#all men should be infected and have split jaws

[niceandcozycave]

In times of turmoil, in times like these...

[yandere-wishes]

MONSTERS

👹 Yandere Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

👹Summary: Monsters aren’t born they're made, but Sukuna stumbles across the rare exception...

👹Warning: dehumanization, mention of gore, blood, slight dub-con mentioned in passing, death, past trauma, and abuse

👹 Edited: By the lovely @tealyjade-libran !

👹 Wordcount: 2,480

👹Alternative Tittle : If Roxanne ( from the Police song) lived in ancient Japan.

👹First Jujutsu kaisen fic! I hope you guys like it, please let me know your thoughts! Likes and reblogs appreciated!

Monsters were made. 

Slowly created as once blazing ideals, withered and died under harsh strokes of reality. Stitched together with broken promises and the ashes of rotting memories. 

Monsters were made

whisked into a role they once dreaded, once feared. Beaten into the role of the villain, the reprobate, the sinner. 

If anyone ever asked Sukuna when was the exact moment he turned his back on the laws of "good" and "evil", shedding his human skin to regrow a pelt of hate and destruction,

He would simply answer, "Never".

Because skin is skin no matter how much it decays. Even if the epidermis turns into a rotting orange shade, littered with eyeballs and teeth that shouldn't grow there.Even if the blood from all those he's slain has finally stained his dermis, tainting it in a permanent crimson that all the waters of Lake Biwa could never wash off. Even if his hypodermis is no longer made of fatty tissue but rather spiritual energy sucked from the atmosphere. It's still skin, the same old skin he was born with.

Sukuna had never shed his skin, he'd only perfected it, enhanced it, molded it into its perfect form, until he was no longer held back by foolish human limitations.

He'd never been "reborn" only recreated; only perfected. 

Spike, talon and teeth covered arms sprouting from oozing, bleeding scars, charred over by begriming infections that burned worse than the strikes he'd endured as a child. Knuckles and bones cracking over and over and over again until they grew as solid as the rocks that were thrown at him when he was all too little to understand the malice behind the insults and threats. Breaking until they could break no more, until they'd become strong enough to split a boulder with a mere flick.

There had come a time when he'd given up licking his wounds, leaving them to be kissed by the mold-covered worms who left an urticating sensation he'd soon come to associate with victory. Rotting flesh growing covered in thick layers of black tar tattoos that hid every cut he'd endured when he'd once been too weak. 

Monsters were created from quarter truths buried neck-deep in fables that snipped like red-eyed scorpions. 

Until the blood dancing through their veins was as black as the void they now called home. 

Sukuna knew the exact moment he realized he was a monster. The day he realized he liked the crunch of skulls beneath his feet, the pitiful spark in mortified eyes staring at the heavens for a scrap of mercy. Mangled mouths barely held together by fractured jaw bones, uttering prayers and pleas that died in the scorching air. 

Sukuna knew he was an abnormality, patched together by broken heirlooms and shattered family traditions. Sitting on a throne made from skulls of those who thought they could ever kill him. 

You can't kill a monster, for you can not kill that which was never born. 

You can't slay something made from good intentions with malevolent methods, something so vile that it might actually be pure. At the end of the day, no monster really admits that it is a monster, a nightmare that should have never existed. 

Yet...

Tattered hearts and cruel orbs are never quite enough. No monster is complete until they dive off that last edge, plummet into the sea of nothingness, and finally, finally break their souls on the spiked soil. Monsters, spirits, curses any malicious being that had been mended together like a half-done ragdoll was not complete until they truly let go. Until they erased all the former humanity that they had been born with. Until their eyes reflected nothing, no emotions, no malice, no want, no need. Just the absolute emptiness. 

The void in all its glory.

that was the symbol, the true markings of a real monstrosity. The void that took over their existence, that had replaced every inch of their former self. Only then could it be said that you were above all other beings, the true perfection of this world. 

There are worse things created than monsters, things that are made from nothing and everything. Things above "Yin" and "Yang". Things that have no scrap of humanity, monstrosity, or anything in them.

Things that are just empty.

So maybe -just maybe- that's why when Sukuna's rotting orange eyes landed on the epitome of emptiness, a...girl, whose face was sculpted to disreflect emotions and intents. Someone who was the void of darkness itself. The true personification of nothingness. 

His heart -for the first time in countless centuries- began to throb.

a truly dead face swarmed by a sea of buzzing ants, chasing their routine happiness. Smiles of delight and carelessness carved on their aging faces with sunlight knives and the melody of golden coins. The lust for life leaking from every pore of their bodies. 

With every face being a carbon copy of each other it was no wonder yours stood out.

There was a silver chain of attraction, dragging Sukuna towards the village girl. Not love, never love, the king of curses was beyond certain, that neither you nor he could feel such a honey-laced sensation. It was more like....something. Something paranormal, inexpiable. Some magnetic force outside of everything's control. 

It was easy enough to explain why he liked you. Why you stood out from the other insects of this middle-of-nowhere-village. 

You had dark matter for blood and dead seas for brains. 

Your eyes radiated an endless abyss. Making others shy away from your lifeless gaze. Scared to look into the void in fear that it may respond. 

You were a thrown away doll,

A living dead,

A dying star,

You were the daughter of the number zero,

The monster that had no maker nor mother. 

Something not born nor created. 

Just an entity that roamed the earth, with no desire nor hope, no wish nor dream. Not leaving, not dying, just existing in the space between today and tomorrow. 

There'd been no need for pleasantries, for hiding behind ghostly tree branches and frozen windows. There'd been no need to kill or ravage for you. No competition to eliminate, because no one ever came near you. Humans don't like what they can't explain, Sukuna knew that all too well. 

Sukuna watched from a close enough distance to almost touch. Lingering around like a phantom begging to be noticed. Orbs trailing over you, but never approaching. Until one day he'd just stood still. Waited for you to turn your head just a fraction to the left, just to see him in all his menacing terror. To finally notice the clawing, crawling sensation that had been creeping up your spine like a hoard of spiders. 

And when your dead eyes did finally land on him. Sukuna could swear that his breath hitched in his throat for the first time in his seemingly endless life.

You weren't human. Humans didn't have hollow faces or marbles for lips. 

You weren't a curse. Curses didn't lack venom dripping from their souls.

You were something better than a monster. You were the divinity of monstrosity, the void itself. Black holes for eyes, answerless paradoxes for hands, and an endless maze where your torso should have been. 

 Exploding suns danced around you, burning, burning, till they died out, leaving behind no trace that they once lit up the universe. 

The space after the end, that's what you were.

Perfect, to Sukuna you were perfect.

You hadn't run, hadn't screamed, hadn't even bothered to talk. You didn't care about him, couldn't care about him. That's what made him want you, made his mouth salivate with the thought of your flesh between his teeth. 

That night the world stood still, as Sukuna's claws penetrated your flesh like twirling needles. You were as light as a feather. You weighed nothing, were nothing. All so easy to pluck and throw about. You never made a noise when your body collided with the bamboo walls, just letting gravity and Sukuna play a twisted ball game with your lump of a body.

You hadn't protested when he violated you. As his lips bit every inch of your body raw. For some unearthly reason that even the gods couldn't understand, would never want to understand, you had found the Curse's violent actions rather...adoring. Taking every slap and slash with the earnest pride of a small child getting praised for a day of relentless chores. letting the dawn-tinted-haired monster adorn your body in blue and purple jewels. It felt right, in a  pathetically, nauseating, twisted way...it just felt right.

 It was disastrous, sure, but it was right. Like two universes crashing. Destroying each other with every kiss and every bruise. 

But...

For the first time in your meaningless life, you had truly understood what "happiness" felt like. 

For the first time in his endless life, Sukuna had truly understood what "intimacy" felt like.

///

Was it wrong to kiss you? For a fraction of a second Sukuna hesitated, blood tinged lips hovering millimeters away from your own stone-set ones. The moon's cursed rays acting like an unnoticed barrier, keeping two things out of each other's grasp. His lips curled back revealing two rows of knife-like teeth. The last resort, a final hope that you'd run away, that you'd act somewhat normal. The king of curses, the evil among men, didn't mind your lack of regularity. He didn't mind how you leaned into every bitter strike, every painful display of fading affection . He adored how you merely giggled as he slashed open your uncharged skin, creating slits for your blood to spill through, onto his waiting tongue. He admired your lifelessness, the way you radiated death. 

Oh, how you filled him with a startling aftershock every time he touched you. Every time his tongue lapped at your bleeding skin he'd feel the sort of electric shocks that came after the storms had passed. Your body had no shape, it molded to his touch, turning his favorite shades of red, with just a little pressure. 

But sometimes, in fleeting, endless seconds. He wished he had a name for what you two were. You weren't his per se, you could never be his. Being his would indicate that he cared about you, or heck even loved you and that could never be true. The king of curses did not love, nor care. He merely tolerated you; you fascinated him, that's all. 

It had been many moons since he first found you in that no-name village. Months upon months since you'd been by his side. You'd watched as he'd destroyed cities, helped him even. Eyes never shedding a single tear. Mouth never uttering a single protest. 

The two of you had become the best, the King of curses and the Queen of nothingness. With the dying speed of laboring bees, Sukuna had carved himself inside of you. Twisted emptiness into flower-covered destruction. Into molten gold lava. 

Leaving you with wounds that were stuck in a cycle of healing and opening. Until they began to harden like his. Until the need for spilled blood lingered on your tongue like the burn of boiled tea. Until under your nails were coated in a decaying crust of dried blood. Sukuna hadn't turned you into a monster, he'd simply showed you the powers that came with your apathy. With a heart as torn and cold as yours, it was a shame to let it go to waste. 

"You're not half bad," his tone is never approving. It's always laced with a strictness that keeps you nailed into place. His words are oxymorons sounding like praise, but once you peel back the lather layers they're just taunts in disguise. 

You don't answer, words die on your tongue as quickly as they are born. Sukuna can't even remember what your voice sounds like outside of small whispers in heat filled nights. 

 However, to the two of you, things like that didn't matter. Your lack of being even semi-alive and Sukuna's endless abuse had become a norm for the two of you. Where else were a two-faced monster and a lifeless girl going to find love anyway? 

Sukuna was all you had, all you ever had. You'd die for him, kill for him, turn into anything for him. Because he gave you life. 

A purpose to life, made out of raging fires and endless screams. A life fabricated from the pain and suffering of others. That was what the king of curses had given you, all wrapped in a human skin parchment. Maybe that's why all logic withered away the first night he kissed you, maybe from the first second that you sensed his presence you had finally gained a reason to be alive. 

///

Whoever said the end of the world was beautiful? Whoever said the final days would be bright and glowing and pure? 

It's just a blaze of stray flames and red crystal droplets that may or may not be your blood. Funny, Sukuna had always thought that your blood would be as black as the moonless sky, not a mundane red like everyone else's. He'd expected a grander death from you. Some sort of black hole opening to swallow the world whole. Not just another corpse motionless in a pool of their own blood. 

Although he's not one to talk. His own 'death' is lingering on the horizon. Sukuna's head tilts back looking for the flashing jujutsu sorcerers. 

"S-sukun-a..." 

He smirks, fangs sticking out at odd angles. Your voice is sweet, for the first time in forever he'd even dare say it held some semblance of emotion. 

What that emotion is, he doubts he knows or even really cares. He'd long since stopped trying to identify all those "feelings" and their associated names. 

His orange eyes lock with your fading orbs, one last time. No, not the last time, just the final time in this lifetime. He's sure he's going to see you again. In any other life, Sukuna knows he'll be able to recognize you despite whatever flesh suit you'd be wearing. 

"Shh little one," he's halfway gone before he finishes his sentence, leaving you to relish in his memory in your final moments. "We'll see each other once more, someday in another life..."

His four eyes lock on the approaching sorcerers. He finds it humorous how desperate they look. How alive and ready they seem, such a stark contrast to your ever lifeless face and dead eyes, it repulses him. 

"Or maybe in one of the circles of hell." 

The flames encircling his fingers remind him of the heat your body radiated in the dead of night. The crack from bones hum as they meet his knuckles, flash memories of your days wasted together doing nothing and everything. 

The two of you will meet once more, he's sure of it. After all...

Monsters never die. 

How could something that was never even born in the first place, ever die?

[today-only-happens-once]

clarity

Word count: 5463

Summary:  Hakoda had been hearing rumors about the Fire Lord's son for years. That doesn't mean he is ready when the truth finally comes to light... especially when the truth only confirms the worst. Companion piece to “out of focus” but can be read separately. 

Warnings: injury/burns, angst, some mentions of trauma and PTSD, canonical child abuse/mutilation, Sokka gets angry protective and yells a little, blink-and-you-miss-it mention of nausea, please let me know if I missed anything. 

A/N: Turns out, I really wanted to explore Hakoda’s POV of the events in “out of focus”. So much so that not only did I write this, but’s longer than the original. Woops. Hope you enjoy it!

Read on AO3.

...

His son is good at many things, Hakoda thinks, but his poker face is not one of them. 

He’d had never been particularly good at it, if Hakoda is being honest. He’d usually been able to tell with one glance when Sokka was at fault for something breaking and would blame Katara, and Kya had been even better at reading the micro-expressions of their son. Sokka is older now—and in more ways that Hakoda is comfortable with, he carries those extra years around like a weight on his shoulders—but he still hasn’t quite mastered the art of subtlety. It was something he’d need to work on if he wanted to be chief of the Southern Water Tribe one day. 

Sokka shifts in his seat across from him, his brows pinched slightly in evident annoyance. Hakoda sees the shared glance between his son and the Fire Lord. Zuko’s mouth twitches in something like amusement. 

“I want immediate release of all war prisoners,” the Earth Kingdom ambassador, Bashi, beside Sokka demands.

