#EVERYONE IGNORE THE BONES ALL OVER MY FLOOR

[museoftheprophet]

Rare colour wearing moment… this outfit reminds me of a Purplish Jay, it’s patterned just like one!!! Black around the neck & head, lavender-grey torso, muted dark purple on the bottom… we match :3

[tackrusso]

show tempe gang crossover with the morris islanders would actually have been the best episode of bones ever. btw

[madamechrissy]

=͟͟͞♡ Healing Hearts =͟͟͞♡

=͟͟͞♡ Pairings:-Doctor Gojo x Intern F!Reader

=͟͟͞♡ Contents/warnings- Medical procedures, surgery descriptions, crazy sexual tension, eventually explicit sex etc. ER setting. Reader 26, Dr. Gojo 34, small age gap, work sex, complications, lots of humor, eventual drama and angst. Grey's vibes ✨️

=͟͟͞♡ Summary- You are the top Surgical Doctor intern, along with Maki, Yuta and Toge. You all are exhausted from passing the first month, sixteen plus hour days, days you don't even go home, all to get a top spot with the star Surgeon, Dr. Gojo, your resident doctor and boss. Or as you call him, Dr. Hojo. He's takes nothing serious but his surgeries it seems, and has a reputation for being a player, but he has that top spot, so you want to prove your worth! You just have to ignore those stupid butterflies he gives you, and those pretty blue eyes, along with his interest in you, and focus!

Comment to get added to the tag list

=͟͟͞♡ Playlist =͟͟͞♡ Masterlist =͟͟͞♡

♡ Part One ♡

Fuck, you’re exhausted, the first month of your internship as a surgeon was brutal, you haven’t had but a couple hours of sleep here and there, mostly on some of the hospital beds. Your bones ache, your skincare routine is barely hanging by a thread, and your hair is a wreck in a messy bun today. You thought med school was difficult, but it was nothing like this.

“Hey, you okay babe?” Your best friend Maki Zenin asks softly, you look at her and smile, nodding, she purses her lips, tilting her glasses.  “No you’re not.”

“I’m wiped, Maki. This patient injected cocaine up his ass.” She bursts out laughing right in the middle of the hospital floor, you cover her mouth quickly, looking around. “Shh!”

“Shit, forreal? I thought my case was bad, he’s been here eight times for hits of pain meds since I have been here, he keeps bashing his hand on shit.” She sighs, handing her files to the desk then picking up several more.

You’re both in your pale blue scrubs, Maki’s pretty green hair is high up in a ponytail, now your other two best friends from your internship come up, Inumaki Toge and Yuta Okkotsu, both looking exhausted along with you. Yuta’s eye bags rival yours by far, he slicks back his dark hair as you all check the time on your watches.

“Another sixteen hours almost down.” He says through a yawn.

“Tired.” Inumaki says, and you sigh, nodding in agreement.

“Fuck that, we need to throw a party.” Maki says, somehow still so energetic, and you’re so confused how it’s possible.

“Party?” Inumaki asks, he’s certainly a man of few words, but his violet eyes explain whatever anyone needs to know.

“No way, Maki. Fuck that.” Yuta says, earning Maki sticking her tongue out at him.

“Buzz kill, ugh. Listen, this weekend, we’ll invite some of the people from our class, we can invite some of the other interns too. Ooh, maybe even those sexy resident doctors.” She wiggles her brows with a mischievous little grin.

“Maki, we're too old for that shit now.”  You grumble.

“Bitch we’re twenty six? How are we old.”

“I feel ancient.” Yuta agrees. “Coffee everyone?”

“I have to stop by Doctor Gojo’s real quick, meet you all there?” You say, and they nod, waving you off as you head to your Resident doctor’s office. Dr. Gojo was the boss of you four, one of the residents along with Dr. Nanami and Dr. Geto. All three were fawned over by all the interns, except you. 

Yes they were gorgeous, and yes Dr. Gojo was positively beautiful, with his snowy white hair, his glittery blue eyes, his big grin. But you were just too exhausted and too beat to really fawn over someone, especially someone you really could not be with, seeing as he is your resident, you’re just a little intern. Satoru also happens to be the top surgeon in the hospital.

You go to knock but see his door is cracked open, you carefully take the knob in your hand, twisting it and peeking your head in, seeing Satoru Gojo’s head fall back, as he’s gasping. You look curiously, but his hands are up on the desk, as he’s biting his lower lip, his brows together, eyes shut. You clear your throat and he jerks then, clearing his throat.

“Um… hey intern.” He says, his voice clipped. You shut the door behind you, tilting your head curiously at him, his face reddening slightly.

“Dr. Gojo, I have a question about this patient, is everything okay? It won’t take very long.” You say, and his eyes flicker over your face, an expression you can’t explain, as he sucks in a breath.

“I um… can listen… in… fuck, fuck!” He moans then, he clearly moans, and you hear a bump on his desk now. “Oh, oh that’s so much better.”

“I… what the fuck!?” He flushes then, sliding back, and one of the nurses jumps up, giggling now and wiping her mouth, she has pretty blue hair.

“Thank you Miwa, you’re a gem.” He stands, patting her head with a smile, and she giggles again, as you watch in confusion, your brows together, mouth open. “I need to talk to her about cool doctor things, I’ll see you around later?”

Cool Doctor things.

Blow jobs on the clock?

How is this your boss?

“Yes, Dr. Gojo. Hi there!” She waves at you, as if nothing has happened, as if she wasn’t just sucking Dr. Gojo off, and he’s looking bashful!?

“What the hell is this shit? Lock a door?” He comes to you, locking the big door with a click behind you. “Not now!”

“I forgot it was open, shit. I’m sorry. Stress relief, you know.” He smiles down at you, a stupid smirk you’d like to smack off his pretty face, hands in the pockets of his long white doctor jacket. “Don’t you ever need any?”

You heat up at his husky tone, as you realize just what you’d walked into. It had been a long time since you’d even thought that way, not just with Med school but now being an intern, especially since you broke up with your ex months back. “What? Yuck don’t come near me.”

“Why, ya jealous.” He brushes your hair back, earning your glare. “You’re awfully cute when you are.”

“Jealous of you? No thanks, I'm good. I sure am not part of your fan club.”

Satoru pouts. “Yeah, and you’re the only one.”

“Yep. Anyway, I’m now disturbed.” You shiver with feigned disgust, making him snort a bit in laughter. “But I only came in here to go over Mr. Lewis.” Sighing, you hand him the file with a gentle brush of your fingers against his palm. “He's been a difficult case.”

“Fuck, the cocaine dude? Ah shit, it’s that bad?”

“We have him stable, but something about it threw me off, how could it be that severe of an effect? Colitis has lasted days now and no improvement.”

“Mmm, true. But it makes sense, you can’t just inject cocaine into the anus and… have a party.” A hint of laughter escapes from his lips before he can control it, earning a stern look from you, making him study the file more carefully.

“Be serious.”

“I’m your boss, you know!”

“Yeah, somehow. Anyway, I feel there is something underlying. Perhaps exasperated by the cocaine.”

“Up the ass! Hah!” He’s smacking his long leg now, chuckling, earning your glare. “Oof you’re so serious, sorry, carry on.” He gives you a mock salute, and your eyes are so far back in your head they might stay that way.

“So I’m wondering if he has something else, untreated, the man has no history of any doctor visits since he was living with his parents.”

He taps his chin then. “Hmm, good point. It’s possible. Have we checked him for Chron’s?”

“Shit, maybe, that would make so much sense too, his white blood cell count is through the roof. I’ll leave a note to run some tests before I go.” You take the folder back then, your fingers brushing, and it brings a blush to your cheeks.

“What’s wrong, intern?”

“Just weirded out by you, Dr. Hojo.” He snorts then.

“Dr. Hojo!?”

“It’s what they call you, I guess it’s true.” You say, raising a brow, and he is leaning close, too close. You can smell that stupidly expensive cologne he wears every day, filling your senses far too much. You try to avoid those eyes, even though you look at them all the time, they still are…

Too much.

“And you don’t ever wanna just get eaten out?” You blush more now, looking down as he stands up tall, so fucking tall over you. “Don’t be shy now, we spend more time together than alone.”

“I don’t do that when not in relationships.” He pauses, and you expect some joke, since he takes nothing serious but surgery it seems. But he tilts your chin up, and studies you with those eyes, lids lowering ever so slightly.

“Aw, so you’re a good girl.” He says teasingly, causing a warm sensation to spread through your stomach at his words. You shake your head and try to ignore the fluttering feeling within you.

“Don’t say that!”

“Turn you on?”

“No! Jesus. I don’t care what people do with their bodies, I don’t care if you’re a whole manwhore-”

“Excuse me!”

“But I just need a relationship, I’m not attracted to just looks, there has to be a deeper connection.” He studies you carefully now, so serious unlike his usual goofy demeanor.

“Hmm, a challenge.”

“What now?” You glare up at him, clutching the folders to your chest tightly. “Not a challenge, you psycho. Go get all the blowjobs you want, like Thanos collecting all those infinity stones.”

He grins, sharp little fangs glinting, and you don’t like the effects it’s having on your body, or your mind. You can barely take a breath. “You’re actually so funny, holy shit.”

“You don’t really know me. Aside from work.”

“You never take me up on any of those offers of coffee, or grabbing a bite, all you do is work Missy. All work, no play, makes a sad girl.” He taps your nose, and it scrunches up, making him smile a bit. “Cute.”

“Whatever, I have to work my ass off, it’s important, I have to make sure I get to scrub in with you. That chance comes at the end of this month.”

“Well you’re the top intern I have, so don’t worry so much.” He pats your shoulder, and you blink a bit. “Surprised? How. You graduated top of the school, you bust your cute little butt, and you’re intelligent, caring for your patients. Of course I was picking you first.”

“Oh my god…”

“You’ve ruined your own surprise. Act surprised when you find out, mmkay?” You hug him then, heart racing as you think of it. “Oh so now you like me.”

“I can really scrub in to a surgery with you!?” You couldn't contain your excitement as you leaned back and looked up at Satoru Gojo. He nodded, his hands taking hold of your waist through your scrubs, and that touch?

Does things, fuck.

“I’m so sorry-”

“You’re fine, intern. Stay a little longer.” You nervously step back, his hands are still on your waist, making you tremble, as your eyes both lock.

“I can never fuck such an opportunity up. Um… thank you though, that gives me so much hope, maybe I can actually relax for two minutes!” He smiles softly, nodding, his hands falling to his sides. “I’m sorry I…”

“Interrupted? Nah. Think you made me cum quick.”

“What!?” You glare again, and his smirk makes you itch to smack him all over again. “Dr. Gojo!”

“You’re so pretty though, I think it made her job quicker. Win win.”

“I’m out of here. Ugh.” You turn away, hand on the knob, and then his comes on top of it and gently unlocks it with a twist, you feel his hard body against your back, and you get overwhelmed in his office, damn near unable to breathe, as he’s clearly…

Is Dr. Gojo inhaling your hair!?

“New shampoo?” He asks, you turn to glare up at him, putting your faces far, far too close.

“How would you know my…”

“You always wear that one that smells like strawberries, this one is more floral. Hmm I don’t know if I like it as much, but it’s still yummy.”

“I… you…”

“See you later, intern.” He says softly, then finally steps away, leaving you reeling as you hastily step out without a word, leaning your back against his door, shutting your eyes for a moment in the quiet hall his office is in. You shake yourself out of it quickly, he’s just being…

Dr. Hojo.

Notorious womanizer, but the best damn surgeon there was, a whole idiot and yet an entire genius. And not your type, not at all, even if he’s gorgeous, you did not like man whores, or men that aren’t serious, especially not your boss, anyway. Fucking your boss in this industry would essentially make everyone question every accomplishment as favoriteism.

You sure weren’t going to sacrifice all your hard work for some dick.

You bounce away, heading to the little cafe where your friends are waiting, sitting next to Yuta who hands you a coffee with a little smile. “Thank you, ugh.”

“You’re welcome, girlie.”

“So, party?”

“Maki!” You three say, and she sighs, shooting her espresso down.

“Next weekend! Come on you guys, what do you say?”

“Oh fine.” You concede. Maki, Yuta and Toge all live with you, in your town home, since you could absolutely not afford it yourself, with the shitty pay of your internship and the college bills. It was left to you, but you still had property taxes and other bills, so they helped a ton. “No one better fuck my house up, I swear.”

“Hell yeah, here’s to a party bitches.” She holds up her little styrofoam cup, and you all cheers each other then, laughing.

“Party, hmm?” Comes Dr. Gojo’s voice, he’s standing there with Dr. Geto and Dr. Nanami. You all get nervous then, but he grins. “I’m coming. What about you guys?”

“No way.” Nanami grumbles, he’s very serious, his glasses slung over his sandy blond hair, his face exhausted.

“I’ll come.” Dr. Geto chimes in, chuckling and sipping his coffee, he’s as tall as Dr. Gojo and well swoon worthy. He would be more your type you think, with that serious yet fun nature, whereas Dr. Gojo…

“C’mon Nanami. You gotta, you gotta, you-”

“Jesus you’re a child.” You say, and Gojo gasps at you, Geto and even Nanami laugh, only earning Gojo’s scowl.

“You brat, I’m a good eight years older than you!”

“You look like a twenty year old frat boy.”

"And you look like an angry little brat!” He shot back, only causing more laughter to erupt from the group.

“Okay, okay.” Dr. Geto holds up his hands now. “Let’s be nice, kids.”

“Kids! Suguru I’m older than you.” Gojo says with a glare.

“Like six months. Anyway, we’ll be there at this party, text us the details? We’d love to unwind.” Dr. Geto says, and Maki jumps up now, as you and Gojo are glaring at each other across your table. “Got it, thank you Maki.”

“Of course, we’ll invite both of your interns too. It’ll be much needed after hell month.” You just sit there, as they all talk, and Gojo is all pouty, like a baby. You peek at your phone now, seeing a text from your shitty ex, your face falls.

“Everything okay?” Maki asks softly, and you sigh, nodding.

“Just the ex.” You whisper back.

“Ex huh?” Satoru has somehow gotten behind you, leaning over, you smack at his hand then, glaring. “What, I wanna know!”

“You’re too fucking much sometimes. Ugh.” You stand up then, slinking past him. “I’m headed to get changed and then I’m leaving. See you all at home?” They all nod, eyeing you and Satoru curiously, you wave at the Doctors then head out.

Ugh, along with Satoru just being… weird and annoying, and your ex? He was a toxic, needy mess. He’d left you because you didn’t have enough time for him, and maybe you really didn’t, how could you have a relationship until your internship was finished? The first week none of you even left the hospital, sleeping in bunk beds and showering there.

But he constantly needed you, made you feel guilty, would fuck with your alarms and everything. Thank God he was long gone, even if he was annoying you currently, you delete his messages, heading to the locker room and hearing steps. You look back curiously to see Satoru holding the door open for you.

“What are you doing?”

“I am sorry, that was rude of me.”

“Yeah, well, what’s new.” You both walk into the locker room now, Satoru’s shrugging off his white lab coat, your cheeks heat up while you slip off your scrub top, it was normal to change in front of everyone, you all had co op locker rooms and showers even, all of you took years of anatomy, the human body was nothing really but parts.

But as you feel his eyes on you, when you’re down to just a black lace bra and a pair of boy shorts, you tense a bit, looking at him, shirtless, his lips parted as he looks at you. “I am sorry I know I annoy you, Miss perfect.”

“I’m no Miss perfect. I guess I have a lot to prove.” You say softly, trying not to drink in his rippling muscles, perfect well defined torso, cuts low where he’s now sliding up a pair of dark blue jeans.

His blue eyes fixate on you as he does, as you’re sliding on a pair of jeans yourself, buttoning them with trembling hands. “I had a lot to prove once too. I do understand.”

“You’re being serious?” You tease, earning a little smile, as he slides a black long sleeve shirt over his head. You get flustered as you realize your nipples are pressed against the cups of your bra, sliding your shirt and then a jacket on yourself, sitting at the bench to slide on your black boots.

“I can be serious sometimes, I just think there’s enough death, sadness, and depression in this career. Why not just try to have some fun? Otherwise, it’ll just consume you.” He says softly, in that husky voice of his, so sexy it alone could wreck someone. But his words…

“That makes sense.” You say softly now, standing as he does, grabbing your purse and locking up your locker, spinning the combination, at the same time he grabs his keys and wallet. “So you try to… brighten up things.”

“Yeah, someone has to.” He walks to you then, tapping your nose once more. “You’re too serious, you’ll have to lighten up, or this career will wreck you.”

You nod then, carefully, realizing perhaps this slutty, silly doctor had a lot more to him, than just being the perfect surgeon. “I’ll take that advice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, also…” He leans forward as you all are stepping out of the locker room, headed toward the automatic glass doors, and you look at him curiously. “Nice panties.”

“Oh fuck you, Dr. Hojo!” You glare now, shoving at him, as he heads to his mercedes benz, and you’re in your ancient SUV that sounds like a beast.

“Night-night, intern.” He shoots you two fingers, sliding into his fancy car with blacked out windows. You roll your eyes, putting your car in gear.

What a day.

Part Two

[little-annie]

How they got stuck sharing the only remaining bed in the Hopper-Byers family home when they came to visit, they'll never know. (It involved some meddling on both Robin's and Dustin's behalf….. and Joyce and Hopper and Jonathan and El and Will, and literally everyone else who thinks they just need to figure their shit out and get together already.)

But they did.

And Christ if they weren't pissy about it.

They were roommates for God's sake, they saw enough of each other as is. But noooo, they had to get stuck bunking with each other for the weekend too.

They'd began bickering almost immediately when they'd entered the room and saw the state of their situation.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, no. Fuck you Harrington. I'm older-’

“By like a year -”

“I'm older and my poor boy bones are brittle. I get the bed.”

“Poor boy bones.” Steve huffs to himself, taking one quick glance at Eddie and beginning to strip, hoping that if he gets into bed first they won't have to continue this argument.

Eddie catches on almost immediately, undoing his stupid handcuff belt buckle with little struggle and kicking himself out of his jeans so fast he nearly eats the edge of the dresser to his right. “You're young.” Eddie states while trying to catch his breath, “The floor will do you just fine.”

They're both down to their underwear in a matter of seconds. Belts clanking, denim dropping and fabric flying. Eddie in his boxers, Steve in his white briefs that he's sure he hears Eddie snicker at even in his apparent displeasure.

Soon enough they're both trying to climb into bed, pushing and shoving, throwing elbows when the other one kicks out a bony knee. Both scrambling to get under the covers and claim their right to the bed.

Pulling the lone pillow swiftly beneath his head, Eddie grumbles. “What are you doing?”

“Getting into bed.”

“It's a twin Harrington.”

“Yeah and my hips hurt.” Steve answers, driving an elbow with regrettable strength into Eddie's ribs as he continues to try to gain some purchase on the narrow bed. “I'm not sleeping on the floor.” He wiggles around some more, at the moment hoping Eddie might just fall off onto the floor. “Shove over.”

Maybe they can manage to share.

“It's a twin!” Squawks Eddie while bracing himself against the nightstand, pushing Steve back with cold feet to his shins.

“And give me some of the blankets.”

“There's only one pillow!”

“So share.”

Both huffing, wriggling around, pushing and shoving, pulling at the single blanket and the only pillow, they try to get comfy on their backs. Which won't happen because they can't fucking fit that way. The goddamn bed is too narrow and Eddie's bony ass everything is digging into Steve's side as he hangs with half of his ass off of the bed.

“Lay on your side.” Eddie grumbles with a shove.

“What? Why?”

“Because we don't fit like this, Princess. Roll onto your side.”

Ignoring how that nickname makes his cheeks flare in the moonlit room, Steve starts to roll over, leaning to his left and moving to put Eddie at his back. Maybe that way he'll actually get some peace and qui-

“Not like that!” Eddie all but screeches, shoving at Steve's back so hard he nearly falls off, "You want my dick pressed to your ass all night?”

Truthfully that doesn't sound as awful as Eddie's making it out to be. The prick. Steve thinks he has a rather nice ass and Eddie would only be so lucky.

“Well you want your dick pressed against my dick all night? That's the only other option, Munson.”

Eddie clenches his jaw, sighs dramatically and mutters something to himself that Steve's not quite able to catch, before he actually speaks, “Fine. Fine! Just roll over so you're facing me, but just keep your hips back.”

‘Keep your hips back,’ as if Steve would just roll over dick first and press himself right up against Eddie.

Steve tries and fails to muffle his irritated groan as he rolls over to where he's facing Eddie on the same flat pillow.

God they're close.

Noses nearly touching.

In his moment of bitterness and just pure irritation at the situation, Steve had forgotten how pretty Eddie was.

His eyes are so dark in the moonlight.

The rest of him blanketed in a hazy midnight blue, his freckles akin to a star speckled sky.

Steve could never get tired of this view.

“Better?” Steve whispers, trying and failing to ignore the flutter of butterflies in his stomach.

Eddie's eyes search his for what feels like aeons before he answers. “Fuck you.” There's no real heat to his words, tone more so matching Steve's as he smiles with a lopsided smirk.

Steve rolls his eyes, teasing, if only to see Eddie sputter, “Mmmm, I'll take a rain check on that.” He delights in Eddie's choked off gasp before he continues, “But I will warn you, I'm a cuddler.”

“Course you are.” Eddie grumbles, crossing his arms in front of his chest and closing his eyes with a flutter of his long dark lashes.

After a moment of quiet Steve takes a chance and presses his foot to Eddie's, soft beneath his sole, and so fucking cold.

Eddie doesn't pull away.

“G’ night.” He whispers instead, pressing his foot just a touch closer, the breath of his words falling against Steve's lips.

“Good night.”

—

The next morning they wake in a tangled mess.

It's hot and sweaty and they're physically stuck together at all points where naked skin meets.

Which is pretty much everywhere.

Eddie's one hand is in Steve's hair as if throughout the night he felt the need to play with it, and his other is so tightly grasped to Steve's bare waist it almost hurts.

His nose is otherwise buried in Steve's neck where he can hear Eddie's faint snores and is sure there's the wetness of drool lying along his clavicle.

It's all a little disgusting.

But also kind of wonderful.

His one arm is numb where it lies beneath Eddie's head.

Steve shuffles enough to separate at least some of their sweat damp skin, noticing in the same instant how where Eddie's plastered against his hip, he's also obviously hard.

So much so that when Steve looks down there's a damp spot in his underwear.

Oh.

Maybe he'll take that rain check sooner rather than later.

Eddie groans in his sleep, hot air breathed against Steve's neck as he rolls his hips and this time lets a soft moan escape.

Yep, definitely taking that rain check now.

Maybe they'll figure their shit out sooner than everyone had anticipated.

“Get off of me, I wanna suck your-”

😉 The End

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Man Called Danger 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You avoid drama, you avoid confrontation, and overall, you avoid men. But some men can’t be denied. ~ short!late 30s reader

Characters: biker!Bucky Barnes

Note: I have no chill.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The morning comes too soon as you toss and turn through the night. You drag yourself out of bed and wrap yourself in your housecoat before braving the cold floors of the house. It isn’t a big place but it traps draughts like a tundra cavern.

You put on a pot of coffee to brew and go through your typical routine. That day is different as you listen for Eva. You told yourself last night, you’re going to lay off. You’re going to let her figure herself out.

As you take a jar of prepared overnight oats out of the fridge and fish out a protein bar for the mid-afternoon, you hear your sister sniff. She yawns as she enters. To your surprise and relief, she dressed, presentably so. She leans on the other side of the counter and flicks her lashes.

“Coffee?” She asks, sounding only a bit desperate.

“Some left,” you confirm.

She grumbles and comes around to get her own mug and pours with another yawn. You could say it. I told you so. I told you not to stay out late for your first day. At least she’s awake.

“Good luck,” you say as you zip up your small lunch bag.

“Right,” she turns and leans on the granite and blows over the mug. You peek over your shoulder as she narrows her eyes. “How did you find me last night?”

You withhold a sigh. You don’t want to argue. You don’t need her walking into her first day in a mood.

“Eva, we can talk later.”

She’s quiet, “really? You’re tracking me?”

You grab your mug, “I really need to get ready.”

“Sure,” she scoffs.

Silence roils and you make yourself face her. “I deleted it last night, okay? I meant it. You’re an adult. You’re going to do what you’re going to do.”

“You still did that,” she says.

“I did and I’m sorry,” you admit. “I won’t make excuses. We can’t keep doing this.” You chew your lip and tap your fingers on the porcelain cup, “I just hope this works out. It’ll be nice for you to have some extra cash.”

“Sure,” she shrugs.

You leave it. She’s going to simmer for a while. In her shoes, you would too. You take your coffee into the bathroom and put it on the counter. As you open the mirror to grab your face cleanser, you wince. You blow through your lips as you shut the reflective door.

You put the bottle down and untie your house coat. You roll up your camisole and cringe. You gently touch the tender spot along your ribs. It's bruised pretty good. The bone hurts too but you’re not too worried about a break.

You shudder and ignore the soreness as you go through the steps. Cleanse, moisturise, tone. Brush your teeth, figure out your hair. Then only a swipe of mascara, a tint of lip stain, and a subtle kiss from your blush stick. Natural but something. You were never one for the whole primer to highlighter parade.

You put on a striped blue blouse and a pair of grey herringbone pants. You spritz a bit of jasmine body spray over yourself then go to get your lunch and purse. You step into your leather loafers and shrug on your beige jacket.

“Eva, am I driving you?” You call down.

“Coming,” she scuffles around unseen before she appears.

If she isn’t in the best mood, she does look her best. She’s added a rosegold chain to her skirt and sweater combo, and a pair of slingback kitten heels, some earrings, and her face and hair are just perfectly done. Not too much, not too little. Her freckles peek through and give her a little extra character.

“Wow, you look nice,” you praise.

“Really? You look dead inside,” she snickers.

You’re relieved that she’s joking. You take it with a shrug, “Time of death, I’d say ten years ago.” She rolls her eyes, “you bring something to eat?”

“Nah, I looked up the place. It’s near Sage. I’ll go there.”

“Okay,” you accept. You’re not sure where she got the money to do so. You eat in chronically but she’s always out with her friends getting all the fancy lattes and fusions.

You head out, not used to the company. It's about time she got something going. She worked at the dentist office for a summer in high school but she hated her boss. You told her that she probably always will. Lord knows you’re no fan of yours.

“No pressure, but try to make this one work, Eva,” you say. “I called in a favour for it.”

“I know,” she snips. “You don’t need to remind me. I didn’t ask, you know?”

“I’m not—I just—I only want the best,” you resign. “I shouldn’t project. I know you will do wonderfully.”

She blows a raspberry, “alright, cheesy.”

You steer along the usual route. Her building is only a block from yours. You drop her off like you would outside school. Her teen years were rough. For you, but not her. After you left her with your mom, you made sure she got to graduation. You feel like you owe her so much more for abandoning her for so long. If you hadn’t though, would you be here? Would you be able to get her out at all?

You continue down to your office building. There’s a loud rumble behind you. A motorcycle. You hate the things. They remind you of someone you’d rather not think of. Not to mention they’re noisy and put out pollution like crazy.

You flip on your blinker as the early morning rider skims past you. Your parking past dangles from the rear view as you find a spot in the grid. You gather up your things and ready yourself for another day.

You march inside and opt for the stairs. You try to skip the elevator at least three times a week. Your job keeps you idle far too much. Even with a standing desk. As you climb, your breath picks up and the bruise on your side throbs. You should’ve popped some advil.

You get to your floor and get yourself set up. You raise the desk and straighten the standing mat. You sign into your station and start down the new list of orders. As you ease into the morning, others arrive and groggily do the same.

Your fingers skitter over the keyboard in a flurry. As you send another request to the mail dock, a shadow appears in your peripheral. Mr. Walker leans the corner of your desk. For a moment, you wonder if he has a brother or cousin that likes to troll the bars for young girls.

Your boss puts his other hand on his hip. Even with your desk raised, he dwarfs it with his size. You pause your typing and look at him.

“Morning, Mr. Walker,” you say.

“Morning,” he returns. “I didn’t even see you here, hiding.”

That’s the problem. Standing, sitting, no one notices you behind the double monitors.

“Big day, huh?” He asks.

You stare at him, confused for a moment.

“Yeah, Hansen was saying your sister starts today?”

“Right, uh, yeah,” you affirm. “Thanks, again. I really appreciated the referral.”

“You’re a hard worker,” he says.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Hansen is a bit of a hard ass. I should’ve warned you.” He adds.

You nearly blurt out your first thought; look who’s talking.

“I’m sure she’ll do fine, she is your sister,” he remarks as his fingers curl around the corner of the desk. “Really kind of you to take her in.”

You don’t think you’ve ever spoken so much to Walker. Not since you asked him to put in a good word for Eva. Even then, he kept to his short replies and grunts.

“She’s family,” you say.

“Sure, but... I don’t know. Thought you would already have one of those,” he replies. You tweak a brow. “Kids, husband? I always sort of assumed...”

“A woman my age, yeah.”

“I wouldn’t... no, not because of that, I just... you’re very responsible.”

“Thank you, sir,” you shift on your soles. “I was just getting started on that Lafayette order.”

“Mmmm,” he hums and tilts his head. He drags his hand down his tie. He’s a big man. Most people are compared to you but he’s gargantuan. “Always working hard.”

“Yes, sir,” you look at your screen and click on the spreadsheet, changing the cell colour of the last completed order.

“Let me know if there’s anything else you need from me,” he slaps the corner of your desk then struts off.

You stay focused on your screens. That was strange but you’re not stupid. He’s reminding you of his favour. He wants you to remember that you owe him. You’re sure you’ll be picking up overtime to pay him back.

Work rolls on. Dull, repetitive, but it pays the bills. You eat your oats at your desk as you make your way through the daily rota. You can’t help but notice Mr. Walker’s frequent trips to the break room. It tempts you to grab a coffee yourself as your eyes burn but you resist. You're trying to cut back on caffeine.

When the day ends, your protein bar sits beside the base of your monitor. You’re hungry but you can wait for supper. You sign off and lock your desk. You check your phone. No messages from Eva. Is that good or bad?

As you come into the overcast afternoon, the day weighs in your shoulders and hips. All day you can’t wait to be done but by the time you’re free, you’re exhausted. You dig out your keys and traipse along the row of bumpers to your car.

You hit the button to unlock the Honda and the roar of a motorcycle tears through the air. To your surprise, it only gets louder. You have the door open as its shadow rolls up behind your car. You throw your bags into the passenger seat and ignore it. That is until, the engine quiets and the steel beast doesn’t move from behind your vehicle.

Don’t tell me Eva hopped on someone’s bike. She would. A final act of rebellion before she surrenders to corporate purgatory. You look over, further disappointed by what really awaits you.

The man in leather undoes his helmet, vintage without a visor or anything. He tucks it under his arm and slides off his sunglasses. You recognise him. That’s not good.

His jacket is zipped to his chin but you’re certain that gold medallion hangs against his chest. It’s the same man as the night before. The one that was a little too late. How did he find you?

You shake your head and dip into the driver’s seat. Before you can close the door, his gloved hand is on it. He keeps it open as he steps up. You sigh.

“Sir, would you kindly move your bike?” You drone as you ram your keys into the ignition.

“Hey, doll, just wanna talk,” he says.

“I have somewhere to be,” you reach for the door and he steps closer, inserting himself so you couln’t close if you try.

You keep your eyes aimed at the windshield. Your other hand reaches for your purse. He clucks.

"Now, you don't gotta go calling anyone. Got a few buddies on the force I wouldn't mind catching up with but I'm being good," he steps back and shows his palms. "Just curious."

"I said I'm on my way somewhere--" you begin and grip the wheel.

"To get your daughter? You're a good mom--"

You stay silent. There's not much you can say that won't make this worse. It's none of your business. Piss off. A few choice epithets.

You search the brick wall ahead of you. Your heart beats faster and faster. No matter how you avoid men, they make themselves a problem.

You grab the shifter and crank it. You hit the gas and jerk backwards. You hit his bike and it crashes with a clatter. He let's go of the door as the door jars him.

"The fuck?" He exclaims.

You have just enough room to turn through the empty spot next to you. It's a deep spin of the wheel but you manage to redirect and roll past his bike.

As you swerve around and set the car straight, you glance over. He rubs his shoulder as he watches you, approaching his overturned bike with stunned steps. To your surprise, there's a big grin across his face.

