distant sound twisting the knot in his stomach tighter. He barely slept, his mind racing with all the terrible possibilities. What if you didn’t make it? What if this was your last night in this cursed town, and he hadn’t even told you…

Told you how much you meant to him.

As the first light of dawn finally broke through the dark, Kenny didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his jacket and bolted out the door, his heart pounding as he raced through the town, calling your name. He didn’t care if anyone heard. He didn’t care if he looked desperate.

“Where are you?” he shouted, his voice raw with panic. “Please, answer me!”

The pale light of morning filtered through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You had made it through the night, somehow. You didn’t dare move until you heard the faint sounds of life stirring outside, the nightmare of the night beginning to fade with the daylight.

You pushed your way through the stuck door, your muscles aching from the cramped position you had stayed in all night. Stepping outside, the cool morning air hit your face, and you took a deep breath, grateful to see the sky again. But as relief washed over you, a familiar voice cut through the quiet of the morning.

“There you are!”

You turned just in time to see Kenny sprinting toward you, his face a mixture of panic and relief. Before you could even speak, he was there, his arms wrapping around you in a tight, desperate hug that knocked the air from your lungs.

“Kenny—”

“I thought I lost you,” he murmured into your hair, his voice trembling. “I was terrified. I thought… I thought you were gone.”

You could feel him shaking, his grip on you tightening as if he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. Your heart swelled at the intensity of his emotions, and you hugged him back just as fiercely, your own relief spilling over.

“I’m okay,” you whispered. “I’m here. I’m safe.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours as if he needed to see it to believe it. His thumb brushed across your cheek, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you standing there in the morning light.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with all this—pretending I don’t care. I care about you. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words hit you, your heart racing in your chest. “Kenny…”

“I lost my dad,” he continued, his voice urgent, like he needed to get the words out before they escaped him. “And last night, I thought I was going to lose you too. I can’t keep waiting. Life in this place… it’s too fast, too uncertain. I don’t want to wake up one day and realize I never told you how I feel.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed by the depth of his confession. The pain, the fear, the love—it was all there, raw and real. And in that moment, you realized you had been holding back too, afraid of what might happen if you let yourself feel too much in a place like this. But now, standing here with him, there was no more holding back.

“I feel the same way,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “Kenny, I’ve felt it for a while now. I was just too scared to admit it.”

His eyes softened, relief washing over his face. He let out a shaky breath, and then, without another word, he pulled you into a kiss. It wasn’t hesitant or unsure—it was filled with all the things you both had kept inside for too long.

When you finally pulled away, breathless but smiling, Kenny rested his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” he said softly. “But I do know that I want to spend whatever time we have… with you.”

You smiled, your heart full. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

And in that moment, with the sun rising behind you and the horrors of the night fading into memory, you felt hope. Maybe not for the town, maybe not for everything, but for you and Kenny. For whatever came next. Together.

[projectionistwrites]

I HEAR A SYMPHONY

Joel Miller x gn!reader (1.5k+)

Joel Miller once lived and breathed a melody, before Cordyceps came and stole the music in his heart away—but then he met someone who set his world back into tune.

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: SMUT (very abstract descriptions of sex, suggestive themes), this entire thing is supposed to come across as an eloquent metaphor but it’s rushed and probably super scattered

i hear a symphony — cody fry

i used to hear a simple song that was until you came along now in its place is something new i hear it when i look at you

He strummed chords on invisible strings when he was nervous.

It was something he’d done since he first learned to play guitar, fingers absentmindedly following practiced patterns when his hands were at his sides. He'd sometimes sing along in his head—Smoke on the Water, Purple Rain, Bad Moon Rising—his fingers dancing across the frets in his mind, nimbly plucking away at familiar melodies.

For many years, Joel Miller aimed to find song in every corner of his life—it was his calling since he was a child. Even when his aspirations of being a singer faded into the background as reality settled in, music always dwelled within him, all-encompassing and ever salient. It came in the form of tinny vinyls spinning on a record player; rewound cassettes echoing his favorite albums through his tired Walkman into the early hours of the morning; the shitty radio in his old pickup that only ever picked up a signal to the country music station; humming softly to himself as he flipped pancakes for his daughter's breakfast; compulsory whistling as he and his brother worked long hours in the blistering Texas sun.

When the outbreak happened, and the familiar melody of his daughter’s laughter died alongside her, his fingertips still bore the callouses from the guitar strings and his hands still itched to follow the progressions of long-forgotten tunes—but his world had fallen silent. The once steady time signature that had helped keep his days flowing with an even rhythm and tempo was holding an indefinite fermata; the once routine symphonies of daily living devolved from a worldly tune into a cacophony of dissonance; the once musically-inclined man struggled to find any semblance of lyricism in the sounds around him when everything just seemed to be noise.

But still, his fingers reminisced what his mind had since forgotten—they continued to maintain their dexterity, strumming silent harmonies and dancing along the neck of the ghost of his acoustic guitar.

The reflexive tendencies that occupied his hands were instinctual, nothing more than an idiosyncrasy that served to synchronize the energy in his body with the rapid pace with which his thoughts traveled. He didn’t notice it anymore—the chord progressions were unidentifiable at this point, his fingers operating outside of his conscious control.

But you noticed. He wasn’t sure how, or why you were observing him so meticulously that you were able to identify the patterned movements of his restless fingers, but you noticed. The inaudible melodies that his hands persistently played had always fallen on deaf ears—but the songs seemed to echo at a frequency at which only you were attuned to hear.