Hakoda inclines his head. “I second that. I have men in those prisons that haven’t seen their family in a decade.”

Hakoda couldn’t imagine what that would be like. Two years apart from his children had caused him to feel like he’d already missed out on so much of their lives. The idea of going five times that without any news from the outside… Suffice it to say that Hakoda did not envy those men.

“Of course,” the Fire Lord says, but his voice is nearly swallowed by the loud demand down the table, “Absolutely not!”

The hard glare that Fire Lord Zuko sends down the table at the Fire Nation Admiral makes Hakoda grateful that he is not on the receiving end of it. “Admiral, people who were arrested as prisoners of war have no need to remain so after the war has ended.” Zuko meets Hakoda’s gaze, the heat in his glare lifting at the redirection of attention. “I’ll draft that mandate tonight and will ensure its circulation as soon as possible.”

The Fire Lord—dressed in the traditional royal robes and his hair pulled into a top knot—is a stark contrast to the first time Hakoda had met him back in Boiling Rock. At the time, Zuko had been Fire Nation public enemy number 2 behind Aang. The tattered red tunic of Fire Nation prison uniforms had hung off his thin, borderline-malnourished frame. He looks better now, a little. Zuko is still lean, but not quite as gaunt as he’d looked in the Fire Nation prison. Hakoda’s biggest concern when it came to the Fire Lord’s well-being these days was the dark circles around his eyes that, though he tries to hide it, indicate too many sleepless nights.

“This is an outrage!” The admiral slams his fist against the table, leaping to his feet.

Hakoda feels his jaw clench in frustration. He has little patience for men who try to assert themselves through aggression and yelling rather than calm rationality. Even so, it doesn’t surprise him, exactly. Hakoda had been around long enough to know that Fire Nation men had long been taught there was power through anger, and to wield it as they see fit.

Zuko rises to meet his feet, slowly and deliberately. “Admiral--”

“Where is the justice for the Fire Nation families whose sons and daughters were slaughtered by those criminals?”

Hakoda presses his hands together to keep them from curling into fists. Did the Admiral not realize just how many Fire Nation soldiers walked free after slaughtering  innocent people, let alone soldiers? Even the person who killed Kya--

“Admiral.”

“I remember a time when you cared about Fire Nation soldiers! And it’s hard to believe you’ve forgotten, seeing as you ought to be reminded every time you so much as look in the mirror--”

Hakoda frowns. The comment rings vague bells in his head, though he can’t remember why…

“Enough!” Zuko snaps sharply. “You will watch your tongue or you will be escorted out. You approach insubordination.”

“You are a child,” the admiral says, spitting the word child like it disgusts him, “though one that ought to know a thing or two about insubordination, given your father’s attempts to brand you with a permanent reminder of its consequences--”

“Warriors!”

“Then again, he always was twice the leader you never will be. Long live the Phoenix King!” 

Sokka is suddenly on his feet. “Zuko—!”

“Sokka—!”

Hakoda leaps up just as the admiral punches a fireball at the space between his son and the Fire Lord. His heart jumps to his throat, but Zuko is fast. He shoves Sokka’s shoulder down with one hand and dispels the fireball with the other. Hakoda leaps over his chair as he sees the glint of his son’s boomerang hook through the air. 

The admiral’s gaze locks onto him for a moment and Hakoda instinctively ducks, diving underneath a bolt of scorching flames. He feels the ground tremble, hears the roar of dying flames above him. Hakoda risks a glance towards his son just in time to see Zuko step in front of him, bending the burst of flames to split on either side of them, rather than hit Sokka straight on. 

The door ricochets open. Two Kyoshi Warriors spill into the room, and in a flurry of quick strikes, the admiral drops to the floor. Limp.

Bashi unbinds his feet with the bending from earlier—it’s only now that Hakoda realizes that tremble in the ground a moment ago had been earthbending—and the admiral hurls insults at Zuko as he’s dragged unceremoniously through the doors. 

The silence that follows echoes in the room. 

Hakoda takes a quick, calculating sweep of the room. Kovrik, the Northern Water Tribe ambassador, is wide-eyed but appears unharmed. Bashi is panting but standing upright. Sokka is hidden behind Zuko who shifts awkwardly in the silence.

He clears his throat. “Apologies for the, uh, disruption. It won’t happen again.” He looks, for all the world, genuinely apologetic. Embarrassed, even.

Which is foolish, Hakoda thinks. Zuko couldn’t reasonably be expected to have weeded out all of the Ozai sympathizers in a month. Ozai may have been one person but there was an entire ideology and system that allowed his tyranny in the first place. A sixteen-year-old couldn’t be asked to single-handedly dismantle it all, and certainly not so quickly. 

“It’s not your fault, Fire Lord Zuko,” he tells him. 

“I appreciate that, Chief Hakoda,” Zuko says. Behind him, Sokka sucks in a breath through his teeth and Hakoda feels his chest twinge in concern. He had fought in a war long enough to hear the pain laced through the noise. Zuko turns around to look at him, then turns back around sharply to address the room. “We will adjourn the meeting for today. We will reconvene tomorrow.”

Zuko hides it well, Hakoda thinks, but there’s an urgency to his words hidden behind a carefully constructed mask of stoicism that leaves no room for doubt in Hakoda’s mind. Sokka is hurt.

“But Fire Lord Zuko—”

“I think we could all use a breather, Kovrik,” Hakoda jumps in, not eager for another argument to break out. “Coming back tomorrow with a clear head is a good decision.” Besides, the sooner he can clear the room of other people, the sooner he could check on Sokka who Zuko was—almost protectively—keeping from view. 

“Yes,” Kovrick acquiesces, though Hakoda can tell he’s still not pleased. “Yes, I suppose that’s fair.”

Zuko nods his appreciation. Kovrik, Bashi, and the few other dignitaries that had been in the room bustle out the door. Hakoda waits until it’s latched shut behind them before he turns his full attention towards his son. Zuko has already turned his full attention to him, saying something in a low voice. 

Hakoda can sees the clench of his son’s jaw and the slight wince as he places his hand in Zuko’s. Hakoda steps up behind the Fire Lord, peering over his shoulder. His chest tightens a little in sympathy when he sees the blistering, angry red skin on the back of his son’s hand.

“Do you have anything that can help?” he asks of the Fire Lord, frowning. He thinks briefly of calling Kovrik back in before he remembers that the Northern Water Tribe’s men, even when benders, didn’t typically learn its healing abilities. 

“Yes, sir,” Zuko replies, not taking his gaze from Sokka’s hand as if he could heal it by staring at it hard enough. “Though it’s not quite as immediate as waterbending healers. But it should help with the pain and prevent infection. Follow me.”

Hakoda follows as Zuko guides Sokka by the elbow out the door of the meeting room and through a network of hallways. There’s something almost jarring about it to Hakoda. The image of the Fire Lord leading his Water Tribe son through the palace to get him help, rather than as a prisoner, has a part of Hakoda’s mind reeling. Sokka’s blue clothing stands out against the dark reds and blacks that adorn the walls and pillars around them.

How quickly times had changed.

Hakoda thinks back to the conversation in the meeting a few moments ago as he watches the back of Zuko’s head, moving quickly down the corridor with Sokka in tow. Rumors and propaganda about the Fire Nation, and especially about its leader, flew quickly amongst the ranks of soldiers in the war. It had been difficult to know fact from fiction, especially as it related to the royal family. 

A year ago—the memory comes crystal clear to Hakoda now—one of the men on his crew named Horrak had told him what he’d been certain was an exaggerated, hyperbolic story. Something about the Fire Lord and his thirteen-year-old son. On Tui and La, I swear it’s true. Heard it from the mouth of a Fire Nation soldier myself who was actually there.

He’s a tyrant and cruel, Hakoda had said, rolling his eyes because the idea was just… incomprehensible, but there’s no way Ozai would do that to his own flesh and blood. He’s too proud of his bloodline anyway. 

Zuko glances over his shoulder at Sokka, and Hakoda sees the angry scar across half of his face. The words of the admiral in the meeting whisper in the back of Hakoda’s mind in a way that makes his stomach turn. Your father’s attempts to brand you… Hakoda had thought that surely, surely, even Ozai had a line in the sand when it came to his own family. 

He’s less confident of that now.

Zuko says something to two of the guards stationed at the set of double doors that Hakoda doesn’t quite catch, and then slips through the door. Hakoda follows close behind. 

“Wait here,” Zuko says, and then vanishes through a door on the far side of the room.

Hakoda glances around the room. It was a bedroom, but Hakoda had a hard time believing it was Zuko’s. It seemed too simple of a room to belong to the Fire Lord. Then again, Zuko had been full of surprises from the very first time Hakoda had met him. 

He looks to his son, noticing the tight grimace to his face and the very slight sway and grabs the chair beside the bed to get his son to sit before he falls face first into the floor. 

“You had good reflexes in there,” Hakoda says. He’d dealt enough with injured Water Tribesmen to know that distraction was usually the best way to help them deal with the pain of a burn. He had no doubt that his son was no exception to that. 

“Lots of practice,” Sokka replies, obediently taking a seat. He hisses out another breath as his grip around the arms of the chair stretches the skin across the back of his hand. He swears under his breath.

“Easy,” Hakoda says softly, bracing a hand on his son’s back. 

The comment from his son makes his chest twist, but he can’t very well deny it. His son had seen more combat in the past year than he’d hoped he’d have to in his lifetime. Hakoda knows that it was an unreasonable expectation for his son to somehow be the exception to generations of pain. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Sokka would be able to handle the fight—Sokka always been able to hold his own—but could you blame a father for wanting to spare his son the experience of waking up from nightmares, haunted by the people he couldn’t save?

Hakoda dealt with that enough for the both of them.

“Wish Katara was here,” Sokka says. 

“I know,” Hakoda tells him. “Unfortunately, I don’t think she’s coming to Caldera for a while. She’s still in Ba Sing Se with Aang.” She and Aang were working on their own negotiations of reparations and treatises. Caldera was only one location of many that were in the middle of such conversations.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Sokka sighs. “Her magic water comes in handy, though… Get it? Hand-y?”

Hakoda snorts. That’s the kind of joke he used to make to get Kya to smile.

The door across the room opens again. Zuko emerges with his arms wrapped around a giant tub of water, several vials and rags gripped in his hands. He’d also pulled his hair out of the top knot so that it falls into his face, shaggy and unbrushed. It makes him look younger somehow. 

Spirits, he really is only sixteen, isn’t he?

The Fire Lord seems to be studiously avoiding both his and his son’s gaze as he crosses back to him and sets the washbasin at Sokka’s feet. The realization twists uncomfortably in Hakoda’s stomach. 

“Can I see your hand?” Zuko says in what is perhaps the softest voice Hakoda has ever heard come from the teen’s mouth. 

Sokka blinks. “Yeah. Sure.” 

Hakoda crosses his arms over his chest and watches as Zuko examines his son’s hand. The Fire Lord handles it with care, mindful of the injury even as he inspects closely. His brow is furrowed in concentration and there’s a long beat of silence. Sokka is almost uncharacteristically quiet, but Hakoda doesn’t miss the very slight way his shoulders seem to ease. There’s a familiarity between them, Hakoda realizes, and it makes him wonder in the back of his mind if maybe this wasn’t the first time they helped each other. 

“I don’t think it’ll have permanent damage,” Zuko says eventually. “But I still need to treat it so it doesn’t get infected. It… might hurt a little. But then it should feel better.”

Hakoda sees his son swallow. “No permanent damage. That’s good.” He nods, evidently steeling himself. “Okay.”

Zuko looks for a moment like he’s about to say something else, but seems to change his mind. Instead, he busies himself with wringing a cloth in the basin of water, into which he had emptied the contents of the vials. Hakoda’s gaze flickers again to the scar on his face and wonders if he might be so intimately familiar with the care of burns from his own experience. 

Hakoda wonders if there was someone else to help him and teach him. Perhaps that uncle that he and Sokka had mentioned. Iroh, Hakoda thinks his name is, though that would mean the uncle was General Iroh, as in the Dragon of the West. That seemed unlikely to the chief. No way this “wise old guy” who apparently spent his free time giving advice and making tea was also the same person who laid siege to Ba Sing Se for six-hundred days.

He watches Zuko press the rag gingerly to the back of Sokka’s hand and Sokka yelps, yanking his hand back. 

“I’m sorry,” Zuko says immediately with a bit of a grimace. “This part is painful, but it’ll stop hurting in a minute.”

Hakoda listens to the strained breathing of his son, taking a step towards him before Sokka manages, “Right. Right, sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Zuko tells him. “I know it hurts.”

Hakoda watches from behind Sokka as his son places his hand back in Zuko’s, who slowly but gingerly presses the rag back to his hand. There’s a casual intimacy to the way that Sokka willingly gives over his injury to the Fire Lord. An assured immediacy to Sokka’s movement combined with the extraordinarily careful way in which Zuko handles it that surprises him. He’d known, intellectually, that his children had become close with the Fire Lord. But the moments in which Hakoda got to be witness to that friendship sometimes still caught him off guard, even all these months later. 

It even folded into the way they fought beside each other. Hakoda had gotten very fleeting glimpses of it back in Boiling Rock, but he’d seen it more clearly in the meeting room a few minutes ago. They watched each other’s back, protecting one another without getting in each other’s way, like it was a rehearsed dance. Hakoda had watched the way Zuko stepped in front of flames to protect his son and had seen the way Sokka had timed his boomerang through to ensure the next fireball directed at Zuko would be kicked wide. 

For a long moment, the only sound heard in the room is the quiet splash of water as Zuko submerges the rag again and wrings it out. Hakoda glances at the Fire Lord’s face and wonders if Zuko had always had a habit of facing flames head-on. 