Shit.

You stomp the pedal and tear out of the lot. You don't look as you turn into traffic and you squeeze the wheel until your knuckles hurt. What the fuck!

[joelsrose]

Guns and Roses: Chapter 5

Masterlist

Summary: You wanted nothing to do with Joel, determined to keep your distance after everything that had happened. But when a new threat to Jackson arises, you're forced to put aside your anger and work together. What starts as a reluctant alliance quickly becomes a test of survival, pushing both of you to your limits and uncovering feelings that are impossible to ignore.

TW: swearing, blood, fighting, broken bones, mentions of death, insinuation of s***** abuse, knives, guns, being tied up and gagged, physical violence, blood

also in this story the dining hall has a bar in it to avoid confusion lmaoo - ALSO to everyone who hates joel i understand he is evil sometimes and reader will not forgive him easily i swear some of yall never want her to forgive him but this is a slow burn!! So pls accept some affection ok ily enjoy

13k words i know im crazy - enjoy

The cool night air hit your skin as you stumbled out into the darkness, but it did nothing to soothe the searing ache in your chest. Each breath came in ragged gasps, your cheeks slick with the tears that refused to stop. The world around you blurred, Jackson's streetlights turning into hazy, shimmering halos as you half-ran, half-staggered your way home. But no amount of distance could drown out the sound of Joel’s voice echoing in your mind—sharp, cutting, merciless: Always in the way. I could never be with someone like that.

The words played over and over, slicing deeper each time, as if trying to carve out whatever fragile hope you had let yourself hold onto. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, as though the pressure alone could stop the hurt from swallowing you whole, but it was a losing battle. The more you tried to suppress it, the more it surged, threatening to burst out in uncontrollable sobs.

Why did I ever let myself believe things could be different? you wondered bitterly, swiping at your tear-streaked cheeks with trembling hands, the frustration twisting inside you like a knife.

Why did I let myself get close to him, let my guard down again?

You had clung to the small moments—his lingering gaze at the lake, the unexpected warmth in his touch—as if they meant something, as if he had really cared. But it was all an illusion, shattered in a single breath, a single sentence that now echoed like a cruel taunt.

The walk to your house seemed to stretch on forever, each step a reminder of how foolish you’d been, each breath another blow to your already bruised heart. It was embarrassing, too—knowing that Maria and Tommy had witnessed everything, that the entire bar had seen you storm out with tears streaking down your cheeks. You thought you’d grown past this—past letting anyone reduce you to a mess of trembling hands and tear-stained eyes. But here you were, crumbling under the weight of rejection, your mind spinning with a relentless torrent of what-ifs and should-haves.

Why did I ever think I could be more to him? You chastised yourself, your thoughts spiraling. Why did I let him in at all?

You reached your front door, your vision so blurred with tears that it took you several tries to fit the key into the lock. When the door finally gave way, you stumbled inside and shut it behind you, the latch clicking into place with a finality that only seemed to deepen the loneliness pressing down on you. Sliding down to the floor, you hugged your knees to your chest, burying your face as the sobs wracked your body. It was as if all the pain you'd been fighting to keep at bay had come crashing down at once, and now there was no holding back.

You cried until there were no more tears left to fall, until the ache in your chest was replaced by a hollow numbness.

Yet one thought remained, circling endlessly in your mind:

Why did I ever think I could be enough for him?

It wasn't just the pain of rejection—it was the devastation of having let yourself hope, only to be reminded of how small and insignificant you felt in the eyes of the person you had dared to let your guard down for. And that, more than anything, was a wound that cut too deep to heal.

•••

“What the hell was that, Joel?” Tommy’s voice cut through the lingering tension like a knife, sharper and angrier than Joel had heard in a long time. He took a step closer, his entire body rigid with fury. The broken glass still lay scattered across the floor, the beer pooling around the jagged shards, a stark reminder of what had just happened.

Joel rubbed a hand over his face, his voice rough and low as he spoke. “I didn’t know she was there,” he muttered, his gaze darting to the door you had fled through, as if he could will you back to explain himself. But he couldn’t meet Tommy's eyes; shame had already begun to settle like a heavy stone in his chest.

Tommy threw his hands up, the gesture dripping with exasperation. “Well, she was,” he snapped, his voice climbing with each word. “Jesus, Joel, when did you turn into such a goddamn asshole?” He raked his fingers through his hair, the frustration etched in every line of his face. “She didn’t deserve that—none of it—especially after everything.” His voice faltered at the end, the anger breaking, revealing a raw edge of something deeper, something more personal.

Joel’s frustration flared, his hands curling into fists. “You kept pushin' me on it, Tommy!” he shot back, his tone edged with defensiveness. “I didn’t—”

“Stop,” Maria interjected sharply, stepping forward with a look that was equal parts anger and disappointment. Her gaze flicked down to the shattered glass at their feet before locking onto Joel, her voice hardening. “That’s not an excuse, Joel. You didn’t just hurt her—you broke her.” The word hung in the air, sharp as a knife, cutting through the tension and daring him to look away.

Joel's jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he searched for any justification, any explanation that could make sense of what he’d just done. But the words wouldn’t come. The truth was lodged too deep, tangled in a place he didn’t know how to reach without tearing himself open. His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, the weight of Maria's words landing like a blow. “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he said quietly, his voice raw and unsteady. “I just—” But even as he spoke, the rest of the sentence seemed to slip away, lost in the silence that followed.

“Then why did you?” Maria's voice softened, though the disappointment still lingered in her eyes. She tilted her head, studying his face as if searching for answers in the lines of his furrowed brow and the shadows beneath his eyes. “What is your problem with her, Joel? Because from where I’m standing, your words and your actions don’t add up.” Her gaze deepened, probing further as his head hung low, the weight of guilt pulling him down. “I saw you at the lake today—whatever’s going on between you two, it’s not nothing. But you keep pushin’ her away, like you’re scared of what’ll happen if you don’t.”

Joel's mind raced, the weight of his mistake pressing down harder with every breath. His hands dropped to his sides, clenching and unclenching in a futile search for something solid to grasp, but they felt heavy and useless. His gaze stayed fixed on the broken glass scattered at his feet, but all he could see was the look on your face, replaying in his mind like a wound that refused to close. He had to physically squeeze his eyes shut, as if trying to block out the image that had seared itself into his memory.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Tommy’s voice broke through the tense silence, softer now but edged with a grim finality. “You better figure your shit out, Joel,” he said, his tone carrying a weight that made the words hit harder. His finger pointed sharply, underscoring the gravity of what he was saying. “Find a way to make this right, because if you don’t, you’re not just losin’ her. You’re losin’ us, too.” There was a quiet threat woven into his words, an ultimatum that laid bare all the bridges Joel was dangerously close to burning.

Tommy's words landed like a punch to the gut, leaving Joel reeling. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his thoughts churning with a mix of regret and something that twisted in his stomach, making him feel sick. But as his gaze fell back to the mess of shattered glass and spilled beer, a grim determination took hold. One thing was certain: he had to find a way to fix this, no matter what it took.

•••

You couldn’t say how long it had been since that night at the Tipsy Bison. The days bled into one another, a blurry procession of empty hours, each blending seamlessly into the next. The only sign that time was still moving was the growing pile of empty cups and plates cluttering your side table—a silent testament to how deeply you’d withdrawn from the world outside. You ignored the calls, the handwritten notes Maria slipped under your door, and even the bowl of fruit Ellie had left on your porch, topped with a cartoon dinosaur exclaiming, “Get up, ya fossil!” It had made you smile, if only for a fleeting second, before the familiar heaviness sank back in. Ellie, blissfully unaware of the events that had unfolded between you and Joel.

You knew you shouldn’t have shut them out. Maria, Tommy, Ellie—they hadn’t done anything wrong. They were your family, the closest people you had in this place. But you couldn’t bring yourself to respond, couldn’t summon the strength to open the door and face their concern. Because if you did, you might have to admit that you weren’t okay.

And the truth was, you weren’t.

You hadn’t left the house in days. The thought of stepping outside, of running into him, twisted your stomach into knots. Some might call it pathetic, and maybe it was—maybe you were hiding from a problem that you should have confronted head-on. But every time you even thought about walking out that door, the memory of Joel’s voice—his cold, dismissive tone—resonated in your mind like a bitter echo, sending you spiraling back into the hurt you’d been trying so hard to avoid.

How could you face the world when his words were still fresh in your ears, like open wounds you couldn’t heal? Always in the way. I could never be with someone like that. They looped in your mind, over and over, until the doubt became something almost tangible, wrapping around your heart like a vine, squeezing the life out of it. You had started to wonder if he was right—if you were a burden, someone who didn’t belong.

So you stayed inside, pacing the small space until you knew every creaking floorboard by heart, staring out the windows as the sunlight shifted across the room, bringing with it the constant reminder that life outside was moving on without you.

Maria had left notes, her handwriting slanted and rushed, as if written between tasks. “We miss you, please call,” one had read. You’d crumpled it in your fist the day you found it, but hadn’t been able to throw it away. It still sat on the table, a small, wrinkled reminder of the people who were trying to reach you. Tommy had come by too, knocking softly and calling your name, his voice gentle. You hadn’t answered. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you couldn’t bear the thought of opening the door and seeing pity in his eyes.

But despite all of their gestures—Maria’s notes, Tommy’s knocks, Ellie’s quirky little gifts—he hadn’t come to see the mess he’d made. Joel Miller hadn’t made any effort to check on you, to face the aftermath of the hurt he had caused. That, in some twisted way, almost made it worse. It was like you weren’t even worth the apology, as if your hurt didn’t matter. The silence from him was deafening, each day that passed without so much as a word deepened the wound.

It felt deliberate. Like he’d said what he needed to say, like he’d hurt you on purpose, and then walked away, leaving you to pick up the pieces alone.

You were angry—no, furious—not just at him, but at how thoroughly he had managed to upend your entire life. Before Joel, things made sense. You had your place here; Jackson was a sanctuary, a place where you could heal, and Tommy and Maria were the family you had chosen. But now, because of him, everything felt off-balance, as if the ground had shifted beneath your feet. Ever since you met him, the way you saw yourself had completely changed, and you hated it. You couldn’t even face the people you loved, not when the thought of running into him hung over every decision like a dark cloud, suffocating any sense of normalcy you’d tried to hold onto.

The worst part wasn’t just that he had dismissed you so easily—it was that you had allowed him to get close enough to hurt you in the first place. You had let down your guard, let yourself almost believe in him, and in doing so, you’d given him just enough space to break you. Now, you were paying the price for that mistake, and it was a steep one. It felt as if he’d reached inside your chest and torn out the part of you that still dared to hope for something more, leaving behind a hollow ache where that hope used to live.

You had decided you were done with Joel Miller.

Done with his gruff indifference, done with trying to make sense of the rare, fleeting moments when he seemed to care, only for him to snatch it all away the next moment. You couldn’t keep going back and forth, couldn’t keep letting yourself hope for something that was never going to happen.

You were done giving him the chance to hurt you again.

•••

It was almost as if they had planned an intervention. Tommy and Maria knocked on your door, and even though you didn’t answer, it didn’t stop them. They knew you too well; knew you wouldn’t let them in, but they came prepared.

The sound of the door creaking open downstairs carried up to your room, followed by Maria’s voice—playful yet edged with firmness. “You shouldn’t leave a pregnant woman waiting,” she called out, her footsteps echoing in the quiet as they made their way through the house, up the stairs, and down the hall to where you lay.

You were sprawled out on your bed, the blinds shut tight, casting a dim, muted glow over the room. It was stifling, the air thick with your despair. When Tommy and Maria entered, they took in the sight of you: hair unkempt, eyes shadowed with exhaustion, the same clothes you’d been wearing for days clinging to you. The blankets were tangled around you, a pile of untouched books and empty mugs crowding your bedside table. You hadn’t even bothered to pick up the crumpled note Maria had slipped under the door days ago, which now lay discarded on the floor.

Tommy’s gaze swept over you, his expression hardening with concern. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. He stepped closer, kneeling by the bed as if he could physically draw you out of whatever dark place you had sunk into. “Hey, kid,” he said, his voice softer now, but heavy with worry. “How are you?”

You didn’t respond at first, your eyes flicking up to meet his before dropping away again. “What are you guys doing here?” you mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself as if it could shield you from their concern.

Maria hovered in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, her brow creased with worry. She took in the state of the room—the mess, the dimness, the weight of defeat hanging over you—and sighed. “Just checking up on you,” she said gently, her voice laced with that familiar warmth. “We’re worried.”

Tommy nodded, exchanging a quick glance with Maria before turning back to you. “How about we go out tonight, huh?” he suggested, his tone striving for lightness even as the concern slipped through. “Just dinner—nothing fancy, I promise. But you need to get some fresh air.” His brow furrowed slightly, the worry deepening in his eyes. “Have you been eating?”

“Yeah, let’s get you out for a bit,” Maria added, stepping closer to your bedside and gently brushing a few strands of hair from your face. “It’ll be good to get some fresh air, get out of this dark room for a while.” She tried to offer an encouraging smile, but there was a quiet plea in her eyes, a silent insistence that told you they weren’t leaving without you.

You hugged your knees to your chest, turning your face away from their worried expressions. The thought of going out felt overwhelming, like stepping back into a world you weren’t ready to face. It wasn’t just about Joel anymore; it was about everything—the quiet hurt that had seeped into the cracks, the loneliness that had settled over you like a heavy fog these past weeks. It felt easier to stay in the safety of this dark room than to confront everything waiting for you on the other side of the door.

“I don’t know…” You trailed off, the words catching in your throat.

Tommy leaned in a little closer, his voice soft but resolute. “Come on, kid. Just one dinner, that’s all we’re asking,” he coaxed, his tone carrying a gentle insistence. “You don’t have to say a word if you don’t feel like it. We just miss you, that’s all.” There was a quiet sincerity in his eyes, a warmth that reached out to you even as you pulled further inward.

You didn’t need to ask if Joel would be there; you already knew he wouldn’t. They wouldn’t put you through that—not after everything that had happened. But as you hesitated, the anxiety was clear in your eyes, and they noticed the way your fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket, clinging to it like a lifeline.

Tommy cleared his throat, a reassuring tone creeping into his voice. “He’s on patrol,” he said, as if that settled the matter, not even needing to mention Joel’s name for you to know exactly who he meant. “He won’t be around tonight. You don’t have to worry.” His words hung in the air, offering a small measure of comfort, a quiet assurance that at least one thing would be a little easier to face.

You nodded slowly, the tight knot of anxiety in your chest loosening just a little. The thought of facing Joel was still too raw, too close to the surface, but maybe—just maybe—you could manage to face Tommy and Maria. They were trying to help you, reaching out with open hands to pull you out of this darkness, and it wasn’t fair to keep shutting them out. They didn’t deserve to be kept at arm’s length when all they’d done was care.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Just dinner.”

Maria's relief was palpable as she gave you a small, reassuring smile, squeezing your hand gently. “Just us tonight,” she promised. “No surprises.”

It should have comforted you, and in a way, it did. But even as you nodded, a shadow of doubt clung to you, the world beyond your door still seeming too bright, too unforgiving. No matter how hard you tried to push it away, the ghost of Joel Miller lingered in the corners of your mind, a reminder of everything you were trying to forget.

But maybe tonight, you could let it go—even if just for a little while.

•••

Dinner was at the dining hall, where the familiar buzz of conversation and the clink of glasses filled the air. You sat at a small wooden table, dimly lit by the flickering glow of candlelight that cast soft shadows across the room. You didn’t say much, and that seemed fine by Tommy and Maria, who carried the conversation with an easy rhythm, filling the silence for you.

The meal was simple but comforting: steaming bowls of hearty stew with a side of freshly baked bread. Tommy and Maria seemed content just to see you eating, casting the occasional glance your way as you slowly picked at your food. Tommy's grin widened as he spoke about the baby, his excitement palpable even though it was still too early for Maria to be showing. His hand rested lightly on her arm, and he beamed like a proud father already, talking about all the things he couldn’t wait to teach their child—fishing, horseback riding, even passing on his collection of bad jokes that made Maria roll her eyes but secretly smile.

You found yourself quietly listening, letting their warmth and hope wrap around you like a safety net, offering a small reprieve from the heaviness that had been weighing you down. For just a moment, you allowed yourself to sink into their joy, let the sound of their voices ease the ache in your chest. You could almost feel the tension slipping away, replaced by the comfort of their laughter and lighthearted banter. Just for a moment, you allowed yourself to forget—forget about the heaviness pressing on your heart, forget about Joel and all the hurt that came with him.

But then, the door to the dining hall swung open, and the moment shattered.

There he was—Joel. He looked awful, with dark circles under his eyes that suggested he hadn’t slept in days, and his hair was a mess, sticking out in uneven tufts as though he’d been raking his fingers through it in frustration. His beard was thicker and more unruly than usual, as if he’d stopped bothering to trim it, letting it grow out in uneven patches.

The mere sight of him sent your heart plummeting to the floor. He hadn’t seen you yet, hadn’t even glanced in your direction as he stood at the bar, his broad shoulders and familiar figure casting a long shadow over the room. He was nursing a whiskey, his back turned to you, and there was something about the way he stood—his frame tense and hunched, as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders—that made it impossible to look away. The sight of him was a punch to the gut, stirring up everything you’d tried so hard to bury.

Your hand trembled, and the fork slipped from your grasp, clattering onto the plate with a loud clink that seemed to echo through the room. Maria’s eyes darted toward you, concern flickering across her face as she followed your gaze. Slowly, she turned until her eyes landed on Joel, standing alone at the bar, his back still turned.

“Tommy…” Maria whispered, her voice tense and low, a quiet urgency in the way she said his name.

Tommy, who had been caught up in the conversation, turned in his seat to look over his shoulder. His easy smile faded the second he spotted Joel. His brow furrowed as he watched the scene, and he shifted in his seat, angling himself to block your view as if to shield you from the sight.

Maria leaned in close, her voice soft and urgent. “We can leave, honey,” she murmured. “He hasn’t seen us yet. We can duck out before he notices.” Her hand rested lightly on your arm, ready to guide you away, offering a quiet escape from the situation unraveling before you.

Tommy nodded in agreement, his voice gentle but edged with concern. “Yeah, we can head somewhere else. Go back to ours, maybe?” He kept his gaze on you, ready to leave at a moment’s notice, his worry evident in the way he searched your face for any sign of what you needed.

But you shook your head, swallowing hard against the lump forming in your throat. “No,” you said, the word coming out firmer than you’d expected. “I’m not letting him ruin our night.” There was a defiance in your voice, a spark that flared up despite the heaviness in your chest. You weren’t going to let Joel take this from you, not when you’d finally managed to step outside and try to find some normalcy again.

Maria’s hand tightened around yours, and she exchanged a worried glance with Tommy, but neither of them pushed further. You tried to focus on your meal, but your appetite had long since disappeared, the bitter sting of seeing Joel even from across the room making it impossible to ignore the knot tightening in your chest.

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to swallow the flood of emotions threatening to rise. “I’ll be fine,” you whispered, more to reassure yourself than them. But even as you said the words, you couldn’t help but feel the undeniable truth that Joel Miller had already changed everything—and you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to forgive him for it.

As the night wore on, you found yourself glancing over at the bar again, despite your best efforts to focus on anything else. Joel had turned slightly, his profile now visible. His expression was a mix of exhaustion and something else you couldn’t quite place.

It was infuriating—how he could be there, so close yet so distant, as if nothing had happened, as if you weren’t sitting just a few feet away, struggling to hold yourself together. The sight of him drinking alone, looking every bit the picture of the gruff, haunted man he always seemed to be, made your heart clench with a confusing mix of anger and something else you weren’t ready to name.

You turned back to Tommy and Maria, who were watching you closely, their faces etched with concern. You forced a smile, tried to push the emotions back down, and focused on the easy conversation again. But even as you pretended not to care, you couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how hard you tried, Joel Miller had already woven himself into your life, and there was no going back.

“I’m full,” you said, pushing your plate aside with a dismissive gesture.

Then, a determined edge crept into your voice. “Let’s get drunk.”

It was as if you were daring the night to offer you something else to focus on, something to drown out the thoughts swirling in your mind. Maria and Tommy shared a brief, uncertain look, but they didn’t argue. Maria gave a small nod, and Tommy signaled for another round, silently agreeing to let you decide how the rest of the night would go.

•••

The alcohol dulled the sharp edges of the hurt that had lingered for weeks, numbing the ache in your chest and quieting the voice in your head that kept replaying his words. Deep down, you knew it wasn’t the healthiest way to cope, but right now, you didn’t care. It was working, and that was all that mattered.

Yet, every time you caught sight of Joel—alone in the corner, nursing his drink with a distant look in his eyes—it sent a fresh wave of anger and hurt crashing through you. He hadn’t seen you yet, oblivious to your presence, which somehow made it worse. It wasn’t fair that he could sit there as if nothing had happened, like he hadn’t shattered your heart and left you to pick up the pieces. It wasn’t fair that he seemed so at ease while you were struggling to keep yourself from falling apart, each breath feeling like a battle you weren’t sure you were winning.

You threw yourself into the night—into the drinks, the laughter, and the comforting noise that filled the bar. As you scanned the room, your gaze landed on a familiar face: Sam, one of the residents Tommy had tried to set you up with a few months ago. You hadn’t given him a chance back then, though it wasn’t because he wasn’t attractive. He was—tall and lean, with dark hair that fell messily across his forehead, a boyish grin, and a dusting of freckles that stretched across his cheeks like a constellation. His crooked smile had a way of lighting up his entire face when he laughed, giving him an easy charm that was hard to ignore.

Back then, you’d been too fragile, nursing wounds that hadn’t even started to heal. The idea of dating felt impossible, even unfair—like dragging someone else into the mess of your heartache. So when Tommy had suggested introducing you to Sam, you’d politely declined, knowing deep down that you weren’t ready to let anyone in.

But now, seeing Joel across the bar—his presence stirring up the hurt you were barely managing to keep at bay—awoke something reckless inside you. You wanted him to notice you, to see you with someone else, to know that his words hadn’t broken you. Even if he didn’t want you, you wanted to show him that someone did, that you weren’t just the damaged person he’d left behind - broken and bruised.

The dim lighting of the bar and the haze of alcohol softened the edges of Sam’s face, giving his eyes a darker, more inviting warmth. There was a quiet confidence about him, an easy charm that almost dared you to take a chance on something new. In that moment, all you wanted was to feel desired—by someone who didn’t see you as a burden. Maybe it was impulsive, maybe it was even a little spiteful, but you couldn’t shake the need for Joel to see it.

You leaned closer to Tommy, doing your best to keep your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “Hey,” you said, nodding subtly in Sam’s direction. “See that guy over there?”

Tommy followed your gaze, his eyebrows lifting in surprise when he spotted Sam. “Sam?” he asked, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, that’s him. What about it?”

You shrugged, aiming for casual even as your pulse raced. “Think you could introduce me?”

Tommy’s surprise gave way to a slow, knowing smile. “Well, well,” he chuckled, the amusement clear in his tone. “Looks like you’ve had a change of heart.”

“Maybe,” you replied, forcing a playful smile to your lips. “Figured it’s worth a shot.”

Without missing a beat, Tommy waved Sam over, and you watched as he navigated his way through the crowd toward your table. Your heart pounded with a mix of nerves and anticipation—not just because you were about to meet Sam, but because you were keenly aware that at some point, Joel’s gaze would inevitably land on the two of you. There was a certain thrill in that thought, a defiance simmering just beneath the surface. You wanted him to see this, to see you moving on from his words, even if it was just for show.

As Sam approached, you straightened in your seat, a more confident smile spreading across your lips.

For once, you wanted to be the one in control, to be the one who chose to walk away on your own terms.

•••

Sam was kind, cute, and effortlessly charming—the kind of guy who could put anyone at ease. As he settled into the chair across from you, his crooked grin and playful eyes made slipping into the rhythm of conversation almost too easy. He had a way of making you laugh, keeping the mood light and flirty, even as the drinks you’d had earlier started to blur the edges of the night. But beneath the surface, something was missing. You could sense it, a faint tug deep inside, reminding you that despite his charm, you didn’t feel anything real. It was as though you were going through the motions, trying to convince yourself of a spark that simply wasn’t there.

“So,” Sam said, raising his drink with a playful glint in his eye, “Tommy tells me you’re quite the rider. I guess I’ll have to see for myself one of these days.”

You shrugged, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “I’m alright,” you replied, your tone carrying a hint of challenge. “But I’m not exactly volunteering to give you any lessons.”

He chuckled, leaning in closer, his gaze sweeping over you with a clear spark of interest. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to earn that, then,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, adding a quiet heat to his words that lingered in the air between you.

It was obvious he was into you.

His hand lingered on your arm, his eyes glinting with something more than casual interest, and his attention never wavered from you. A part of you welcomed it—the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room. It felt good to be seen, to be desired, even if only for a night.

You wished his words had an effect on you, wished they stirred the butterflies caged in your stomach. But the flutter never came, and you could only feel the emptiness where that spark was supposed to ignite. There was a hollowness there, an emptiness that no amount of attention from Sam could fill. The ache inside you hadn’t faded; it had merely dulled to a hum in the background.

You glanced away from Sam, and your eyes found Joel once more. He was still at the bar, in the same spot he'd occupied for what felt like hours, nursing a whiskey. But now, he wasn’t alone. A blonde woman—pretty, with an easy smile—had appeared beside him, leaning in close, her hand lightly resting on his arm as she spoke. The sight sent a pang through your chest, a sharp reminder of how everything had unraveled. It wasn’t quite jealousy—it was something darker, a bitter realization that while you were struggling to pick up the pieces, he seemed to be doing just fine.

Maybe that was the type of woman Joel preferred. What did it matter? You told yourself it didn’t, but the truth was painfully clear—it did. The thought twisted in your chest, pushing you to act.

“Let’s dance,” you said abruptly, shoving back your chair and reaching for Sam’s hand, desperate to be anywhere but sitting still, anywhere that would let you forget, even if just for a moment.

Sam grinned, springing to his feet as if he’d been waiting for you to make the first move. He followed you onto the small dance floor, where only a handful of others swayed to the music. His hands settled on your hips, pulling you closer as the beat pulsed through the dimly lit room. For a few moments, you let yourself get lost in the rhythm, the thrum of the music, and the warmth of the liquor coursing through your veins. Sam guided you, his body pressing closer with each sway, his breath warm against your cheek as he leaned in.

As you spun around, the world blurred, but through the haze of lights and music, you caught sight of Joel across the bar. Everything else seemed to fall away. His gaze was locked on you, dark and unflinching, with an intensity that sent a jolt through your veins. It wasn’t the indifferent, dismissive look you’d grown used to; it was raw and unguarded, as though he couldn’t quite mask whatever was simmering just beneath the surface. Anger, jealousy, hurt—you couldn’t tell, but the emotion was unmistakable, etched in the hard line of his jaw and the darkness of his eyes. It reached across the room, pulling you into its grip, and a shiver raced down your spine, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

For a moment, the room around you seemed to dissolve, leaving just the two of you locked in a silent, electric exchange. Joel's gaze seared into you, and your pulse quickened, a volatile mix of defiance and something far more tangled swelling in your chest. You didn’t even know what you were hoping to find in his eyes—regret, maybe, or longing—but there was something there, something that made it hard to breathe.

Without thinking, you turned and grabbed Sam, pulling him into a kiss. He hesitated, surprised for a heartbeat, but then leaned into it, his hands tightening around your waist as if he’d been waiting for this all night.

When you finally broke away, your gaze flicked back to Joel, and for a heartbeat too long, you held his stare. He had seen everything—every movement, every breath—and you knew he hadn’t missed the way you had thrown yourself into Sam's arms, as if trying to prove something. To him, to yourself—you weren’t sure.

And then, just like that, Joel was gone, slipping through the back door and vanishing into the night before you could fully register the emptiness left in his wake.

Sam’s voice broke through your thoughts, concern softening his tone. “Everything okay?” he asked, leaning in closer to catch your eye.

You forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look as brittle as it felt. “Yeah,” you lied. “I’m fine. Let’s keep dancing.”

You kept dancing with Sam, but the moment Joel disappeared from the bar, the illusion of control you had clung to crumbled, leaving you feeling hollow. The music pulsed around you, Sam's hands gripped your waist, and yet it felt all wrong—like you were trying to use him as a lifeline, but the rope had already frayed. You needed air, needed to escape the suffocating haze that seemed to cling to you.

“Let’s go outside for a bit,” you said abruptly, pulling away from Sam.

“Sure,” he replied, his eyes glinting with anticipation, as if he thought this was the moment things would get interesting.

You stumbled into the cool night air, your head heavy from the alcohol and the heat of the bar. You scanned the surroundings, your gaze flicking around for Joel—pathetic as it was, some part of you couldn’t stop searching for him. But he wasn’t there, and you weren’t sure whether that made it better or worse. The sharp breeze did little to soothe the chaos roiling inside you.

Sam was close behind, his footsteps crunching on the gravel. Before you could say anything, he was already there, his hands gripping your waist as he pressed himself closer.

“Let’s find somewhere private,” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear as his fingers tightened around you.

Your body tensed, a cold dread slithering down your spine. “Sam… wait,” you said, your voice barely a breath. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

He chuckled, a rough, dismissive sound that sent a shiver down your spine, making your skin prickle with unease. His grip tightened as he shoved you back against the wall, the cold surface pressing into your shoulders. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice hardening with a dangerous edge. “You’ve been all over me tonight. Hell, you just kissed me. Don’t act like you’re not asking for this.” The words dripped with entitlement, twisting the air around you into something dark and suffocating.

Your thoughts swam, disoriented by the alcohol and the sudden, unsettling shift in his tone. It was like a jolt of ice water spilling over you—the stark realization that he wasn’t the charming, kind guy you’d thought he was. His hands moved lower, rougher, pinning you against the wall as panic clawed its way up your throat. You struggled to gather your bearings, but the situation seemed to close in around you, suffocating and dark. Where the hell was Tommy? you thought desperately, your pulse thundering in your ears.

“Stop it, Sam,” you pleaded, your voice trembling with fear. “I said no.”

But he didn’t stop. His mouth grazed your neck, and his grip tightened painfully, digging into your skin as he leaned in closer. “God, you’re all the same,” he sneered, his breath hot and foul against your ear. “Act all innocent, but deep down—”

This can’t be happening. Panic surged through you as you tried to push him away, but your arms felt like lead, your mind clouded and sluggish.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

The voice sliced through the night like a blade, low and vibrating with barely contained fury. Before you could even process what was happening, Sam was wrenched away from you, his body hitting the ground with a brutal thud.

Joel.

He loomed over Sam, his chest heaving, every muscle tense with rage. His fists were already clenched, knuckles white under the dim light. “She told you to back off,” Joel growled, his voice a dangerous rumble that seemed to shake the very air around you. His eyes burned with a fury so raw it was almost terrifying.

Sam scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide with a volatile mix of anger and fear. “What the hell is your problem, old man?” he spat, stumbling back as he tried to regain his footing. His lip curled into a sneer, a flash of defiance in his gaze. “Go to hell,” he snarled, and without a second thought, he swung his fist at Joel.

The punch connected, snapping Joel’s head to the side, but he barely flinched. In an instant, he surged forward, seizing Sam by the collar and driving him down onto the gravel with a bone-rattling force. The crack of Sam’s head against the ground echoed sharply in the still night air.

Joel didn’t hesitate.

He dropped to his knees, pinning Sam beneath him as he unleashed a barrage of brutal blows—once, twice—the sickening thud of bone meeting flesh reverberating through the darkness. Blood sprayed across the gravel, and Sam’s body began to go limp, his resistance fading under the relentless, punishing force of Joel’s fists. But Joel didn’t let up, a feral rage burning in his eyes as each strike landed with merciless precision, as if he were trying to erase the very memory of Sam's touch.

“Joel, stop!” you screamed, your voice desperate and raw, but it was as if he didn’t hear you. His rage had taken over, his eyes dark and wild, completely consumed.

At last, Joel grabbed a fistful of Sam's shirt, yanking him up until their faces were mere inches apart.

“If you ever come near her again,” he snarled, his voice low and rough with barely restrained fury, “I swear to God, I will fuckin' kill you.” His words dripped with venom, a promise as much as a threat. Then he shoved Sam away, letting him crumple back onto the gravel in a limp, trembling heap.