A knock on his door on a brisk winter evening in Jackson—your cheeks were dusted pink as you shivered on his front steps, glowing beneath the dim shine of his porch light.

There was a guitar in your hands. Your fingers were wrapped around the neck tightly as you stared up at him, a certain innocence twinkling in your kind eyes. You were nervous—the timbre of your voice fluctuated as you explained the purpose of your surprise visit. You’d been drawn to the constant motion of his fingers, your curiosity piqued at just how fluid, deliberate, and controlled each stroke appeared to be. You’d found the instrument abandoned in the attic of the home you resided in, destined to never play another tune until you’d stumbled upon it accidentally. Joel listened to your long-winded explanation—you’d been trying to teach yourself to play, and that’s why the twitching of his fingers had caught your attention; you’d recognized the technique, as you’d been hopelessly trying to emulate it yourself.

Something awoke in him as you stood on his porch that night. It was unidentifiable at the time, even after he’d invited you inside to escape the frigid December air and you’d sat across from him at the kitchen table. He was intrigued by your interest in him, and slightly impressed at your audaciousness to confront him at his own home with nothing more than an inkling that your deductions about him had been correct. It was only after you’d passed the guitar over into his lap and he began to carefully twist the tuning pegs to tighten the strings that he finally recognized what, exactly, had changed inside his mind when you first opened your mouth to speak.

The empty static had been replaced with a note. Soft, and discreet, but he could hear it. The very first chord plucked on his guitar, signifying the beginning of a composition. An overture.

Joel began to seek you out. It wasn’t difficult to do—he just had to close his eyes and listen. The wind carried the gentle dulcet of your voice; the mellifluous trill of your laughter soon became his favorite sound; with each exhale, you conducted an elegy; your very being seemed to coalesce into an aria, everything you touched seemed to resolve itself into harmony.

Similar to his recollections of your songs, your meetings increased in frequency—his large, weathered hands guided your fingers with patience and restraint, watching the quiet concentration on your face as your fingertips grew accustomed to the bite of metal strings. He became partial to serving as your audience in the mezzanine seats—your back settled between his parted legs as you sat on the floor in front of his chair, your shoulders nestled between his knees as he observed you from above, leaning forward to coach you through your occasional mistakes. His arms would blanket your own when he’d reach to manipulate the position of your hands, his palms settling over your knuckles as he adjusted your fingers to mimic his own.

You were a fucking earworm. When he was out on patrol, when you were busy helping in the dining hall, the only thing replaying in the back of his mind was you, you, you. The way your eyes shone with wonder when he’d finally relent to your endless pleas and play you something from his past. The way your fingers would twitch from where they rested on your thighs, mindlessly trying to mirror each chord he strummed. The way your lips would part when the acoustics trapped you into a trance, your mind completely enraptured by the songs he shared.

You clung to each melody with devout appreciation, drinking them in as if they were the only remedy to quench your insatiable thirst for euphony. On the rarest of occasions, when his vulnerability peeked from behind the curtain and he allowed you to listen to the gravelly timbre of his voice, the awestruck expression on your delicate features would provide a metronome for his performance in the form of his pounding heart, beating rhythmically against his ribcage.

Crescendoing. The brush of his fingers against your skin would linger for just a bit longer each time—the cloyingly sweet redolence of your honeysuckle perfume permeated even the stench of blood and decay that sometimes followed him home after macabre patrol shifts. The refrain of your duet finally made way for the bridge on the night your lips first melded with his—the hot sting of your mouth against his, your fingers buried in his hair and your body flush against his own—he found himself continuously longing for an encore.

As more and more of your musical arrangements revealed themselves to him, he familiarized himself with his favorite pieces in your repertoire—the desperate whine subdued by a kiss when he nipped at the swell of your lower lip; the ragged panting breath that escaped you when his hands slowly removed your clothes; the carnal whimpers of need when your body demanded a faster tempo than the one he was providing; the incessant repetition of your begging as his mouth worked you over, pleading for your release; the depraved moan that accompanied the initial stretch of him breaching your entrance; most of all, the sound of his name on your lips, his favorite fucking verse, your typically melodic intonation reducing itself to a wrecked, breathy version of your voice as you chanted nonsensically—please, Joel, fuck, give it to me, yes, yes, yes—

Joel was the maestro—but you were the fucking musician. He knew how to conduct, but Christ, you knew how to play. His body was your instrument, and you knew exactly how to make him sing. With practiced flicks of your wrist and calculated slides of your tongue, each note you drew from him was deliberate and strategic, performing perfectly in unison with the conductor's gesticulations.

His life had fallen back into tune. The soft, forgiving lull of your presence had reminded him of the aspirations of his past—the reason he wanted to pursue a future of music, the way the vibrations felt low in his diaphragm when he allowed his voice to ring clear. For so long, he’d lived in a world characterized by chaos and disorder, but somehow, you’d quelled the dissonance and reintroduced the broken shell of a man to the solace of song.

He watched you strum the guitar, sitting on the bench on his front porch. Your face was illuminated by the dim yellow glow of the porch light, reminiscent of the time you’d first wound up on his stoop. As your fingers deftly plucked at the strings, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth in concentration, every wrong note that Joel had ever played resolved itself as the symphony you personified washed over him—a frisson of overwhelming magnitude possessed his body as a resounding realization dawned on him.

You were his magnum opus.