“What did the admiral mean,” Sokka blurts out suddenly, breaking the silence, “when he talked about insubordination?”

Hakoda’s lips press into a thin line, his gaze flickering briefly to his son before flitting back to Zuko. Zuko’s eyes had gone wide, the rag in his hand frozen half-out of the bowl. He blinks. “What--uh. I, uh.” Hakoda sees his hand clench around the rag and the way he takes a careful, intentional breath. “When I was younger, I spoke out at a meeting.”

Zuko busies himself back to tending to Sokka’s hand. Hakoda, however, feels something sink like an anchor in his stomach. He goes very, very still.

“After the stuff at Ba Sing Se? When you went home?” Sokka asks, and Hakoda realizes that he hasn’t heard the same rumors he had. Rumors that were at least a little bit true, but surely not all of it. Surely--

“No, I uh.” Zuko coughs a bit. “Before that. Before… yeah. Earlier.” 

“What happened?”

Hakoda stays quiet but he keeps his eyes on Zuko, who looks for all the world like a wild snow leopard caribou that had been cornered. His shoulders tense and Hakoda wonders, very briefly, if he might make a run for it. His jaw clenches, and he shifts to the balls of his feet.

Zuko doesn’t run.

Instead, he seems to focus even more on the administrations he’s giving to Sokka’s injury, as if healing something else might be able to protect him from his own old wounds coming under scrutiny.

“My uncle allowed me to attend a war meeting,” Zuko begins after a long beat as he wraps a fresh bandage around Sokka’s hand, “where they were talking about some battle strategies to use against an Earth Kingdom battalion. There was a general that wanted our newest fleet to serve as a distraction while we mounted an attack from the rear.”

Hakoda feels for a moment like he’s standing on cracking ice. He heard about that attack. The few members of that battalion spoke of how victorious they’d felt, decimating an entire fleet of rookie Fire Nation soldiers only to be attacked from the rear. Hakoda had spoken two years ago with one of the Earth Kingdom soldiers that had escaped, had listened as she recounted the bloodbath it had been. 

They must have known, she’d been saying with a haunted, far-away look to her eyes, that we’d win against a bunch of newbie soldiers. It was like they were served up as goat-dogs for slaughter. Just a… distraction. Ozai doesn’t even care about his own people. 

That conversation had been two years ago. Which meant—

“That’s not fair,” Sokka says. “Your newest recruits? They’d be slaughtered by an experienced battalion like that.” Hakoda feels a brief flicker of pride through the growing tightness in his chest. His son is far smarter than he gave himself credit for. 

“Exactly,” Zuko sighs, bitterness dripping from his voice like venom. “And that’s what I told them. I wasn’t thinking. I just… yelled at him.” Zuko secures the end of the bandage to Sokka’s palm slowly, as if reluctant to be done with the process. “My father didn’t… take it well. I was challenged to an Agni Kai, and I thought I would be facing the general in it, so I accepted.”

The steadily growing tightness in Hakoda’s chest snaps around his lungs like a steel band. So even the worst rumors—the ones he’d been certain couldn’t possibly be true, not about that, not even Ozai—had been true. And it was all because he tried to save people’s lives. 

Hakoda does not have a weak stomach, but it rolls with the lead weight of realization. 

Zuko still doesn’t look at either one of them. Unable to keep his attention on helping Sokka’s injury, he turns his attention instead to gathering the basin of water and the empty vials and used rags. Something to keep his hands—his attention—busy. Hakoda had seen some of the men he fought with do the same thing when talking about stories they mostly tried to forget. 

“No…” Sokka says in a low voice, and Hakoda knows from the horror in his voice that his son is starting to put the pieces together too.

“It wasn’t the general,” Zuko confirms, his voice quiet and heavy in the silence around them. “It was my father.”

“You faced your father in an Agni Kai?” Sokka asks.

“Not exactly. I…” Zuko stares down at the bowl, his gold gaze looking a thousand miles away. “I couldn’t fight my own father. Instead, I begged him for forgiveness. I was met with a fist full of flames.” Zuko waves a hand towards his face. 

I begged him for forgiveness. 

Hakoda thinks of the version Horrack had told him. I heard the kid was kneeling in front of him when it happened—

“He--” Sokka also sounds at a loss of words, his voice choking off. 

“I was banished after that,” Zuko continues and his voice is hollow in a way that ricochets like shrapnel. Hakoda watches him meet his son’s gaze. “I was told to bring the Avatar back and all would be forgiven, or to not come back at all. That was before you and your sister woke Aang up from the iceberg.”

He hears what Zuko won’t say.  It was before there’d been confirmation that the Avatar was still around at all. He’d been banished from his home and told to chase a ghost. It was an impossible task. Ozai didn’t want his son to come home at all, Hakoda realizes. And from the tight way Zuko swallows, he’s pretty sure Zuko knows it too. 

Hakoda clenches his grip into a fist to mask the tremble to his hands. Zuko had done the right thing at that meeting—had tried to spare lives—and had still asked for forgiveness. Begged for it. And Ozai had lit his hand on fire and… and… painfully mutilated his own son and then kicked him out, telling him to chase a legend. In some ways, Hakoda thinks, it was crueler than telling him not to come back at all. 

Zuko is sixteen. But he is still a child, though saddled with the weight of righting a century of conflict on his back. And Hakoda knows that the Agni Kai had been three years ago. 

“How old were you?” Sokka asks tightly. 

Spirits above, he was only—

“Thirteen,” Zuko says, and Hakoda sighs, shutting his eyes against the confirmation. 

“Thir--” Sokka cuts himself off, his voice strained. “Thirteen. Tui and La, when I was thirteen--” he breaks off again.

Hakoda knows what Sokka is thinking about. Sokka was thirteen when he’d left to join the war effort. He’d tried so hard to keep Sokka as safe as he could. Protect his childhood from being stolen more than the war and the loss of his mother already had. He’d seen the stubborn set to Sokka’s jaw when he’d chased after him onto the ship gangplank, and Hakoda knew that Sokka was just as protective as he was. He’d asked him to look out for the village, for Katara. 

Hakoda would have done anything in the world to keep Sokka safe. He still felt that way, despite all the ways that Sokka had proven he could hold his own. He couldn’t help it. He wouldn’t want to. Sokka was his boy. Not so little anymore, not so innocent. He’d seen and been through too much, and Hakoda had missed most of it. But he’d tried. He’d tried to keep him safe for as long as he could manage. 

At thirteen, Zuko had been hurt by a person he’d loved and then thrown out into the world with barely a second thought. The Fire Nation had robbed him, too, of so much. Too much. 

Sokka takes a sudden step towards him and Zuko visibly tenses as if expecting a blow. Sokka freezes in place. “Zuko…”

Zuko shakes his head quickly, and there’s a small part of Hakoda that uncoils when he sees the way Zuko’s gaze doesn’t look quite so distant anymore. “Anyway. That’s--that’s what the admiral was talking about.”

“You…” Sokka sounds close to tears. “You were his kid.”

“Yeah, well.” Zuko looks at Sokka again. “He spent most of my life wishing I wasn’t.”

Hakoda’s jaw tenses. He looks at Zuko who looks, for all the world, like a sixteen-year-old kid, with his shaggy hair falling into his face and in Fire Lord clothes that are maybe just a touch too big for him. At thirteen—barely a teenager—he’d spoken up out of an intense desire to keep more people safe. To save lives. In Hakoda’s eyes, Zuko was a hero. Just for that. 

How anyone could look at him and not be proud was far beyond Hakoda. 

“Zuko,” he says, and Zuko’s gaze flashes over to him almost like he’d forgotten Hakoda was there in the first place. “I… hope you understand that you didn’t deserve that.” 

The words fall short of what he wants to say, of what he means. But they feel important to him. Zuko deserved better from his nation and especially from his own father. Hakoda doesn’t know very much about the former royal family, but he doesn’t get the impression that Zuko heard that a lot. And if nobody else was going to make sure Zuko knows that he deserves better, Hakoda will at least try. 

Something softens a little in Zuko’s gaze. “I know, sir,” he says. “It… I didn’t at first. It took me a long time to understand that it was wrong of my father to do that. But I know that now.”

Hakoda inclines his head. It is a small mercy against the tremendous pain the kid carries on his back, but it’s something. And as far as Hakoda is concerned, it’s not a small thing, either.

“Where is he?” Sokka demands in a near growl.

Zuko blinks, looking far more surprised by Sokka’s outrage than Hakoda is. “Where’s who?”

“Ozai.”

“Sokka, what are you going to do? Fight him?” Zuko looks completely bewildered. “He already lost.”

“Against Aang, not against—did Aang even know?”

“Um, I guess I don’t know. I never told him. I… never told any of you.”

“Yeah--and what’s that about, huh?” Sokka takes a step forward. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Hakoda takes a step towards his son. “Sokka,” he warns. 

He wants to explain to him that sometimes things are hard to talk about. Spirits know there were things Hakoda had seen in his days involved in the war that he didn’t want to talk about and hoped he never would have to. He wanted to explain that events like that, things that linger on the edges of your nightmares and follow in lock-step with your shadow, had a nasty habit of strangling in your throat so that the words don’t come. That it is easier to carry those things close to your chest rather than lay them bare for the world to see. 

But Sokka is fuming and cuts his father off. “What, did you think we wouldn’t care? That it wouldn’t matter?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Zuko hurls back at him, waving a hand towards the bedroom window. “My father already lost to the Avatar, Sokka. The war is over. The fighting is over. Aang took his bending. And that—I don’t know about you, but that’s the best, most justified end to his legacy I can think of.” 

There’s a long, heavy moment of silence. Hakoda watches the way his son’s shoulders heave with angry breaths, his non-injured hand curled into a fist. Sokka had always been fiercely, desperately protective. It runs in the family, Hakoda thinks idly. But this wasn’t something Sokka could protect Zuko from. The damage had already been done. 

Hakoda thinks, perhaps, that such a truth only makes it harder for his son to deal with. 

“Wherever he is,” Sokka growls, “I hope he rots. He deserves worse.” 

Zuko blinks, his eyes wide. Hakoda wonders briefly if Zuko has ever had someone be angry on his behalf, rather than angry with him. 

Sokka evidently doesn’t understand his surprise. “Don’t tell me you disagree—”

“No,” Zuko says quickly. “I just… nothing.” He offers the barest hint of a smile at Sokka. The reminder of the familiarity between them relaxes some of the tightness in Hakoda’s chest just a fraction. 

There’s a long beat as Hakoda hears his son suck in a deep, slow breath. Zuko’s gaze falls from Sokka’s, drifting back to the basin of water beside him. Zuko’s fingers twitch at his side. He looks suddenly uncomfortable, Hakoda thinks. Nervous, almost. 

“Thank you for helping Sokka’s hand, Firelord Zuko,” Hakoda says suddenly, and maybe it’s a foolish way to convey to him that this didn’t change their opinion of him. At least, not for Hakoda… and from his surge of protective anger, he’s pretty sure the same goes for his son. Zuko was still Zuko. And if maybe he made sure to call him Fire Lord as a quiet reminder that Hakoda did not think him less of a leader either, then maybe that was okay too.

Hakoda sees the slightly pink tinge to Zuko’s cheeks as he meets Hakoda’s gaze. But he reads the understanding in those gold eyes as well. “Oh. Uh, of course, sir. And… just Zuko is fine.” Thank you, is the unspoken words that flit across the teen’s gold eyes.

Hakoda smiles a little, inclining his head. “Understood.” He turns his attention then to his son. ”I should draft a letter to Bato tonight to update him on the treaty. Will you be okay without me?”

Sokka rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth is tilted up in a half-smile. “Yeah, dad. I think I can manage.”

Hakoda gives Sokka’s shoulder one last squeeze and a nod to Zuko before he ducks out of the room to give them both a moment to talk more. He closes the door behind him, pausing long enough to take a breath. 

Generations of conflict had been ended a few months ago by a bunch of kids with too much weight on their shoulders and too many shadows clinging to their edges. But at their heart, they were good people trying to do good things. Spirits know they all had plenty of reasons to be otherwise. War had a nasty habit of bringing out the worst in people, of demanding sacrifices to who you are. It could latch onto the darkest parts of you and pull until it was all that remained. He’s grateful that the group of kids that ended the Hundred Year War managed to keep the best of themselves despite everything, and that they continued to do so.

Hakoda had learned a long time ago that goodness is a choice. And he’s grateful that the world was in the hands of people like his kids, like Aang, like Zuko. Kids who, despite everything and all the ways people tried to pull their darkness out of them, continued to make that choice.

[fandom-blackhole]

Sinful Sunday!!!!

AN: Soooo sorry I've been MIA this week. I don't know whats gotten to me but motivation has been L O W this past week, but I should be back soon, I have some work stuff to finish. BUT, when I do come back, it will be with a nice one-shot (small hint, its for a certain merman featured in another set of sinful sunday thots) and then I'll get to the THOTs piled in my inbox....

Sinful Sunday Masterlist

Pairings: Ezra (Prospect) x Reader, Din Djarin x Reader x Paz Vizsla, Modern!Captain Rex x Reader

• So the idea is Ezra x reader + Zombie Apocalypse AU, but considering its me, it'll be more like a Last of Us AU, of sorts

Ezra (Prospect) x Reader

So I wouldn't say this is really a THOT, its more or less just a concept I wanted to share. If you guys like it let me know and I might make it into a short series....