Panting heavily, Joel straightened, the fury that had consumed him moments ago ebbing away as his gaze fell on you. The sight of you—pressed against the wall, cheeks streaked with tears, your entire body trembling—seemed to drain the fight out of him in an instant.

Concern flashed in his eyes, raw and unguarded, chased swiftly by regret. His hands, bloodied and still shaking at his sides, hung there uselessly, as if unsure of what to do. All he wanted was to reach out and cradle your face in his hands, to wipe away the tears and assure himself that you were okay. But he stayed rooted where he was, afraid to cross the distance, afraid he might break whatever fragile thing existed between you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and rough with emotion, a jarring contrast to the violence that had just shattered the night. The tenderness in his tone was almost painful, as though each word scraped against something deeper that he couldn’t quite bring himself to say. His eyes searched yours with a desperation he couldn’t hide, needing to know that you weren’t as broken as he felt.

But the space between you seemed to grow, an unspoken divide filled with all the things left unsaid—the reckless rage, the bruised history, and the unbearable longing he could never quite put into words. His hands trembled with the urge to reach for you, to close the gap, but instead, he stayed frozen, the ache in his chest echoing in the silence between you both.

The question hit you like a blow. How dare he act like he cared now, after everything he’d put you through? The ghost of Sam’s touch still clung to your skin, making your stomach twist with revulsion, and the adrenaline surged bitterly in your throat.

“Fuck off, Joel,” you snapped, your voice cracking as you scrubbed at your tear-streaked cheeks. “I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t need you to save me.” The words came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t care. Anger burned behind every syllable, masking the pain that roiled beneath.

Joel’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching as a flicker of hurt crossed his eyes before he could bury it. “He was gonna—” he started, his voice rough, as if he was struggling to explain himself.

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, your voice trembling with fury and something deeper, something you refused to name. “You don’t get to just swoop in and play the hero after treating me like I was nothing.” Your breath hitched, words breaking apart like shattered glass. “You don’t get to decide when I need saving, or when I need anything from you.” Each word tasted bitter on your tongue, leaving a raw ache in your throat as they spilled out.

Joel’s face tightened, frustration simmering just below the surface. “You’re drunk,” he said quietly, almost like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” you shot back, your voice cracking. The tremor in your hands betrayed you, giving away the storm raging inside as you struggled to hold back the tears. “Just like you knew what you were doing when you said those things.” The sob that escaped your throat made the words rough and ragged, but you forced yourself to keep going.

“You can’t treat me like garbage one day and then show up the next, acting like you give a damn.” Your breath shuddered, your voice breaking again.

“I don’t need your pity, Joel. I don’t need anything from you.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving, and you saw the way they hit him by the way his expression faltered, his eyes narrowing as if he were bracing himself against the blow. But he didn’t fight back, didn’t offer a single word in his defense. He just stood there, his breath heavy and uneven, the night swallowing up whatever he might have said. The look in his eyes was haunted, as though he knew he deserved every bit of your anger and more.

You didn’t wait for him to recover. Without another glance, you turned on your heel, stumbling toward the entrance of the dining hall. Each step felt unsteady, the warm night air doing nothing to clear the fog in your mind. It was as if the world had narrowed down to just you and the echo of your own ragged breaths, the silence growing louder and louder the further you walked from him.

Something had broken between you and Joel—something fragile that had barely held together to begin with. It splintered under the weight of all the hurt, leaving shards you weren’t sure could ever be mended. And as you walked away, a voice whispered in the back of your mind, small and bitter: Was there ever anything worth salvaging at all? The question lingered, twisting painfully in your chest, as the distance between you and Joel stretched wider with each faltering step.

•••

A few days had passed since the night outside of the dining hall—since Joel had saved you, yet again. But the anger hadn’t faded; if anything, it had deepened, festering like an open wound that refused to heal. You replayed the events over and over in your mind—the shame, the fear, the helplessness.

It was a vicious cycle, one that left you feeling more fractured with each passing day.

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sharp ring of the phone. You snatched it up, the tension already twisting in your gut. The voice on the other end was laced with urgency.

"Hey, we got a big problem," Tommy’s voice crackled through the line, sounding uncharacteristically frazzled.

Your stomach dropped. “What is it, Tommy?”

“Some of our patrol didn’t make it back.” His voice was grim, a heavy silence hanging in the air. “They’re hours overdue, and we haven’t been able to reach them on the radio.”

There was a pause on the line, a faint crackle filling the gap. “Could be raiders,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Could be worse. We don’t know what’s out there.”

He took a breath, the sound faint but telling. “Whatever it is, it’s getting close to Jackson’s perimeter.”

His tone sharpened, urgency seeping through. “We need to head out today and figure out what the hell is going on,” he said, his words heavy with the weight of the unknown. “We can’t afford to wait any longer.”

Your pulse quickened at the thought of the community—your home—being in danger. The idea of losing more people, of watching the fragile safety of Jackson unravel, filled you with a dread that settled like a stone in your chest.

“When are we leaving?” you asked, already moving to pack your bag. You grabbed your rifle from its place by the door, the familiar weight of it a small comfort as you slung it over your shoulder.

•••

By the time you reached the stables, Tommy and Maria were already there, saddling the horses with grim determination etched into their faces. Joel was there too, cinching the strap on his saddle, and the sight of him stoked the simmering anger you’d been harboring. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it—there was too much at stake. A few of the other men stood nearby, their expressions tense as they readied their own mounts. The atmosphere was thick with urgency and unspoken fear; everyone understood what was at risk.

“I’m coming with you,” Maria said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument as she adjusted the strap on her saddle.

Tommy turned to her, his face drawn with worry. “Maria, you can’t go. Not in your condition.”

She shot him a stubborn look, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m pregnant, Tommy, not helpless,” she snapped.

The concern in Tommy’s eyes was unmistakable, and you could see the conflict written all over his face. Maria was strong, no doubt about it, but the risk was too great, and he wasn’t about to put her or the baby in harm's way.

“Maria,” you said gently, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. “Stay here. You’re needed more in Jackson, with the baby—and with Ellie. The rest of us can handle this.”

At the mention of Ellie, Joel’s head snapped up, a reaction you caught from the corner of your eye.

Maria’s gaze met yours, her expression hardening for a moment as though she was ready to argue. But beneath the defiance, you could see the worry—the fear of what might happen out there. After a tense pause, her shoulders sagged, and she let out a resigned breath. “Fine,” she whispered, her voice tight with strain. “But you all better come back in one piece. I swear to God if anything happens to you, I'll finish the job myself.”

You gave her arm a squeeze before turning back to the horses, a sense of urgency propelling you forward. As you swung up into the saddle, you could feel Joel's gaze still lingering on you, but you refused to meet it.

As you rode away from the safety of Jackson, a knot of unease tightened in your stomach, growing with each step your horse took. It wasn’t just the threat looming out there in the woods—it was the unsettling reality that once again, you were heading into danger with Joel by your side.

But this time, it was more than just your life hanging in the balance; it was the lives of people you cared about, people who depended on you to make it back safely. The weight of that responsibility pressed down on you, and the thought of having to trust Joel when so much was at stake sent a bitter taste to the back of your throat. Yet there was no turning back now. Whatever lay ahead, you’d have to face it—and face him—whether you were ready or not.

•••

The silence between your group was unsettling, broken only by the soft clop of hooves on the dirt path and the whisper of leaves rustling overhead. The tension hung in the air, thick and stifling, like the oppressive heat that lingers before a storm. This wasn’t just another patrol; it was a dangerous mission, and you could feel it in the way everyone gripped their reins a little tighter, their weapons kept close at hand.

Your rifle rested against your shoulder, its weight both a comfort and a constant reminder of the stakes. You kept your focus on the path ahead, doing your best to ignore the occasional glances Joel sent your way. His gaze was hard to miss, like a heat at your back, but you refused to acknowledge it, steering your horse closer to Tommy’s for a semblance of reassurance.

As the path began to curve, Tommy raised his hand, signaling everyone to slow. The horses came to a cautious halt, hooves shifting restlessly in the dirt. Up ahead, just beyond a small ridge, you spotted the outline of a structure—a dilapidated farmhouse with boarded-up windows and a sagging barn beside it, both looking as though a strong wind could knock them over.

But there was movement around the buildings. Flickers of shadows, a brief glint of metal in the fading light. Your heart sank as the realization hit you like a cold wave.

“Shit, there’s a bunch of them,” you breathed, your voice low and tense. The words hung in the heavy air as the reality of the situation settled in—there was no turning back, and whatever waited beyond the ridge was about to test every ounce of resolve you had left.

“Could be more,” Tommy muttered, his eyes scanning the area. “Shit, we need a plan.” He glanced over his shoulder at Joel, who had edged his horse closer, positioning himself beside Tommy.

Joel’s voice was steady, despite the tension simmering in the air. “We’ve gotta be smart about this. Can’t just go in guns blazing. If our people are in there, we risk hitting them by mistake.” His gaze swept over the group, calculating the best course of action. “Here’s what we’ll do. The three of us”—he gestured to you, Tommy, and himself—“will circle around to the west and try to get a look inside. The rest of you, keep a lookout here and be ready to provide cover if things go south. Understood?”

The others nodded in silent agreement, the urgency clear on their faces. Without wasting another second, you adjusted your grip on the reins and urged your horse forward, following Joel and Tommy as they led the way toward the ridge. Your pulse quickened, each step drawing you closer to the farmhouse and whatever waited beyond. There was no room for hesitation now; you could only hope that the plan would hold, and that you’d find your people alive.

You dismounted and quickly tied the horses out of sight, then followed Tommy and Joel on foot, moving silently under the cover of the trees. As you approached the farmhouse, the three of you ducked low, creeping closer to the building’s side.

“Jesus Christ,” Tommy breathed, his voice barely a whisper as he peered inside through a crack in the boarded-up window. You crouched beside him, your pulse thundering in your ears, and saw what had caused his reaction.

The familiar sight of your men lay before you—bound and bloodied, their faces pale and bruised. The dim light inside the farmhouse revealed them slumped against the wall, barely conscious, while armed figures paced nearby, rifles slung over their shoulders. Your heart clenched at the sight, a mix of dread and anger surging through you.

Tommy turned to you and Joel, his expression grim. “Alright, here’s the plan,” he whispered, his eyes darting back to the captured men inside. “We split up. Joel, you head around back and take out the guard by the barn. You,” he nodded to you, “stay here and keep an eye on the entrance. If anyone makes a move, you take the shot. I’ll go in through that side door, see if I can get to our guys and cut them loose.”

Joel gave a curt nod, his jaw clenched tight. “Be quick about it,” he said, already shifting towards the barn.

Here's a revised version to heighten the build-up and emphasize the tension:

Tommy glanced at you, his voice low and urgent. “Don’t engage unless you have to,” he warned, his gaze flickering to the farmhouse. “We need the element of surprise.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry, and nodded. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, as you positioned yourself by the corner of the building. Every breath seemed louder than it should have been, and the seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity. You watched Joel vanish around the back, his silhouette blending into the shadows, while Tommy crept toward the side door, his steps deliberate and noiseless.

You gripped your rifle tighter, the slickness of sweat coating your palms. The plan seemed simple enough, but as the silence dragged on, a chill of doubt began to coil in your chest. What if this was a trap? What if they were waiting for you?

Just as Tommy reached for the door, a sudden crash exploded from inside the farmhouse, followed by the chaotic sound of shouts. Your pulse surged, panic seizing your chest as you saw a figure lunge toward the entrance, rifle raised. Instinct took over—you swung your weapon up, finger tightening on the trigger, and fired. The crack of the shot shattered the silence, and the man crumpled to the ground, but the noise had blown your cover.

The night erupted in chaos. Shouts filled the air, followed by the staccato of gunfire. Two figures burst from the back of the barn, weapons blazing. You fired again, catching one of them in the chest, but the other dove behind a stack of crates, unloading his clip in your direction. You pressed yourself against the wall, heart pounding in your ears as bullets tore through the wooden boards just inches from your head.

But then everything went terribly wrong. As you fended off one of the advancing men, swinging your rifle like a club to knock him off balance, you didn’t notice the other sneaking up behind you until it was too late.

A cold blade pressed against your throat, the sharp edge biting into your skin just enough to draw a thin line of blood. Panic surged through you as you froze, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“Drop your gun!” the voice snarled, his breath hot and foul against your ear, his arm clamped around your waist, trapping you against his chest.

In an instant, Joel whirled around, his gun snapping up, aiming squarely at the raider's head. His eyes were wide, and you could see the fear flashing there, a stark contrast to the deadly calm in his voice. His heart must have been pounding in his chest as fiercely as yours, but his grip on the gun remained steady.

“Let her go,” he growled, the roughness in his voice betraying a hint of desperation, sounding more like a plea than a command. His gaze burned with an intensity that could cut through steel, and you caught the subtle movement of his finger inching closer to the trigger. The tension in his stance was palpable, like a coiled spring ready to snap.

The man sneered, the cold steel of the blade biting into your skin as he pressed it harder against your throat, a sharp sting radiating out from where the edge threatened to break the surface. “What’s the matter? She your girlfriend or somethin’?” he taunted, his breath hot and foul against your ear. His gaze drifted over you with a lewd grin that made your skin crawl, a sickening wave of revulsion twisting in your gut. “She’s a pretty one… bet she’d be real nice to take for a spin.” His voice dropped to a menacing murmur. “Maybe I’ll do you a favor and—”

“Don’t,” Joel cut him off, the word like a whip crack in the night, edged with a barely restrained fury. His voice was a dangerous growl, but you could see it—the hesitation flickering behind his eyes. He couldn’t shoot. Not like this. The risk of hitting you was too great, and the weight of that possibility hung heavy in the air.

"Joel, it's okay," you began, reaching out to reassure him. But before the words could leave your lips, a sudden, searing pain shot through Joel’s leg. One of the other men had crept up from behind, driving a knife deep into his thigh and twisting it viciously. Joel cried out, collapsing to one knee as the world blurred around him. He tried to raise his weapon, but the agony ripped through him, and his grip slackened, the gun slipping from his fingers. His strength was ebbing fast, and darkness crept in at the edges of his vision.

“Joel!” you screamed, your voice raw with panic as you struggled against the hold of the raider dragging you away. You kicked and twisted, desperate to break free, but it was no use. The grip around your arms tightened, pulling you backward as the chaos of the moment swallowed you whole.

The last thing you saw before everything went black was Joel crumpling to the ground, blood spreading like a dark stain beneath him, his eyes flickering shut as he lost consciousness. Then the darkness took you, too.

•••

Joel awoke sometime later, his clothes clinging to him, soaked with sweat and blood, his skin clammy and pale. The cold, uneven ground pressed against his back, and a dull, throbbing pain pulsed from his leg, radiating up his spine. His head pounded as he struggled to piece together where he was, each breath ragged and shallow.

Through the haze of confusion, a voice broke through—Tommy’s. Joel blinked, his vision swimming as he saw his brother crouched beside him, his hands stained red as he frantically wrapped a torn piece of cloth around Joel’s leg, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding.

“Tommy…” Joel’s voice was barely more than a rasp, rough and broken. He tried to push himself up, but his strength failed him, and he collapsed back onto the ground, his pulse racing with a sickening dread. “Where is she?” The words escaped in a desperate whisper, as if they were being torn from his chest. He didn’t need to say your name; the urgency in his voice made it painfully clear who he was asking about.

Tommy’s face was a mask of grim resolve, but his eyes betrayed the pain lurking just beneath the surface. The set of his jaw tightened, his gaze flickering away from Joel’s as though he couldn’t bear to look him in the eye. “They took her,” he murmured, his voice rough and edged with a helpless anger. “I couldn’t—I couldn’t get to her in time.”

The words slammed into Joel like a blow, the breath leaving his lungs in a ragged gasp. For a moment, everything else seemed to fall away—the throbbing in his leg, the cold chill of the air—it all became secondary to the suffocating realization that you were gone. Taken. His stomach twisted with a raw, gnawing fear that was almost unbearable, and a cold sweat broke out across his skin.

“I have to find her,” Joel choked out, his voice splintering with a desperation he couldn’t contain. He tried to push himself up again, his hands trembling as he braced against the ground, but the agony in his leg sent a white-hot burst of pain through him, forcing him back down.

Tommy placed a firm hand on Joel’s shoulder, his grip steady but trembling slightly from the adrenaline coursing through him. His voice was low and urgent. “You can’t move, Joel. You’re losing too much blood.” His fingers tightened, pressing down as if to keep Joel anchored in place. “If we don’t get that leg treated, you’re not gonna make it.”

“I don’t care,” Joel growled, his voice fierce despite the weakness seeping into his limbs. His chest heaved with the effort to draw breath, each inhale laced with panic and fury. “I’m not leaving her out there with them. I’m not—” His voice cracked, the weight of his own helplessness crashing down around him.

But Joel's mind was already spiraling, his worst nightmare unfolding right before his eyes. This was why he’d kept you at arm’s length—why he’d pushed you away with harsh words and cold distance. He’d done it because he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, of failing to protect you when it mattered most. And now, despite everything he’d done to keep you away, the very thing he feared was happening.

Regret twisted in his gut, more excruciating than the searing pain in his leg, as the truth crashed over him: keeping you at a distance hadn’t saved you. It hadn’t saved either of you. Because now, you were out there—alone, vulnerable, and for all he knew, lost forever. The thought tore him apart, knowing you might never hear the words he’d kept buried deep, the truth behind every harsh word and cold gesture.

He wanted to hold you in his arms, to tell you everything—about Sarah, about Tess, names he couldn’t utter without his insides twisting painfully, without feeling the weight of all that he’d failed to protect. He wanted you to understand how the scars of his past had shaped the man he was, and why he’d been so terrified of letting you in. But more than anything, he wanted to promise you, right there in that moment, that he would never lose you. That if he could just get to you, he’d fight with every last breath to keep you safe.

•••

When you came to, the world felt cold and unforgiving. The rough texture of rope dug painfully into your wrists, and the taste of cloth filled your mouth, stifling your breath and choking off any cry for help. Your hands and ankles were bound tight, leaving you utterly helpless, and each small movement only seemed to tighten the knots, rubbing your skin raw as you struggled in vain.

Then, the pain slammed into you—sharp and all-consuming. As you glanced down, you saw the unnatural angle of your leg; it was unmistakably shattered. The sight made your stomach twist, and the agony radiating from the broken bone was so intense it seemed to pulse through every nerve, setting your whole body alight with a searing, relentless pain that left you gasping for air.

The dimly lit room reeked of damp wood, sweat, and something sour that twisted your stomach. The rough-hewn walls around you suggested this wasn’t a makeshift hideout—it was an old cabin, likely seized by the raiders as a base. The faint light filtering through a cracked window was just enough to cast long, menacing shadows that seemed to close in on you.

You could hear them outside, talking in low, guttural voices. Their laughter was harsh and cruel, mingled with lewd comments that made your skin crawl.

“She’ll fetch a good price,” one of them drawled, his voice raspy and bitter, like gravel scraping against metal.

“Not sure I wanna sell her just yet,” another one added with a twisted chuckle. “Could have some fun first.”

Their words pierced through you like ice, chilling you to the bone. Panic clawed at your throat, and you bit down hard on the gag to stifle a sob, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. You forced yourself to breathe slowly, fighting the wave of dread that threatened to overwhelm you. There had to be a way out—there had to be—but as you tested the bindings, they only seemed to tighten, the rope digging deeper into your skin.

You were trapped, surrounded by men who saw you as nothing more than an object, a bargaining chip, or worse. The reality of your situation crashed over you, heavy and suffocating. All you could do was lie there, helpless, and wait. Wait and hope.

In the back of your mind, a tiny flicker of hope struggled to stay alive, like a candle flame sputtering in the dark. It was irrational, fragile, but you clung to it desperately. You didn’t know if it was because you believed Joel would come for you, or if it was because the thought of never seeing him again without knowing how he really felt was too unbearable. The last real words between you hung in the air, unresolved and sharp, a bitter reminder of everything you hadn’t said.

The memory of Joel’s fierce gaze, the raw desperation in his voice when he had called your name, played over and over in your mind. You didn’t know if he was hurt, or if he was even alive. But the thought of him out there, somewhere, fighting his way to you, was the only thing keeping that flicker of hope alive. It trembled and threatened to die out, but it persisted, just as you did, lying there in the dark, bound and helpless.

You swallowed against the gag, forcing the tears back, and stared at the crack of light in the cabin’s wall. You didn’t know if rescue was coming, but if there was even the smallest chance, you had to hold on. You had to believe that somewhere, out in the night, someone was coming for you. Because if you didn’t hold onto that hope, the darkness would swallow you whole.

•••

The night was pitch-black as Tommy and Joel reached the outskirts of the cabin. They had followed a grim trail—blood droplets and trampled footprints in the mud—that led them deeper into the woods, the sight of it all turning Joel’s stomach with a sickening dread. Each step brought a mounting urgency that tightened around his chest like a noose, pulling tighter with every breath. Time stretched unbearably; each passing minute felt like an hour, and every crack of a branch underfoot was a cruel taunt from the darkness, as if mocking their desperation.

The cabin loomed ahead, its silhouette jagged and menacing against the night sky. Joel’s pulse hammered in his ears, the sound blending with the whispering wind as it rustled through the trees. His focus narrowed to a single, driving need: to find you and get you out alive. He could feel the weight of that need pressing down on him, pushing him forward even as his body screamed from exhaustion and pain. Nothing else mattered. Not the throbbing agony in his leg, not the icy chill seeping into his bones—only the thought of you, somewhere inside that cabin, waiting to be saved.

The pain in his leg throbbed with every step, searing up through his thigh and making his movements stiff and uneven. His face was pale and clammy from blood loss, sweat trickling down his temples, but he ignored it, gritting his teeth against the pain. Tommy had tried to convince him to turn back, to get medical help before it was too late, but Joel had barely listened. Nothing short of being dragged unconscious would have kept him from coming after you.

“Joel, you’re in no shape to do this,” Tommy whispered harshly, grabbing his arm as Joel stumbled over a root. “You can barely walk.”

“Don’t matter,” Joel growled, jerking his arm free. His voice was hoarse, raw with a desperation he couldn’t disguise. “I’m not leaving her.” His eyes burned with a fierce determination, a reckless glint that bordered on madness. It wasn’t just the thought of you in danger that drove him—it was the thought of failing you, of being too late. The idea of losing you tightened in his chest like a vice, suffocating and unrelenting.

Tommy shot him a worried glance, his jaw clenched. “Alright,” he conceded reluctantly, “but we’ve got to do this smart. We go in quiet, no mistakes.”

Joel nodded, his grip tightening on the handle of his knife as they crept closer to the cabin. The faint murmur of voices drifted through the still night air, each muffled word stoking the fire that burned deep in his chest. His hands trembled—not from the cold breeze or the blood loss, but from the sheer, uncontrollable fury that coursed through him, mingled with a fear so deep it threatened to tear him apart. He forced himself to focus, to push down the panic rising inside him. He couldn’t afford to think about what might be happening to you in that cabin. He had to believe you were still alive, still fighting—because the alternative was unthinkable.

Guilt gnawed at him, the weight of his own words echoing in his mind. This was his plan. If you were hurt—or worse—it would be his fault. The things he'd said, the way he'd pushed you away, only made the guilt press harder against his chest.

But there wasn’t time to drown in that regret. Not now.

Shoving those thoughts aside, Joel clung to one truth: he would tear through anyone standing between him and you. There was no room for doubt, no space for hesitation.

As they neared the cabin, Joel crouched low, his breaths coming fast and shallow. The voices were clearer now—gruff, laughing, too casual, as though this was just another night for them. The sound of it made his skin crawl, and a cold rage swept over him. He edged closer, peering through a narrow gap in the boarded-up window.

Tommy laid a steadying hand on Joel’s shoulder, grounding him, pulling him back from the edge. “Looks like there’s six of them,” he whispered, his voice low and urgent. “Three each. Can’t see her—they must have her deeper inside. And who knows, there might be more.”

Joel gave a tight nod, his jaw clenched so hard it sent a dull ache up to his temples. The muscles in his neck tightened, his pulse a relentless drumbeat as his gaze shifted back toward the cabin. Even without seeing you, he could picture you in there—vulnerable, surrounded by danger. The image ignited something primal and ferocious inside him, a raw need that burned hotter than the pain tearing through his leg or the exhaustion weighing down his limbs.

It wasn’t just the instinct to protect; it was a deeper, darker desperation—a refusal to let anything happen to you, to let anyone touch you or harm you. The thought of you in the hands of those men made his blood boil and his vision blur with a barely restrained fury. There was no room for hesitation, no space for anything but the resolve to get to you, to tear apart anyone who stood in his way.

He whispered a silent promise to you there in the darkness—I’m coming for you. Just hold on. I won’t fail you like I did them.

Joel took a breath to steady himself, the burn of his leg wound fading into the background as the raw determination surged through him. With a final nod to Tommy, they moved like shadows, slipping around opposite sides of the cabin. The night was silent but for the faint murmur of voices inside—voices that would soon be silenced.

Tommy signaled from the far side, his fingers held up in a countdown. Three, two, one—

They burst through the doors simultaneously, weapons raised. Joel’s first shot hit the nearest raider square in the chest, dropping him before he even had a chance to react. The others spun around, scrambling for cover, but Joel was already moving, firing with ruthless precision. The cabin erupted in chaos, gunfire cracking through the air, splintering wood and shattering glass.

A raider lunged at Joel with a knife, and he met the attack with a vicious swing of his own blade, slashing across the man’s throat before shoving him to the ground. Blood splattered his hands, but he didn’t flinch—didn’t even slow.

“Joel!” Tommy’s voice called from the other side of the room as he grappled with a raider, slamming the man’s head against the wall until he went limp. “I think she’s in there!” He pointed toward a heavy wooden door at the back of the cabin, reinforced with a rusted padlock.

Joel's heart pounded as he shoved his way past the last raider, slamming him against a wooden beam before rushing to the door. He fired a round into the lock, the metal shattering as the door swung open.

The sight before him made Joel’s blood run cold. There you were, lying on the floor, bound and gagged, your face pale and streaked with blood. Your leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, the bone jutting grotesquely beneath the skin—a broken, mangled mess. The sheer fragility of you in that moment, so helpless and shattered, knocked the breath from his lungs and sent a cold terror coursing through him.

“Jesus Christ…” Joel breathed, rushing to your side and dropping to his knees. His hands trembled violently as he fumbled to cut the ropes binding your wrists and ankles. His movements were frantic, desperate, and when the last knot fell away, he ripped the gag from your mouth, tossing it aside like it had burned him.

“Hey, hey, it’s me,” he whispered, his voice rough and ragged, trembling as he reached for you. He cradled your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over the grime and blood on your cheeks. “You’re okay now. I’m here. I’m not leaving you.” But the words felt hollow, even to him.

How could he say you were okay when you looked so broken, when your body was crumpled like a discarded doll?

Your eyes fluttered open, dazed and unfocused, and a soft, pained moan escaped your lips. The sound tore at Joel’s chest, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt, narrowing to the hollow ache in your voice. He could feel the panic clawing at the edges of his composure, but he forced himself to stay steady, his hands cupping your face as though he could will some of his strength into you.

“You’re gonna be alright,” he murmured, the words barely holding together as he stroked your hair. “I’m gonna get you out of here.” But there was a crack in his voice, a desperation that slipped through despite his best efforts. He couldn’t stop looking at the jagged break in your leg, the sight of it making his gut twist with guilt.

I should’ve been here sooner. I should’ve protected her.

He tore his gaze away from you just long enough to shout over his shoulder, “Tommy! We need to get outta here, now!” His voice was raw, urgent, echoing through the cabin like a desperate plea. He looked back at you, and his eyes held a fierce, unspoken promise. “Just hold on for me, alright? Stay with me.”

But he could see you slipping—the way your eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open, the life in your gaze dimming with each passing second. Panic clawed at his chest as he reached for you, as if his touch alone could keep you tethered to him.

Tommy’s footsteps pounded closer, his voice tight with concern as he entered the room. “Jesus, Joel, she’s in bad shape. We need to move now.”

Joel nodded, his jaw clenched with grim determination. “I know. Help me lift her,” he said, his voice barely steady. His hands were gentle but firm as he slid them beneath you, his touch trembling with the effort to keep his emotions in check. “We’re gonna get you somewhere safe,” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve got you, baby.”

The word slipped out, raw and unguarded, a reflex that seemed to rise from some deep, unspoken part of him. It hung in the air for a moment, catching Joel off guard even as it left his lips. He didn’t dare look at Tommy, but he felt his brother’s gaze shift, a flicker of surprise that didn’t go unnoticed.

But Joel didn’t care. The word was out there now, and it carried with it a truth he couldn’t take back—a truth that had lingered in the space between you for far too long. His grip on you tightened, his breath hitching as he looked down at you, his expression fierce with a mix of tenderness and desperation. “I’ve got you,” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. “I got you, darlin’. I promise.”

And as he and Tommy lifted you, Joel’s heart hammered in his chest, the realization settling in with a weight that was both terrifying and undeniable. He had called you baby—and, deep down, he knew he had meant it.

You couldn’t speak; you could only manage a weak nod, the effort draining what little strength you had left. Your throat felt parched, each breath rasping in your chest, and the pain in your leg was a deep, throbbing agony that made it hard to think, hard to even breathe.

Joel’s gaze dropped to your leg, and his stomach clenched at the sight. The bone was badly broken, a jagged protrusion pressing against your skin, and blood had pooled beneath you, soaking into the floorboards. Your skin was cold and clammy to the touch, a chill that seemed to seep into his bones as he realized the full extent of your injuries. He’d have to be careful—one wrong move could make everything so much worse.

“Easy, now,” Joel murmured, his voice low and strained as he and Tommy prepared to lift you. He slid his arms beneath your shoulders, supporting your upper body while Tommy carefully took hold of your legs. The instant they moved you, a sharp cry of pain escaped your lips, and Joel’s heart cracked at the sound, a deep ache settling in his chest.

“I know, I know,” he whispered, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. “I’m sorry, darlin’. We’re gonna get you out of here. Just hold on for me.” His voice was rough with emotion, each word like a plea.

As they stumbled back through the forest, Joel felt his strength waning, the pain in his leg growing sharper with every step, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He would carry you all the way back to Jackson if that’s what it took.

Tommy’s words echoed in the darkness, but Joel barely heard them; he was too focused on you, on the way your body felt so small and fragile in his arms. It wasn’t lost on Tommy—the desperation in Joel's voice, the raw fear etched across his face. It reminded him of a time long ago, a grief and terror that Joel had carried through the years. And now, as they pushed forward, stumbling over roots and through the underbrush, Tommy saw that same haunted look in his brother’s eyes, the kind that spoke of loss too deep to name.

"Stay with me, darlin’," Joel whispered, the words coming out like a plea as he felt your head loll weakly against his chest. It wasn’t just a command—it was a desperate promise, a vow that he would get you to safety no matter what. Each step through the forest felt like a mile, and the sharp pang in his leg was nothing compared to the fear twisting in his gut.

By the time they reached Jackson, you were barely conscious, slipping in and out of awareness. Your breathing was shallow, your skin clammy to the touch, and Joel had to grit his teeth to keep his own body upright as they carried you into the clinic. The warm glow of the lights felt harsh against the night’s darkness, and the doctor rushed in, barking orders and asking questions, the chaos swallowing him whole.

But even as the people swarmed around you, Joel refused to let go of your hand. He stayed by your side, gripping your fingers tightly as though you might slip away if he loosened his hold for even a second. When Tommy tried to pull him aside, insisting that Joel get his own wound looked at, he shook his head fiercely. “I’m not leavin’ her Tommy,” he said, his voice rough with exhaustion and emotion. “Not for a damn second.”

Tommy didn’t argue. He had seen the look in Joel’s eyes, the raw desperation and guilt that burned there—a reflection of a promise too deep to break. So he stayed silent, watching his brother hold onto you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the world, knowing full well that in some ways, you were.

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[thatacotargirl]

Hiiiii I love your writing!! May I request Azriel x Reader, where reader gets amnesia. She’s Illyrian and was hurt by Illyrian men, so she’s scared of Az because she doesn’t remember him. Then wonderful angst because he never thought she’d be afraid of him, so he avoids her and is heartbroken. Then something happens, maybe he’s forced to interact with her or he says something specific, and her memories come back, so happy ending! Feel free to ignore if you don’t want to write this, thank you!💙

Hi lovely! Thank you so much for reading my work and for your request! I hope you like the story! 💙

Divider is once again from @tsunami-of-tears, eternally grateful to you for your creativity!