• Cee would definitely be in this one, unlike my other Ezra series (Hayloft)

• I imagine Ezra to be a hunter, someone who purposely attacks people and steals their supplies, but he himself tries to avoid killing, though the rest of his small group does not

• Ezra meets Cee, when he is the one being used as bait and he's acting like he's injured while his team members wait to ambush Cee and her father

• A big fight breaks out and Cee’s father is killed along with two of the hunters and Cee is bound and taken to the hideout

• Ezra keeps trying to talk and negotiate with his group to let Cee go because she is just a girl, but he ends up being threatened and told to shut up

• So on his early morning watch, he packs a big bag and steals alot of the supplies, before going to Cee and taking off with her

• The two barely reach the city limits before the hunters catch up, and a fire fight ensues, which also draws in a small group of zombies/infected

• In the skirmish, Ezra and Cee management to fight off all zombie/infected and hunters, BUT Ezra does get a small bite on his arm

• Cee cuts it off for him right there, and they go build a small fire just enough to cauterize it, before moving so they don't attract more attention

• Where are they headed? Well, Ezra happens to know a sweet little peach(reader) who owns a bartering house a few towns over, a place that is neutral ground for everyone, and they own him a small favor

At this point you aren't even sure how you had gotten into this situation, but maker you wouldn't trade it for anything in the galaxy. The situation? You were currently sandwiched between two of the fiercest mandalorian warriors you knew. All you could feel, smell, or think about was them and how absolutely FULL you felt. You can't even think straight too overwhelmed with pleasure, your head too full of the whines and rambles of the man below you and the loud grunts and groans of the man on top of you.

Din Djarin x Reader x Paz Vizsla

First off thank you, @joculatrices for letting me talk about this THOT with you. I was pretty hesitant to post this one, but it has been haunting me for weeks, and while I don't think Paz nor Din would be into sharing all that much, the THOT of them both having their way with me, well it has me overheating.....

You held both Din Djarin and Paz Vizsla close to your heart, but you had never even imagined that you would be with them like this, blindfolded as they both filled you. You never imagined that you'd be here laying ontop of Din, with his twitching cock nestled deep inside your ass, as Paz held your legs as wide as possible and pounded into you pussy like there was no tomorrow. Paz reached down at some point and wrapped his thick fingers around your neck as Din bit into your shoulder trying to quiet himself just a little. It was almost too much feeling the slide of Paz’s thick cock in and out of you, and along the thin wall that separated him from Din's own cock. You were wetter than you had ever been in the past, and hearing each squelch-y thrust from Paz drove you crazy. You could feel yourself dripping down to where you were combined with Din, who was twitching and giving out breathy moans from the stimulation he was receiving with each rough thrust from Paz.

The pleasure was so good, and overwhelming and you didn't want it to end but you could feel yourself about to snap. Din was mumbling something you couldn't make out as he reached around and squeezes your breasts and started circling your nipples. That small added pleasure is all you needed to be launched over the edge into the abyss, and you came harder than you ever had before. You heard Din curse loudly as you tightened up around him and he gave a small thrust before groaning your name and cumming deep inside of you. It didn't take long for Paz to follow, as he gave you three earth shattering, hard thrusts while praising how good you been and then he buried himself as deep as possible and unloaded everything he had inside of you. And as you came back down after that orgasm you knew, you were never gonna be the same after this.

You swore angrily as you all but ran to your next class. Not only had your last professor kept the whole class from leaving because HE was late, but the campus was teeming with soldiers and military personnel using the university campus as a short cut to get to the base stationed next door. You were beyond frustrated, most of the men blocking your path had been rude and tried pulling rank on you when you all but ran passed them, and you had probably given a few too many middle fingers to the assholes, but you could find it in yourself to care.

Modern!Captain Rex x Reader

Ok so after all that FILTH, here is a cute little THOT of how you meet modern au Captain Rex.....

Then one of the grabbed your arm right as you were about to reach the building your class was in and you saw red. You couldn't even hear what he was saying, and you ripped your arm away from him, and in a loe voice, most certainly interrupting his rant, you said, "Do not touch me, or I will make sure you meet your maker sooner than you are supposed to."

You saw his jaw clench and his face turn into a snarl as he spit back, "Do you know who you are talking to?"

As he spoke he rose his finger sticking it in your face. The anger of knowing that you were late to class and your professor had most certainly closed and locked the classroom door at this point, and from the fact that the man infrastructure of you thought he could walk all over you boiled over. In a split second, as he was still shoving his finger in your face and raising his voice, you whipped your hand up, grabbed his finger tightly, and smashed it back until you heard a satisfying crackl. With a smirk, you made eye contact with the now shocked and angered man and said, "That is for making me late to class, would you like for me to continue or are you going to walk away?"

The man puffed up his chest and rose his other hand to slap you but, an arm shot out from behind you, and a deep voice rumbled out, "That is enough, Private Connors, get yourself back to the barracks, your free time has bee revoked and you are being put on bathroom duty for threatening a civilian. Your tooth brush better be ready when I get back to the barracks myself."

"Yes, Captain...."

As the man walked away dejected, the other man, whose deep and ordering voice went straight to your belly, came around and gave you a soft smile as he ran a hand through his buzzed, blond hair.

"I am sorry for the way the Private Connors treated you, and I think the broken finger you gave him wasn't even close to the punishment he deserves for that attitude," you blushed and looked down, before smiling up at the now shy Captain. He stuck his hand out saying, "Captain Rex of the 501st, if there is anyway I can make it up to you, please let me know."

Shaking his hand you introduced yourself and mumbled out, "Well since he made me late to class, my afternoon just freed up, so...um... if you aren't busy, there is this nice Cafe two or so blocks from here?"

[walkerwords]

“The Savior Sessions” Part 27 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: A traitor in Alexandria is found when they attack one of their own. The reader holds an interrogation and with a new kind of resolve, makes their move against the enemy.

Word Count: 3973

Warning: Swearing, Graphic Description of Violence

Song I Wrote To: “Who Are You, Really?” by Mikky Ekko

Note: This one is a bit of a filler, but I had to touch on this particular storyline. I really wanted to show some development here with the MC and I really like it. Much more Negan in the next part!

————

The sickness wasn’t going away and you were getting nervous.

Along with the sudden illness that seemed to infect your friends and family, Alpha’s Walkers were still making their way towards the communities. Due to this, Gabriel had assigned more watch shifts as well.

With Michonne still at Oceanside, you were taking on more duties when it came to protecting the community. Aaron was still talking to Gamma, Daryl and Carol were still on edge, and you were just so damn tired of it all.

It took a lot of convincing to get you to stay inside the walls during the day, but so far, your search was turning up nothing. You couldn’t even figure out which direction Negan was travelling it, let alone if he was even travelling at all. He could be held up two miles away and you would never know. If there was one thing you knew about your man was that he was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for.

If he wanted to stay hidden he was going to do it.

You ran your thumb over the casing that hung around your neck as you thought about him. There had been moments during the war that you had watched him in your scope. While he had seen you before that fateful day in his cell, you had been watching him as well.

The first time you saw him after the clearing had been when he had strolled up to Alexandria with the caravan. You were sitting on the roof of Rick’s house, liking being up high when Spencer had opened the gate. While your rifle hadn’t been with you, you had a spare scope in the bag that was next to you.

Peering through it, you watched as Negan handed Lucille to Rick and sauntered through your home. When you had seen Daryl being led around like a dog, you had slipped around to the other side of the roof and slid down the drainpipe. As soon as your boots hit the ground, you followed the Saviors around, keeping one eye on Negan and the other on a very nervous Rick.

When Carl drew his gun in the infirmary, that was when you had headed up to the watchpoint. His men had checked you for weapons as you approached the platform but after a few well-placed glares, they let you up into your main roost.

You stayed there until the Saviors left. You had kept your back to them as they filed out, but you could feel their eyes on you, especially Negan’s. You didn’t want to speak to him or even acknowledge him, but you wanted them to see that someone was always going to be watching and protecting Alexandria.

You proved this point later in the war when you would take out Negan’s own men from your hiding places. Your job had been to instil fear and you were good at it. However, now, it seemed that Alpha was turning the tables on you and you were not happy about it.

It was well into the night when you were heading home as Scott took over your shift. Walking towards your house, you noticed a figure moving around Rosita’s. Considering nobody should have been going inside with Rosita being under the weather, you got suspicious.

Ducking into the shadows of the house, you watched as Dante slipped into the house through the back door. Your brow furrowed at this. Dante was Siddiq’s second, he didn’t need to slip inside, he was always invited.

Your instincts kicked in then. Dante was a great doctor, but something had always bothered you about him. He was apparently found wandering around and in need of help. While you and the others were always looking for new doctors, he seemed almost too willing to be helpful. Even more so than Siddiq had been when Carl had found him.

“What are you up to?” you whispered as you found the South watchpoint and climbed up the rickety ladder. Nobody used it that much besides you and Rosita. It was also freshly repaired from when the tree had come down the year before. Pulling yourself up onto the narrow platform, you pulled your handy scope from your pocket and angled it at the house.

You weren’t what you were looking for, but you needed to settle your suspicions. While you didn’t have your rifle anymore, the scope still never let you down. Scanning the house, you watched as a light turned on in the upper window. Turning towards it, you saw Siddiq standing in what you knew to be one of the storage rooms of the house and where he kept some of his medical supplies.

Siddiq was just standing at the window and as you peered at him, he seemed to be incredibly nervous. Suddenly, his eyes locked onto yours through the scope. His kind eyes widened in fear and then you jumped as two hands grabbed him from behind and pulled him back into the room.

You didn’t hesitate to slide down the ladder and pull your weapon. Bursting into the house, Rosita, who was sleeping on the couch woke up in a jolt. Coco was next to her in her small carrier. “(Y/N)?” Rosita asked.

“Stay here with Coco!” you ordered as you ran up the stairs. You didn’t know if Rosita was actually listening to you, you just had to get to Siddiq.

Taking the steps two at a time, you finally made it to the second floor. Sprinting down the hall, you shoved your shoulder into the final door and broke it down.

Dante was on the ground with Siddiq in a headlock and he was fading fast. Dante looked at you in alarm as you ran towards them and aimed a kick at his jaw.

Dante moved just before your boot could make contact, letting Siddiq go. You went to strike Dante again, but he threw himself at you, slamming you into the wall. Catching your breath, you grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed your head against his, disorienting him.

Grabbing his arm you twisted it behind his back, trying to dislocate his shoulder, but Dante swung his leg out, sending you to the ground. He straddled you, placing his hands around your throat.

Your throat burned as the pressure increased, but then Dante screamed in pain as Siddiq slashed at his leg with a scalpel. You took the opening to knee him in the groin. Rolling to your knees, you grabbed him by the neck and slammed his head into a nearby table. He went down again, but then grabbed your ankle, slamming his palm into your knee.

As pain exploded in your leg, Dante got to his feet. He went to grab you again when you remembered a move that Jesus had taught you years ago. Using his own momentum against him, you pulled him forward into your space. As he fell into you, you ducked underneath him and pushed him over your shoulders. Dante crashed into the wooden desk, splitting it in half.

Picking up your fallen blade, you moved and levelled it at his throat as blood trickled down your neck from the superficial head wound you had sustained.

“Don’t. Move,” you spat through a split lip.

“It was him,” Siddiq choked. “He...made...me watch.” It took less than a second for you to realize what Siddiq meant. Dante had been the one to hold open Siddiq’s eyes and then Enid’s as Alpha murdered your family. Dante chuckled from his spot on the ground. “He...poisoned the water, too,” Siddiq said, coughing.

“You son of a bitch,” you swore as you brought your pommel down on his temple and knocked him out.

-------

Rosita arrived soon after the commotion had settled. 

Pausing in the doorway of the adjoining room, her daughter was in her arms as she peered into the room. You were tying up an unconscious Dante as she glared down at him. 

“He’s out cold,” you told her and that’s when she rushed forward to Siddiq who was finally breathing a bit better. He reached for his daughter immediately and pressed a kiss to her head, holding her close. Rosita pressed her forehead against his as the two parents had a family moment with their child. 

Daryl arrived a moment later. You figured that Rosita would have called for him. “Help me get him up,” you said to Daryl who grabbed the man by his shoulders as you took his legs. 

“You’re bleeding,” Siddiq said from the ground. 

“I’ll be fine,” you said through gritted teeth as you carried Dante from the room and back down the stairs. 

“(Y/N),” Daryl said, “how did you know?” 

“I had a bad feelin’ and I followed it,” you said as Daryl kicked open the door. “He’s a fucking Whisperer, D.” Daryl looked down at the man in his arms with disgust. “He helped murder Tara, Henry, and the others. Alpha did this, she sent a wolf into Alexandria.” 

“She ain’t gonna get away with this,” he said.  You agreed which is why you were more than happy to throw Dante’s traitorous ass into the cell. However, first, you needed to clean it out. 

Negan’s things, the things you had given to him were still on his bunk and in the corner. You quickly packed everything into a blanket and dragged it from the cell. Then, Daryl shoved Dante into the cell and locked the door. 

Needing a moment, you hauled everything in your arms back to your house. You stumbled a bit from the headache that was forming behind your eyes, but you pushed on. Pushing open your front door, you dragged yourself towards the bedroom on the ground floor.

As soon as you made it to the guest room, you fell to the floor as the lightheadedness took its toll. Reaching around the back of your head, you were glad to see that the bleeding had stopped, but it was still tender. 

You didn’t know how long you sat on the floor. It could have been minutes or hours before footsteps came down the hall. Looking up from the stained carpet, you saw Siddiq walking towards you. “You need to be resting,” you said, wiping at the dried blood on your neck. 

“And you need to get that wound looked at,” he said hoarsely.

“You were just attacked, Siddiq,” you reminded him. 

“And you just saved my life so shut up and let me help you,” he said as he helped you to your feet. You both leaned on each other as you made your way into the kitchen. You made him sit down first so you could grab the first aid kit a bowl of water that you poured from an uncontaminated canteen. He obliged but then got to work as soon as his tools were in front of him. 

“How did you know it was Dante?” you asked as Siddiq used a wet cloth to wipe the blood off your skin. 

“He did this...clicking thing with his tongue in the barn. I heard him doing it earlier tonight,” Siddiq explained softly. “I put the rest together.”

“I should have realized something was wrong,” you said. “That’s my job.”

“Nobody has been in the right mind for a while, (Y/N)” he reminded you. 

“I’ve been too distracted,” you said, that guilt coming back, but now it was accompanied by pure anger. 

“You have to stop blaming yourself for everything,” he whispered as he grabbed a needle and thread. “This is going to sting.”

“I’m used to it,” you said, tightening your hands into fists. 

“You seem to be used to a lot,” he said. 

“I’m not going to let him get away with any of this,” you promised. “Dante is going to tell me exactly what I want to know, no matter what I have to do to get it out of him.” 

Siddiq snipped the final thread on the small wound and wiped it once more before bracing his hands on your shoulders. He leaned his head on your back and you could feel a slight tremor as he let himself feel his fear again. 

Reaching back, you gripped his arms and let yourself cry with him. Everyone had a breaking point and for so long you and Siddiq had been pretending that you were okay. Neither of you could do that anymore. Turning around, you grabbed him into your arms and he held you back, resting his head in the crook of your neck. 

“Thank you,” he whispered and at that moment all you could do was nod and grip your friend tighter. In the back of your mind, Carl’s face was a shining light as you saved the one he had sacrificed to save and that only made you cry harder.

--------

It was the next morning when Daryl came to find you.

Dante had been under watch all night in the cell. Eventually coming too, Gabriel had made sure he was still breathing before letting him rot alone in the concrete box.

Now, it was time for answers.

“I need you to talk to him,” Daryl said as he leaned in the doorway of your bedroom. You were tying up your boots as he spoke.

“I figured as much,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “I am way ahead of you, Daryl.”

“I was ready to start breakin’ bones, but Gabriel doesn’t think it would be helpful,” he explained.

“Not with someone like him,” you said. “Alpha’s broken him in ways that we’ll never understand. No kind of pain is gonna make him talk.” Getting to your feet, you grabbed your blade and hooked it on your belt.

“Which is why I need that brain of yours,” he said. Thinking back to when you and he had been interrogating Lydia, you smirked.

“You want my psychological warfare, huh?” you asked, sitting into your hip. Daryl nodded.

“You up for it?” he asked.

“If it gets me to his leaders, I’ll do anything,” you said, passing by him in the doorway.

As you walked towards the cell, you noticed Carol sitting on the stoop of Michonne���s house. She looked livid and you understood why. You also figured she was trying to keep her distance so she didn’t end up slaughtering the monster in the cell below.

Dismissing the guards out front, you headed into the jail and a sense of deja vu cascaded over you. This was not how you wanted any of this to go. The jail cell had become less negative over the past year, but now a true enemy sat behind the bars and it only fueled your rage.

“I need to do this alone,” you said to Daryl who was waiting in the doorway.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Positive,” you responded. He nodded and then left the room, shutting the door behind him.

“You got a mean kick,” Dante said as soon as it was quiet.

“Too bad your head wasn’t harder,” you said, stopping in front of the bars as you crossed your arms. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t cut your throat from ear to ear.”

“I don’t have one,” Dante said. “I don’t care what happens to me, you people have already lost everything.”

“I don’t agree,” you said simply. “You and your...people, don’t know the first thing about me and mine.”

“You have won many battles and many fights,” Dante said. “You think you’re some sort of gods, right?” Shaking your head, you sneered at him.

“If divinity was real, there is no place for it in this hell hole of a world. Stop trying to flatter me and tell me where Alpha is.”

“I don’t know,” Dante said as he sat up straighter on the ground. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“What deal?” you asked.

“My Alpha asked me to do a job and I didn’t question it. That’s how it works in the pack.”

“Your pack is a bunch of soulless monsters that need to be put down,” you sneered.

“What’s wrong with monsters?” Dante asked, grinning in the low light of the cell. There was still blood on his teeth and it made your stomach turn. “I thought you liked monsters? Aren’t you in love with one?”

“You don’t get to speak about him,” you ordered.

“He left you,” Dante said. “Siddiq told me all about the man called Negan. He told me who he was and why he was dangerous.” Dante moved closer to the cell door, nearly crawling on his knees. “What makes him so damn different from me? From Alpha or Beta?”

“You listen to me, you sick son of a bitch, Negan is nothing like you. He is a good man and if you don’t start telling me some fucking truth, you are going to be a dead one.”

“I just know that Alpha would love you,” Dante said and red began to shimmer around the rims of your eyes. “Tell me, (Y/N), do you thirst for blood? Do you crave to feel Beta’s life leave his body?” You were silent, but he could see it, the truth in your eyes. “Ah, you do,” he whispered.

“Don’t act as if you know me,” you said. “We are nothing alike and I will kill Beta but it will not because I’ll enjoy it, but because he deserves it.”

“And what do you deserve?” he taunted, getting to his feet. His hands wrapped around the bars, shoving his face in the space between the iron. “What are you afraid of, (Y/N)? Are you scared of me?” he asked and then something occurred to him. “No, no, that’s not it. You’re not scared of anyone, but you are scared of yourself.”

You lashed out, grabbing him by his shirt and slamming him against the bars. He went down hard and you pulled the key from your belt. You didn’t hesitate to unlock the cell door and rush inside. Dante was spitting up blood from the impact as you kicked out at him.

“You know nothing about me,” you growled at him as you pulled your sword and slammed it into his chest. Dante’s eyes went wide as your blade entered his heart, but you didn’t stop. “You will die miserably and you will never walk with your Guardians,” you spat at him. “I will find Alpha, I will find Beta, and I will kill them. Nobody will remember you and nobody will care that you’re gone.”

Pulling your sword, you let the warm blood drip on his dying body. “I’ll send Alpha your regards,” you finished as you shoved the tip of your sword through his eye, killing his brain instantly.

Everything around you felt as if it were slowing down at that moment as you withdrew your sword from the dead body. Blood was streaked down the blade and it was flecked on your clothes from the arterial spray. Looking down at Dante, you could barely feel anything as you turned away from him and left the cell.

Your body moved on autopilot as you pulled the main door open and walked out into the bright sunshine. Swinging your sword up onto your shoulder, the red blood glinted off the blade. Ignoring everyone who had come running down the road, you pushed past them as you moved into the meeting hall

Daryl watched as you moved through the streets of Alexandria and just as he saw you on the beach with your sword, the way you walked with the blade on your shoulder was all too familiar.

————

“I have an idea,” you said once the leaders convened in the meeting hall. Lydia had joined you, sitting next to you. She seemed almost concerned as she looked at you, but you soon reached out and smoothed a hand over her hair, calming her. She relaxed soon enough.

“Does this one involve killing another hostage?” Aaron argued, but you just narrowed your eyes at him.

“Aaron,” Daryl said cautiously.

“He needed to die,” you said simply. “He poisoned our water, lied to us, and tried to kill Siddiq. Who knows what would have happened if I hadn't been there. He could have gone after Rosita or her child.”

“We know, (Y/N),” Daryl said, but you were shaking your head.

“I don’t think you do,” you said. “Alpha has been playing dirty since day one. It’s time for us to send a message back to her and her people.”

“What did you have in mind?” Gabriel asked. Looking at all the faces in the room, your eyes landed on Carol’s who was trying to figure out what was going on inside your head. However, you weren’t even sure if you knew yourself.

“It’s something I have to do alone,” you said. “And I’m going to need Dante’s body.”

———-

You had now grown accustomed to the smell of blood and decaying flesh.

Living in the new world, it was a constant in life, but even more so now, the scent followed you around. However, right now you welcomed it.

Moving through the dark, you dragged a makeshift sleigh behind you. On it, lay Dante’s decapitated body.

When you had told Daryl what you planned to do, he was worried about you, but you were done with the kid gloves. If Alpha wanted to play dirty, that is exactly what you were going to do.

Arriving at the Southern border, you scanned the area for any Whisperers, but so far it remained quiet. Dropping the reins on the sleigh, you took the other bag you carried and removed your other prize.

Dante’s head stared up at you with vacant eyes. You frowned at the rotting flesh as you took it and placed it on one of the pikes that made up the barrier. Blood and gore trickled down the wood, but it did the job.

Going back to the sleigh, you pulled Dante’s body off and lay it at the base of the pike, letting the body crumple to the ground. Finally, from the sleigh, you took the torches Daryl had made for you and hammered them into the hard ground.

Lighting them with a flick of a match, they lit up the boundary like a bloody beacon. Staring at the statement you made, you felt a swell of power in your gut. Looking past the boundary and towards wherever Alpha was held up, you let the fire illuminate your eyes.

“You’re not the only ones who can play with fire,” you said to the darkness before turning and walking away from the border, letting the flames speak for themselves.

——————-

When you arrived home, you didn’t speak to anyone.

Daryl was watching you from the doorway of Michonne’s home, but you ignored him. Still covered in blood, you made it to your house and into the garage. Dropping your sword on a workbench, you grabbed a cardboard tube from behind a stack of old chairs.

“What are you doing?” Lydia asked as she entered the garage. You just popped the top on the tube and pulled out three large sheets of paper. The maps of the area were something you had found in Deanna’s house before the Saviours attacked. You were very grateful for them now.

Lydia joined you as you spread the maps out on another bench. She looked down at them with a furrowed brow. You looked up at her and with determination in your eyes, you said, “We’re going to find Negan,” you said. “Then, we’re going to find your mother and her attack dog.”

Lydia was quiet for a moment before pushing up her sleeves and nodding. “Where do we start?”

TAGS: @lucillethings @cameronsails @stark-dreams @amaroho @thanossexual @yes-sir-hotchner @boom-bunny @delusionalteenagewhispers @scootankle @ritajammer21 @writteriguess @tea-atfive @jennydehavilland @waspyyy @yespleasejayhalstead @hoemadegrace @writingdeadangel @huffledor-able541 @pulplorrd @felicisimor

[ddixons-angel]

Fated: Season 6

Summary: Gloria Rhee narrowly escapes Atlanta with her brother as the outbreak reaches the city. Luckily, they find a camp outside the city and together, they fend through encounters with the living and undead.

Starts a little before Season 1 and then follows the main storyline of the show.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Glenn Sister!OC

Warnings: major TWD spoilers, language, violence (the typical TWD stuff)

A/N: Here we are again, another Monday means another chapter! Hehe I’m not late this time, yay~~! 

Chapter 5

It was just supposed to be a dry run, the plan wasn’t supposed to be set in motion until a few days later, but Michonne had come back with Heath and Jacob bearing bad news and an injured Scott. Aaron helped carry him to the infirmary where Gloria patched up his leg, she then left Denise with Jacob to look after him as Gloria went back out to find out what exactly happened on what was supposed to be a dry run. 

“The walkers broke through the quarry, we had to go with the plan.” Michonne tells Maggie, Aaron, and Gloria, “Daryl went with Sasha and Abraham to lead the herd away and everything was going as planned until we heard the horn coming from home. What was that anyway?”

“A group of people somehow got inside the walls, killed a bunch of people, and I guess one of them crashed a truck into the wall making the horn go off.” Gloria tells her.

Michonne frowns at this, “dammit...”

“What about Rick and Glenn?” Maggie asks, worried.

“Rick went to get the RV to redirect the herd, he told us to come back here to figure out what was going on. I was with Glenn and Nicholas when we got to a town that was overrun. He split off with Nicholas, he had this idea that if he lit a fire, it would stop the walkers from coming here.” Michonne explains.

Gloria furrows her brows as she remembers what Rick had done before, “because that’s how we distracted the walkers at the farm...” 

“I tried to go instead...” Michonne sighs, her voice full of remorse, “I wanted to... but the fire never got lit. We had to keep going, I’m sorry. He said if he got stuck, he’d find a way to send us a signal.”

“They’ll be okay, they’ll make it back, they will.” Gloria says, although she wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure Maggie or convince herself.

Maggie tearfully nods, worried for her husband’s safety. Just then, a familiar voice could be heard from outside the gates, calling out to whoever could hear him. 

“Open the gates!” 

Gloria and Michonne rush over to the main gates and push them open, revealing Rick with a large herd of walkers following him. Once they let Rick inside, they hurriedly shut the gates in time to keep the walkers out. The commotion from the walkers snarling and Rick yelling had attracted attention from the other residents of Alexandria. They were trapped within the walls of their own home with an army of walkers just outside. 

“Come on.” Michonne says quietly to Gloria.

The two of them shut the clothed inner gate, blocking the view of walkers trying to claw their way into the community. As most of the residents had never even stepped outside the walls before, many of them were panicking and not knowing what to say or do. 

“I know, and I understand that you’re all scared because you’ve never seen or been through anything like this.” Rick starts his speech to try and boost morale for the scared people of Alexandria, “the others who aren’t back yet, will be. Glenn will be back with Nicholas.”

Rick looks over to Maggie and he nods then looks over to Gloria, “Daryl, Abraham, and Sasha, they will all come back together.” 

“What exactly do you expect us to do?” Tobin asks, his face full of skepticism.

“We keep the sound to an absolute minimum, hopefully the herd will pass when it’s quiet.” Rick suggests. 

“It’s going to be a graveyard...” Francine sighs, her words cause the others to worry even more.

The feeling of doubt in Rick and fear is evident between the people of Alexandria. It was clear that they all blamed Rick for bringing the herd back and for coming up with the plan to lead the herd away. 

“The quarry broke through sooner than we thought it would and that entire herd of walkers would have made their way back here. But Rick stopped that from happening, instead of having the entire herd tear this place apart, we only have half of that now and that is because of Rick.” Aaron steps up in his defense.