Dazelroot Daze

An Azriel x Reader imagine

Warnings: angst, poisoning, swearing, allusions to abuse / previous SA.

"Rhys, I am not cut out for this kind of mission - why did you not send Nesta!"

You huff to yourself as you climb the uneven stairs through the prison, following closely behind Rhys. You hated coming in here, and hated having to interact with the Bone Carver even more. You patted your back pocket, checking your gifted bone for him was still there, before climbing yet another stairwell.

"Y/n, you know I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't necessary. I can't exactly send Nesta in here even if she's only early in her pregnancy, they would sense it a mile off and she'd be a target. Not to mention, I don't fancy getting pummelled by Cassian for letting his pregnant mate in here".

You knew he was right, but it didn't make this any easier. You struggled through another narrow doorframe, trying to avoid smacking your wings against the wood, and stood in front of a metal gate. You hear Rhys hum to himself.

"What's wrong?".

"I've never seen a gate here before, this should be an open walkway".

You begin to feel uneasy as you see Rhys take a step back.

"Rhys?"

Before you can get another word out, you feel a powder cover your face, filling your nose and mouth, causing you to choke. You try to call out for help, but you can't get anything out, breathing becoming harder and harder. You hear Rhys distantly calling your name but you can't respond, can't move, all you can do is drop to the floor, your legs giving out from underneath you.

"Get Madja, now!"

Rhys' voice bellowed through the River House as he winnowed in carrying your lifeless body and placed your down on the living room sofa. The rest of the Inner Circle descended on the pair of you, including Azriel. When he saw your pale body, arm hanging off the sofa, his heart sank. He grabbed Rhys by the collar.

"What the fuck happened?"

Rhys didn't have time to answer before Madja appeared in the room, pushing everyone to the side and leaning over your body. Silence descended on the room as she ran tests, took bloods, checked your vitals - all the while your eyes remained closed and your body limp.

"She has been poisoned with a plant known as Dazelroot. It is highly toxic and can only be found in some very remote parts of the Spring Court. Thankfully, it looks like this particular strain was either incorrectly handled or extremely dried out, as it hasn't taken hold quite as potently as it should have. She will be ok, in that she will live, but we won't know the consequences until she wakes up".

"The consequences?", Feyre asks.

"I have never seen a person be poisoned with Dazelroot and live to tell the tale. We won't know what it will do to her until she wakes".

Feyre sobbed silently, her shoulders shaking. Nesta joined her, the sisters holding each other through their sadness. Cassian could only watch in horror as Azriel fell to his knees next to your body and cried into your shoulder.

"Madja, what can we do?", Rhys asks, wringing his hands.

"There's nothing, Rhys. We have to let her wake, and see what happens next. I'll be on hand, as will my assistants. Call us as soon as she wakes up".

Rhys shook Madja's hand and allowed her to leave, his grief weighing down on his shoulders heavily. It was his fault that you were in the prison, that he hadn't seen the trap beforehand, that you were the one to be poisoned. He tried to reach for Azriel, but Azriel swatted his hand away.

"Don't touch me", he gritted, his face still buried in your shoulder.

Rhys could do nothing but watch as his family fell apart in front of him.

It took 6 days for you to wake. 6 agonising days of your family watching your chest rise and fall, terrified that you would never again open your eyes. But you did.

Your eyes opened, and fell on Feyre's face.

"SHE'S AWAKE", Feyre called to your family, reaching out for your hand. You let her take it, but she couldn't overlook the confusion she saw in your eyes, the hesitancy of your body to let her touch you.

The room filled with your family and your eyes settled on a pair of Illyrian wings. Male Illyrian wings. Trauma racked through your body, memories of your life at the Illyrian camps, wing-clipping, assault, and you couldn't hold back your scream as you pulled your body up the bed, as close as you could get to the headboard.

"Y/n?", Azriel said gently, attempting to approach you. He froze when he realised it was him that you were trying to get away from.

Madja burst through the door at that moment, having been summoned by Rhys the moment he heard Feyre's shouts. She saw the blankness in your eyes the second she looked at you, and her eyes fell pityingly to Azriel.

"Hi y/n, I'm Madja, a healer here in the Night Court".

Your family looked at each other in pure confusion. You knew who Madja was. She'd been the family's healer for centuries. Why was she acting like you'd never met before?

Madja carried out her assessment before providing you a sleeping tonic. Once your body settled back into the pillows, looking more at peace than you had when you had woken up, she turned to Rhys.

"The Dazelroot has caused amnesia. She doesn't remember anything after her life after the Illyrian camps".

Rhys shook his head. "Ok, but when will her memory come back?".

Rhys saw the look on Madja's face and his stomach somersaulted.

"Will her memory come back?"

Madja placed a hand gentle on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry Rhys, there's no way to know".

She turned to Azriel, tears falling down his cheeks. He had realised that you had forgotten him, forgotten your mateship, the love you had shared for centuries. You only remembered the trauma you had faced at the hands of Illyrian males, males that bore the same wings as him. He had realised, seeing the look on your face, that you were afraid of him.

"You can try to offer her gentle reminders. It might break through the amnesia cloud. But there's nothing more we can do".

Madja departed, leaving your family to process the news. You didn't remember any of them.

17 months later

It had been 17 months since the incident, and your memory hadn't come back.

Feyre, Nesta, Elain and Mor had made it their mission to rebuild the friendship that you had had with them - regularly taking you out for brunch, shopping, and nights out at Rita's. Over time, you developed a new bond with them, and had started to trust them.

You had also re-kindled your friendship with Rhys and Lucien, the males giving you distance but engaging with you as often as possible, mostly through Feyre and Elain.

But Azriel and Cassian, you couldn't be near. Their wings reminded you too much of the trauma you had faced in the camps. Reminded you that your own wings had been clipped. Reminded you of the males that had used you for their own entertainment. Anytime they tried to approach you, their wings pinned as tightly as possible behind their backs, your body began to involuntarily shake and your eyes would fill with tears.

It had broken Azriel. He had become a shell of the former male he was. He started to withdraw from family dinners, he gave up his morning training. Azriel had slowly started to descend into a downward spiral, feeling the mating bond cold on the other end. His family had tried their best to help, but Azriel wanted for nothing but you. He locked himself in his bedroom most days and nights, seeking solitude in the shadows.

That was why, when his family decided to visit Sevenda's restaurant that evening, Azriel had ignored the inviting knock on his door. He didn't want to make it harder for you seeing him sitting at the other end of the table. He waited for the footsteps to pad away before grabbing a bottle of Whiskey from the shelf and pouring himself a generous glass.

-

Several hours later, Azriel was sat in bed with his book when he heard commotion. It sounded like crying, but it was pained. He sat up, listening out, when he heard it again - this time closer to his door. He thought everyone was out at Sevenda's, or maybe Rita's now, but there was unmistakably someone wandering through the hallway.

Azriel cracked open his door and peered out. At the end of the hallway, gripping the window pane, he saw your small frame huddled over. The scent of blood filled the air. Azriel panicked. He knew how bad your cycles were from the centuries you had spent together, that you needed help desperately, but right now he was the only one in the house with you, and you were terrified of him.

"Y/n?", he called out gently, trying not to startle you with his presence. He watched you turn slowly, your eyes wide in alarm.

"It's ok, it's just your cycle", he whispered, raising his arms to show you that he was not going to hurt you. You whimpered slightly, clutching the window pane so hard your knuckles had gone white.

"Can I help you?", he asked, not daring to move. You looked at him, his wings, your body shaking. But you knew you were helpless, not sure you could get yourself back to your bed even if you tried with all your might. So, you took a deep breath, and gave him a timid nod.

Azriel walked slowly towards you, his hands in front of him, and when he reached you he carefully put a hand forward to touch your shoulder. You shuddered, but didn't pull away.

"I'm going to take you back to your room, ok?". You could only nod as Azriel scooped you into his arms and walked you slowly back towards your room.

He placed you down carefully at your dressing table and silently walked into your bathroom, the sound of running water filling the room. Whilst the bath ran, you watched him strip the soiled sheets from your bed and replace them with fresh ones, putting a pair of your pyjamas neatly folded at the end. He then offered you his hand and guided you to the bathroom.

"Do you need some help?".

You didn't want to admit it, but you did. You could barely stand up under your own weight.

Azriel turned away from you to allow you to undress, holding a hand behind his back for guidance as you carefully lowered yourself into the bath. Once you were in, and hidden under the bubbles, you turned to look at him. At his wings. You had never known an Illyrian male to be so gentle. So calming. Even sat here alone in a bath with him in the room, you felt comfortable. You felt safe.

"Azriel?", you whispered.

"Would you like me to leave you be?" he asked, his back still turned to give you privacy.

"No".

You saw Azriel's shoulders sag slightly with relief, but he still kept his back to you.

"Please could you pass me that bottle over there, the green one?"

Azriel walked over to the counter to pick up the shampoo bottle and attempted to hand it to you behind his back, still not facing you. You giggled as he offered the bottle out to the empty end of the bath.

"It's ok, I'm hidden in the bubbles".

Azriel turned, his eyes not leaving your face, as he handed the bottle to you. You took it, pouring some into your hand, and he watched you wince as you raised your arms above your body to your hair, stretching your stomach.

"May I?", he asked quietly. You nodded, handing the bottle to him. Azriel knelt down behind your head, pouring the shampoo into his hands and massaging it into your hair. The moment his hands touched you, you felt a calming peace descend over you, and you closed your eyes to bask in it. You were about to ask him to rub it into the nape of your neck, your favourite place, when you felt his hands move there instinctively. A jolt went through your body, and Azriel jumped backwards.

"Are you ok?"

You turned to face him, his leathers covered in water, bubbles and shampoo suds, and looked down at his scarred hands. Visions flew through your mind of his hands in your hair, his hands offering to feed you grapes on your honeymoon to the Summer Court, his hands touching your body, his hands placing a ring on yours at your mating ceremony, his hands holding out your cup of coffee to you every morning - black, just how you liked it.

You reached out to take them, feeling every emotion come flooding back to you. A tug at your chest made you look up, as Azriel's filled with tears.

"My mate", you whispered.

"My mate", he replied, his head moving to rest on your forehead.

You held each other, the bath water turning cold and the bubbles melting away, allowing all your love and devotion to flow to each other through the bond. Forgotten, but never gone.

[100vern]

the very last thing i decide | pjm

(or, the one in which a love exists that's easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.)

✘ PAIRING jimin x f. reader ✘ SUMMARY you learn what it means to love with blood on your hands. ✘ GENRE hitman/assassin au; angst, smut ✘ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✘ WARNINGS they are both hitmen (hitpeople?) so there's all the content that goes along with that: violence, death, mentions of blood (a lot) and weapons, murder, but no explicit gore. everyone is morally grey at best and downright psychotic at worst (especially yoongi). reader gets stabbed. no one knows how to be a functional human being. swearing, smoking, light smut (penetrative & oral sex), miscommunication and unrequited love but not really, i drop a classic tumblr meme in a line of dialogue. ambiguous/hopeful ending!! some of the themes here are kinda heavy and i am not entirely sure how to tag them so if you have any questions pls don’t hesitate to ask! ✘ WORDCOUNT 12k ✘ LISTEN TO manchester orchestra - telepath ✘ THANK YOU i cannot remember everyone i’ve showed this to over the years. @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over and brainstorming with me today. @hot-soop for always being a help. @effortandmore because you told me an embarrassingly long time ago this was worth finishing. and i’m pretty sure i also sent this to @jihopesjoint at some point too. i did a quick edit of this on my own, but after nearly three years i just wanted it posted and out of my wips so i'm sure i missed things. pls ignore them. ✘ AUTHOR'S NOTE fic drops two days in a row?? who am i?? i started this in may 2021 and it was supposed to be a simple pegging fic. i abandoned it bc i was convinced no one would want to read it. between today and yesterday i have written thousands of words and made it across the finish line. i hope you like it. the violence is a metaphor for love or whatever.

[37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA]

Jimin’s hair had been red the first time he met you.

How fitting, he thinks, considering he’s currently bleeding out on a table.

Well, there’s still a bit of fight left in him. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, which he assumes is a good sign; he can still hear Hoseok barking out orders quite clearly. The edges of his vision are fuzzy and the pain in his abdomen is sharp and unrelenting, but he still has enough brain power left to wish he’d died instead.

Because you’d saved his life. And now he’s further indebted to you.

(Jimin never leaves a debt unpaid, but he’s not sure how to make even on something like this.)

Jungkook and Taehyung are fetching supplies faster than Hoseok can ask for them. Two pairs of frazzled, spaced-out eyes. Four sets of trembling limbs. Namjoon’s wearing burn marks into the floor, his cuticles bloody and nearly worried to the bone since he can’t keep them out of his mouth.

And then there’s you.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair as you scroll through your phone. Jimin’s blood is still drying on your hands, leaving smears as you drag your thumb back and forth across the screen, and this doesn’t seem to faze you one bit.

Behind you, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano and starts playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor, and Jimin simply cannot die like this. He can’t die on a wooden table in a room with a piano on which Min Yoongi is playing Baroque organ pieces.

“What is this, a fucking funeral?” Hoseok snaps, though there’s a desperation creeping into his tone that Jimin does not like, does not want to hear. “Cut it out, Yoongi.”

Said man staunchly ignores the doctor, transitioning flawlessly into the fugue. Jimin barely hears the tinkle of your laughter but he hears it all the same, and he wants to pretend it doesn’t calm him, bring him back down to earth when he starts drifting too far away. But you do, and it does, and all he can think about is: will you miss him if he dies? Will it take you long to wash his blood from your hands?

Hoseok’s absolutely incensed, pushed to the limits of his stress at the thought of not being able to save Jimin’s life, and Jimin appreciates this, really, but not when Hoseok pushes two gloved fingers deep into the wound in his stomach so hard all he can do is cry. “Yoongi—”

You snort. You don’t even look up from your phone.

Namjoon, for all his leadership and stoicism and poise under pressure, is just as frantic and panicked as the rest. It’s not everyday one of his people is inches from death ten feet away from him. Most people usually die in the shadows. Kim Namjoon has faced down death more times than most, yet watching the life slowly fade from Jimin’s eyes is too much even for him. “Yoongi, please—”

But the fugue keeps going, tempo change after tempo change, the two pillars of this organization spiraling completely by the time the coda starts, unfocused and sweating and praying. To gods they don’t believe in, to hope, to chance—whatever and whoever might be listening. Jimin usually loves hearing Yoongi play. It’s the only thing that humanizes him, and Jimin had spent so many restless nights shoulder to shoulder with him on that exact bench in the blue hours of the early morning, hypnotized by the way the older man’s knobby fingers moved across the keys.

This is it, he thinks.

Jimin’s going to die with Toccata and Fugue in D minor playing in the background.

He’s imagined his death so many times. Stupid not to in this line of work. Violent, quick and painless, in his sleep, drawn out and gory, a message. And in all of those scenarios, it’s either jarringly silent or there’s someone screaming. Usually him, sounding much like he is now, two fingers stuck in his gut. In all of those scenarios, Min Yoongi is never playing Bach as everything fades to black.

You sigh. “Shut the fuck up, Yoongi,” you say, your tone as blasé and inconvenienced as ever.

Shocked at your audacity, one of Yoongi’s fingers slips and hits the wrong key, something dissonant and metallic as it rings out. But the music stops all the same, the silence nearly giving Jimin whiplash. Now he can hear the clinkof Hoseok’s tools, the squelching of his wound, Jungkook’s desperate pleading for him to just be alright, please God, just hang on. He wants the music back. He doesn’t want Jungkook’s crying to be the last thing he hears. Doesn’t want the sound of his own organs imprinted into his memory.

“What’d you say?” Yoongi asks, because no one talks to him that way. They wouldn’t dare. Most people try not to talk to him at all.

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

You roll your eyes. “You go deaf in your old age? I said shut the fuck up. Hoseok’s two knuckles deep in Jimin’s fucking stomach and you’re over there having your little Amadeus moment.”

He bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Yoongi repeats, and Jimin can’t see him, but he knows his eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, fists clenched at his side.

“Oh, princess,” you coo, and Yoongi’s fury is palpable, permeates every inch of this place, overrides all the fear and anguish. “I’m talking to you, baby. I know Jiminie’s busy trying not to die and that’s stressful for all of us, but please do try to keep up.”

Jimin hears the flick of Yoongi’s switchblade. Then he hears him say, “Please let me fucking kill her,” in that lazy Daegu drawl of his, like forming full words are beneath him. Not worth the effort when they’re directed at you.

Still seated, you uncross your legs and, through blurred vision, Jimin watches you grab Yoongi by his belt loops to tug him closer, grab the wrist that holds his knife and press it to your own throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Yoongi. Be a good boy and make it hurt.”

Jungkook’s near hysterics at Jimin’s side. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? He’s dying!”

Jimin tries to say I’m not, Kookie, I’m okay but the pressure on his abdomen is too intense. He can barely breathe, and Hoseok’s still digging around, still looking for that stupid fucking bullet, had to do something and do it quick so there’d been very little anesthetic and finesse, and he’s silently screaming for someone to just comfort Jungkook, tell him everything’s going to be okay, but instead—

“Serves him right for being a fucking idiot,” you say, words muffled by the knife still pressed to your throat. “What a painful, permanentlesson in not forgetting your fucking vest.”

“Stop it!” Jungkook sobs, fingers ghosting along Jimin’s matted fringe.

Yoongi’s still scowling. “Just say the word, Joon-ah. I’ll make it quick.”

You actually laugh at that. The kind of full-belly laugh Jimin would kill to be able to produce. “You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Someone snarls. Probably Yoongi. “You’d look so good gutted on the floor like a fish,” he replies, and if Jimin knows him at all, he knows he’s got that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. The one he always gets when he’s about to kill—the one that makes him so unhinged and dangerous. “Left there to bleed out and die all alone like the trash you are.”

No one’s survived that look before, but you just grin, as if being on the receiving end of it is nothing more than another simple inconvenience. “Do it, then,” you prompt. “You’re so big and bad, yet here you are, waiting for Namjoon’s permission like some kind of pathetic fucking dog.”

“I’m no one’s dog.”

Your eyes slowly flick over to Namjoon. “No?” you ask, smile widening as Jimin watches you drag your heeled foot up the inside of Yoongi’s calf, his thigh, stiletto coming to rest in the center of his sternum. “That’s a shame, princess. That pretty neck of yours was just made for a collar.”

There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind now that he actually died back in that penthouse and is now residing in whatever level of hell is watching you give his associate a semi despite him being a millisecond away from murdering you.

Yoongi would do it, too. No hesitation. You’ve been on his shit list for as long as Jimin can remember, and you’ve been daring him to put his money where his mouth is and just kill you already for just as long.

Taehyung groans. “Can you two just fuck already so the rest of us can be spared of this?”

You click your tongue, tone melting like butter. You’re fond of Taehyung, soft on him. “No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie, and god does that hurt his little feelings.”

Your wicked smile gives away nothing—whether you’re telling a bold truth or just unnecessarily needling Yoongi further—but Jimin’s caught off guard and chokes on your words nonetheless.

Hoseok’s forceps still digging around in his stomach, there’s a quiet hurrah of triumph as he finally locates the bullet. Jimin feels nothing as he retrieves it and plucks it out, a reverberated clank! as he drops it into a kidney dish, your words the anesthetic he’s needed as they play on a loop in his head.

When he finally blacks out, either from the pain or the adrenaline or both, it’s your face that greets him. He never gets the chance to tell you why he forgot his vest.

[64.1466° N, 21.9426° W | Reykjavík, ICELAND]

Jimin’s hair is blue when it happens the first time.

It’s November. Namjoon has sent the two of you to Reykjavik and it’s dark all the time, the midnight hue of his hair blending into the impenetrable nighttime that surrounds you. Jimin works best like this—out of sight, part of the shadows. He’s light on his feet, lithe in ways no one else is, not even you, and he’s impossible to anticipate under the cover of darkness.

That’s why Jimin always takes care of the appetizers.

It’s your job to clean up the main course.

The two of you are two halves of the same lethal coin, working together flawlessly after years of carefully honed practice. Jimin slams an unsuspecting man’s head into a wall and you’re right behind him to put a bullet in it.

It’s just how it goes.

And he trusts you. He has to, otherwise he would’ve gotten taken out years ago. You’re not always in his line of sight, but he always feels you, senses your movements before you’re even on your feet. The times it’s gone wrong—and it’s gone wrong so many fucking times, despite how cautious and skilled the two of you are—you’re always right there to catch him before he even hits the ground. Just like a ghost, as if your only purpose in life is keeping Jimin safe and alive.

(It isn’t, but it sure feels that way.)

Tonight it’s another hit carried out in an overpriced penthouse overlooking the northern shore. You’re in and out, don’t waste a second more than you need to. Jimin doesn’t spare a glance at the carnage left behind. Nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before. All blood bleeds the same, but he still wonders, foolishly, if his looks different to you. If it feels wrong when it stains your hands and seeps into your clothes.

Jimin has never been covered in your blood before, but he likes to think it would.

The two of you don’t speak until you’re in the quiet safety of yet another hotel room, chain lock thrown across the door, deadbolt secured. A small arsenal of weapons is retrieved from ankles and waistbands and cleaned and packed away meticulously. Jimin’s the one who makes the call to Namjoon, tells him in code that the job’s done. You’ve barely broken a sweat, but under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Jimin can see a small smattering of blood just along your temple when he closes the distance between you.

Someone else’s, of course.

Anyone who made you bleed your own blood wouldn’t be a quick, clean kill. Jimin would make sure of that.

There’s less to be done about the half-inch scar in the hollow of your throat—a pearlescent reminder of the twin scar he has just below his navel; a callback to the day your devilish mouth said the words Jimin can’t stop thinking about.

“No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie.”

Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s the feral, years-long build up that’s been simmering between the two of you—low enough to keep warm, contained enough to never evolve into a rapid boil. Maybe Jimin’s just finally desperate enough to go seeking out answers to questions he’s far too scared to put a voice to.

(Really, Jimin knows it’s adrenaline. Nothing more than chemicals. The two of you high on it, heads floating above the clouds. Powerless; or, at the very least, indifferent to stop the very clear path that’s unfolding on the ground below.)

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

Needs to know if there’s even a chance you feel it, too: the magnetic ebb and flow the two of you have been dancing around for years. If you see how fondly he looks at you. If you have any idea how easy it is for him to get lost in you. If you know he’d let someone put a bullet between his eyes before he placed his life in the hands of anyone else.

Jimin knows he loves you. He’s known it for a long time, just like he knows all those other things that are second nature to him. Loving you is easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.

At least that’s what he’d thought. Until your devilish mouth said those devilish words and sent him into a tailspin he’s yet to recover from.

You have to feel it. God, can’t you? The way the air crackles between you. The way his skin ignites with a simple look from you. The trembling of his fingers at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you—fingers that have been bathed in blood, that have taken life. Fingers that now just want to graze softly across your cheekbones, catch on your bottom lip. Fingers that want to hand you the world on a silver platter. Jimin would do anything for you, give you whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

Jimin is composed, elegant. He kills with grace and still maintains as much of his softness as he can. Isn’t ruled by emotion the way Yoongi and Jungkook are. But now, as he teeters on the edge of the unknown, all he wants to do is jump. Wants to buck all his training, all his resolve and forethought, and jump.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice thick. Fingers curl into the expensive silk of his shirt just so they have something to do—something to keep them from reaching out and touching you. “Back in Seoul.”

You’re the smartest person Jimin knows. When you ask, “Did I mean what, Chim?” he knows you’re fucking with him. Dragging this out. You know exactly what he’s asking and he knows you’ll never give anything away so easily.

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

You tsk, eyebrows raising in intrigue. As much as Jimin trusts you, as well as you know him, know all those dirty, dirty secrets he’d never tell anyone else, he’s never been so bold with you. “That those long fingers of his would look good wrapped around my throat? Yeah, I meant that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches at your taunt. “Don’t play games with me.”

A smirk graces your lips. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you say, voice sickly-sweet as the affection starts popping at the last seams holding him together, “if I wanted to play with you, there’s nothing you could do to stop it.”

With Jimin pressed into the wall behind you, you turn to meet his eye in the mirror. Another smile, teeth bared as you run your tongue across your lips, and this one is his undoing. Makes his cock twitch in his dress pants. Makes him bold. “Do you want to, then?” He takes a step forward—close enough to smell the gunpowder stuck to your clothes, your hair. Close enough for the sulfur and metal to sting his nostrils each time he breathes you in. “Do you want to play with me?”

You love Jimin. Maybe it’s a trauma bond or the implicit, unwavering trust the two of you have in one another, but you know you love him limitlessly. But you also know you can’t love him the way he loves you, the way he deserves to be loved by someone, which is why your mask slips as you say, “I can’t give you what you want, Jimin.”

You try to make him understand that. Really, you do—because Jimin is the smartest person you know, and you know he’s thought about every possible consequence down to the most minute detail and has decided this is worth it anyway. You want to believe in something the way Jimin believes in you, even though he’s wrong. You want something worth throwing all of this away for.

Maybe it’s Jimin, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just been so fucking long since someone has looked at you with any gentleness in their eyes at all that when Jimin meets your gaze and says, “I don’t want anything more than you’re willing to give,” you take his hand and jump, too.

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

It’s all raw, urgent need, Jimin trying desperately to convince himself it’s more than it is while you convince yourself it’s less.

It’s the two of you finally giving up and giving in, letting yourselves be pulled taut by that invisible string tying you together.

It’s Jimin’s sharp intake of breath when you fully step out of your clothes, the sight rendering him immobile. Whatever plans he’d had before seeing the curves of your body, all the scars from years of working by his side, the mottled yellow-greens and purples from the bruises lining your skin—he has no plans now. Can barely think. Wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you with a gun to his head.

It’s the final bricks of the wall he’d built around himself—around his heart, around all those words and feelings he’d never put a voice to—crumbling into ash at his feet. Now he knows he can’t go back. Can’t return to a reality where this isn’t his truth. Where there’s no you and him, him and you. Where it’s just a physical exchange, a give-and-take, tit for tat.

And god, he knows he shouldn’t think like this; knows he’s keeping the truth buried somewhere deep behind lock and key.

…But now that he knows how it feels to move inside you, what else is he supposed to do?

You’re everywhere. Clenched around him. Your taste on his tongue. The feel of you on the pads of his fingers. The smell of you making a mockery of all logical thought. No—no, he can’t do a goddamn thing to stop the avalanche now it’s started.

“Fuck,” he whines, fingers digging into your hips. The soft skin he finds purchase in such a contrast from your hardened exterior, but Jimin knows. He knows you, knows the person behind the mask, sees straight through you each time it slips.

What stared back at him had always been just out of reach.

Taunting him.

Screaming come and get me, come make me yours, come and fucking take what you want.

Until now.

Now it’s tangible. Now it’s breathy, fractured moans that echo off tile walls. Now it’s the sound of his name thatleaves your lips like a prayer. Now it’s the sheen of sweat that covers both of you. Now it’s nails scraping down his back, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

(And Jimin won’t tell you this, but those red welts are proof that this is real, this happened, and later on when he’s alone, when his mind is working overtime, he’ll look at them and he’ll smile. Because they’re real. Because this happened.)

Now, it’s the way blue becomes his favorite color. Because he can see his reflection in the mirror as he unravels and comes to his own demise as he spills inside of you; can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the hue of his hair.

Jimin’s hair is blue when he realizes he’s in love with you.

[34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA]

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

The details had been scarce: a diplomatic advisor with a rap sheet of human rights violations that have been continuously swept under the rug and his equally-corrupt lawyer. A candid photograph paperclipped to another manila folder, Namjoon a fan of all those old cliches. Likes being a little cheeky that way when he can get away with it, because god knows he can’t get away with much, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

It’s a simple job. You and Jimin will have it dealt with in a matter of hours. Less if you’re lucky and the universe is agreeable. But the humidity sticks to your skin, has sweat seeping into your clothes and rolling down your temples, and if there’s one thing you can’t stand it’s the heat. Makes it hard to think. And Namjoon—Namjoon, who makes sure all of his agents want for nothing—is a cheap bastard. Rarely approves nice lodging, says it’s too risky despite your arguments to the contrary, that people don’t care what you do when you have money, so you’re stuck in some shithole motel room with an aircon unit that keeps blowing out stale, warm air.

And maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should be more cognizant of Jimin and all his feelings, but it’s fucking hot, so you peel your shirt over your head and undo the button of your pants. Sit on the edge of the bed and try to think about anything other than the temperature, how it’s starting to prick uncomfortably at your skin.

Jimin clears his throat, keeps his eyes glued to the disgusting carpet. “Got a text from Seokjin-ssi,” he says, words strained. “Looks like they’ll be solo jobs.”

You groan. Leave it to Seokjin to change the plan at the last minute. “Tell Kim Seokjin he’s a useless piece of shit.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Tell Kim Namjoon if he ever sends us to South America in the summer again I’ll kill him myself.”

Jimin has a laugh like an anodyne. A laugh that takes all those broken, bleeding parts of you and soothes over them like a balm. “Seokjin-ssi says he’s not passing along that particular message.”

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

“He hasn’t done field work in years and he’s probably too vitamin D deficient to leave the basement. He couldn’t even kill a fucking rat.”

There’s another laugh. More forced, less tinkling. You recognize it right away, the sound of anxiety. Solo jobs aren’t common for the two of you. For Yoongi and Taehyung, sure, but not you and Jimin. You’re a team for a reason, and though you’re more than capable of getting this done and out of the way, it doesn’t feel right. Settles in your gut like something rotten, knowing you’ll be without Jimin.

And you know he’s thinking it, too. How he turns the burner over and over in his hands, as if there’s some combination of words he can send back to Seoul to get Seokjin and Namjoon to reconsider. Plans don’t change often; not like this, anyway. These have been declared solos for a reason, and that’s a thought you can’t linger on too long.

“Are they leaving it up to us?” Jimin nods, still not meeting your eye. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugs, tossing the phone on the small table in the corner. Nothing else to be done. “Not really. What do you think?”

“Nah, don’t care, either. Just toss me one.”

Santiago Aguirre… 47 years old… Resides in a high-rise luxury apartment in Retiro…

Your eyes skim the file, study the black and white photograph of the lawyer. Read over the list of all his high-profile, degenerate clients and all their high-profile crimes. You read about the previous attempts on his life, the seemingly never-ending list of people who want him dead. Your eyes go back to his photograph, frowning at the smug look on his face. What stares back at you is a man who thinks he’s invincible, who thinks a penthouse apartment on the top floor and a security team in the lobby means he’s impervious to harm. A man who has made money off people just like him: dirty, corrupt, hands stained red.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, looking up from his own file.

He’s so striking. So safe. And you know what he’s done, giving you the hit he thinks is easier, willing to risk himself on a solo mission to ensure you make it out. There’s no guarantees in this line of work, in life in general, but Jimin’s brand of selfless love is certainly one.

So you just nod, knowing someone slimy like this can quickly go sideways, and decide you can do the same.

“I’m gonna get ready,” you say. “The plan is the same as all the other solo jobs. Get in, get it done, get out as quickly as possible. Lay low. Don’t come straight back here.”

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

You exhale. Try to quiet the nerves roiling in your stomach. Barely resist the urge to press a lingering kiss to Jimin’s forehead before you swallow hard and say, “Yeah. Stay alive.”

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

Rarely feel much guilt over it, either, which—well, you’re not sure what that means. That something is permanently broken in your psyche, probably. Being able to take life so easily and without remorse. It’s not natural.

Kim Namjoon is a man who plays God, is the one who decides who gets to live and who has to die. His word is the only law you adhere to. And that’s… that’s something. Makes it less burdensome, takes some weight off, because Kim Namjoon wouldn’t accept a morally-ambiguous job. He wouldn’t ask you to put your life on the line for some petty bullshit.

This is how you’ve lived for the last four years. Four years of blindly following Namjoon’s word, of being a good little soldier and doing whatever is asked of you. Four years of being responsible for not only your own life, but Jimin’s as well, just as he is for yours. Four years that have served you well, all things considered.

Until now.