He then closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath, “the group that attacked us... I lead them back here. When I was out there with Daryl, he wanted to recruit more people but I... I wanted to scavenge a warehouse. We did what I wanted and we got caught in a trap set by those people. I left my bag behind and that’s how they found this place. I lead them straight here, that’s on me.”

It’s silent save for the groans and moans of the walkers outside the walls. Rick looks at Aaron in gratitude, he knew that he was trying to turn the mood to blame him for things that have happened instead. He pats the other man’s shoulder and nods at him. The crowd begins to disperse, keeping quiet as they all retreat back to their own homes. 

“Gloria,” she hears Jacob call out to her as he walks towards her, “listen, I’m sorry about Glenn, I wanted to go with them but they wouldn’t have me.”

“Are you wondering why?” Gloria raises her eyebrow.

He sighs and shakes his head, “no, no I’m not... I am wondering though... why are there bodies inside the walls, did roamers get in?”

“No, people did,” Gloria tells him, “they got in here somehow and started slaughtering people...”

“What? Are Mindy and Gena okay?” he asks, frantically.

“They’re fine, at least they should be. I told them to stay inside, keep the doors locked until someone comes to get them,” Gloria tells him, “we should go check on them, let Mindy know you’re okay before she passes out.”

Jacob nods at that and the two make their way to Gena’s house. Gloria makes sure to knock on the door and call out to Gena to let her know it’s them. Shortly after, the door opens and Jacob rushes inside to make sure his sister is alright. Gloria walks into the house and closes the door behind her.

Mindy frowns as she sees the cuts and scrapes on his face, “Gloria, are the dangerous men outside gone?”

“Yeah, they’re gone.” Gloria nods. 

“Okay, we’re going to the infirmary,” Mindy says, looking at Jacob, “the last thing we want is for the cuts on your face to get infected, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Jacob sighs and nods, complying with his sister’s words. They make their way to the infirmary, leaving Gena and Gloria alone. 

“Gena,” Gloria calls out to her older sister to catch her attention, “Michonne said that Glenn’s still out there with Nicholas in some town, he wanted to light a fire to distract the herd from coming here.” Gloria says, her jaw tight as she tries to hold herself together.

Gena furrows her brow at her words as she sees right through Gloria, knowing she’s putting up a strong front, she pulls her in for a comforting hug, “Glenn will be fine, and Daryl will be too.”

Gloria smiles tearfully at her as she pulls back from the hug, nodding, “and so will we, we’ll keep this place up so they have a home to come back to.”

Gena nods then opens the container of cookies on the island counter, “cookie?” she asks, offering one to the younger.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to eat them because of all the sugar,” Gloria chuckles as she takes a cookie for herself.

“I might not have long left so I might as well have all the sugar I want.” Gena says, then takes a bite of her cookie, her words make Gloria frown.

“Don’t talk like that,” she scolds then groans when Gena shrugs, “you are so contradictory. One minute you’re telling me that things will be okay, the next you’re talking about not having any time left. What the hell do you actually think?!”

“I think that I’m not gonna make it!” Gena snaps, “I’m surprised I even made it this far. You can fight, Glenn’s fast, of course both of you are gonna make it, but me? I can only fight with my words, that’s why I became a lawyer but what good is that gonna do for me now? What, am I going to just yell at the undead to stop coming at me?!”

Gloria puts down the cookie on the island counter and holds Gena by her shoulders, “look at me. You will make it, okay? It doesn’t matter that you can’t fight or you’re not as fast as Glenn, you’ll make it because we will all make it. You’re not alone in this, we got your back. You said I can fight, right? I’ll protect you.”

Gena chuckles softly at her words, “who’s supposed to be the older sister?” 

“It doesn’t matter who’s older or younger, we’re family, and family protect each other no matter what.” Gloria says with a warm smile.

Gena’s eyes well up with tears and she caresses Gloria’s cheeks, breaking into a sob, “what did I do to you? You always had to fend for yourself... I’m so sorry...”

“It’s okay,” Gloria says, pulling Gena in for a hug as the older cries in her arms, “if it weren’t for you, I probably wouldn’t have lasted this long anyway.”

As Gena tries to stifle her sobs, Gloria’s eyes land on a photo album on the island counter near the container of cookies. She reaches out to slide it towards her and opens it, her movement making Gena pull away from the hug to see what Gloria was doing. She flips to a page in the album with childhood photos of the three siblings. She chuckles when she sees the three of them as children.

“You brought photo albums with you?” Gloria teases.

“Of course, I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to see my baby brother and sister again so the least I had were these.” Gena admits, looking at the photos.

A sad smile pulls at Gloria’s lips then Gena clears her throat, trying not to break down and cry again. She flips to a specific page in the album and points to a photo.

“That’s my favorite picture of us.” Gena informs her.

It was a photo of them all in formal clothing. Glenn was in a black suit, Gloria in a dark blue dress, and Gena in a red dress. The photo was taken at one of their cousin’s weddings. 

“It’s my favorite because we all look so grown up and happy. I’m also pretty sure it’s the only photo of us all smiling.” Gena explains.

Gloria laughs and nods, “yeah, if you look at all of these it’s either me pouting and crying or Glenn making a weird face at the camera.”

The sisters go through more photo albums for hours, reminiscing over past events captured in the photos. After Mindy and Jacob had returned to the house, Gloria went back to her own to rest as it was getting quite late. She had tried to sleep but no matter how exhausted her body felt, her mind was not allowing her to fall asleep. She’d been tossing and turning in her bed for hours when she decided to get up. Gloria walks into the kitchen and pours herself a glass of water before sitting on a stool at the kitchen island counter. She places the glass in front of her as she props her elbows up on the counter, clasping her hands together to keep herself from fidgeting anxiously. 

Gloria couldn’t help but be worried about Glenn and Daryl, no matter what anyone else told her. It was the fact that she had no idea where they were that worried her the most. A big part of her wished that she went against Daryl’s wishes and gone out with them, at least then she would be with either of them and know what the heck was going on. Now, she was just sitting in the kitchen helplessly, not knowing what else to do. The door opening pulls Gloria out of her thoughts and she forces a smile at Maggie who walks into the house.

“Hey, why aren’t you sleeping?” Maggie asks, stepping towards her, a worried look on her face.

“I don’t think any of us are gonna get any sleep tonight,” Gloria chuckles softly and then she sighs, “how are you holding up?”

“Not great,” Maggie tells her honestly, joining her on one of the other stools at the kitchen island counter, “I almost went out there to find him.”

“Alone?” Gloria furrows her brow in concern.

“I was about to, but Aaron insisted on coming with me,” Maggie tells her, “showed me a way out from the sewers, we were almost out, but I changed my mind...”

“It’s good that you did, Glenn wouldn’t want you out there, not in the middle of this,” Gloria says, holding her hand in reassurance.

Maggie lets out a shaky breath, “I’m pregnant.”

Gloria’s eyes widen at the news then she smiles at her, “congratulations.”

“For what?” Maggie snaps, tears brimming in her eyes, “having a baby who’s father might already be dead?”

“Maggie, you can’t think like that,” Gloria says sternly, “Glenn’s going to be back, I know he will.”

“How can you be so sure?” Maggie asks as she tries to keep herself from crying.

“It’s Glenn. He’s not going to let you go through this alone, he’ll be back and he’ll take care of you. I know him, he’s going to do everything he can to get back to you and your baby,” Gloria gives her hand a light squeeze to comfort her.

A small smile tugs at Maggie’s lips and she smiles tearfully at Gloria, nodding, “you’re right, that’s how Glenn is...” 

“Yeah,” Gloria smiles in agreement, then she lets out a breath.

“Hey,” Maggie calls out, making the other look at her, “Daryl’s gonna be back too.”

Gloria nods at that, “our boys will be back, they will be.” 

---

In the morning, Gloria goes out to check on the others. She mainly wanted to see if Glenn or Daryl had come back, but unfortunately they were still outside the walls. Her first stop was the infirmary to check up on Scott.

“How’s it going?” Gloria asks, she glances at Scott who’s still asleep on the patient bed.

“He had an infection and was burning up last night.” Denise informs.

Gloria looks at her and frowns, “why didn’t you come find me?” 

“I know I should have, but I wanted to try first... I wanted to try and figure it out on my own in case I couldn’t find you. I couldn’t let what happened to Holly stop me from trying.” Denise says.

Her words make Gloria smile proudly and she nods, “since his heart rate is normal, I’m gonna take an educated guess that you managed to figure it out?”

“Yep, I did,” Denise grins, “I injected his wound with saline and extracted the pus from it. Once I did, his heart rate stabilized.”

Gloria pats Denise’s shoulder, “you’ve officially been promoted to a doctor.” 

Denise giggles then bites her lip, blush creeping on her face, “I um...” 

“Yes?” she raises an eyebrow in question.

“I... kinda kissed Tara yesterday after figuring things out.” Denise admits shyly.

“And you kept on denying that you didn’t like her.” Gloria calls her out, laughing.

Denise rolls her eyes jokingly at her teasing but laughs with her anyway. A knock on the infirmary door interrupts their chat as they both turn and see Morgan. The two women greet the man who in turn smiles at them.

“I uh... I was hoping to speak with Denise alone. I heard she was a psychiatrist before and I have uh... some issues I wanted to work out.” Morgan says sheepishly.

Gloria smiles understanding and nods, “he’s all yours, Dr. Cloyd.”

Denise beams at her new title, grinning shyly as she bids farewell to Gloria who leaves the two in the infirmary. She goes on to find Maggie who was on the platform keeping watch. She climbs up to meet her sister-in-law and stands beside her, looking out into the herd of walkers just outside the walls. 

“Have you seen any signs?” Gloria asks her.

Maggie shakes her head, “no... just walkers.”

Gloria nods and sighs. They were both worried for Glenn, it wasn’t that they didn’t think he could handle himself, it was more so of the fact that he was out there with Nicholas. What if he hadn’t changed and tried to kill Glenn again, they would never know. Emotion overcomes Maggie as her eyes well up in tears, she looks down and sniffles, doing her best to stop herself from crying. Gloria looks at her sympathetically and holds her shoulder firm for reassurance. 

“I’m sorry I snapped at you yesterday...” Maggie sighs deeply, “I shouldn’t have said what I said about Glenn being dead...”

“It’s okay...” Gloria pauses then chuckles, “are you gonna snap at me if I say that I blamed your hormones?”

Maggie eyes her playfully then finally breaks into a smile, “no, I’ll just push you off this ledge.”

The two of them laugh lightly as they look out into the distance. Both of their expressions change as something in the distance catches their eyes. A bundle of green balloons were floating up into the sky. It dawns on both of them that this was the sign they were waiting for, Glenn was alive and this was his signal. 

“We gotta tell Rick.” Maggie says, rushing down the ladder.

“Hey, be careful.” Gloria calls out as she quickly follows her down. 

“Rick! Rick!” Maggie calls out as she runs towards the sheriff, “that’s Glenn.”

He was also looking up at the sky, his eyes on the bundle of bright green balloons. Rick glances at her and nods with a small smile. His smile is short lived though as they all hear a thundering crack of wood along the wall. The watchtower begins to sway just before it leans into the wall and crashes down, taking the metal walls with it. 

---

Next Chapter

Sorry for not having any Daryl in this one but it’s worth it, I swear! I’d say this is kinda like the calm before the storm? The next one gets pretty intense so look forward to that! Please let me know what you guys thought of this chapter, it was a rather emotional one in my opinion ^^

Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!):

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[serendipityunho]

Cuts & Curses (M) ~ Part One

!! DO NOT REPOST MY WRITINGS !!

❀ Genre: smut, college au ❀ Pairing: boxer!Jongho x Reader (fem.) ❀ Word Count: 4.3k ❀ Warnings: depictions of violence, small injuries, explicit language, fingering, handjob, shower sex, clit play, breast play, semi-public sex, mild dirty talk, thigh riding, mature sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, pull out method

❀ Synopsis: Jongho may have been an out-of-nowhere-shoulder to cry on but he definitely proved he could be more than that when you found yourself taking your throne on his thighs.

→ PART TWO

a/n: i’ve always wanted to write a boxer!jongho smut and here it is. i will admit that i am very proud of this one and i actually love it so much and i hope you guys will too x

“You should see me in the ring tonight” You were met with a pair of brown eyes when you snapped your head up.

Jongho stood in front of you, looking down as he slips you a slim piece of paper, presumably an address of some sort. You let your pen fall onto your book as you eye the piece of paper on your table.

“Give me one reason why I should go” You cross your arms, leaning forward against your table as you stare back at the boy.

“Jungkook will be there” Jongho smirks, hands now planted on your table, leaning down to your level.

“I don’t see how that’s a valid reason for me to go” Your brows furrowed in response to Jongho.

“Don’t you want to see your ex get beaten to a pulp?” He wasn’t wrong with that. 

There was one thing you hated more than Jungkook himself, it was Jungkook walking around with his cocky smile, baiting girls in just to play with their heart like another one of his sports. Unfortunately, you were his first victim since he entered the school.

You were a fool to believe he had loved you, and an even bigger fool to fall in love with him. Since then, you’ve tried to avoid him, but he always found a way to have you find yourself standing in front of him once again, falling for his senseless sweet talk that would unsurprisingly lead you through an event of another heart-aching encounter. 

“How do I know it won’t be you getting beaten to a pulp?” You’ve seen the swoon-worthy biceps of both boys, needless to say, you’ve seen them in action before, not against each other though. Tonight would be the first time, also another convincing imagery to have you show up.

“Jungkook may be older but I’ve been in this shit longer than he has. I know things he doesn’t. Don’t question my abilities” Jongho’s lips carve into a small smirk as he tilts his head to the side.