Something about this job hits you hard. Doesn’t settle quite as quickly as the ones that have come before. For the first time, you’d looked down at the lifeless body at your feet and couldn’t stop the trembling, could barely quell the nausea. Thought what the fuck am I doing, what kind of life is this for the first time. Thought back to that day four years ago when Kim Namjoon saved your life and offered you a job and wondered, for the first time, what would’ve happened if you’d said no.

Now, as you suck on a cigarette, legs dangling off the roof of a building looking not far from collapse, a new thought:

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

He’s taken care of you. For four years you’ve wanted for nothing. Have socked away more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, even if you live to a thousand. You could go anywhere, become anyone, and no one would suspect a thing. There’d just be you and a million lifetimes’ worth of transgressions, alone under the weight of all that burden; alone, except for all the ghosts that come to greet you every time you close your eyes.

Doesn’t matter. Namjoon might be willing to let you go, give you the chance to salvage something from this life in the name of normalcy, but Yoongi would gladly put a bullet in your head before he let you disappear with all his secrets.

Doesn’t matter.

You stub out the cigarette and put the butt in your pocket. Make your way down to the street. Stay under the shadows—just visible enough to redirect any suspicion shot your way. You pretend to take a call, flawless Argentinian Spanish falling from your lips as you tell the imaginary person on the other end all about your fucked up day at work. How your manager never gets off your ass, doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re too fucking stupid to run a simple executable.

No one spares you a second glance.

Not here, on this nondescript street in a nondescript Argentinian neighborhood, and not when you stumble into the tiny lobby of your shithole motel. The poor kid behind the desk doesn’t even glance up, just mutters a good evening, miss under his breath that you return in a voice far too high-pitched to be your own.

Better to be seen and be unremarkable than draw attention to yourself trying to stay invisible, you figure.

The cameras in the stairwell are broken so you take the steps two at a time. Pull the room key from its place inside your boot, happy to no longer have it digging into your skin. Pause just long enough to make sure you don’t hear anything on the other side of the door before you’re unlocking it with your free hand wrapped around the trigger of your gun.

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

Jimin stashed the burner in a place no one but you would think to look. You text one simple word to Seokjin—Hey!—and you get two in return: Who’s this?

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

It takes a few seconds, but the reply is a simple—

Sorry.

Then you toss aside the phone and float in the darkness of the room. There’s nothing to do but wait, because you don’t dare to do anything alone. There’s sweat and blood and fuck knows what else stuck to your skin, your hair, but you can’t risk taking a shower. Can’t risk the water dampening your senses. Can’t risk being cornered in a moldy bathroom, only one way out. Can’t risk doing anything alone. Can’t take a fucking shower.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that has your body flushing with rage.

What kind of life is this?

Namjoon had never mentioned repaying your debt. He’d never insinuated you owed him anything at all for saving your life, but you know something like that never comes for free. Namjoon doesn’t do anything just because. Has no goodness in his heart to do anything in the name of it. Watching Jimin nearly die in front of him had been the exception to his usual nature; a rare slip-up by an otherwise detached, uncaring man.

Still, whatever you owe him has surely been repaid by now. Tenfold, if the bloodstains along your collar are anything to go by.

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

Two hours have ticked by and there’s no word from Jimin. No word from Namjoon or Seokjin, either, which is the only reason you’re still in this nauseating motel room and not out on the streets searching for him. Solo jobs don’t go like this. The two of you are always in and out, tragically efficient. Back to where you started and then back on a plane, nothing left behind except a singular bullet hole and another fragmented piece of your conscience.

You’ve had a lot of jobs go wrong, but never two hours.

You’re about three minutes from coming out of your skin. Sick to your stomach with worry, anxiety weighing you down like an anchor. You wouldn’t be able to go out searching for Jimin like this even if you could, and there’s no point in dwelling on that, examining it further. All you can do is wait.

It’s another hour before you hear the click of the lock. You’re nearly on your knees in relief, but you stay rooted to the flimsy mattress. Try not to think about how you’ll have to sleep on it, even though you’ll be up half the night with residual worry. All those lingering ghosts.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

[55.6761° N, 12.5683° E | Copenhagen, DENMARK]

Jimin’s hair is orange when you go to Copenhagen.

Not for a job, just to breathe. You wanted to see the city at Christmastime; Jimin’s never been.

You crack a joke. Point out buildings of similar color, have him stand in front of one as you take a picture. Everyone smiles when they pass the two of you on the street, Jimin’s eyes fond even though he rolls them as you pose him how you want. Still stands against an apricot-colored wall and flashes a smile and a peace sign, cheeks pink from the cold. Does a good job of pretending the two of you aren’t here just for fun, that this is something more.

It’s not.

The two of you fucked in a hotel room in Reykjavik and haven’t spoken a word of it since.

You nearly lost your mind over him in Buenos Aires and haven’t spoken a word of that, either.

Instead, his hand finds yours as the two of you walk around Tivoli Gardens. You marvel at the lights and Jimin marvels at you. You share mulled wine and spiced doughnuts. Jimin tries to drag you on the swings but you plant your feet and refuse, laughing through your refusals. As dangerous as your lives are, motion sickness might be the most. He gets his revenge and poses you in front of a giant nutcracker, then again in front of one of the endless Christmas trees.

Jimin pays for the two of you to decorate honey cakes. You’re surrounded by families with shrieking children and palpable adoration, and it’s all you can do not to wonder if anyone you’ve taken out had ever had something like this. Something that makes your soul warm; something that still lingers in your bones years later.

The two of you take a selfie when it starts to snow. It stings when you have no one to send it to, so it just lives in your phone. Maybe it’s enough.

On another day, Jimin holds your hand through Torvehallerne. This time you marvel at him while he marvels at all the food, eyes wide each time he turns to ask if he should buy something. You always say yes and he always shares, and it’s all you can do not to think about why you don’t have to budget yourselves. Why you’re able to walk through the market and buy whatever you want; how you could buy every item for sale and it wouldn’t make a dent.

(You pick up small trinkets for Taehyung and Jungkook. Not because you want to, but because it feels nicer than remembering that you have no one to buy gifts for. Not really. Not anymore.)

Jimin wants to ice skate, so you do. He holds your hand then, too. More out of necessity than anything else, and he has none of his usual grace. Someone hands you a free cup of hot chocolate, just because. Jimin pouts and then it’s his hot chocolate. It’s all you can do not to kiss away the whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

Back in your lavish hotel, after countless days have blurred together and Jimin’s fresh from a shower, skin flushed, you finally ask yourself if it’s worth putting up such a fight. If it’s really all that bad to care for Jimin and be cared for in return. If it’s all that bad to be someone else, just for a little while: someone with a normal life who makes a normal living and has a normal capability to love. Someone who isn’t damaged beyond repair.

That will never be you. Not fully, and certainly not in this lifetime, but maybe it could be, a little.

“Jimin,” you say, because you need to try. Jimin loves you in ways you’ll never understand, and you want to be better for him. “We should talk.”

Your voice is small and hesitant, and Jimin hates it. Sees trouble where there’s only vulnerability, so he misreads. Shakes his head. Takes a risk and stands between your legs at the edge of the bed—yours, because there’s two—as he tilts your head back, thumbs pressing into the contours of your cheeks. The scar still sits in the hollow of your throat, and that version of you feels so far away. That life feels so far away.

There’s no violence here. There’s no blood, no fugues. There’s just you and Jimin, whose voice is small like yours when he shakes his head and says, “You should kiss me instead.”

The second time is nothing like the first.

Jimin moves delicately. Feels like silk lace, tastes like spun sugar. Moves both his mouth and his body fluidly, no hesitation, yet he still takes his time. Still pauses to look at you with endless devotion; with awed reverence. Makes a map of your body and marks all his favorite places with his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. Speaks the words against the skin just beneath your ear. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just have to ask.”

What you want isn’t tangible, isn’t possible, so you stay quiet. Thread your fingers through Jimin’s hair, gasp when he mouths along the column of your throat. Jimin reserves all his softness for you. Bathes you in it. Would kill anyone to keep it that way.

So you say, “Want your mouth,” and let slip a quiet moan when he gives you what you’ve asked for. When he situates himself between your thighs and sucks and licks until you’re writhing, making a mess, grasping fruitlessly at the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, only calming when his hands find yours and your fingers interlock.

Jimin mouths at you until you’re trembling. Until you’re needy and desperate, hips moving on their own, fucking yourself against his face. Until nothing exists except the heat in your belly, the stars behind your eyelids, the heady, fucked-out sound of Jimin’s voice as he talks you through it, murmurs praise against your cunt.

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

This isn’t your life. This is not something you can have.

But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? You’ve made peace with death, and there’s only one of two ways it’s going to come for you in the end: by Namjoon’s hand or someone else’s. So what does it matter?

This time, Jimin fucks you slow. Kisses you with your taste still in his mouth. Thumbs over a hardened nipple just to see what earns him a reaction, and what you truly want is more time—something else that’s impossible.

Jimin’s hair is orange when you think you might be in love with him.

[ 48.8566° N, 2.3522° E | Paris, FRANCE ]

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.

Soaks a washcloth in warm water. Wrings it out. Stands in front of you, and there’s water dripping onto the floor and Jimin doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to see anything in this moment except for you, your hands covered in someone else’s blood, and he reaches out, gently grabs your wrist. Palm up. Someone else’s blood. Everything smells like copper and iron. Looks too surreal beneath the fluorescent lights of this hotel bathroom for your mind to make sense of it.

There is care in the way Jimin cleans your hands. There is tenderness in the way he both refuses to see what you really are and the way he’s the only one to ever see you so entirely, when you look down at the blood he’s washing away and all you can see is stigmata. When all you see is sin.

“I know you don’t love me,” he says, and there is a conviction in his words that stuns you into silence. “Not the way I love you, anyway.”

That tenderness is still there as he says this. As he presses the wet fabric into the meat of your palm, wipes the stains away, and the warmth is as calming as it is undeserved. It feels like something forbidden. It feels like salvation and condemnation all at once, like whatever sick depravity permeates you is contagious, will take over Jimin, too, just from touching you.

Jimin is close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to see the violence that he exists in alongside you: the rips in his clothes, the scars that decorate his skin. Close enough to know he smells sickly-sweet, just like death. Your hand shakes as it reaches for him and never follows through. Doesn’t want to contaminate him.

“I do,” you finally say. Whatever is in your voice is not conviction. “I can’t.” You suck in a breath, try to steady your breathing. This is where it all comes crashing down, you think, because in all the years you’ve done Namjoon’s bidding, you’ve never cried. You can take life so freely and without thought, but you cannot love Jimin. “Someone like me isn’t capable of it.”

Jimin pauses, the washcloth stuck in the space between your ring and middle fingers. “And who is someone like you?”

Water is still dripping to the floor. Serosanguineous: blood tainting something untouched. Not something one thing or another but both, watery-pink. Looks like Jimin’s hair. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” you answer. “More than I can count. More than I can name. More than the ones that come to haunt me at night.” Your free hand moves to your chest, covers your heart. “There’s nothing here, Jimin. I’m not sure there ever was.”

The washcloth drops to the floor, and all that blood belonging to a man whose name you never bothered to learn before you put a bullet between his eyes finds a new place to rest. “I think,” he begins, clasping your unclean hand in his own, voice dropping to a whisper, “you forget, sometimes.” You gasp as he places your palm to his cheek, drags it across his face, smears a stranger’s blood across his skin. “That we’re the same.”

Jimin is always overwhelming, but the love he has for you is even more so. It consumes you entirely, embeds itself beneath your skin, makes a home, would tear you apart, body and soul, to return to him.

[ 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E | Budapest, HUNGARY ]

Jimin’s hair is lavender when it all goes to shit.

“You’re being followed.”

Seokjin’s voice is garbled through the earpiece, tinny and metallic, and you roll your eyes. Some things don’t need to be said, because you’ve known someone was following you for the last three blocks. Average height, black peacoat, close-cropped haircut. Not the kind of person that’d stand out here, and that’s exactly why you’d sent Jimin in the other direction.

“No shit,” you respond in Hungarian, because you already know the man following you doesn’t speak or understand it. “Give me somewhere to go.”

It takes Seokjin a few moments to run the translation. “There’s a side street up on your right,” he answers. “It’s tight, but there’s an alleyway at the end. You can buy some time if you’re quick.”

“Where’s Jimin?”

You pass a vendor selling lángos and duck into the street behind the stall. Just as Seokjin had said, there’s a small alleyway up on the left, and your footfall is near-silent as you break into a sprint to reach it. “Safe,” is all Seokjin says.

You take a second to steady your breathing, knowing you’re good on time—the man following you was close enough to know where you’d turned, but, if you’re lucky, not much after that. That plays on a loop: if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky. What is luck, what does it look like, in a life left entirely to chance? In a life with no guarantees?

You tuck yourself away, focus on Seokjin’s metallic breaths. Think about his basement in Seoul, why he’s in it. Ask, “What happened in Addis Ababa?” because it feels important to know.

There’s not much you know about Seokjin’s life. Whatever happened in Ethiopia had been before your time, reduced to hushed whispers and gossip fodder after your arrival. No one spoke of it, Seokjin especially, but every now and then something would slip in the same way weeds grow in sidewalk cracks.

A job gone wrong. A bombing at the consulate with Seokjin inside.

His reply is simple, words spoken carefully: “I loved someone once, too.”

He can’t see it, but you nod nonetheless; an answer that doesn’t require a response, because you know. It’s enough to fill in the rest. What Seokjin’s trauma looks like. Why he doesn’t do field work anymore. Why he prefers the solitude of the basement, rarely a sound beyond the electric thrum of the server racks.

Who had gone in to retrieve him, and why Yoongi has the scar over his eye.

“You loved someone,” you conclude, “and he would’ve been willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and it’s like the word’s been punched out of him. Sounds like something repressed, something left to rot in the darkest corner of the world.

Love, to Seokjin, looks and sounds the same as death.

“I think most people spend their entire lives searching for a love like that,” he continues, and if you could see him you think he might look dazed, off-kilter. You think he might be an avatar. Seokjin is prying his ribcage apart, unwrapping the barbed wire from his heart, saying I once was in love and this is all I know of it. “But, to me, in this life, it’s a prison. Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? How do you—I kissed that skin. I worshiped it. I pressed my lips to it with whatever softness was left in me. How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled?” He exhales, all tremor. “You can’t. You can’t.”

You know this all too well. You know what it feels like to look at Jimin and know, intrinsically and subconsciously, that you wouldn’t even hesitate. You’d take and give life to keep him alive and safe. You know that when you exit this world at someone else’s hand his face is the last thing you want to see.

You know it’s a liability.

You know it’s a target painted on your back. Between your eyes.

You know there’s nothing left to say, that this particular conversation has run its course. The two of you sit in an amicable silence, and you hope Seokjin can hear the life that surrounds you, however mundane. Hope he can hear the lángos vendor trying to hawk his goods; hope he can hear a city 8,000 kilometers away; hope he can hear these regular, everyday people going about their lives and remember there’s hope beyond his four walls.

I think you’d like it here, you think, but you don’t dare to say it aloud.

Time passes in a meaningless blur. Could be minutes, could be hours. No one’s come to kill you, so you reckon you’ve long since been in the clear. And maybe it speaks to Seokjin’s idea that love is a prison, because you know something’s happened to Jimin long before Seokjin speaks it into existence.

You’re up and out of the alleyway before you’re told to move. Have no idea where you’re going, but you’re racing through the streets of Budapest with a panic you haven’t ever felt in your life. Feels like quicksand; feels like molasses; feels like you have to wade through all the blood you’ve spilled, now congealed, to get to him.

“Where am I going?” you demand. Your lungs are on fire. In the split-second of silence it becomes a desperate scream. “Seokjin, tell me where the fuck I’m going!”

“The—fuck, the wa-warehouse up on your right.” You can’t think about why he’s crying. “I don’t—I don’t know wha-what’s there, you need to be careful. Please, you have to—”

Twenty seconds and you’ll be there, you’ll be with Jimin, you just need to keep running. You need to keep your head on straight. Remember your training. Remember you’ve built a life in a viper pit.

A man in a uniform is unloading a shipment around the back of the building. Faces away from you, bent at the waist. Takes very little effort to smash his head into the stone exterior and knock him unconscious, pocket his badge. You can’t get stupid now. Tell Seokjin to make sure all the cameras are cut, ask what floor when you shut yourself inside the freight elevator, unwilling to take the stairs and run into anyone who might be waiting. All the way to the top, he says, so all the way to the top you go.

—

Over the course of your life, you’ve made peace with death. Have stared it in the eye more times than you can count. Have dealt it out, evaded it, shook its hand.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

Red. Everything is red—the walls, the floor, what used to be a beautiful parquet pattern in the wood. In the center of the room: two bodies, maybe three. Not much that’d be able to identify them beyond a pile of teeth, no saying whose is whose. Slaughterhouse scraps.

And this is not—Jimin doesn’t work this way. Isn’t his MO. Jimin’s kills are elegant and neat, topped with a bow. What you see before you is ultraviolence. It is unhinged, it is fury, it is a complete loss of control. It’s what love looks like to Jimin, because he sits at the very edge of a rotted chair, legs crossed. Face streaked with blood, clothes covered in it.

“Jimin,” you say, because what else is there?

He tilts his head to the side, smirks a little, looks at you beneath his lashes. Eyes that used to find you across a room and calm you. Eyes that have locked onto you in the throes of pleasure. Eyes you’ve seen yourself reflected in, bathed in love and adoration.

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

He removes his gloves with his teeth and doesn’t flinch away from the taste of iron. “They said they hurt you,” he states simply, “so I did what needed to be done.”

“What—” Nausea claws at your throat; for the first time, it’s all too much. This isn’t Jimin. This isn’t your Jimin, who smiled as you posed him against apricot walls in Copenhagen, who took a bullet to the stomach to protect you and never, ever told you. This is not the Jimin who wasted the last of his goodwill on loving you. “What did you do?” you whisper.

He rises to full height and it makes you flinch. You are scared of Jimin for the first time in your life: scared of who he is in this moment, what he’s capable of. And he sees it, lets that brand of anguish overtake him. Reaches for you before he decides against it and lets his hand drop to his side. Says, “I would never hurt you,” as if the words could brand themselves into your skin so you’d never forget.

“No, you’d just—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Don’t think about how one of the men nearly embedded into the floor was the one trailing you earlier.

Instead, you think about Seokjin: Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? You think about: How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled? You think about: In this life, it’s a prison.

You drop to your knees. Let the blood seep through your clothes and into your skin, undeserving of shying away from it.

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

You think about the men in front of you. Who they were, who they loved. The grief all of this is going to leave behind, and it becomes impossible to breathe. You grasp at your throat, think about all the times you’ve been strangled and who’d been there to cut the rope. There is no limit to Jimin’s devotion, and you understand now, how it drove Yoongi to madness. How he loved someone so much he would’ve retrieved their corpse from a building and how that same person can no longer bear to look at the damage they’d caused.

“This isn’t love, Jimin,” you choke out.

He stands in front of you. Stigmata. You’re worshiping at the altar of some kind of devil. At least his hands are clean when he places his fingers beneath your chin, forces you to look up at him. “What is it, then?”

“Destruction.”

A quiet huff of cruel laughter. “See, this is the difference between me and you, darling.” He takes back his hand, runs it through his blood-streaked hair, and your chin sags to your chest without his support. “Because I already knew that. Because I have destroyed myself every single day loving you.” He squats down, eye-level, and he says, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, sweetheart: you do not love me the way I love you, because I would do worse. When it comes to you, there is nothing on this earth I would not destroy to keep you safe.”

He clears his throat. Collects whatever’s in his mouth and spits onto one of the bodies. “If this is enough to have you tucking your fucking tail between your legs, then go, because this doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and sometimes that says it all.

Jimin presses a kiss to the top of your head. Makes a call. Cleaners will be here soon, he says, better get going.

You watch him go.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair is black when Namjoon calls the meeting.

He takes the seat across from Namjoon’s desk because they don’t meet like this often. Assignments are usually manila folders slipped under doors, hushed whispers in hallways confirmed with a nod or a text on a burner phone. Assignments are not last-minute assemblies in conference rooms and offices.

But the way Namjoon is looking at him, with his clenched jaw and a gaze that’s meant to look barbed to anyone who doesn’t actually know him—Jimin doesn’t need to ask what this is about.

Had he bothered to look, he would’ve known by the way you stood in the far corner of the room, face obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows. Yoongi’s close to you, for some reason: dressed head to toe in black, perched on a lateral file cabinet, using a metal corner to sharpen his switchblade. Just like a harbinger of death. Some sort of fucked up omen, a warning that’s come too late.

Didn’t I tell you this would end badly, he hears Yoongi taunt in his head. This is what happens when you lay with trash.

Easy for Yoongi to say when he doesn’t know what it means to be cared for by you. Doesn’t know how it feels to give in to the freefall and plummet at your feet, stripped back and laid bare. Doesn’t know how it feels to kiss secrets into your skin like constellations, to map his tongue along every unspoken confession.

Easy for Yoongi to say, because he doesn’t have to survive the aftermath. Doesn’t have to feel the heartbreak, the agony of having you and watching as you slip through his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t have to struggle just to breathe, doesn’t have to endure the nights staring at the ceiling, watching as the daylight creeps into the corners of his vision. Doesn’t have to watch you looking so unaffected.

“Jimin.” Namjoon’s tone is flat, needlelike.

Behind him, Yoongi chuckles lowly. “What?” Jimin asks, his gaze trained on the painting behind Namjoon’s head. Looks like one he’d seen in Berlin, the time the two of you had gone just because and spent an afternoon ducking in and out of museums to escape the rain.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes. The beads of water rolling off the sleeves of your leather jacket. How blinding your smile had been. The laughter in your voice as you ordered beer after beer after beer for the two of you in flawless Berlinisch. A brief, fleeting glimpse at normalcy. At the kind of life the two of you could have if you were just… different. Lived different lives. Were different people.

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

Namjoon’s words are a cold bucket of water. Snap him back to reality, yank him back to the present where he’s forced to leave those river-lined streets behind. You’re silent and Yoongi’s still snorting laughter. “Okay,” is all Jimin can bring himself to say.

Jin had gotten sloppy once, too, and Namjoon stuck him down in the basement to work logistics. Might not be so bad, Jimin reckons. He’d be away from you, spared of this fucking misery. “So you know that’s unacceptable.”

Jimin just shrugs, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. “I’m reassigning the both of you,” Namjoon continues. “You’ll both have new partners for your next assignments, since you clearly can no longer be trusted together.”

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly having expected an argument. “You’re being sent to Shanghai with Jungkook. You,” he says, turning his attention to you, “are going to Moscow with Taehyung.”

She’s fond of Taehyung, Jimin wants to say. But you’d been fond of him too, once upon a time, and that’d only ended in heartbreak, so who fucking cares.

They’re cruel, the tricks Jimin’s mind plays on him. How he convinces himself you look pained. How his fingers wring together at the thought of entrusting his life in the hands of someone else, someone new. At your life being just as at stake; at Taehyung being tasked with keeping you alive. Would you die for him, too, the way you’d always told Jimin you would for him? Would Taehyung take a bullet to the stomach to keep you safe the way Jimin had?

Even more cruel is the way you scoff, pushing yourself off of the wall as you fold your arms across your chest and say, “That’s bullshit, Kim Namjoon.”

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

Yoongi’s knife stops twirling. Just like a bird sensing a storm, senses on high-alert as he flicks his gaze over to you. “I’m sorry?” Namjoon says. “What part of Jimin losing his mind and nearly outing all of us seems like bullshit to you?”

“Hm, let me think,” you retort, a manicured finger tapping against the hollow of your cheek. “The part where you’re reassigning me for someone else’s mistake?”

Which part was the mistake? Jimin wants to ask. Needs to know how much you regret. Was sleeping with you the mistake? Falling in love with you? Getting too caught up in all these daydreams and letting reality get away from him?

“This organization is more important than Park Jimin getting his goddamn dick wet,” Namjoon snaps. “Keeping all of you safe—keeping you alive—is more—”

You scoff. Take an entire container of gasoline and pour it right on top of Namjoon’s flammable ire. “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain to me why Min fucking Yoongi can fuck damn near everyone in this establishment, yet I have to sit here and listen to your goddamn mouth—”

Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even knows his arm is moving.

There’d just been the trading of barbed words. His own name being spoken into the ether. Yoongi’s arm moving away from his body, switchblade clasped tightly between his fingers as he plunges it into your flesh.

Jimin watches it puncture your arm in slow motion. Feels the bile in his throat, the heat in his belly. Looks first at Namjoon whose jaw has gone slack, skin pale, as he stammers over words that won’t come. Then he looks at Yoongi—expects to find shock or guilt but finds only a muted disinterest and flared nostrils.

Finally, he looks at you. Watches the white cotton sleeve of your shirt slowly turn red and sticky-wet. Watches as your lips move around syllables and vowels and consonants Jimin can’t decipher.

“—fucking piece of shit, this is my favorite shirt! I’ll never get all this goddamn blood out of it—”

Jimin thinks he hears Yoongi say you deserve it. But Jimin isn’t really thinking much as he clambers out of his chair and moves in Yoongi’s direction. Doesn’t think at all as he lets instinct take over, lets adrenaline steer him headfirst into yet another bad idea.

He’s always known there’d come a day he’d be face-to-face with the sight of your blood. Had always known it’d come from someone else’s hand. Had always promised himself that hurting you would be the last thing anyone ever did.

Jimin has his fingers wrapped around Yoongi’s throat and he finally understands it—the joy Yoongi finds in taking life.

“What’s the matter, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi taunts. Jimin tightens his grip. Suddenly hates that fucking scar across Yoongi’s eye. “You’re never on clean-up duty. Always make your girlfriend do the dirty work. Finally grew some fucking balls, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says stupidly. Can’t think of anything more to say. Not that he needs to. Wrapping your hands around someone’s throat sends enough of a message, he thinks.

Namjoon’s still tongue-tied as you yank Yoongi’s blade from your arm, immediately pressing your other hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. The sight of your blood is making Jimin dizzy; the smell of the iron hanging in the air. All he wants to do is choke the life out of the man in front of him, but more than that, he just wants to hold your hand. Wants to comfort you, even though he knows you don’t need it. Not from him, not from anyone, but he still wants to. Wants to press his lips to the sweat at your brow.

And Yoongi can see it, too, because he starts laughing. It’s an odd, fractured noise. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ever heard him laugh before, decides he also hates the way it sounds. Feels all wrong watching it leave his crooked smirk. Makes Jimin’s stomach plummet to the ground.

“Oh, you’re fucked, aren’t you?” Yoongi teases around Jimin’s slackened grip. “You weren’t just fucking her, you’re in love with her.”

Weird how Jimin is the one with his hands around someone’s neck and feels like he’s the one suffocating.

[ 31.2304° N, 121.4737° E | Shanghai, CHINA ]

Jimin watches the life drain from an innocent woman’s face and feels nothing.

Jimin watches Jungkook cut a man down and feels even less.

When it’s over, he cleans up wordlessly and doesn’t eat for three days.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair has faded to brown by the time he returns from Shanghai.

The more complicated job had gone to you and Taehyung. Jimin had tried not to take it personally. The Russian hits are always unnecessarily violent and Jungkook still isn’t fully trained. There’s still a phantom pain in Jimin’s stomach that warns him of the consequences of taking on more than he can chew. So, sure, Shanghai had gone fine, but his mind had been nearly 7,000 kilometers away the entire time.

Good thing he’d returned to Seoul unscathed, too, because he’s sure Namjoon would’ve eliminated him without a moment’s hesitation if he’d fucked up again.

But Shanghai had only served to prove the leader right. Jimin can’t work with you anymore. Can’t focus, can’t stomach the violence, can’t keep his goddamn head on straight.

He sighs as he glances at Jungkook to his right. Jimin had watched him murder two men in cold blood not even thirty-six hours ago and now he’s doe-eyed and sucking down his third banana milk of the morning. It really makes his head spin, being paired with this grown-up infant of a man now instead of you, but for all of Jungkook’s apparent shortcomings, he’d kept Jimin alive. He isn’t dead.

And then you walk in with Taehyung and he wishes he was.

Because you’re laughing and Taehyung’s got his arm slung around your shoulder and you look happy. It’s the kind of happiness that should be contagious, bloom warmth in his chest, but it doesn’t. It just takes the last frayed strand of hope he has and sets flame to it.

You don’t look like you miss Jimin at all. Don’t look like you’ve lost sleep or skipped meals.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” Jimin says, because he’s wounded and lashing out. Not because he means it.

You must know he doesn’t, too, because you don’t react. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin,” Taehyung warns, because he doesn’t know, and this only sets Jimin off more. You don’t need defending. Or had you, and Jimin had simply thought it wasn’t his place to provide it? That you wouldn’t want it?

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is cherubic. It’s part of his charm, one of many reasons why he’s so effective. If you’re looking to die, you look for the guy who looks like Yoongi, not the one who smiles wide and warm like Taehyung. So when he sets his jaw and pokes his tongue into his cheek and says, “Or I’ll cut your fucking head off, you stupid fuck,” your attention is finally piqued.

“I’m so sick of this,” Jungkook wails, banana milk tossed carelessly in the trash. “All of you need to get your fucking shit together!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the same time you pretend to inspect your nails. “Is that why you’re so temperamental, Chim?” Taehyung prods, looking every bit the pretentious, murderous angel he is. “Because you got sent to China on a babysitting mission while the grownups did real work?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook snaps, rising to full height. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Taehyung’s words are razor-sharp and smell like kerosene. “Tell me, then: were you on babysitting duty? Had to look after our precious little Jiminie while he nursed his broken heart?”

You sigh, full of faux-exasperation, and place a gentle hand on Taehyung’s forearm. Dig your nails in just enough to be a warning, and if Jimin hadn’t been looking he’d miss it: the way Taehyung deflates instantly, anger dissipating like smoke, back in control. Just because you’d touched him. Just because you were there. Jimin knows that touch, how it feels to be under your control, and it makes his chest ache. Makes everything feel like it’s sitting wrong in his stomach, and he’s either going to be sick all over Namjoon’s overpriced fucking rug or wrap his hands around Taehyung’s throat the way he’d done to Yoongi.

He’s out of his goddamned mind; he feels untethered. Helpless. Like it was always going to end like this, and maybe Jimin knew that and had just ignored it. Maybe now he’s paying the price—maybe he’s finally found something he can’t afford.

Jungkook’s still going off, nasty gaze set on Taehyung because he’s the only one playing along. They’re exchanging words Jimin can’t make heads nor tails of. Words he doesn’t care about. Words that ring empty and hollow because they sound nothing like the way you say his name. Shapeless, unlike the way your lips move around those syllables.

“Jimin,” you say, the sound finally registering and bringing him back down to earth. All he can do is stare. “Can we talk?” Taehyung and Jungkook are still trading barbs.

Wonders how he got here. Looks around the room and wonders if each and every one of them is destined for this same fate, this madness. Wants to tell you why he forgot his vest, why he was three hours late in Argentina. Wants to grovel and beg and leave this place and never look back.

More than anything, he wants to know what it feels like to actually be human.

So he shakes his head. Tries not to be haunted by the way your face falls at the rejection.

There is a scar on his abdomen and a scar on your arm that both tell the same story. There is a man in the basement who is in love with a man above ground and is too weighed down by guilt to do anything about it. There is a man here who plays god, has soldiers to do his bidding, and there is very little here that Jimin has only for himself.

The two of you will have that conversation, but he needs to be human, first.

[ 34.6901° N, 135.1956° E | Kobe, JAPAN ]

This is a waste of your fucking time.

Whatever Namjoon had thought would be here doesn’t seem to exist. Yoongi can barely tolerate you on a good day, threatens to stick a dagger in your neck at least twice an hour, but the more time the two of you waste chasing ghosts, the closer he comes to unraveling entirely.

“Stop fucking staring at me,” he snaps, blowing the smoke of his cigarette right in your face.

You tut. “But you’re so beautiful, Yoongi, I just can’t help it.”

He digs his switchblade from his boot. Makes a show of flipping it open. “I can cut your fuckin’ eyes out of your skull,” he intones. “Maybe that’ll help.”

In your ear, Jimin’s laughter rings like crystal.

Ricochets off of all the corners of Seokjin’s basement, makes the echo sound warped through the earpiece. “Please tell Yoongi-ssi to keep an eye on the man with the shaved head. In front of him, roughly sixty degrees to his right.”