“Alright, fine. I’ll be there” You shut close your book and packed away your belongings into your bag as Jongho leans back up, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I’m looking forward to seeing you then” Jongho takes off with a wink, leaving you to read the slip of paper once again before making your own way out of the library.

It wasn’t every day you spoke you Choi Jongho, he was simply a boy with the same objectives who, conveniently, happens to be your lab partner too. The two of you didn’t get off on the right foot, his rival being your boyfriend of course. 

But that all changed when the entire school’s phones had a copy of Jungkook in bed with a girl who was not you. Since then, Jongho’s been nothing but a near friend once he’s realized how heart-broken you were. 

The two of you settled aside your differences and turned them into kindred traits, a vendetta against his arch-nemesis and your ex-boyfriend. Which got to where you are now, attending an illegal underground boxing match just to watch the face you fell for getting beaten in a way you dreamed of imagining.

It seemed like an endless passageway filled with nothing but darkness and cold air, leading you to a parade growing louder and louder with chants. The sound of your sharp breaths echoed off the concrete walls, soft platter of water as your feet hit the damp floor with each step bringing you closer to the violent event.

“... Jongho! Jongho! Jongho!...” 

It would be generic to say you had seen the light at the end of the tunnel, but that’s exactly what you saw. The lights hanging above the ring dimly lit barely the rest of the room, making its priority the contents inside the ring below it. 

Arms and fists pumped the air as ear-bursting yells bounce off the walls. It was filled with raging energy as you watch from the isolated corner occupied with very few bystanders. From here you could see the leveled ring, two large figures preying each other dead in the eye, swinging blows left and right. 

“... Jungkook! Jungkook! Jungkook!...”

There he was, wearing that cocky smile of his, the same cocky smile that got you and who knows how many other girls on their knees. It was the smile you wanted to see get knocked off, literally. 

“Place your bet or get out” Your thoughts were interrupted by a deep voice beside you. 

A large bald man towers over you as you turn around to face his cold-emotionless face. Behind him were smaller men immersed in the stacks of crimpled cash, slipping back and forth between their hands as they count them. 

“A hundred and fifty bucks on Choi” You wipe out the bundled cash from the pocket of your leather jacket, carefully taking out the amount from its elastic hold for placing it in the hands of the bald man.

It was a difficult attempt, pushing past all the sticky bodies to gain a better closer view at the front rather than squinting in the corner you were just in. Your eyes slightly stung at the sudden brightness at the front of the ring, but now you could see clearer. 

Pure concentration was evident on Jongho’s face as his brows furrow deeply, eyes piercing through his opponent. It was the sudden hard blow to his face that made you wince back, hissing even though you weren’t the one socked. 

Jongho stumbled back a bit before quickly throwing a right arm, knocking Jungkook’s head to the side before throwing more consecutive punches to his body, pushing him back against the ropes of the ring. It was then you realized how feral this semi-quiet boy was. It was quite shocking to see the other side of these two boys on a night like this in a ring painted with their blood punched out of their faces.

“... finish him!...” 

Jongho’s eyes remain piercing, that was until he conveniently spotted you below, watching him. It was that split eye contact that costed him, Jungkook took the advantage to throw a hard blow right to his face, making Jongho stumble back, falling onto his side as Jungkook pounces on him, throwing hard left and rights onto his cowering body before getting pulled off by the ref. 

“And the winner is Jeon ‘Buckshot’ Jungkook!” 

There was also another thing you hated more than his cocky smile, it was his cocky smirk. Jungkook happens to also conveniently spot you by the ringside, glaring at him with a clenched jaw, making him throw a snarky wink as his arm held high for victory. 

“Fucking prick” You mutter under your breath before turning your attention to Jongho, slipping under the rope being thrown displeasing words from the crowd for butchering it the last minute. 

Series of chants boomed through your ear as you brush past the bodies, easier than before as they pile into the dark tunnel you entered from. You were left with a few people in the now empty room, most of them you recognized from the isolated corner and the cash handlers by the table. 

“...Here’s the betted cash, take it and leave...” The men hands over a locked box, probably filled with cash, over to the other group of men. There you saw him, Jungkook dabbing his sweat with his towel.

“Oh, so you came just to see me win? Can’t get enough of me, can you?” Jungkook strides closer to you after locking eyes. 

“Fuck you”

“Already did, sweetheart” Jungkook shot a wink before dipping into the dark tunnel followed by the other group of men.

You didn’t know your anger had turned to pain until you felt your palm stinging, looking down you could see your nails carving crescent shapes into your palm from your tight fists. 

“Hey” Your head snapped back to the front, where Jongho was standing with a towel hung across the back of his neck.

“You owe me a hundred and fifty dollars, loser” You cross your arms over your chest, mentally scolding him in your head for losing your money.

“Well, I didn’t think you’d actually come” Jongho forces a quiet chuckle before scratching his head.

“I did, and you lost. What happened to ‘don’t question my abilities’?” You mocked him from before, gently waving your hands in the air for emphasis.

“Just because I lost this round doesn’t mean you should still question my abilities” Jongho turns around, walking away to another room.

You couldn’t help but follow him quickly behind, seeing the cuts on his face struck worry in you. Following Jongho, you found yourself entering a brighter lit room, a locker room. 

Jongho sat on the bench, unwrapping the bandages from his knuckles. You close the door behind you and step forward, leg on either side of the bench next to him.

“You need to treat that, you know?” You point to the small gash fixated at the top of his eye.

“I’ll be fine” Jongho continued to unwrap the bandages as you scanned his face. His tan really accentuated under the coat of sweat and blood, face now relaxed compared to before.

“It could get infected. Those are worse than the actual cut itself” Jongho stopped, dropping his hands on the bench before looking up at you.

“Can you get the first-aid? It’s in there” Jongho points to the mirrored cabinet above the sink.

“Not even a ‘please’?” You tease slightly, pushing yourself off the bench to the sink.

“Please” 

You chuckle, opening the cabinet to take out the kit before making your way back onto the bench. Jongho was now seated the same way you were before, legs either side of the bench and bandages were now thrown on the floor. 

“Thank you-”

“I’ll do it” You interrupt Jongho and sit down in front of him, opening it to a bunch of medical supplies.

You grimace at the gash above his eye after looking at it closely, pulling a disinfectant swab to wipe away the blood around it. Jongho hisses before pulling his face back, throwing you a hurtful look.

“I didn’t even touch you yet, Jongho, don’t be a baby”

“Just- Just hurry up” Jongho leans back down again, letting you attempt to treat his wound. 

It was quite difficult attempting to tend to his gash, leaning forward as you try to keep your balance but also being gentle. Jongho must’ve noticed your frustration before swatting your hand away.

“Stand up-” 

You were barely standing before Jongho grabs you by the hips, sliding himself forward on the bench and pulling you down on his thigh. You let out a surprised gasp at the sudden action. 

“Um- thanks” You focus on the cut once again, successfully treating it before hesitantly bringing your other hand up, grabbing Jongho’s face gently to turn it around.

You didn’t realize how close your faces were to each other until he turned around and looked you in the eye, making your breath hitch at the back of your throat. With how close your bodies were, practically leaning on him, Jongho could probably hear the thumping of your heart in your chest, threatening to explode. 

You could feel Jongho’s intense stare on your face as you focus on the cut on his lip. Your hands shake as you bring them up to cup his face and the other cleaning his cut lip. 

“Are you nervous?” Your gaze snaps back up to Jongho, who was staring at you with soft eyes, hooded but soft. 

“What’s there to be nervous about?” You were suddenly quiet, almost whispering. Even your breathing was louder than your voice.

“I don’t know. You just seem nervous”

“Well, I’m not”

“It’s him, isn’t it? You’re still not over him-” 

“I don’t want to talk about him-”

“It’s odd to find yourself sitting on my thigh, right? So close to my face, it reminds you of him doesn’t it?-” 

By now, you have absolutely no ideal responses to bark back. Jongho didn’t remind you of Jungkook, he reminded you of the sinful things Jungkook did with you sitting on his thighs. 

“- I can show you I’m different... better” 

Jongho’s voice was equally quiet as yours, the gap between your faces unnoticeably grew smaller with each passing second. His arm wraps around your back, pushing you forward.

Your lips plant against his, eyes shut close as you drop the things in your hand to the floor, lips moving in sync with Jongho’s as you wrap your arms around his neck, pushing off the towel that was there.

All thoughts left your head, the vendetta, everything. All you could think about now was the words that left Jongho’s mouth a minute ago replaying in your head, how he could be better than Jungkook, and you were starting to believe it despite the reasoning. 

Your chest pressed against his as you feel him nip against your bottom lip, slipping his tongue in as the two of you wrestle for dominance. You could feel his hands move to your waist, squeezing you gently before pushing your hips back and forth, creating a friction between your crotch and his thigh. 

A small moan slips from your lips in the kiss, you were too immersed with his lips to care or feel embarrassed. One of your hands slides down his naked chest, tracing the outline of his pecks with your fingers before tracing down his abdomen to his lower region.

You can feel your wetness spreading with each time Jongho helped you roll your hips against his thigh, making you grow needier and needier by the second. By now, you were confident enough to move them on your own, taking Jongho’s hands and guiding them down to your ass.

Jongho firmly grasps your ass, squeezing it as he spreads your cheeks apart, still pushing you back and forth against this thigh. Your wetness probably soaked through your shorts by now, staining Jongho’s. 

You take your hand, squeezing Jongho’s other thigh before moving back over to his crotch, feeling his boner before sliding your hand under the waistband of his shorts, palming him over his boxers. 

Your clit was throbbing under the material of your shorts and panties, making you aggressively kiss Jongho as you roll your hips faster. Jongho breaks from the kiss, pecking your lips before instantly attacking your neck, sending your head falling back to let him cover more of your neck.

A breathy moan falls from your lips as Jongho sucks on your sweet spot, making you squeeze his clothed dick. His hands slip under your shirt, quickly throwing it above your head, letting your jacket fall to the floor before attaching his lips onto your chest, kissing the top of your breasts as he fondles with the clip of your bra. 

“Please tell me you know how to take it off”

“Remember what I said, don’t question my abilities” And with that, you could feel your bra unclasp, strap dropping down to your arm as your breasts become free and naked in front of him. 

Jongho kisses the valley of your breasts before taking one in his mouth and playing with the other in his hands, nipple slipping between his fingers as he fondles. 

Your lips were now parted, mouth dry as the friction between your clothed pussy and Jongho’s thigh increases. Jongho took the opportunity to lift you up slightly, fingers hooking under the waistband of your shorts and panties before pulling them down, exposing your gushing pussy to the cold air.

Jongho stands and wraps an arm around you before pushing you against the locker, slamming his lips back against yours as he lets your bottoms drop to the floor, leaving you naked against the locker. You could feel his hard dick rubbing against your leg, letting you take the opportunity to take down his shorts and boxers.

The two of you stood naked in the locker room, swallowing each other’s lips as you grab his dick and start pumping him with the small coat of precum you smeared all over his length. 

“Mnngh- faster” Jongho groans against the kiss, bucking his hips up to meet with your quickening pumps. 

Jongho squeezes your ass before trailing a hand to the front, cupping your wet pussy before rubbing your clit with his fingers, making you moan into the kiss. You could feel your pool of wetness coat your inner thigh as you rub them together under Jongho’s touch.

“Fuck so wet” Jongho circles his fingers over your clit a few more times before pushing your legs apart, slipping his fingers between your legs and coating them with your juices. 

You let out a breathy moan as inserts his fingers into you, pumping them in sync with your hand movements on his dick. You give him light pecks on the corner of his lips before kissing down his neck, sucking on the spot behind his ear before resting your head back on the cold locker your back was pressed against. 

“More, please-” You begged with furrowed brows, eyeing Jongho’s replicate expression.

Jongho slips his fingers out of you and cups the back of your thighs, hoisting you up to wrap your legs around his waist, letting the tip of his throbbing cock poke at your pussy. Jongho wraps his arms around your back, pulling you down to kiss him as he walks away from the lockers.

You were too immersed by your own lust to feel him push you against another cold surface, slightly wet. Then you realized it was a shower the moment you heard the squeak of a knob, cold water turning warm as it hits your naked bodies, making the warmth between the two of you grow.

Jongho grasps your ass, slowly sinking you down on his dick, making you break from the kiss again, letting out a breath of air as his girthy length stretches out your hole. Your face scrunches in pleasure as he bucks his hips up, bouncing you up against the shower wall and thrusting himself into you.

“Ohh fuck- ohmygod” Jongho bounces you faster, hands firmly planted on your ass to lift you as he knocks the air out of your lungs every time you come down on his dick.

You push back the wet hair stuck on his face, exposing his forehead as you tangle your fingers through his hair. Your breasts bounce with your body as your legs threaten to become undone around his waist. 

“Mmnnghhh- fuck you’re so tight” Jongho groans against your neck, kissing it before moving back to your lips, water slipping into your mouths as Jongho wrestles with your tongue. 

“Fuck- Jonghonnnghhaa” The squelching sounds grew louder as the sound of his thrusts echoes through the lockerroom. 

You grip on to Jongho’s shoulders, feeling every flexed muscle as he holds you up, squeezing his biceps as you release uncontrollable moans into his ear. They grew louder and louder as Jongho deepens his thrusts, sending you bouncing higher than before and sinking down deeper onto his dick. 

Jongho grips your waist, lifting you off his dick and onto your feet before spinning you around, pressing your body against the cold wall, moving your face out of the shower of water. Your hips push back, rubbing your ass against his dick, feeling the tip already in your hole. 

“See how much better I can be than him?” Jongho growls against your ear, pushing his dick into you with a hard thrust, squeezing your breasts on to the wall. 

“So much better- fuck sososo much better” Your head turns to the side, meeting with his before barely kissing him as he starts thrusting fast again.