You relay the message. Watch as Yoongi transforms—sharpened gaze, rigid posture, disappears into the shadows. More apex predator than man. “And me?” you ask.

“Backup,” comes Seokjin’s voice. “We haven’t found your mark yet.”

You hum. Pick up the cigarette Yoongi left behind and stick it between your lips. Smoke it nearly to the filter. “You got it, boss,” you tease, just because it flusters him.

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

Exhale. Stub out the cigarette. Butt in your pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his voice is soft, sounds like spun sugar. “Stay alive, all right?”

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

if you've read this far: thank you so, so much! i am more appreciative than i can put into words. this is very different from what i typically write, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. <3

[dat-lil-shark]

I found more TFP Characters Stats and they are VERY Interesting

So over a week ago I found out that in the Japanese airing of Transformer Prime, they put up these commercials in between episodes that displays the characters stats. Back then I only found Soundwave’s, but now I’ve found almost everyone.

Again, I have no guarantee that these are canon enough, cause it's made by Japanese, who made Airachnid a yandere.

But it’s fun to assume they are.

(SPOILERS ALERT)

First of all. MEGATRON ACTUALLY HAVE HIGHER INTELLIGENCE STATS THAN OPTIMUS!!!??? (Op got 8 and MT got 9)

Not only that but also higher speed and firepower TOO (OP got 7 speed and 9 firepower, and MT got 9 speed and 10 firepower).

Sure Optimus got bigger courage and skills but in battlefields if MT is not so dr**ed up he might just win a lot more.

And speaking of unexpected intelligence.

Compared to Arcee, Airachnid also got WAY higher intelligence (AH 9 and RC 7) and slightly higher strength (AH 5 and RC 4) AND FIREPOWER (AH 5 and RC 4).

I was at first surprised how Airachnid could be so smart but then it did made sense since she was able to always lure Arcee into her fun cave to beat her up and was able to easily kill Breakdown.

(And I know technically this was supposed to be the Japanese yandere Airachnid but— let’s just ignore that— maybe let’s pretend it’s the normal Airachnid okay? Please?)

But Arcee got 9 on courage.

Airachnid might got the cunning but at least Arcee got the feral.

And the way Arcee only got 7 on the intelligence out here is breaking stereotypes that the only girl in the group has to be smart.

Luckily not all Autobot and Decepticon rivalry ends in a Decepticon topping the Autobot.

For example.

Bulkhead is a lot— AND I MEAN A LOT better than Breakdown is.

He’s got higher strength (BH 10 and BD 9), intelligence(BH 5 and BD 4), courage (BH 8 and BD7), rank (BH 6 and BD 4) AND firepower (BH 7 and BD 6)

Bruh Breakdown is competing with Bulkhead just because he is insecure 😂😂😂😅😅

Bulkhead can actually sweep the floor with Breakdown if he wanna!

also I think Breakdown got the lowest stat in intelligence and rank than any other characters here.

This actually does explain how Breakdown could be killed so easily by Airachnid, honestly, since Airachnid got more than twice as much intelligence as him.

Well at least we know Knockout married him for true love.

And speaking of Knockout.

He’s SO WEAK!! 😂😂😂😂

Dude Knockout is an absolute LOOSER!! (At least according to the Japanese)

He LITTERALLY GOT 5 SKILLS, ENDOURANCE, AND 4 COURAGE!!

THAT IS ALMOST THE SAME ENDOURANCE AND ALMOST HALF THE COURAGE AS ARCEE (who is about only 1/2 of his body size btw) (his buff armours are just for shows) AND HALF THE SKILL OF RATCHET!!

HOW DID KNOCKOUT EVEN MANAGED TO BE A MEDIC!!

He is only a bit good on speeds. Now no wonder he loves racing ITS THE ONLY THING HE IS GOOD AT!! Bro litterally covers himself in makeups cause he’s too self aware 😂😂😂!

I wondered how he managed to lie so perfectly on his job resume.

And speaking of medics.

Ratchet is WAY better in everything than I expected.

He’s more than twice the medic Knockout would ever be.

He actually got EIGHT endurance which is surprising, cause that is only one star lower than Bulkhead!

The doctor might be old but he’s still got armors and bones as strong as boulders.

No wonder he kept getting beaten up in this serie but just got up fine and never snap his back once like my own grandpa after standing up from his chair.

Wheeljack on the other hand is also not bad at all.

He got 9 skills. I guess that’s what got him to be able to make all his terrorist toys.

Also it’s funny cause he’s only got 8 endurance, that’s 2 stars lower than Ratchet.

Could you just IMAGINE Wheeljack and Ratchet fist bumping as hard as they could but it was Wheeljack who ended up having to grab his fists in pain??

Also he only got 6 intelligence?? That’s honestly far lower than I excepted tbh. That is only one star higher than Bulkhead.

No wonder Ultra Magnus has such a bad time.

(it’s also funny how Arcee criticized Wheeljack for impulsively going to avenge Bulkhead when she herself is only like, one stat smarter, and does that with Airachnid on a daily basis (sure she didn’t drag any humans in but she is still barely better).

(Also by the way, speaking of Ultra Magnus, he doesn’t have a stat page unfortunately cause the Japanese TFP never got a season 3, it just ends at Optimus breaking the Alpha lock and that’s it, which means Ultra Magnus never appeared, and neither did Shockwave (beside that one Arcee flashback) and Predaking unfortunately).

Oh and the Dreadwing Skyquake twins are over powered.

Just look at them!

They are almost the exact same in stats except Skyquake got more endourance and Dreadwing got more fire power.! If Megatron had both of them at the same time they could just deep fry the Autobots in episode 10!

RIP Skyquake you had SO much POTENCIALS man. And to think that even the PRIME HIMSELF ALONE can’t take you out without major help from Bumblebee.

And speaking of Bumblebee.

HE MAXED OUT ON COURAGE.

Listen no one else in this whole list got courage 10 except Bumblebee.

Not Arcee, not Optimus, not Ratchet, not Smokescreen, and not even Wheeljack.

HE IS FERAL!!

Damn it man now thinking back I don’t think I recall a SINGLE MOMENT in the entire show, although it wasn’t obvious first time through, that Bumblebee actually considered for his own safety before doing anything. And it’s not even in an “I am willing to sacrifice my own safety for the greater good” way but a “Oh I’m gonna lose a leg for this but it’ll be nice? Sign me up!” Way! “Psyc link into Megatron? Count me in!” “Jump on top of Skyquake? You bet!” “Run straight toward Silas when you can litterally wait for 5 more minutes but then you can get your t cog back for five more minute earlier? I’m coming!!”

If it’s not for the fact that Bumblebee got a good dad that he’s happy to listen to he will be a bigger disaster than Wheeljack is.

The other kid, Smokescreen, is just a tad bit weaker. But he’s way better than I expected since he only just joined this war. (*cough cough* way better than Knockout).

However,

on the other servo.

Starscream is OVERPOWERED.

Bro has got EIGHT STRENGTH despite his skinny arms (same as Skyquake & Dreadwing), NINE SPEED (faster than Megatron), NINE FIREPOWER (same as Optimus) and TEN FRAGGING SKILLS (same as RATCHET)

Honestly. If it weren’t for the 3 courage, DUDE COULD ACTUALLY HAVE A CHANCE TAKING OVER MEGATRON!!! He

is

strong.

He honestly doesn’t even need the apex armour tbh! And there are countless times he got defeated probably only because he froze in fear or else he could have absolutely fought back and won!!

That 3 courage ruined him.

Also they don’t have Cliffjumper too and that is very unfair tbh cause Skyquake also appeared for only one episode but got his, and pretty unfortunate cause I really wanna see how strong exactly Cliff was before his death.

[pars-ley]

I...do? (part one)

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x f. reader (ft Jung Hoseok briefly) Summary: Based on the film ‘the proposal’ - You hate your boss. He's rude, arrogant and conceited, not to mention works you to the bone, day and night. So walking into one of his meetings, where he announces your upcoming wedding, you being shocked is the least of it. But when he threatens the career you've worked so hard for, can you still say no to his proposal? Genre: Enemies to lovers au / CEO au / fake dating au / colleagues to lovers au / co-workers to lovers / series / angst / fluff / smut Rating: 18+ (future chapters will be nfsw) Warnings (per chapter): blackmail / manipulation / rudeness / angst W/C: 2.9k Banner: @shadowkoo you are amazing Beta: @beomcoups and @cherrysoulth thank you so much!  Notes: So this has been in the works for about four fucking years now and I’ve decided to do this as a series and i’m finally ready to start posting! Sorry to anyone who has been waiting. This was originally for the 'spring will come again' event with @bangtanarmynet Please, share and comment, it will really help with motivation for writing, which I have been lacking for a while. Thank you so much for reading! Taglist: @ladyartemesia @taestannie @somewhereofftheglobe @moonchild1 @taebangtanbabe @leedoesntknaur @siadreams @m-1234

It’s a lovely spring morning; the trees are green, and the flowers are beginning to bloom. The sun is out and the air is fresh. You have one of the most beautiful views in the city outside your office, floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the new growth and warm weather. You’re relaxing into your seat, basking in it…that is, until the elevator down the hall stops on your floor, and you know exactly who's about to step off. You type out your usual frantic message to everyone in their office cubicles in the expanse between the elevators and his office, which you sit directly outside of, and hit send.

Y/n: Satan is entering the gates of hell

Everyone rushes frantically back to their desks. Hushed whispers sound across the void, filling the atmosphere with nervous energy. The elevator dings and silence is instant. You watch as your boss struts along, ignoring everyone else’s presence entirely. 

“Good morning, sir,” you remark with a polite smile as soon as he reaches your desk, to which he strides past you, straight into his office. Resisting the urge to make a sarcastic remark, you focus back on your work, but your irritation grows towards him. Your patience is already thin this morning.

Discreetly, you glance in his direction, noting the way he sits behind his desk, leaning back in his chair, leg crossed casually over the other, and flipping through document pages with an arrogance you can see, even from here. You absolutely hate how good-looking he is. Why does someone so infuriating get to look like that? It somehow makes his whole attitude even worse.

His low voice calling your name snaps your attention. "Get in here."

Sliding your chair out from under your desk, you follow orders.

“Yes, Mr Kim, ” you respond, standing with hands clasped in front of you. Your posture and all-black attire, particularly the skirt, were requested by him.

“Where was my usual tea this morning?” he asks, eyes unwavering from the pages he's absorbed in. 

“The shop was closed this morning, sir, and I thought it best not to go to the other one, as you told me their tea 'looks and tastes like noodle soup.'” Your heart races with annoyance, as you chew the inside of your lip, attempting to hold back any smart-arse remarks.

I’ll tell you where I’d like to put your tea, sir, I’d shove it right up your-

“Then, what is this?” He points to the mug you left on his desk in replacement, a look of disdain twisting his face.

“That’s the tea I made for you, Sir.”

His eyes meet yours for a second with a hard stare. “Right, well next time, how about...don’t.” 

Your teeth clamp together, jaw tensing as you struggle to bite back your retort, instead opting to take the tea and down it right in front of him. The hot liquid burns your throat as it slides down uncomfortably, and you carefully place the mug back on his desk, wiping the corners of your mouth with your fingertips.

"Is that better, sir?" You smile sweetly, but it’s written all over his face that he knows it’s not genuine judging by the glare he throws your way.

Your stomach somersaults nervously, worrying you've gone too far before his eyes fall back down to his paper.

“I have an unscheduled meeting in twenty minutes, it’s important, so make sure I am not disturbed by anyone. Are we clear?” He meets your eyes again, the intimidating aura he radiates hitting you fiercely.

“Y-yes, Mr Kim. Should I delay the ten o’clock meeting then?”

“You’re a smart girl; figure it out.” 

He looks back down at his work, seeming bored of your presence, but you stand there aghast as to what you can reply to that without getting fired.

“Get out.” He waves a hand, dismissing you.

"Right away, sir." You bow dramatically before leaving and closing the door, forcing yourself not to slam it and wishing you could go and scream into a pillow. 

Mr Kim Taehyung can kiss your arse.

Sitting back down at your desk, searching for anything to get your mind off the frustratingly rude man, when your mobile phone rings, surprising you. Even more so when you see it's your mum.

"Yes, mama, I'll be down this weekend," you say quietly into your phone once you're finally able to get a word in. Keeping your voice low to avoid your slave driver of a boss hearing your personal call.

Your mother’s squeal makes you giggle. "Like I'd miss my parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary celebration."

"How long are you staying for this time? It's been too long since I've seen my baby!" she stresses.

You can't help the smile that tugs at your mouth. "I know, mama, I'm still working on that."

"You need to tell that boss of yours that enough is enough before he ends up working you to the bone!" Her disapproving tone makes you feel at home.

You see Mr Kim heading your way, "Hmm-mmm, listen, ma, I've got to go; I'll see you this weekend. Love you." You hang up abruptly and get straight back to typing.

"Personal calls should be taken at personal times," he says firmly, heading off down the hall.

Heat flashes up your chest, and your attempt to bite down a retort wavers, "That would mean me being allowed a personal life, sir, " you call after him.

His steps falter for a brief moment before continuing on with not another word or so much as a glance in your direction. 

You swallow and let out the breath you didn't realise you'd been holding, envisioning hurling your phone at the back of his head. I wonder how hard I'd have to throw it to knock him unconscious or to at least give him a concussion.

Taking a long breath and trying not to grind your teeth, something that has become a habit lately and focusing back on your workload.

A short while later, Mr Kim is sitting in his unscheduled “important” meeting, meaning you could blissfully get on with paperwork without interruption. However, glancing up from your computer, you notice how tense and somewhat uncomfortable Mr Kim looks, something most uncharacteristic of him. So it does not surprise you when your work phone vibrates loudly at your desk. Looking down, you see the message "Save me," sent from him, your usual code system to get him out of something he really doesn't want to be part of anymore.

Getting up from your desk and striding across the space, you knock quietly on the door before entering.

"Sir, you have an urgent call on--"

"Ah, here she is," Mr Kim beams at you, a sight that is not only shocking because of how rare it is but also how breathtakingly gorgeous his smile is. You stand there frozen in your spot, unsure what has caused this sudden change in his mood. "No need to stand on ceremony, sweetheart; Mr. Jung is well aware of our upcoming nuptials." 

You stare at him blankly, wondering if he's perhaps having some kind of stroke and considering whether or not you should call an ambulance. He comes over to your rooted feet by the door, and before you can say anything, his arm winds around your waist and guides you over to his desk. You're hyper-aware of his hand on you in such an intimate manner and it infuriates you, boiling your blood liquid hot in your veins. It feels like everything's moving in slow motion while you attempt to piece together all the chaotic thoughts happening in your mind, but nothing makes any sense. 

Upcoming nuptials? Hell would have to freeze over more than once for you to be hitched to a man as rage-inducing as him. In fact, you'd rather be a miserable, shrivelled-up spinster living with a household full of cats than walk down an aisle where he's waiting for you.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, and please, call me Hoseok." Mr Jung stands up and shakes your hand, offering you a dazzling grin. You don't fail to notice his suspicious gaze raking over you and your boss. "So, a wedding, that sure is exciting, huh?" he asks you, raising an eyebrow as he waits for your response.

You feel Mr Kim's hand dig into your waist, sparking you to say, "Yes, very. Who doesn't love a wedding?"

Hoseok laughs. "It's true, they are such joyous occasions. Are you prepared? Is everything set, I mean?"

Before you can say anything, you hear your boss's baritone voice beside you, sending vibrations through your body and muddling your mind even more. "There are still a few things here and there to take care of, but I have faith it will all be done in time."

"Perfect." The man smiles at you. "So your families know about this wedding?" 

Hell, I didn't even know about it, so they definitely don't.

"I don't have any family; both my parents died years ago, no siblings or grandparents alive," Mr Kim admits, voice impassive. You can't help but be surprised by this new piece of information. You’re unsure if that was true or part of his weird ruse, but your heart tugs a little at imagining someone not having anyone, even someone as vile as him.

"Oh, I am sorry," Hoseok offers, "and what about your family?" He aims at you.

"We were planning on telling her family this weekend," Mr Kim interjects. “It's her parents' wedding anniversary, so we thought we'd go up there for the bank holiday and surprise them, didn't we, sweetheart?" 

You clench your teeth together to stop your mouth from popping open in shock. He squeezes you closer to his side, a movement that has you tensing your jaw in an attempt to keep the searing in your veins down to a minimum. 

"Yes, yes, we are," you add, forcing a smile.

"So what happens now?" Mr Kim asks.

You glance up at him, then at Hoseok, who seems to be scrutinising your every move. You resist the urge to squirm uncomfortably in Mr Kim's grasp.

"Well, you'll both have to come in for an interview at some point. Provided you both pass this stage and I deem this marriage legitimate then, we'll fill in the necessary paperwork, you'll no longer be deported and your new visa will be valid."

You no longer hear the words being said, everything becoming muffled and moving in slow motion. Deportation!? Legitimate marriage!? That's why he's made this up, so he can stay in the country. 

You feel your stomach drop to your feet, heavy, yet threatening to shoot up and out of your mouth, decorating his office carpet.

"Great. Is there anything else you need from us, Mr Jung?"

He taps his chin and stares at you quizzically. "Just make sure neither of you are lying, then we'll have no problems. A fine and prison time is not to be looked at lightly."

What!? You laugh nervously. "People actually get sent to prison for that?"

He nods. "Sure, it happens all the time. You could face up to five years in prison and a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar fine, and yet people still think that they can trick us." He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Anyway, I'll be sending you both a letter about when and where your interview will occur, most likely in a few weeks, I look forward to seeing you both then." 

You shake hands before he's gone and both of you are rooted to the spot, staring after him. 

Soon enough, Mr Kim moves back around to his desk, flicking through his papers, his eyes focused as if nothing out of the ordinary has just happened.

You stand there frozen, waiting for some kind of explanation, and when nothing comes, you speak up, "Excuse me, sir, but what was that?"

He sighs as if bored by your presence and continues to focus on the files in front of him. "They were going to fire me once I got deported and give Mr Park my job."

You stare at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. 

"Don't worry, we'll get married and get a quickie divorce. It will be over in no time."

You feel like your feet will surely collapse from the weight of this burden that has suddenly become yours. Without asking or consenting, you've ended up in a situation you're unsure how to deal with or get out of.

"Sir," you finally speak, breaking through your stunned silence and swallowing the burning you feel rising into your throat. "I cannot marry you."

Finally, he drops his papers and meets your panicked eyes. "Listen, you don't really have a choice; if you don't, I'll fire you and ensure that any new job you apply for will have zero interest in hiring you. I'll make something up so terrible you'll be blacklisted, and where will that leave you, after all the hard work you've put in during the last three years? Hmm?"

You stare into his cold, dark eyes and know there's no hint of a lie or an exaggeration in his words. 

“All of those late nights runs to the grocery store for me, all the weekend calls and late night working will have been for nothing.”

You struggle to find the words, feeling your world crashing in on you and smothering you beyond belief. Feeling yourself being pushed against a rock and a mountain with nowhere to escape, when all your legs want to do is run.

You suck deep breaths into your lungs. 

He would ruin your career and everything you've worked so hard for. In one fell swoop, your life would be over. For the last three years your job has been everything, not allowing an ounce of a social life; no holidays and no relationships, nothing has existed outside of your job.

Not to mention, how could you afford your apartment if you had no job? You'd have to move back home with your parents to small-town life...the thought made your stomach churn, that was more frightening than anything. 

"If I do this, I'm taking a big risk here, so I'm going to need some assurances."

He smirks, sinking back into his chair and folding his arms across his chest. The material of his blazer stretched across his bicep muscles, giving him an even more intimidating edge.

"I wasn't aware you were in a position to make demands."

Your hands clench into fists at your sides, longing to make a connection to his perfectly chiselled jaw, as anger bubbles inside the deepest pit of hatred you have for this man.

"I could go to prison! You're not asking me to go on a business trip; you're asking me to marry you so you can stay in the country! So, you either give me what I want, or I quit here and now, and bye-bye, Mr Kim, hello, Mr Park." turning towards his office door, your face flushes with angry heat. Feeling brazen and reckless, two can play at this game and if you are going to do this, you are damn sure you're going to make it worth your while.

"Wait," he says quickly.

Glancing back, you watch the smugness on his features slowly die as he realises how serious you are. "What is it you want?"

"A promotion. Not a bullshit one you make up so I can continue assisting you either."

He sighs and massages his temples. "Ok, ok, fine. How about the head of a department?"

You've wanted that since you started at this company; ever since you were hired, that has been your focus and the only thing getting you through this role.

"Hm, which department?" You act coy, knowing there's only one answer you want to hear.

He rubs his face and groans, his cool, calm exterior well and truly forgotten. "Design. That's what you want, isn't it?"

Taken aback by how he could have known that you pause for a moment before composing yourself once again. "Yes. I want it in writing and signed by you." 

"Fine."

You nod, feeling a triumphant bloom expand in your chest.

"Are we done here?" He asks.

"Ask me nicely." 

His hands come down hard on the desk; an exasperated look withers his face. "What?"

"Ask me nicely to marry you."

His mouth pops open, closes, and opens again. His cheeks flush, and the sight makes you smile. Who would have thought something so simple would make him blush?

"That's ridiculous."

"Ok, goodbye, Mr Kim; I wish I could say nice knowing you." You turn and push his office door open.

"Alright," he calls. "Just….shut the door."

You can hear the pleading in his voice, knowing how desperate he is and wondering how much you should take advantage of that. You do as he says, step back into the room, and watch with unashamed amusement as he stands up and rounds his desk, closing the gap between you rather sheepishly.

He takes a deep breath as his eyes stay fixed on your blazer's lapels. "Will-"

"On one knee, please." You interrupt.

His cheeks darken as he prepares to argue, but he second-thinks as his eyes flit desperately between yours. He slowly sinks down onto the ground at your feet and plasters on a fake and yet still dazzling smile, "Will you, please, marry me?" he finally says, sarcasm dripping off of every word.

For a moment, you enjoy the sight of him on his knees in front of you, looking up through thick eyelashes, but your abhorrence of him stops your mind from going any further.

"Fine," you reply with a smirk as you walk out, leaving him staring at your back. If you are doing this for him, you sure as hell are going to make him pay for it.

[silassinclair]

Let me Take Care of You

Yandere Boxer x Injured Reader

Summary: It’s always been you taking care of Viktor and the other fighters. After all you’re the gym’s doctor! It’s your job. But what happens when it’s the other way around and you’re the one with the injury this time?

CW// Injuries, Blood, Personal Space Invaded

Masterlist Here!!

The gym was packed with fighters training for the upcoming fight this weekend. This weekend Viktor was going to be fighting a German fighter named Iron Klaus; the famous Iron Claw of Berlin. One punch from him and the opponent will be out like a light. So Viktor has been training especially hard in dodging and weaving for the past month.

While everyone was focused on training you decided to clean up a little bit around the clinic. The last doctor who worked here had no organizational skills whatsoever and it peeved you. So why not use the spare time to tidy up a little?

The top cabinet was pretty dusty. The dust was pretty annoying too because the fighters with a dust allergy would always be sneezing whenever they came in. Wetting one of the paper towels you look for something to stand on so you can reach the cabinet. There’s no stools or four legged chairs, only your swivel chair.

“This idea a terrible idea.” You think to yourself. But you have to get rid of that dust for the sake of your patients. So you wheel the chair over and put a foot on it. The wheels immediately feel like they want to slide out from under you. But you ignore it. You stand to your full height with both feet on the chair and begin dusting off the cabinet top.

But suddenly one of the six plastic wheels burst off the chair, throwing you completely off balance and sending you falling to the hard tile floor.

“AH-!” You scream and hit your head on the counter then fall to the floor with a loud thud. Groaning in pain you massage your tail bone. But then something gets in your eye. Something wet.

Tapping your forehead you flinch with a hiss when you accidentally touch an open wound.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit.” You mutter repeatedly and rush to grab a mirror. Shuffling through the junk drawer of your desk you find a compact mirror and flip it open. And to your horror you see that the top right of your forehead as a long bleeding cut. Luckily it isn’t too deep but without proper care it could scar.

“Great…”

Getting some rubbing alcohol and a cotton pad you spurt some onto the pad. But just as you’re about to dab it onto the cut the door slams open causing you to drop the wet pad.

“Can you knock-?! Viktor?” You calm down when you see it’s just Viktor. If it were Alexi you would have thrown the alcohol bottle at him.

“I need some ice..” His words fall off his tongue and his eyes widen when he finally looks at you. Viktor takes large hurriedly steps towards you immediately.

“What happened kroshechnyy!?” He asks worriedly. “You’re bleeding so much. It may scar your simpatichnyy (pretty) face.”

You roll your eyes. “It looks worse than it feels. It’s alright. I was just about to disinfect before you came barging in. And don’t slam my door open anymore, you’ll break it.”

Viktor just grunts and takes you by the arm and pretty much forces you to sit on the bed. “I will help you.” He says and looks through your cabinets and drawers for supplies. He gets some hydrogen peroxide, cotton balls, gauze, and medical tape.

“You really don’t have to do that, go back to training Viktor. Don’t waste your time with me.” You say earnestly. He needs to spend his time training, not taking care of you. It was your own fault for getting into this mess anyways.

With all the supplies in hand Viktor turns to you with a shake of his head. “Any second spent with you is a second well spent, not wasted. So let me take care of you.”

And he wasn’t asking. He goes to work immediately and dabs some of the hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball and dabs it onto your forehead. When you wince in pain he shushes you calmly like a baby. Cooing and reassuring you that everything is going to be okay.

“Shh shh kroshechnyy, it will only hurt a bit.” He whispers and cleans the wound. The bleeding has stopped now.

His eyes are calm and focused as all his attention is on you. Helping you, taking care of you, loving you. It feels so domestic cleaning your wound. It makes him feel like the two of you are lovers. He gently lays a square of thin gauze over the cut and tapes it down with some of the medical tape.

“Sorry if the job is… sloppy. I am not used to attending wounds.” He mutters with disappointment in himself.

But you reassure him with a light smile. “Hey it’s a better job than what I would’ve done with just a compact mirror. I appreciate it, thank you.”

Viktor nods softly, he turns away from your gaze as pink blush dusts his pale cheeks.

You sit still for a moment. The sting of the cut is slowly fading away thanks to Viktor’s first aid. But then you remember why Viktor came into the office in the first place; you retrieve a bag of ice from the mini fridge.

“Here. Thank you again for helping me.” You say and hand him the bag.

Viktor nods with a small grunt and accepts the bag.

“So what’s the ice for?” You ask. “Did you get hurt?”

Viktor nods. “Olēg hit me pretty hard in the ribs. Old bald bastard still packs a mean punch.”

You chuckle. “Well it’s good practice for you against your upcoming match with that German guy. Anyway, you can rest here while you use that ice.”

Viktor smiles slightly. “You’ll let me rest here? Usually you always try to shoot me away kroshechnyy.”

Well he had a point. It annoyed you when Viktor would come in here on the daily and just watch you while you worked. But for the past few weeks he hasn’t visited due to his rigorous training regiment. Deep down you missed his calm presence and his awkward attempts at making small talk. So what if you missed him a little bit? He was the only decent company here. All the other fighters have no manners.

“This time is an exception, think of it as a thank you for patching me up this time.” You say whilst organizing some drawers.

You feel warmth press up from behind and turn your head slightly to the side. Viktor’s gotten up from the bed and came up behind you, pinning you to the desk with a hand on the hardwood on either side. His front is right against your back and you can feel his warm breath on the side of your cheek. He leant his face down lower; his lips just barely graze the shell of your ear.

“Viktor what did I say about personal space-”

“Sorry, I can’t help myself. I just really miss you.” He says with a low hum. His voice is rich and deep like honey, but also dark and dangerous like the night.

Shivers shoot up your spine. What was he trying to pull? “Viktor I said I wanted to take it slow with the whole becoming friends again thing…”

His hand slams down on the desk making you jump with a yelp.

“Well I’m getting impatient.” The growl in his voice makes your blood run cold.

“O-Okay okay j-just calm down for a sec.” You say wobbly. The feeling of his nose on the top of your head makes your train of thought stall. He inhales your scent slowly, reminiscing in the nostalgic smell of your lavender shampoo.

“Just let me hold you close… please. Think of it as your gift to me for patching you up.”

You nod your head in understanding. Viktor is a damaged man. He’s touch starved, affection starved, and had a rough up bringing. If he wanted some semblance of comfort from you then you’ll happily give it. Even if it’s awkward and slightly uncomfortable for yourself. But hey, maybe the uncomfortable feeling will go away soon once you two re-bond overtime.

“It’s alright.” You whisper and pat his back. “I’m here now… Just don’t fuck up again okay? Or I really won’t forgive you ever again.”

He hums lowly. “I’ll never. Never again.”

His arms wrap around you into a warm embrace. And you welcome the embrace. His exterior is cold but his arms are warm. You can’t help but put your arms around him in return.

The two of you bask in a couple minutes of calm silence. But shouts from outside the clinic yelling for Viktor can be heard. Said blonde grumbles in annoyance as he lets go of you, much to his distaste.

“Be more careful next time kroshechnyy. And take care of yourself.” He says while petting your hair. You bag his hand off your head with a grunt.

“Okay okay personal space breaking time is over. Now get out there and train.” You say and push him towards the door.

He rolls his eyes and opens the door. But before leaving he turns quickly to kiss your cheek, then shuts the door immediately and runs off.

“Bastard…” You mutter to yourself.

[cottoncandytomu]

Scream For Me Doll~ Ghostface!Ellie x F!Reader

🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸

🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸

ITS FINALLY FUCKING HEREEEEEE!!!

(I do not own any of the photos! Just edited them, if they are yours and you want them removed lmk!!)

GHOSTFACE!ELLIE AI AUDIOS HERE!!

Before I even start-

18+ CONTENT MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. THIS FIC IS DEFINITELY NOT FOR MINORS!!

PLEASE READ ALL OF THE WARNINGS BEFORE YOU INDULGE IN THIS FIC!!

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to finally finish this fic, I wanted to make it the best I could for you deranged Beauties~. I will say though, I only proofread half of it (I'll proofread the other half later - sorry I just wanted to post it already heeheheh~) so any mistakes I apologize they will be fixed in the future!

Those who asked to be tagged, if you're not interested in this fic in particular or want to be removed please lmk!! :}

WARNINGS!! PLEASE READ!!

This fic IS NOT for everyone, so please if it isn't your cup of tea...move on. Any type of hate sent my way I ask for it to not be anonymous so I can do you the justice and block you straight up. This fic contains the following: (If I forget to put a TW please let me know so I can add it on!!)

LOTS of dark themes, Filthy smut, Knife play, Blood play, Self harm (Ellie's behalf - slightly intentional - she cuts herself on the blade), Degradation (Very minor), Possessiveness, Stalking, Cursing, Deranged reader and Ellie, Mentions of murder/killing.

I think that's it - again if I missed anything please let me know. BUT that's about it folks, hope you Beauties~ enjoy!! (7839 Words)

⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧

The sound of breathing was the only thing to be heard, Ellie’s warm breath bouncing off the flesh of the mask and back into her own. She learned very quickly how to stay quiet in situations like these. Her robe almost touched the floor, flowing right along with her movements. The sun had set hours before, a warm yellow moon took its place. Darkness cascades over the town, it was during these hours where she thrived the most. The shadows made for her stalk within the night, hiding all of her secrets in its shroud. She slowly creeps towards your window, forever thankful that your room was located on the first floor. 

A lot of her nights were spent like this. Reveling in her recent victims over the weeks to then come and celebrate by watching you at your most vulnerable. You weren’t on her hit list, far from it actually. Her obsession for you was different, not one of bloodlust. Although she’d love to see the deep velvet color of your blood drip down your stomach. The tip of her blade digging into your skin, not too hard, not too soft, but enough to pierce the skin. She’d imagine rubbing her gloved thumb across the liquid, smearing it towards your hip bone. Where she’d then grip your waist, squeezing the soft flesh in her palm. 

Her true bloodlust was for the imbeciles who fell into her traps, never clever enough to understand the gravity of the situation they’ve put themselves in. What genius would walk through an alleyway alone after a night of drinking? Or answer a phone call in the deep hours of the night? Only idiots would and Ellie hated the idiots of the world. The ones who deserved to be silenced by her blade, one less ignorant human on this planet. She saw the evils she committed as an act of justice. Just what society needed, one less idiot to exist. But fuck there were so many. That’s why she enjoyed you the most. You weren’t like them. 

The way you were always aware of your surroundings, keeping up on the latest murders of the month. Those murders being her own work of course. She saw the way your eyes lit up at the idea of figuring out who the infamous Ghostface was. You were determined, it was cute in your own way. Ellie was always one step ahead though, she knew about your obsession with the slasher. Being your close friend was her advantage to the game. It was her fun version of tag, except for the fact that you were unaware you were playing it with her. Coming so close to touching her, the tips of your fingers stretched out wide but she was able to run and hide. You having to start all over again just when you were so close. She loved when you got close. 

She’d listen to all the theories you’d come up with about who Ghostface could be. You’ve gotten close a few times, even if it was jokingly pointing the finger at her. You’d laugh off the idea of Ellie being Ghostface. It’s too hard to believe your childhood friend who you’ve spent every waking moment with to be the one. You told her she didn’t have the guts to commit such acts, too blinded by the nurturing friendship the two of you shared. As clever as you were, in which Ellie respected, you always missed that one piece. 

There was a moment that she did want to tell you, to scream it off the rooftops or to stand outside your house with it written in bold letters. Hey, it’s me! I’m Ghostface! Surprised huh? But she knew that’d be too risky, as much as she trusts you with her life she doesn’t fully know if you’d be able to keep this under the wraps. Would you run away screaming, telling the first officer you see? Or is there that slight chance that you’d be alright with it… 

This was another fantasy Ellie loved to live in. You overjoyed with the fact that she was the one. Running up to her and caressing her mask, blood staining the tips of your fingers just moments after her fresh kill. But she knew better. Out of all the secrets you two shared, this was the only one she kept to herself. 

Little did she know you had secrets of your own. Your obsession with the slasher didn’t just end at finding out who it was. You wanted them for yourself. You wanted to trace their mask with your fingers, dragging them down the oversized robe and over to their gloved hand. You dreamt of grabbing that hand that yielded the knife. Tracing it up your chest to your delicate throat. To feel the cool blade against your skin would welcome heat that would pool between your thighs. You wanted them to use you how they wanted, bending at their will, doing whatever for them. It was a fucked up fantasy you couldn’t stop. But did you truly want it to stop? 

You had to bite your tongue every time you talked to Ellie about them. She was intrigued with your theories, always ready to listen in on the newest piece of evidence you brought up. But you didn’t want to face the judgment of her words when you told her the main reason you wanted to see what was behind the mask. You imagined her reaction once. You didn’t imagine it again after that. 

As she peers in she feels her chest swell up. It never felt any different for her, you always made her feel a certain way. Especially during these times. When she had the mask on, it changed her. She became a different person, she felt free. She felt like her true self. It was funny in a way, usually people put on a mask to hide their identity. But it wasn’t the same for Ellie, it brought out the worst in her. She loved every second of it. 

You were fast asleep in your bed, legs in a tangled mess with your blankets. Your brows were furrowed, tightly knit together. She was curious as to what you were dreaming about. Was it a nightmare? Troubles from something that happened earlier in the day? It took everything in her to not climb in through your window, coming close to you to smoothen out the lines between your brows. Her eyes trailed down to your lips, taking in how soft they looked. How badly she wanted to glide her gloved fingers across them. Just to hook them into the side of your mouth and pull back the flesh, making you smile like the joker. 

Her nightly ritual would soon come to an end. Much to her disappointment she had to go back to being the regular old Ellie. The Ellie no one suspected was Ghostface. She took in your features one last time before descending back into the night, the darkness consuming her once again. 

Finding the abandoned shed by her house she shed herself of her shroud and mask, putting them away in her pack. She returned home shortly after, unlocking her door with her key. She couldn't wait to also get some rest. Unbothered to do anything else besides sleep she threw her pack across the room. Flopping into the bed it didn’t take long for her to be whisked away into lust filled dreams of your face. 

The next morning came in a hurry. Ellie woke up in a sweat, the stuffy heat of the summer causing her clothes to stick to her skin. It didn’t help that she fell asleep with her jeans and t-shirt on, too tired the night before to change into something more comfortable. Her hand reaches over on her nightstand, grabbing her phone she checks the time, 11 a.m. It wouldn’t be long until you’re knocking at the door, you both had previously made plans to go out today. Finally having a matching day off you didn’t want to waste it away, even with the stupid curfew in place. Jackson didn’t have much to do but you both made it work. Your favorite spot was going deep into the forest, dangerous yes, but you enjoyed the quiet serene scene. The only sounds being what nature wanted to sing to you that day. 

Today would probably be one of those forest days. The overwhelming buzz of fear that clouded the skies of Jackson was starting to be too much for you to handle. You wanted, no needed, a mini escape from it all. And who better to escape all of it with none other than your loyal friend. She understood how you felt, how sick of the people you were. She understood it all too well. 

Ellie placed the phone back down on the nightstand, rubbing her eyes as she sat herself up. Letting out a sigh she climbs out of bed and goes to get ready for the day. It doesn’t take long until you’re knocking at her door. Toothbrush in her hand she rushes over to let you in. Your soft smile sends flutters to her stomach, precious as always. She sends a smile back your way, standing off to the side to let you in. You were wearing a regular t-shirt and shorts that hugged your thighs just right, she couldn’t help her eyes from checking you out. After you walk in she closes the door and returns to the bathroom to finish getting ready. 

You walk over to the door to the bathroom, leaning against the frame watching her finish up. You gave her a knowing look and she knew what would come out of your mouth before you even said it.

“New evidence?” She asks. 

Your grin widens, “Maybe…”

“Spill, now.” 

This happened often, you’d have some new “gossip” about the killer from your unresting research. While Ellie would sit and listen, wanting to know how close you’ve gotten this time. 

“So you remember a week ago when that random man was murdered?” 

Ellie pretends to think about it for a second. She knew exactly who you were referring to, he was a tough one. His extreme persistence to survive almost caused him to escape her grasp, almost. She nods at you. 

“Well apparently he put up a fight.” 

Ellie’s face cringed, thinking back on the memory. Her expression quickly changed to a confused one, now wondering how you knew about his persistence. 

“I know I know, the only reason I found this out is because of someone sharing some info on Reddit.” She waits for you to continue on. “So their Dad is a cop blah blah, shit no one cares for. But because of this he gets inside info. So get this, they found a piece of the handle to the blade Ghostface used to kill him. There’s some overly complicated science as to how they know he struggled. But the piece of it gives them a slight advantage on what weapon the killer uses. It’s honestly crazy how the knife broke. It’s said that the Buck 120 is very durable, some luck huh?” 

Fuck-

Ellie knew her mistake but didn’t think it would be found so soon. By the time she realized the piece had fallen off it had already been too late. That night she was consumed with the need to see you. Specially after that persistent fuck gave her such a hard time. The stress of it all ate her alive, for once she feared she would be discovered if he was able to escape her grasp. Luckily with one hard strike she was able to finally take him down. Enraged after the fact she kept up the hard strikes at his weak skin. Definitely a blood bath, all the emotions clouded her mind. She didn’t realize that her harsh slashes may be the one thing to bring her demise. When she saw you that night all the stress seemed to disappear. She returned home that night, dread still heavy on her head. Seeing you truly did help her but soon as she left you it all came back. The next morning was when she saw the lost piece in her handle. Cursing herself at her stupidity, it was too late. She never goes back to a kill, no matter how satisfying or difficult. It was too risky, the bodies were found usually a day or so after she ended them. 

Ellie snapped out of her thoughts at the sound of your voice. “Earth to Ellie, you there?” 

She rinses her toothbrush and spits out the paste in her mouth to answer you. 

“Yeah.” She laughs it off, “Sorry. Just thinkin’ about what you said.”

You tuck in your lips nodding slowly at her words. “It’s crazy to think about isn’t it? I’ll find out who it is eventually I know it.” 

“Oh you do now?” Ellie forgets about her previous thoughts. More interested in your words instead. 

“Mhm~ You know how close I’ve gotten.” 

“I also know how many times it’s slipped from you too.” 

“Whatever, I don’t wanna hear this shit talk when I find out who it is. I’ll prove everyone wrong.” 

Sure you will. Ellie thinks, “I’m gonna talk shit regardless. You know this.” 

You laugh at her words, “You’re right. Anyways hurry up, I wanna be out as long as I can before curfew.” 

Ellie finishes up what she has to, not wanting to keep you waiting. As she gets her things together you go to sit on the couch, patiently waiting. After she’s done you both head for the front door. Before you can leave Ellie mutters a hold on forgetting one last thing. She goes back into her room before descending out with her guitar case in hand. You smile warmly at her. You always loved when she would bring her guitar. Playing the tunes you were never tired of hearing. You opened the door for her letting her exit with her case. Following her out you both took off to the calming forest. Letting go of all the troubles that plagued your minds. 

After a few hours you and Ellie made it back to her house. The time spent in nature was a refresher you both needed. Similar reasons neither of you were aware of. The two of you didn’t eat the whole day so you both agreed to get food once settled in Ellie’s home. Not wanting the night with you to end Ellie made sure to invite you over after. She knew she’d be around you. Regardless if you stayed or not. She could either have you here or have you through your window. As much as she did enjoy the latter, she wanted to be around you as long as you’d allow. Even if it was when she was regular Ellie. 

The both of you settled down onto the couch. Ellie loaded a game up to pass the time, knowing you’d enjoy watching her play. Ellie made you comfortable no matter the situation, being in her presence made you feel such a relief. A relief no one could provide in the same way that she can. You were scrolling through restaurants in the area on your phone. Stretched out sideways along the couch. Your back against the armrest and your legs over Ellie’s as she sat regularly. Her arms were resting on your lower thighs, fingers pressing away at the buttons. She told you to pick what you wanted, not caring what you’d order. She’d eat whatever you put in front of her anyway. You didn’t want anything too crazy, just something comforting and simple. Which is why you decided on pizza, can’t get more simple than that. 

“I’m gonna get us some pizza.” You look up at Ellie from your phone.

Her eyes were trained on the screen, “Sounds good to me.” She shrugged slightly, replying. 

“Okay I’ll get us a large and a drink as well.” 

Ellie throws a quick glance in your direction, “My card should be in my pack in the room.” 

“I can just buy it Ellie…” 

“Fuck no.” When she looks back at you, this time she doesn’t break eye contact, “I invited you over to eat so I pay for it, yeah?” 

You didn’t bother to argue back with her, you’d lose in the end. You always did. You mumbled alright and she lifted up her arms so you could slip off the couch. The warmth of your legs were gone, causing her to shiver from the cool feeling of her air conditioner. 

You walked over into her room searching around for her pack. Your eyes scan the room when they finally land on it thrown over into the corner. You walk over kneeling down to open it up, digging through it you suddenly feel a sharp sting on your finger. Pulling your hand back from the pack with an ow you look hold your hand to see blood dripping from your middle finger. 

“What the fuck?” You mumble. 

Instead of making the mistake to dig around unaware again you slowly pull open the sides of the pack, opening it up to peek at what's inside. Your brows furrow at the black cloth harshly shoved in it. Slowly pulling it out to examine it an object flops to the floor. Snapping your head down your eyes widen, You can feel the blood draining from your face. A sharp flutter fills your stomach, it was a mask. But not any mask, a Ghostface mask. Picking it up with your free hand to examine it you now notice the red splatters, it stands out from the contrast of the bold white mask. Is that…blood? You think to yourself, it can’t be. This is a joke, there's no way she’s Ghostface. You smirk to yourself, was she really trying to fuck with you like this? She’s done stupid jokes before but never went as far as buying the costume to trick you. Some tricks, huh. Nice try Ellie. 

Did she really think you were that naive? You were going to get up and confront her when the sting of your finger got your attention again. You almost forgot about the cut, you then realized that nothing in your hands could’ve sliced you like that. Don’t tell me she bought a knife too, oh Ellie-. You reached into the pack again, carefully this time knowing your chances of getting cut again were high. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your throat when you saw the light shine off the blade, she really outdid herself this time. You grasp the handle and bring it out from the bag, it was the exact kind of knife Ghostface used. The knife had the smeared red on the blade as well. 

One part of you couldn’t believe the lengths she’s gone this time to fuck with your “investigation.” But the other part of you couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of her going this far. She didn’t truly know what these things did to you. If it was her, which was a long shot, you wondered how much easier everything would be. Not having to worry about who was behind the mask, not that you really cared, but it was something that crossed your mind. What if it was someone you couldn’t stand, would you be able to still keep up that fantasy of them? Could you still keep it up if it was Ellie? Your feelings for Ellie were that of a roller coaster. In friendship terms everything was smooth sailing, there’s no one else on the planet you could trust your life with more. But when it came to the topic of it being more than a friendship, that was a different story. You can’t say you never had feelings for her, you have. You just pushed them down when you realized how badly it could ruin everything. Plus you had no idea, doubted even, that she liked you the same. So you buried your own feelings deep inside, not daring to let them out again. Sometimes though she’d do things that made you shiver. That would cause those feelings to bubble over again, reaching for nothing but the disappointment you’d give them when you continued to shove them under again. 

Although, to know that she did this all for you made those feelings bubble over again. Could she have a clue about your true intentions of wanting who was behind that mask? Is that why she went this far? To make you believe it? To fall for her instead of the true Ghostface? No, she wouldn’t, it’s just a dumb prank. 

You laughed at your thoughts, going the extra mile once again, your delusions would constantly take control when the masked killer was involved. You twirl the knife in your hands one last time before you decide to put it down. As you check it for the last time your fingers smooth over something rough on the handle. Curious, you look at what the disturbed surface could be. 

As you study the handle your heart drops. No, no, no- this can’t be happening, you think. You can feel the anxiety swell up in your chest. You forget how to breathe, your thoughts racing a million miles a minute. All of the countless hours you spent searching, all of the sleepless nights you’ve had. The endless amount of research you would study, day after day. Stuck scrolling on your computer not resting until you get so close to finding out who it could be. The theories of all the different people you had, you even bought a cork board to help your search. You pulled some crazy shit you kept to yourself to find out where or who they could be. Putting yourself in danger in hopes that you’ll be the slasher's “next prey.” 

All of this for what? For it to be your best friend this whole time. The one person you were so sure of it not being. Fuck you felt so stupid. You grew up with her, you knew her better than you knew yourself. You felt pride in knowing that she would never be capable of such a thing, but she was. And here you are, staring at the handle with the piece of it missing that was just discovered by the authorities. As much as you wanted to deny it you couldn’t. Why did you want to deny it? 

In a way this makes everything easier, your mind travels back to your earlier thoughts. The thoughts of what if Ellie was the killer. But why didn’t she kill you yet? If no one was safe from her slashes then why were you? Question after question filled your head, trying to piece all the evidence together to figure out just what you have missed. While in deep thought you heard a loud thud. Locking in place you slowly turned your head to the sound. 

Ellie stood by the door, frozen. The controller that was once in her hand now faced upside down on the floor. She was wondering why it was taking you so long to grab your wallet. She knew it was in her room, in some pack that she threw on the floor yesterday. She hasn't touched it since. It wasn’t until she started thinking about it that she felt the color drain from her face. She was so exhausted yesterday that she forgot to put her Ghostface pack in the hiding spot she usually does. It slipped from her mind until this moment. Now she’s paying the consequences, walking in on you holding her knife. The very knife you just talked about hours earlier. The single piece of evidence that would be 100% proof of Ellie being Ghostface. 

She didn’t know what to do or what to say. Scared that any wrong move would result in your panic, your screams filling the air as you ran for the door. But you didn’t. You didn’t move an inch, holding the knife in your hand you stared back at her. All of this time it was her, you didn’t want to admit it but you felt a sense of relief. You did it, you found out who Ghostface was. 

You opened your mouth, trying to get something out, anything out but you couldn’t. Caught like a deer in headlights you thought about your next move. As you thought about it, so did Ellie. You weren’t supposed to find out, even if you did she didn’t want it to be this way. She wanted it on her terms, if she were to ever tell you anyway. 

As flustered as she was she managed to speak first, “Seems like all that research paid off huh?” She chuckles. 

Leave it to Ellie to make light of a situation like this, you were used to it though. She always jokes around when shit hit the fan, it was one of the many things you loved about her. You just weren’t so sure if this time was the right time for it. You looked down at the knife again, your fingers gliding against the abrasion.

“It was you the whole time…” Ellie’s eyes widened at your voice, “I busted my ass on research and it was right in front of me the whole time.” 

“Surprise…?”  

You let out a dry laugh at her response, how could you be so fucking stupid. She goes to open her mouth to speak again but you beat her to it. 

“Do you know why I really wanted to find out who Ghostface was?” 

Fuck it. It was out in the open so you might as well be honest. You didn’t know where this confidence came from but after finding out who a serial killer was you realized you only really have two options. She would let you go, which you think is unlikely or she would have to end it right here right now. Killing you to keep the risk of her being found out by the public. You didn’t think she was capable of killing you, you were her childhood best friend after all. 

She stays quiet, letting you continue. You figured you had nothing to lose now, why not let it all out in the open. 

“Finding out who was behind the mask really isn’t all that important to me. Honestly I could give less of a fuck who’s behind it. I just want them for myself. My fucked up fantasy of being with the slasher is all that I’ve been craving.” You sigh, your words becoming just a whisper. “It’s sick… I know.” 

Did Ellie just hear you correctly? Are her fantasies becoming reality right before her eyes? All those nights at your window, watching you, craving you. You writhing under her as she pleased you in the one thing that made her feel like her true self. She watched as your face fell in despair, you were ashamed. There’s no need to be ashamed. 

She wasn’t aware that she said her thoughts aloud, not realizing it until you lifted up your head. 

You looked at her with a shocked expression, “You don’t think so?” 

“How could I?” She starts, “You know what I do. I have no room to judge anyone, plus I’ve wanted nothing more than this.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, did you hear her correctly? 

She continues on, “I’ve been dreaming about this moment forever. I wanted to tell you so many times but I didn’t know how. Your reaction was something I was scared of the most. But now that I know you want this, I’m ready to take the next step.” 

“What is the next step exactly?” You ask. 

Ellie’s soft expression changes in an instant, a smirk adorning her lips. 

“I make you mine.” 

You felt a slight pang of fear but not too much. Her words catered to your sick mind, they went straight to your core. She took slow steps towards you, as to test the waters on how you would react. You didn’t move an inch, letting her slowly make her way towards you. The grasp you had on the knife tightened in anticipation. When she came close enough she reached out to your hands, loosening your grasp from the knife she took it from you. Her eyes leave yours to study the object in her hands, the object she knew all too well. Her eyes darken as she grasps the handle, pointing the tip of the blade towards you now. The smirk never leaves her lips when she drags the tip of the blade lightly up your throat, stopping to tilt your chin up towards her. 

“You want to be mine right?” She asks. 

You bite your lip, “Only if you’ll allow it.” 

It was at this moment that you saw the true change in her eyes. The Ellie you once knew, the Ellie you grew up with wasn’t the Ellie in front of you now. This Ellie was different…darker…possessive. You wanted to know this version of her more than anything, the true her behind the mask. The person you dreamt of having for so long was finally yours and you were hers. It was at this moment that you knew there was no going back, the two of you now becoming one in her secret. You’d do anything for her, be anything for her. She felt the same, all those nights she watched you at your window. She’d get rid of anyone who tried to hurt you in any way, she’d protect you from any danger that dared to wander around you. God forbid she catches the ones that hurt you, they’d regret their last moments. 

Her eyes flickered back towards yours, keeping eye contact for just a moment before trailing around your face. They stop at your lips, how badly she’s wanted to kiss the plush skin for so long. She wastes no time and throws her knife to the side. Grabbing at the sides of your face she roughly presses her lips to yours. Your hands grasp at her shirt, kissing her back with just as much fervor. The kiss was far from innocent, teeth clashing and spit mixing, just how she liked it. She took your bottom lip in her teeth, pulling at the flesh and letting it flick back in place. Her lips lock back onto yours, you pull her closer by her shirt, needing to get as close as possible. 

She pulls back after a few seconds, you let out a whimper at the loss. Your eyes filled with desperation as you stared up at her. She coos at the sight, her thumb swiping the spit across your bottom lip. 

She licks her lips, “You gonna let me have you tonight?” 

You enthusiastically nod your head, “Y-yes.” You’re still shaken up by the sloppy kisses you two just shared. 

“Yeah? Gonna let me try something out on ya?” 

You continued to nod your head, you didn’t care what she did to you. You’d give her whatever she wanted if she asked, she knew this. Yet she still wants to make sure you’re okay with it. She then took your hands in hers, pulling you to stand up along with her, she then led you to the bed. She pushed you back onto it, you flopped onto the mattress waiting for her next move. She admired you for a moment before walking back by her pack, she grabbed the mask off the floor and slipped it on. 

“You want me to fuck you in this mask hm?” She asks. Not giving you time to reply she continues, “How much did you dream about this?” 

Your words were stuck in your throat, it was all too much but it was so fucking good. You had envisioned how your first night with Ghostface would play out. Staring into their mask, their fingers buried in you, giving you the utmost pleasure you craved. But this? This was better than anything you could have imagined. Especially when it was with the one woman you loved more than anything. 

She picked up her knife, twirling it in her hands. 

“I would use this but that persistent fucker had to ruin it for me.” She shook her head, the loose fabric at the ends swayed in the air. “Good thing I got another.” 

She walks over to her closet, digging around until she pulls out another Buck 120. She flips it over, checking out the shining blade and admiring it. She loved nothing more than her ol’ reliable knife. 

“Got this one as a back up, y'know just in case incidents like before happened. A slasher must always be prepared~” 

Her head looks up, the soulless black eyes staring into yours. You can hear the teasing tone in her voice when she talks to you. She’s well aware she has you wrapped around her finger, ready to do whatever she pleases. 

She stalks towards you, “I’m gonna fuck you with this knife now~.” Her hold on the knife now tighter, “Don’t worry baby it’s clean, haven’t killed anyone with this one…yet.” 

Your eyes widened, her words went straight to your core. You couldn’t help the little fidgets your body made as she slowly made her way towards you. You couldn’t see because of the mask but her eyes were trained on your thighs that clenched together in anticipation. You couldn’t help but rub them together, needing some sort of friction to relieve the heat building up between them. 

You couldn’t help but ask, “Which side?”

Ellie groaned at your question, “Fuck baby~ you want the blade? Are you that psycho for me?” 

You didn’t particularly want to be mutilated tonight, even though somewhere deep down in your fucked up brain the thought was there, you just wanted to make sure Ellie was on the same page. 

“Just curious…” You reply. 

She now stood in front of you, knife in her right hand. Her free hand comes up to rest on your knee, pushing it to the side to open your legs up for her. You can hear her heavy breaths through the mask. 

“As much as I wanna see you bleed, I don’t want it that way. That’s what your thighs are for.” 

Her hand strokes down your thigh, stopping midway to squeeze at the flesh. She brings her knife up to your skin, slicing it lightly enough to draw a tiny bit of blood. She flicks up the knife, her skills on display as she scoops the blood onto the blade, bringing it up to her mask and smearing it on the white rubber. She drags the knife down to the tip of the chin, tapping it against it a few times, as if in thought of what her next move is. You whimper at the sting of the cut, little droplets still flowing from it. She reaches up to smear the blood across your thigh, taking her time watching the way the red liquid spreads. 

“I’ve wanted to see you bleed for me so bad. S’Better than I ever imagined.” 

You bite your lip, holding back your whimpers as you wait impatiently for her next move. You wanted her to do something, to do anything to relieve the ache you felt. She turns the knife around in her hand, the grip pointing towards you. 

“I’m gonna fuck you with the handle instead. That way every time I slash someone I have a memory of you with me. It’ll be the only thing I’ll think about with my victims.” 

Her words flooded through your veins, firing up every cell in your body. You didn’t know she had such a way with her words, if she kept going you’d probably climax just from them alone. As much as her words had an effect on you, you wanted her to go along with her promise. 

“Please…just fuck me already Ellie.” You beg.

“Patience Doll~ You out of everyone should know I like to take my sweet time when it comes to my victims. But since you said please, I’ll give you what you want.” 

She sets the knife down next to you on the bed, her hands grip at the waistband of your shorts pulling them down. You were soaked, the fabric of your panties so wet that you could see the outline of your pussy. 

“Mmh so wet for me, all I did was speak to you and draw a little blood.” Her thumb presses into your slit, pushing against your juices. 

Her fingers hook into your panties pulling out the fabric, she then grabs her knife and cuts off your panties. You breath hitches at how close the blade was to your core, any closer and she would’ve cut you. Making you bleed for the second time that night. She chuckles at your reaction then shoves the panties into her back pocket, saving them for later. 

She pushes up your thigh, opening you up for her and lines up the knife handle to your entrance. She teases you, gliding the end of it up and down your slit collecting up your juices to lube up the knife. 

“You ready Doll?” She asks. 

You whisper out a yes as she slowly slides the handle into your pussy, watching you grip onto it. You can feel her push back on your thigh more, making you stretch so she can get a nice view of you. Even though it was happening in front of her she couldn’t believe you were sprawled out before her like this. She’d catch herself staring at her knife imagining how it would look against your skin, how much she craved to slide it through your folds. Now that she was here it was almost too much, but she didn’t let her excitement take control. She wanted to fully immerse herself in this experience, taking all of you in. From the scrunches of your brows to the curling of your toes, she wanted to see all of you. 

She carefully dragged out the knife, her hand delicately holding the blade. She pushes the handle in and out of you, setting a slow steady rhythm. You writhe under her touch, not being able to hold back your moans anymore, the cool handle adding to the pleasure. You grab onto her wrist, holding her tight. You look up at her mask and she catches your movements tilting up her head. You’re staring hard enough to see her eyes through the meshed fabric, seeing the darkness behind them. She’s wanted this just as much as you did and you’re so glad it’s her that’s giving you this much pleasure. As good as it felt you wanted more, the slow pace was killing you. In a way you felt like she was holding back, still too afraid to lose herself, scared that she might hurt you. 

“Ellie…” You moan out, she twists the knife slightly muttering a yes. 

“Please don’t hold back.” Her movements stop and you whine at her, “I want you to let yourself go, let Ghostface come out.” 

Ellie’s hand quivered at your words, were you sure? Once she’s in that mindset she’s gone, she doesn't wanna risk too much. Although her dark thoughts were always in the back of her mind, how badly she wanted to drill her knife into you and watch you squirm at her force. 

“Baby, are you sure? I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself.” 

You loved when she called you that, “Yes, I’m sure. I want it this way, I’m begging you~.” 

You gave her wrist a reassuring squeeze and that was all she needed before the light in her switched. The Ellie you grew up with, knowing better than anyone is not the Ellie that’s in front of you now. That confirmation from you was all she needed to let her true side take control. It happened so fast you didn’t know how to react, Ellie had grabbed you and flipped you over. Making sure your ass was up in the air, almost hanging off the edge of the bed. You braced yourself on your hands, an oof coming out of your lips when she pushed your face down into the mattress. 

You felt a harsh smack on your ass, you moaned at the sting it left behind. She kneads the flesh after, spreading you open and admiring you from behind. Without second thought she reaches down to grab the knife, this time firmly grabbing it by the blade as she plunges the handle inside you once again. She wastes no time fucking you hard and fast, her knuckles white from how hard she holds onto the blade. 

“F-fuck Ellie!” You gasp out. 

You’re in ecstasy, loving the way her demeanor changed. She loses herself in you, focused on the handle pushing in and out of you, how your juices cover the handle and drip down the blade onto her hand. 

“You like that Doll? You’re taking this knife so well~ M’so proud of you.” 

Your moans grow louder by the second, you’re not able to hold back anymore, not that Ellie wants you to anyway. You grip the bed sheets tight, your face repeatedly pushing into the mattress at her relentless force. You knew she was strong but fuck not like this. You were never really on the receiving end of her strength to truly know but now that you were you could see why no one stood a chance against her. She slaps at your ass again before she brings her free hand down to rub circles against your clit causing you to cry out. If she kept fucking you this way it wouldn’t take long for you to reach your high. 

“Shit-” You heard her whisper. 

You whip your head to the side to look at her. You can see her head tilt up to look back at you, she suddenly took her hand off your clit to reach up and tear off her mask. Her hair was a mess, tangled and stuck to her face in other spots from her sweat. Her eyes were blown wide, a harsh darkness to them you’ve never seen before and her lips. Her lips were red and plush from how much she bit them at the sight of you. You were a masterpiece to her, this was all she ever wanted. When she pushed her hair out of the way you noticed the blood that smeared along her forehead. She saw your eyes on her hand and gave you a lopsided smile, her hand going back down to rub at your clit once more. 

“Fuckin’ you so hard I cut myself.” She laughs darkly, “You don’t mind right?” 

Well fuck-

Your eyebrows scrunched together at her words, “No!” You moaned. “Don’t mind.” 

You could barely form sentences from how good she was making you feel, she knew this and she reveled in that fact. A cocky smirk on her lips as her eyes watched the way you squirmed and stuttered under her. She could give less of a fuck that she’s bleeding, your pleasure being the only thing that matters. It didn’t take much longer for you to feel the build up in the pit of your stomach, you were close. 

“Ellie I’m so close, please don’t stop~”

“Don’t plan on it Doll~” Ellie replies, speeding up her movements, if that were even possible. 

You bury your face into the mattress but then you feel a harsh smack to your clit. 

“I wanna hear your moans Sweetheart, don’t hide them from me now.” 

You nod your head rapidly, tears are starting to form in your eyes from all the pleasure you’re experiencing. Who would’ve thought you’d be right here, experiencing the one thing you wanted the most, you never thought your day would end up like this. You’re thankful nonetheless, this is exactly what you wanted and you wouldn’t want anyone else doing it to you. 

It didn’t take long until you reached your high. 

“Ahh~ I’m cumming!” 

Your back arched more, pulling at the sheets so hard they come undone from the edges. Ellie doesn’t slow down her movements either, ignoring the pain in her hand she keeps sliding the knife in and out of you. She watched as your juices flowed down onto the blade and her hand, mixing in with her blood. It made her moan out loud, a sight she’d never forget. 

“Mmm cum for me Doll, just like that. I wanna see your juices on my blade.” 

She helps you ride out your orgasm and your legs start to tremble. She chuckles at the state you’re in and slowly pulls the blade out of your pussy, watching your sticky juice strings stick to the handle. You watch her bring up the knife to her lips, sucking your juices off the handle, you whimper at her actions. When she’s done she throws the knife to the floor, her hands back onto you she spreads her blood up your thigh and onto your ass cheek as she gives you one last squeeze. You’re panting as you turn yourself over to lay on your back, she helps you lie down with a dark smile. She loves how she got you to this point, as much as she’d like to do it again she decides to save it for another night. 

She reaches over to give your hand a quick squeeze saying she’ll be right back as she walks over to her bathroom. After a few moments she comes back with a wet towel, a cloth is tied around her hand to stop the blood from flowing. She walks over to you and wipes away all the blood and cum off your body, giving soothing strokes to your skin afterwards. 

“So…” Ellie starts, “You gonna turn me in?” 

You can’t help the snort that comes out of your throat, “Fuck off.” 

“Is that a no, or?” She questions a knowing smile on her lips. 

“I let you fuck me with your knife, do you think I’m gonna turn you in?” 

She laughs at your response, “Just fuckin’ with ya.” 

She climbs into the bed lying next to you, throwing the towel onto the floor, she faces you and strokes your cheek with the back of her knuckles. You look over at her with tired eyes and a warm smile, she really does switch up fast. 

The two of you wrap up in each other's arms for the rest of the night. You ask all about her time as Ghostface, wanting to know every gory detail and she tells you it all. After a few hours of chatting you both lay in silence, content in each others presence. 

Ellie speaks up first, “So…about that pizza?”

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RAVIOLIII!! I hope you all enjoyed my fic!! I thank you all for reading my content! I have more on the way but I will be taking a small break to work on my drag projects I got going on!! As always any feedback is appreciated as I always want to level up my writing. Thank you all for being patient with me!! You Beauties~ have a wonderful day/night!!

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[leighsartworks216]

Self-Destruction

Zayne x gn!Reader

Based on my actual teacher and when I used to sh when I got angry. Please please don't read if you think this could trigger you <333

Warnings: hurt/comfort, swearing, anger, implied/referenced self-harm, self-destructive behavior/tendencies, no real ending

Word Count: 731

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It takes every ounce of self-restraint you have left in your body not to slam the door shut behind you. It doesn't matter, in any case, because the second the door is closed, everything bursts out of you.

You toss your bag to the floor with an angry groan. Tears burn your eyes. You can feel your lungs shaking with the effort it takes to try breathing normally. It feels awful. You wish this feeling would just go away, but it doesn't. It burrows deeper and deeper into your body, tearing through muscle and bone. You wish you could claw it out. The best you can do is bury your face in your hands and will away the rising need to break something.

"Love?"

Fuck, of course Zayne's home right now. You forgot he was taking a half-day, working at the hospital in the morning and finishing the rest of his work from home.

"What happened?" he asks with that gentle sort of urgency. "Where's your painting?"

Ugh, that fucking painting! "I threw it away," you grit out.

His footsteps are too loud as he approaches you, quicker than his usual steps. He grabs your hands, urging them away from your face. "Why?"

You feel hysterical as the emotions pour out of you. He interlaces your fingers together, holding your hands hostage even as you try to gesture with them.

"Because my teacher fucking sucks! I worked so, so hard on this one! You saw! You know! I just- I put it on the easel to present it and she fucking tore it apart, Zayne! Every little fucking thing! I tried to, you know, explain the fucking thought process behind it, just like everyone else, and you know what she did?! She ignored every single word I said! She said she didn't like it, she didn't understand it, it doesn't make sense, so she just shut down every single explanation I had! She wouldn't listen to anything! It's just-" Zayne tugs gently on you. You give in easily, dropping your head to rest on his shoulder. "It's not fair."

He squeezes your hands. They're cold, and you don't know if it's because of his Evol or if you're just running that hot from your outburst. "She only did that to yours?"

You nod against him, curling your nails toward his skin, before easing them flat against the scars on the back of his hands. He rubs his thumb against the meat of yours in small, soothing circles. "She actually critiqued everyone else's. But everything she said about mine? That wasn't fucking constructive criticism, it was just her own grievances. And I don't know if it's just me-"

"Whether she has something against you or not, that does not excuse the blatant unprofessionalism and disrespect she showed you," he interjects. "If you would like, I can help you file a complaint against her."

"Yes, please," you agree immediately.

He huffs a slight laugh. "Let's calm down first, alright?"

He lets go of your hands to hold your wrists. He guides them to sit on his chest, over his heart and lungs. Each breath he takes pushes against them, raising and falling in slow, even breaths. By your ear, you can hear those same slow breaths. You follow along.

Inhale for four seconds.

Hold for two.

Exhale for four.

The pattern continues for a couple minutes, until the anger simmers down. If you really needed to, Zayne would let you stay there for hours. It was better than the alternative.

When you got really angry like this, when it feels like breaking something is the only way to get it out of you, you'd turn it back on yourself. Destroying your art supplies may sound like an instant soother, but you're all too cognizant of how expensive and important it all is. But skin can heal.

Zayne, for obvious reasons, immediately worked to find solutions to help. Namely, holding your hands to keep them off of your arms or legs, and putting himself into position to take the pain. Not that you ever were able to dig your nails into him, even at your most desperate. The guilt of hurting him was too strong to even consider it. So, this way, no one got hurt.

"Better?"

(After this, he would help you file the report and retrieve your painting from the trash <333)

---

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[joekeeryswife]

Outbreak Day - J.M

a/n: hello angels! reader is 26 and pregnant and Joel is 36. there is a little twist 😵 best way to describe this imagine is that it’s sad, long and has a shitty ending lmfao. okay anyways, enjoy reading 🫶 please send me in some fluffy requests and some dad! joel requests too!!

big trigger warning this imagine is very gory and descriptive!

“Sarah honey, is that you?” you turned to look at the front door and saw your step daughter Sarah coming home from school. “hey mum” she said as she set her backpack down on the floor. “how was school?” you walked toward her and gave her a small hug and a kiss on her forehead.

“was good. got dads watch fixed but everyone acting weird, cops everywhere, shops closing early. i don’t know just weird” she said making your heart pound a little, you didn’t know why but hearing her say that scared you but you tried not to dwell on it too much. “yeah well it’s probably just people being stupid. we shouldn’t worry too much okay?” she nodded but then groaned making you frown.

“dad told the Adlers i’d go over there to help them make cookies” she sighed, it wasn’t that she didn’t like the Adlers it was just she wanted to spend time with you and her dad as it was his birthday. “look, go there for thirty minutes then say i need you home, i don’t mind you blaming me.” she smiled and thanked you.

“i was going to make your dad a cake but we don’t have the ingredients and i was too tired to go food shopping so he should be brining one home, he’s going to be home earlier today as well” her eyes lit up as you spoke “is it a chocolate cake?” she asked watching you nod. “i didn’t tell him it was because you have been craving one i told him it was because i was” Joel hated chocolate cake but for his girls he’d do anything to please them.

“thank you mum, you’re the best. i owe you one” she said as she turned to go out the front door again to the Adlers house. “no worries honey, if Mrs Adler bakes chocolate chip cookies please bring me one, the baby is craving them like mad” you said as you rubbed your growing stomach. she nodded and said her goodbyes before leaving to spend the worst 30 minutes of her life with the Adlers.

-♡-

“hey baby girl. how was school?” Joel asked as he finally got home, four hours later than expected. “you’re late” she said, completely ignoring his question as her eyes shifted from the TV to him. you had both been waiting for him on the sofa watching Harry Potter and you had fallen asleep not even halfway through the movie. being pregnant had made you extremely tired so it wasn’t a shock to Sarah when she saw you put a blanket over yourself and curl up into a ball on the sofa within the first 10 minutes of the movie playing.

“i know, im sorry. work has been crazy, guys calling in sick, it was just me, uncle Tommy and Dave in today. i meant to phone mum but my phone died” he said as he made his way over to the two of you. his heart melted when he saw you sleeping next to Sarah, you’d never looked cuter. “its fine, we had fun without you anyways” he lifted up your feet so he could sit between you both, careful to not wake you up in the process.

“did you at least get the cake?” she said shyly as Joel got comfortable on the sofa. “oh shit” he put his head in his hands “im sorry honey i completely forgot” she nodded, understanding that he obviously came straight home as soon as he finished work. “mum is probably gonna kill you. she wanted cookies earlier from the Adlers but they were making raisin instead of chocolate chip so i didn’t even bother asking if i could bring one home for her” Sarah said and Joel wrapped his arm around her shoulders, his other resting on your legs.

“i’ll get you guys a cake tomorrow, i promise it just completely slipped my mind” she shook her head, indicating that it was fine and she understood he was stressed. Joel felt you stir and you woke up, your hair all over the place and your bones cracking as you stretched from a very good nap. “hi baby” Joel said softly as you looked at him.

he unwrapped his arms from Sarah’s shoulders for a moment so he could give you a hug and a kiss. “i miss you so much” you said as you sat up so you could rest on him instead of the arm of the sofa. “i missed you too. how are you? how’s the baby?” you nodded, still half asleep.

“fine, kicking like crazy” you were only six months pregnant and your unborn daughter was already giving you a hard time. you rested your head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around both you and Sarah, pulling you both into him. “did you bring home the cake?” you asked making him sigh “no, i’m sorry baby, i forgot” you shrugged, eyes closing again as you tried to fight sleep but it was no use.

“i love mum so much but she could have slept through world war 2 and not have been disturbed at all” she said making Joel laugh quietly, trying not to wake you up. to be fair, carrying this baby had knackered you out and he understood that you needed sleep but sometimes you would be halfway through a conversation with him when he got home from work and you’d be falling asleep whilst you were taking. “to be fair, you aren’t wrong there” he ran a hand through your hair gently as he admired you, you were stunning and he loved you so much.

“anyway, let’s try spend some time together tonight, let’s put on a good film, this is shit” Joel said making Sarah scoff and look at him “that is a lie. Harry Potter is the best” he shook his head. “take it back or you work get your present” she said making him gasp. “you wouldn’t dare do that” he said to her, making her give him the ‘try me’ face which made him quickly change his comment and apologise to her.

she grabbed the box off of the coffee table and handed it to him. he unwrapped his arm from her yet again to try open it with one hand without waking you up. he opened the box and saw his now fixed watched that had been broken for three months. “aww baby that’s so sweet, thank you” he kissed her forehead and tried to put the watch on but failed miserably making Sarah help him put it on. “okay now we can watch your stupid old film dad but don’t expect me to stay awake” she said as they both got comfortable again “i wouldn’t dream of it” he smiled at her.

-♡-

green and blue flashing light woke Sarah up from her sleep. she looked around the room confused, she had somehow ended up in her bedroom and didn’t hear any noise in the house. she sat up as she heard helicopters fly over the house and car alarms go off. she quickly got up calling out for Joel as she walked around the house but she only found you in bed asleep, no sign of Joel.

she felt awful waking you up but she had no other choice. she crept to the side of your bed and shook you awake. “mum, can you wake up please?” you jumped awake when you felt her hand on your shoulder. “what’s the matter sweetheart?” you asked but your question was answered when another helicopter flew over the house. “what the hell?” you said sitting up quickly.

you grabbed your phone which was on the bedside table but there was no service. “what’s happening?” Sarah asked as you quickly got dressed out of your pyjamas. you were going to go outside and you didn’t want your neighbours, if they were awake, to see you in your pyjamas so you put on a tracksuit before walking downstairs. “i don’t know baby”

you turned on the tv and heard the broadcast ‘stay home, do not let anyone into your house. we will post more instructions soon’ you frowned, what the fuck was happening? you checked your phone again, this time trying to phone anyone, your mum, your dad, your brother, Joel and nothing. no calls were going through.

the two of you jumped at the sound of Mercy, the Adlers dog barking at your front door. Sarah quickly put on her shoes and went outside to retrieve the dog and you quickly followed, slipping on your trainers. “Sarah i don’t think we should go outside yet. we should wait for your dad” but she ignored you. she walked outside, bringing Mercy with her to take him back home making you follow after her as quick as you could.

“Sarah please come back inside” you said but the curious girl went inside the Adlers house after she heard a glass breaking. “no Sarah don’t go in there” you sighed, you loved that girl but she did not listen. Sarah was quiet walking into that house, making sure to not make any sudden movements as she did. the noise was coming from the kitchen and she quickly made her way there and almost screamed at the sight infront of her.

you were right behind her, you felt sick to your stomach as you saw Mrs Adlers mum chewing on her daughter’s neck with some sort of fungus growing out of her mouth. your eyes widened and your heart dropped, what the fuck was going on? the once disabled old woman looked up at the two of you and quickly stood up screeching and running after you when you told Sarah to run.

you weren’t as quick as you used to be but you were luckily quick enough the run away from this infected woman, she had fallen over the crinkled carpet giving you enough time to escape. “Sarah we need to get back in the house right now” you shouted as you grabbed her hand and tried to pull her into the house but as you did Joel’s truck pulled up.

“get in the truck right now” Joel shouted at you both, he sounded scared and he was never ever scared. this made you feel even more sick than before. he had a wrench in his hand and he quickly pulled the two of you behind him when the screeching sound approached you again. you all looked at the front door to see the elderly woman fall over the steps of her front porch.

Tommy got out of the car with a huge rifle in his hand making your eyes fill with tears, you were absolutely terrified but you didn’t want to show Sarah that you were scared, if she saw that she would feel even more frightened then she already was. you grabbed ahold of her hand and tried to pull her into the truck but she wouldn’t budge. it was like she was frozen in fear.

the old woman’s head shot up, her eyes were black and she started crawling towards you then she stood up and ran towards Joel and Tommy. “what are we doing Joel” without a second thought Joel cracked the wrench on her head making her fall to the floor. you and Sarah both gasped at what he had just done. Joel was never a violent person and this had shocked you.

he dropped the wrench and they both turned to look at you and Sarah. both of your faces were filled with fear and Joel quickly pulled Sarah into him “you killed her” she said, voice filled with fear “i know baby i’m sorry” he kissed her forehead and looked at you. you couldn’t believe what you just saw. you were confused and scared. “we gotta go” Tommy said making you all quickly get in the car.

you were sat in the back with Sarah who hugged you closely “it’s alright honey, it’ll all be over soon i promise” you whispered and you rubbed your hand up and down her arm, trying to comfort her but also trying to comfort yourself. you could feel the baby kicking vigorously “are you okay y/n? you aren’t hurt are you?” Joel asked as he looked back at the two of you. you just shook your head.

you didn’t know why but all this fear made you wish you were back to being a little kid, wishing that your mum was there to comfort you when you were scared yet now you were the adult comforting your child and you didn’t know if you would ever even see your mum again.

“dad-” Sarah said but Joel quickly cut her off “i don’t know” he said like he knew what she was going to ask him. “they’re saying it’s a virus, some kind of parasite” Tommy added making Joel look at him. “does it come from terrorists?” she asked making Joel repeat himself “we don’t know”

“are we sick?” she asked and this time you answered “no, none of us are sick” Joel nodded “of course not” he sounded mad but you didn’t know what at. “why were they blowing things up?” her eyes were filled with tears as she asked all these questions.

“no idea, there’s no phone, no radio” her eyes darted between Tommy and Joel “how do you know?” she asked, voice laced with concern “what?” Joel looked back at the two of you, cuddled up together with you trying to act your calmest but he knew you, you were freaking out.

“how do you know we aren’t sick?” she was practically crying now. “they’re saying it’s mostly people in the city, that’s why they have the highway blocked off” Tommy said but he was quickly silenced when he drove past a burning house of one of his friends.

“the Adlers would take nana to the city, so that’s why they were sick?” Joel nodded “your right, that’s probably why” his thick texan accent was filled with concern but he tried his best to stay calm. “we are going to be fine, trust me” Tommy said but he sounded unsure of what he had just said.

he drive around the corner and quickly slowed down when he saw a small family. “what are you doing?” Joel asked and Tommy just shook his head “they have a kid Joel” Joel quickly cut him off. “so do we, are you forgetting that my wife is pregnant?”

“Joel Tommy is right, they have a kid we should help them” he turned back to you “no, we don’t know them. keep driving Tommy” he’d never spoken this was before and this was definitely not the Joel you knew. you just prayed that whatever this is would go away and you could go back to your normal lives.

-♡-

you were driving through the town, planes flying low, catastrophe everywhere and you were just scared. “right keep going down this way” Joel said as Tommy drove down a side road leading to a whole group of people who were fighting and running away from the danger. “keep driving Tommy” Joel said even though there were people everywhere.

“are you kidding? Joel i can’t just drive through a whole group of people” Joel cut him off shouting “just keep going damn it” cars were crashing into each other, the sounds of people screaming made your eyes fill with tears. the next thing you knew the cinema doors cracked open with a lot more people coming out of it, all of them crying.

“shit” Tommy said as he quickly stoped the car “go go, fuck Tommy go get out of here” Joel said as he looked behind him out of the truck and slammed his hand on the dashboard “i’m going, i’m going” Tommy started reversing back, careful to not hit anyone in the process.

Sarah looked out the back window and so did you, seeing the huge airplane falling rapidly toward the floor. “Tommy, you need get out of here” you shouted as the plane darted toward you. “fuck Tommy go now” Joel shouted but it was too late, the huge plane crashed on the ground exploding into a million pieces.

the huge flame almost blinded you, you felt sickened at the thought of all those people on the plane that didn’t even stand a chance. “oh shit” you heard Sarah say as a huge chunk of the plane crashed into you car and then your whole world went black.

-♡-

“y/n” you felt someone’s hand on your shoulder as you awoke from the darkness “y/n honey we need to get you out, can you get out slowly for me angel?” Joel’s soft voice filled your mind as you sat up, a sharp shooting pain went right through your stomach making you groan. “my stomach is killing me” you said as you put a hand on your belly. you looked out the window and saw Sarah sitting on the floor and Joel crouching next to where you were sitting.

“don’t panic, it’s probably nothing okay?” Joel’s heart dropped when he heard you say that, a pain in your stomach was never a good sign especially when you are pregnant. “can you get out sweetheart? or do you need help?” you just nodded and started making your way out of the car.

once you had gotten out of the car you stood next to Sarah and saw Tommy was on the opposite side “we gotta get off of the street” he said as you stood up right, you right hand still back on your stomach hoping to feel any sign of movement. “Sarah can’t walk, i’ll have to carry her. do you think you can walk?” you nodded again. “shit” you heard Tommy shout as a police car crashed into Tommys now ruined truck.

the car set alight and you were lucky you even made it out of the car that quick before it crashed otherwise you would have been dead and you wouldn’t have wanted your family to see that. “Tommy” Joel shouted as he tried to see Tommys face through the flames. “i’m okay, head to the river and i’ll meet you there” with a simple nod Joel picked up Sarah and pushed you behind him.

“stay close okay?” he gave you a quick kiss before you both started making your way through the side roads trying to find a way to the river. the two of you stopped once you saw a group of bodies with people eating them. “what the fuck” you whispered as you saw this horrific sight in front of you. one of the people shot up, looking at you twitching weirdly.

“go” Joel pushed you in front of him and you both started running through a random cafe. the man chased you, snarling and screeching as he followed. you could hear the man tripping over different things but you didn’t dare look behind you. you could hear Joel comforting Sarah who was now crying as you finally made it outside but you didn’t stop running until a gunshot filled the silent field.

you and Joel both stopped, turning to look back and the now dead body in front of you. “don’t move” you heard someone say next to you as a bright light shone on the three of you. “my daughters hurt her ankle and my wife is pregnant” the man lowered his gun and started talking to his radio “i’ve got three civilians by the river, one of them injured, one pregnant”

you couldn’t make out what the other person was saying but your thoughts were cut short when Sarah spoke up “what about uncle Tommy?” she questioned Joel just shook his head “i’m gonna get you both safe first then i’ll go back for him okay?” she just nodded and you all looked back at the masked man. “yes sir….. yes sir”

he raised his gun “we are not sick” Joel said as the man approached the three of you. “sir, i said we are not sick” with that the masked man shot a round of bullets and Joel heard you and Sarah scream. you all rolled down a small ditch and Joel quickly turned to look at the man who was now approaching him with his gun raised. “i’m sorry” he said but before he could shoot Joel another shot was fired, killing him instantly.

he looked up to see Tommy with his gun raised, he had never been so happy to see his brother in his whole life. “are you okay?” Tommy asked Joel who was just grazed by a bullet and Joel just nodded but Tommys eyes shifted to you who was covered in blood and gasping for air. “oh god” he said making Joel turn around to look at you.

all you could do was feel a throbbing pain in you stomach. Joel quickly got up and ran to you and Tommy made sure Sarah was okay and turned her away from you. he knew Joel wouldn’t want her seeing you like this and it was bad enough he had to see you like this. “no no it’s okay” he could see the blood soaking through your jumper, the once grey colour was now a soaked dark red and it was growing by the second.

“you’re okay, move your hand honey” Joel said once you’d moved your hand, putting pressure on the wound. you cried in pain as you still gasped for air. “i know i know im so sorry sweetheart i am” he said and he pressed harder on the wound to stop it from bleeding out more. you managed to speak through your pain as you grabbed onto Joel’s arm “go” he shook his head.

“go Joel, take” you took a few more deep breaths as you tried to calm yourself down “take Sarah and go” he just shook his head again. “no, i’m not leaving you like this. i can get help and you’re gonna survive this” he said, his eyes filling with tears as he saw your tired but pained expression.

“you know how much i love you, i don’t” you closed your eyes as you breathed deeply again “i don’t want you seeing me like this” you stuttered out. you felt a tear roll down your cheek as you realised what was about to happen to you. “meeting you was the best thing to ever happen to me” you could hear Sarah sobbing next to Tommy and you hated that she was even watching you, laying there covered in blood.

“i’m sorry” he said as he sat down next to you, he took the pressure off of your wound and you were grateful he had given up, there was no way you were going to be able to survive this and you didn’t want to prolong it. you just shook your head at his comment. “don’t-”

you felt pain all over your body but you felt tired, so tired that you wanted to sleep desperately. “i love you, i love Sarah. just take her and run okay?” he had tears now rolling down his cheeks, his bloody hand now stroking your cheek softly. “im not leaving you here on your own” you just smiled at him. you knew he wouldn’t leave but you wanted to save him from the trauma of seeing you go.

“i know” you looked at him and he kissed you, one last for however long he has left on this earth. “i love you so much” you heard him say and with that your eyes closed. he sobbed quietly, you were gone and nothing was ever going to bring you back.

you were carrying his unborn child and he wished he could go back in time and taken the bullet instead of you. you were this ethereal soul who didn’t deserve to die this way and he hated it. he hated it so much. he tried his best to calm himself down as he took your wedding ring off of your finger and put it in his pocket hoping to keep it safe. it wasn’t like someone was going to steal it but he took it off so he could have something with him that was yours.

he kissed your forehead and carefully placed your body back on the floor and turned toward Sarah and Tommy, he had tear stains on his cheeks but his expression was neutral. “let’s go” he said, he was emotionless “dad, we can’t just leave her-” he cut Sarah off “i said let’s go” with that the three of them left and never looked back.

[aneveningsword]

𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑶𝑹

pairing: Jordan Li x gn!reader x Marie Moreau warnings: not proofread words: 1324 summary: rude words about your relationship result in a fight

masterlist

Having two partners was not common, many people believed it to be weird and unnatural. Which is rather rich coming from people who have powers because their parents wanted them to be experimental rats. Dating both Jordan and Marie has its ups and downs like all relationships, but it is mainly the external comments that put a strain on the relationship.

While most people either didn't care or were receptive to the news, a select few just found it too damning to move on from. When it came out it was known that some people would not take the news kindly, that snide remarks and looks would be thrown at you. But it didn't matter, because you were all together and happy.

You had been having a shit day from the jump, forgetting to hand in an assignment, dropping your lunch on the floor, and being late to most of your classes to name a few. You had not seen your partners all day and all you wished to do was curl up in one of their dorms and watch cheesy movies. But you all had obligations and unfortunately, you were all too dedicated to your work to just bail.

Walking to your final class of the day felt like a weight being lifted off your shoulders, one more class and this was over, you could go home and rot under the covers of your bed. Yet, a shrill voice has you stopping in your tracks, overhearing a conversation you were sure wasn't meant for your ears.

"Look, I just don't get it. I mean two girlfriends, or is it a girlfriend and a boyfriend? Y'know I just can't keep up. But isn't it enough? How much of a whore do you have to be? Everyone knows it's just to get ahead."

You didn't have to be a genius to know who the girl was talking about. It was not the first time you have had venomous words thrown at you for your relationship, it seemed to come with the territory. Most of the time you find it best to turn the other cheek, try and ignore them and not give them the satisfaction of getting a rise out of you. But added with you're shitty day it was just all too much to ignore any longer.

Marie calling out your name was met with deaf ears as all you could think about was putting this bitch in your place. Within a swift moment, you were stopping up to her hand out to grab her shoulder. The sudden touch startled her for a moment, and she turned to see it with a disinterested look on her face. Only to be met with the harsh bone of your knuckles.

The initial contact was to her cheek, the force splitting the skin slightly. You didn't say anything as your arms wrapped around her and threw her to the ground with your body weight. You knew opening your mouth to say something was useless for you were too mad to form any words. You straddled the girl's waist as another hand came down on her face, blood sprouting from her nose coating your fist and the front of her shirt.

Before you have to chance to hit her again a burning sensation spreads along your arm, the girl's feeble attempt to get you off of her. The skin burned under her hand, her free hand shooting out to rip her hand off your arm. Before you could begin your assault once more this time for the wound she had given you and her nasty words, you were pulled off of her.

You stubble for a moment as you are pulled to stand up, the girl on the floor withering in pain from your hits. Breathing heavily you look down at the girl, glaring harshly at her. "Keep your mouth shut about my fucking relationship." Your words are filled with venom and basically spat at the girl on the floor. The burn on your arm is a dull pain due to the adrenaline, but the pain slowly intensifies.

"(Y/N), what the fuck." Marie's shocked fill voice reaches your ears as she stands behind you, concern etched into her features at what you have done. Whipping around to face her your words die in your throat, and the disappointment in her ears has a terrible feeling curl around in your stomach. "I-I...-" "Holy shit, your arm." Marie's touch is soft as she moves forward gently taking your arm into her hands, eyes scanning over the handprint burned into your arm.

The pain from the burn rushes to you as your eyes land on the injury, the charred skin and the ugly red colour. You feel yourself getting tugged along, the fight forgotten until the aftermath comes to bite you in the ass later. Neither Marie nor you say anything until you arrive at her dorm, the door clicking shut behind you as Marie sits you on the couch.

There is not a word is say as she begins to tend to your burn, applying burn cream to the injury and wrapping it gently. Though she attempted not to cause you any more pain it was inevitable, hisses and whinces pushing past your lips. Shame feels your body as you rationally begin to think about what happened. You shouldn't have blown up like that. Maybe the girl's words warranted a reaction but not a physical one. Your mind raced with what Marie could possibly be thinking as she carefully cleaned up the blood from your knuckles.

A knock at the door pulls Marie from your side, getting up to open it and let the person in. Jordan enters the room quickly, bag slung over their shoulder, it was clear they had left class for this. At the realisation, you could not help the guilt that wrapped around your heart. Looking at the pair standing in front of you, you opt to speak, to try and quell the emotions brewing.

"I don't know what came over me. I couldn't stand there and listen to her talk about us like that, I moved before I thought." Your explanation was weak, a feeble attempt to get the pair in front of you to say something so you could gauge their reactions. Instead of words of disappointment and disgust being thrown at you like you felt you deserved. Jordan wordlessly came to sit by your side.

"Does it hurt?" Jordan's words brought a small frown of confusion to your face, unsure what they were talking about as you did not expect them to say that. "Your arm," They say, glancing down at the bandages that hide the nasty mark, it would no doubt leave a scar. "Y-yeah, quite a bit actually." Your response is soft as you watch Jordan's finger ghost over the white bandages. The couch dips on your other side alerting you to Marie sitting down.

"What you did was so fucking stupid. What if you got more injuries? If I wasn't there to pull you away?" Marie's voice draws your attention, eyes moving from Jordan to her. You could see the concern for you in her eyes as her hand reached to grab yours pulling it onto her lap. Her thumb soothingly passed over your knuckles as you spoke. "You didn't hear what she said. I'm so fucking sick of people just saying shit about us. I just... I just wanted her to shut up."

A small hum is pulled from Marie as she brings your hand up to her lips to place a small kiss on it. "I don't care what people say about me, because I have you two. You care about everyone else." You knew she was right, the love you all hold for each other should be the only thing that matters but sometimes words can cut deep.

There was a small pause before Jordan spoke up, hands snaking into yours as they wrapped their other arm around your shoulders. "Did you at least win?" It pulls a small laugh from you and Marie before you answer. "Oh yeah, I kicked her ass."

[tiredtreebranch1]

A Sea Apart

The storm that had forced them inside raged against the dingy hotel's windows. The cold crept in through the numerous cracks in the walls and Hero’s super hearing picked up the soft dripping of numerous leaks throughout the building. The hoodie that they hastily threw over their hero costume is soaked through, seeping the wet cold into their bones.

Hero followed Villain to the front desk, picking up the conversation they were having with the receptionist.

“We just need a room! Any room!”

“Sorry sir but we’re all booked out,” the receptionist said, the picture of exhaustion, probably having dealt with this all night.

Hero approached and carefully watched Villain as their expression darkened.

“This piece of shit hotel is booked out?” Villain snarled.

“I guess everyone is in search for a room, sir”

Hero puts their hand on Villain’s shoulder, pulling them away from the desk slightly. They angle themselves in front of the thunderstorm that had somehow found it’s way inside.

“Do you have any sort of room we can just stay in for the night? We don’t need beds, just a roof and walls,” Hero said calmly, ignoring the lightning crackling behind them.

The receptionist rubbed their eyes sleepily but seemed to lose the hostility that they’d responded to the Villain with.

“Please?” Hero tacked on.

The receptionist heaved a sigh, “I suppose you can bunk in the storage room.”

Hero grinned widely, “thank you. Villain say thank you”. Hero nudged the Villain slightly.

“Thank you,” Villain grunted.

They followed the receptionist through the hotel. Wet patches spotted the wall, bringing the smell of rain into the halls. Everything seemed to creak and wail at the storm. Slight noises from other patrons' rooms wiggled their way out of their closed doors.

The receptionist stopped in front of a door down a dark hallway, all peeling paint and dampness.

“You can stay here tonight. Don’t tell my boss.” The receptionist said before trudging back to her desk.

“Thank you!” Hero called after her.

Hero turned to see that Villain had already opened the door and entered the room. The scent of mildew and dust fell out of the doorway. Hero steeled themselves and entered the dim room. They held back a gasp of surprise when villain flicked on the single swinging light bulb. It’s dim and irregular light revealed a room piled with mattresses.

The room was practically mattresses. They were stacked high, teetering dangerously. The room was practically bursting with old, stained mattresses.

“I guess it’s better than a wet floor,” Hero attempted positivity.

Villain did not reciprocate, instead climbing over the piles of mattresses to get to the furthest away pile. They curled up under their coat.

“Alright,” Hero sighed to themselves as they took the pile that was on the opposite side of the room, in the same level as Villain.

There seemed to be a metaphorical pillow barrier between the two, erected by Villain.

Hero sighed and turned onto their back to stare up at the dripping ceiling. They could barely believe that they were here with Villain. An hour earlier they had been bashing each other's skulls in. But Hero can’t handle the rain directly. Too loud. And before they knew it Villain had herded them to this hotel, the fight on pause until the storm passed.

Hero was grateful yet suspicious. Why had Villain not taken advantage of Hero’s lack of foresight? It’s not like this was the first time this had happened by any means. Villain had created a reputation for themselves as a fair villain just based on their refusal to take advantage of Hero’s tendency to overstimulation. But it was suspicious nevertheless. Every time.

They were supposed to be enemies!

God, Hero didn’t know what the logic in Villains mind was. They were too tired for this and it reeked in this room.

They turn onto their side to face away from Villain, closing their eyes.

They drifted off to the sound of Villains soft breathing and the raging of rain against the hotel.

—

They were warm.

Weirdly warm.

The kind of warm where it’s not coming from yourself.

Maybe it was the sun?

It takes Hero a moment to remember that the storage room has no windows.

They crack an eyelid open.

Nothing suspicious as of yet.

They look down at their four arms.

Wait.

Four?

Hero’s other eye flies open and they take in the tan arms wrapped around their waist from behind. Only then do they feel the press of a chest against their back. The source of the warmth.

They tense. Shit.

“Shit,” they whisper.

How the hell had they ended up in Villains arms?! There had been like a million mattresses separating them when they fell asleep!

They needed to extract themselves.

They slowly, very slowly, pried villains fingers off of their waist. And then like this is some kind of bloody movie villain grabs them tighter and nuzzles into their neck in their sleep.

Hero sighs in frustration and tries again. They manage to peel back the fingers and then begins to loosen the arms.

They hear a sniffle behind them and they move faster, muttering curse words under their breaths.

“Hm. What?” They hear against their neck.

They feel Villain shift behind them, seemingly still figuring out what is going on. Villain sits up. Hero looks up. They take in Villains bed shake and ruffled shirt. Their eyes are narrowed and brow furrowed. Hero can practically here the gears grinding in villains head as they attempt to figure out what’s going on and why the hero is laid next to them.

“Hi,” hero says.

Villain just continues to look down at them. Their hand is still rested on Heros waist, gripping lightly. It’s the last tether of warmth between them. Hero shifts. Something flickers through Villains gaze. Something that looks suspiciously like-

The storage room bangs open, slipping against the wall. In similar fashion the Villains hand flies off of the Hero’s body and their gaze snaps away. Hero feels a wave of unfamiliar disappointment wash the through them. They tell themselves it’s just because the Villain is no longer keeping them warm. They forced themselves to sit up.

Illuminated in the doorway is the now sleep deprived receptionist. Her face is drawn and her hair is ragged, the professional bun that they had last seen her in has been ripped down, long locks now trailing down her shoulders.

“Out. Time for you to get out,” she says.

And within a minute Hero and Villain are ushered back through the soggy hallways and out of the hotel. They stand dumbfounded in front of the doors for a moment.

Hero looks at Villain, “should we uh go back to fighting? Just because that’s-“

Villain sighs in frustration but a glimmer of fondness strikes through their eyes, “go home.”

And with that they walk off. Hero stares after them as the distance grows between them. A distance that seems impossible to bridge.

But that had never stopped them before.