“How many times has he made you cum in one night hm?” Jongho was breathing heavily against your ear, gripping your waist tightly as he slaps his hips into you.

“Mhmph fuck I don’t know- ah fuck Jongho!” You bite down on your lip, head falling back onto Jongho’s shoulder as he pounds into you from behind, the skin of his torso slapping against your ass each time. 

“Tell me- oh fuck” 

“Ohmygod nnghha- two! Two!” 

“Pathetic. I’ll make it three” Jongho pushes your legs apart with his hand, fingers finding their way back on to your clit.

“Jongho fuckkk-” Jongho circles his fingers over your clit, rubbing your bud of nerves as he quickens his thrusts into you, making you gasp for more air each time.

At this pace, you were so close to cumming around his dick. Your eyes shut close, letting sprinkles of water hit your scrunched up face as Jongho breathes against your ear, letting you hear his deep low grunts coming with each thrust. 

“Are you close? Hm? Cum for me” Jongho grunts through gritted teeth, hardening this thrusts as he rubs your clit faster.

The overwhelming pleasure causes you to release high-pitched moans, mouth gaping wide. You could feel it coming, the built-up euphoria edging to be released through your entire body with each thrust. 

“Oh fuckfuckfucknnnghh ohmygod Jongho!” Your walls clench around Jongho’s dick, breathing becoming heavier as your hips start to twitch and the knot in the pit of your stomach snaps, making you convulse underneath Jongho’s body, hips pushed back and hands flung up around Jongho’s head, gripping his wet hair as pure bliss washes over your body. 

Jongho grunts loudly, fucking out your high with deep thrusts as his fingers still rub at your clit, bringing you close to another orgasm from the stimulation. His thrusts slow down as he focuses on your clit, rubbing it fast with his fingers flat against it. 

Your forehead rests against the wall as you breathe heavily with water dripping down your chin, watching the way Jongho’s fingers rub against your clit. You could feel another orgasm coming, making you grip Jongho’s free hand, pulling it up to your breasts as you squeeze his forearms, feeling his flexed muscles. 

“Oh my god- pleasepleaseplease” Your knees bent, body threatening to collapse on the second orgasm only to be pushed back up again by Jongho’s fingers on your clit.

Your eyes roll back, clenching your jaw as you feel another wave of pleasure wash over your entire body. Broken high-pitched moans escape your lips, thighs trembling and closing together as Jongho rubs another orgasm out of you. 

“I promised you a third, didn’t I?” 

Jongho slips out of your hole again, spinning you back to the position you were in the first time, holding you against the wall as his arms wrap around your back with you clung on to him, sinking down on his dick, twitching slightly as you were still sensitive from the first orgasm. 

You were too fucked out to say anything, needing to have Jongho back inside you again. You were on the verge of crying from the overwhelming pleasure, making your moans turn from soft to pleading cries. 

“Ahhh Jongho shitshitshit oh my fucking god- right there nnghh fuckfuck” You bounced on his dick, back sliding up and down against the shower wall.

Your legs started trembling, on the verge to become undone around Jongho’s waist as another orgasm approaches. You cup his face in your hands, bringing it up to kiss you harshly as your face scrunches harder, brows furrowed deeper. 

Jongho helps you reach your third orgasm, thrusting his hips up, deepening himself into you. Sweet moans filled the kiss as you become undone on his dick, arms slung around his neck and body off the wall, pressed hard against Jongho’s chest. 

“Ohmygod, Jongho- fuck!” 

“Jesus Christ- I’m so close” Jongho grunts before pulling himself out, letting you drop to your feet, struggling to stand after your final orgasm. 

Jongho wraps his hand around his dick to pump himself, head falling back as his spurt of cum shoots out, covering your thigh only to be washed away by the water. 

“Ohhhh fuckkkk-” Jongho takes your chin with his free hand, pulling you in for a kiss as he milks the rest of himself out. 

He slowly pumps himself before taking an arm around your waist, holding you close to him as he passionately kisses you before breaking off. Jongho gapes at you with soft eyes, hand still cupping your face. 

The two of you stay like that for a while under the water, gazing into each other’s eyes not knowing what to do or say. That was until you decided to break the ice.

“You’re going to catch a cold” Jongho’s lips carve up into a small smile, letting his hand drop from your face and turning the shower knob, water coming to a complete stop. 

“You’re lucky I have thick towels” You chuckle, throwing a soft punch to his chest before pushing past, stepping out into the locker area with Jongho following you closely behind. 

Jongho wraps a takes out a towel from a locker before throwing it over your shivering body, patting you dry before grabbing another, throwing it over your head and patting it before deciding to cup your face with it, squeezing your cheeks slightly.

“Be mine” Jongho looks at you with sincere eyes, scanning every inch of your face, waiting for a response.

“This isn’t some sort of way to get back at Jungkook, is it?” 

“No, it isn’t” 

“Why?” 

“Because you came tonight. Nobody ever watched me before”

“That doesn’t mean fall in love with me”

“I don’t love you. Yet” 

part two

Copyright © 2020 by serendipityunho All Rights Reserved

[thebestpersonherelovesbucky]

This is Where I Leave You

For @whumptober2020

No 7. I’VE GOT YOU Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

Summary: Hydra has been attacking for nearly a decade and they've finally reached Steve's village. As he fights back, he's almost killed by one of Hydra's soldiers. But something makes them stop fighting...

Read on Ao3

The Hydras have been raiding for a little over a decade already, but they haven’t gone so far inland to reach Steve’s village. It was only a matter of time. The village has prepared as best it can -- weapons and training and stocking supplies -- but it’s done no good. 

They came. 

Tonight.

They came in their longships with their axes and spears and shields. With their armor and their torches. They attacked. The monastery went first. Up in flames in the middle of the night, lighting the sky blood red. Dwellings were next. Thatched roofs singed and homes lost in a blink of an eye as the attacking clan advanced. 

There were screams and tears. Men, women, and children being dragged off kicking and crying. Shoppes pillaged as the ground was soaked in blood. It was absolute pandemonium.

Villagers fled the violence, others tried to fight back -- and Steve was one of them. He’d never been trained in such skills, but that wasn’t going to stop him from protecting his village. Protecting his home and family. 

Steve didn’t have a weapon, but he found a discarded shield. Round, wooden, and heavy. He picked it up. Used it to fight. Used it to defend. There wasn’t any grace to his heavy movements. The shield was heavy and thick in his clumsy hands, but he held onto it. 

Even with sweat dripping down his face. Dirt caked all over his skin. Blood in his hair. His lungs burned and his muscles ached, but Steve refused to give up. He wouldn’t be moved. And if he fell, he got back up. 

Every time. 

Until he takes the one hit that throws him to the ground so hard it knocks the air right out of his chest. The sword comes down swift and true. A hit that will kill upon impact. 

Steve throws the shield up just in time to save his life, but the sword cracks right through it. It splits in two. His only means of protection, gone. And the soldier above him raises the sword over his head again. 

Only he never brings it down. The soldier -- covered in just as much sweat, dirt, and blood as Steve -- freezes. 

His arms tremble and his chest rises and falls hard and heavy, but he never lets that sword fall again. Instead, he lowers one arm and removes his helmet and just…stares at Steve with eyes as bright as the steel of his once cleaned blade.  

He stares at Steve as if they’ve known each other for years. For lifetimes. Steve knows this because it’s the same way he stares back at him. 

As if the whole world has held its breath as two souls meet and connect, everything stopping around them both.  

All Steve does now is stare back at him. At the man here pillaging and plundering his village, trying to kill him, and all Steve could do was stare. Time stands still. 

Until it suddenly catches up to them again when a dagger plunges into the soldier’s side. 

Those vivacious, piercing eyes go wide with pain. He clutches at his side, his fingers covered in blood, and crumples into the dirt.  

Steve gasps as the weight of the soldier’s body crushes his legs when he lands on him. He can still smell the scent of death all around him and the fear that saturates the air as the Hydra clan continues their raid on the village. For some reason, Steve doesn’t get back up this time. At least, not right away.

Instead, he pushes the soldier’s dirty hair away from his face and looks at the pain in his eyes as he clings for life. As his breaths shudder and his body trembles and he gasps for air. His jaw is clenched tight as he attempts to hold in sounds of pained anguish.

Without thinking, Steve slips his hand over the soldier’s, even with it covered in the blood of Steve’s brethren, and allows him to take a tight, firm grip until his breath sputters, he coughs up more blood, and then goes limp, practically in Steve’s arms. 

Steve can’t understand why his heart twists with an inexplicable loss and a sudden rush of tears stings his eyes. It makes no sense. This man came into his home. Burned it. Killed. And yet Steve feels as though he’s mourning the tragic loss of someone who stole his heart. 

Steve ignores his trembling lip as he pushes the body off him so he can continue fighting the Hydras out of his village. 

***

They’ve been burning bodies all morning. The battle had taken a turn just before dawn. Either the Hydras had thought the village not worth the effort or they’d gotten enough bloodshed from them, but they left their dead, dragged their injured, and made for their ships to leave. 

Without having even stopped to rest or to clean himself up, Steve has been tending to the villagers who needed care. Though his mother never properly trained him in means of healing, Steve had stood by her side to assist her enough that villagers came to him for help quite often after his mother’s passing. He’s gone from home to home, shouting inside to find anyone who needed help. Steve’s patched and mended and stitched, and did the horrible job of pronouncing villagers he’s known for years -- friends and loved ones -- dead. 

It’s well past midday when someone tells him to get some rest. Steve tries to argue, says he’s okay and can still help. It’s no use though, and he’s sent off to find a place to sleep. Behind the stables, he figures is the best place for now. Just an hour or so and Steve can get up and help again. 

What he doesn’t expect, what Steve never thought would happen again, is for life to come to a complete halt when he locks eyes with the very same soldier as the night before. Steve freezes. The soldier is in a pile of bodies. Skin ashen and body trembling from head to toe. Alive, barely, as he gasps for breath. Steve can’t even begin to describe or even understand the joy and bliss that fill him upon this discovery. 

Just like last night, they stare at each other. Sworn enemies. Today, there is no fight. Neither one is attacking the other, though it would make great sense for Steve to go over there right now and finish the job. He felt no great loss for any of the other Hydras. He couldn’t say the same for this one.

All Steve can feel now was joy. Bone-sinking joy that wraps around him at seeing this soldier still alive, those steel-blue eyes staring out at him. Steve wants to smile when the tears come, but, somehow, he keeps it back. 

Steve, first looking around to make sure he’s really alone, has no idea what compels him to go over to the soldier who’d tried to kill him last night, but he does. He goes over, sees the fear in his eyes, and scoops him into his arms. A harsh and heavy yell is pulled from the soldier’s lungs, the pain from his injury probably excruciating, but Steve only shushes him as he hurries to hide him in the stables. Why, he still doesn’t know.  

The second Steve drops him in a pile of hay, the soldier unsheathes a dagger and takes a swipe at Steve. It’s a weak and feeble attempt at an attack, and as soon as Steve takes hold of the soldier’s wrist, the dagger falls from his grip. Steve kicks the weapon from his reach before pinning him down into the hay.

An anguished hiss rushes from between the soldier’s teeth, his eyes and jaw clenched tight. He’s cold to the touch, his body dripping with perspiration. When he opens his eyes to glare at Steve, his gaze holds a bit of wonderment. He, like Steve, appears unable to hold back the undeniable awe that the world has stopped while a pair of hearts fall in perfect sync.

Still, when Steve once again attempts an approach, the soldier growls and throws up a defensive fist. 

“Oh, stop it,” Steve growls with no idea whether or not his language is understood. “Would you rather me leave you to die?”

There’s a trough of water on the other end of the stable. Steve goes to it and scoops out some to bring back to the soldier. Who glares at the ladle like Steve’s about to poison him. 

“You must be thirsty,” Steve says. “Have some.” 

This should be expected, though. They’re enemies. Even if the idea of anything happening to him leaves Steve with a horrible ache in his belly. So Steve tries to show him it’s safe by taking a sip himself. 

When he does this, the soldier’s eyes drop to the ladle and lose some of that hardness. Replacing it, is a sure sign of desperation. He needs the help no matter how hard he wants to deny it. Steve crouches and holds the ladle to his lips. With whatever strength he has, the soldier grabs onto it and gulps it down. Water leaks out of the corners of his mouth. 

“I’ll get you some more,” Steve tells him, still having no idea if he’s understood or not. “And I’ll try to find you some bread.” He grabs a handful of spider silk from the underside of the trough and attempts to cover the man’s injury. “Just let me look at your wound first.”

But the second he reaches for it, the soldier jerks away. 

Steve scoffs as he stands and brushes dirt and hay from off his trousers, tossing the balled up spiderweb to him. 

“Fine. Stay in pain. See if I care.”

Thing is, he does care. Steve doesn’t know why, but he does. Which is why he leaves the stables in search of both bread and supplies for the soldier’s injury. 

Back in his home, which did not escape the night without damage, Steve gathered up some medicinal herbs to treat the injured man he left in the stables. Some honey to help the healing process and kill off bacteria. Mashed up goldenseal to prevent infection. Feverfew to keep his temperature down. Ginger to help with the bleeding. A few others that Steve mixes together to make a thick paste. 

Whether or not he’ll be permitted to apply it is an entirely different subject altogether. 

Before heading back to the stables, Steve grabs some blankets and a loaf of bread. They’re making porridge at the village center. No one questions him when he asks for two bowls. 

When Steve returns to the stable, he finds the man has crawled away from the spot Steve left him. Still trying to escape. 

“No, don’t…” Steve hurries to put down everything he brought back with him. “Stop.”

He rushes over to stop him. Stop him because if he keeps going like that, he’s going to die, and for some reason, the thought of him dying leaves Steve cold and empty inside. 

Steve touches his shoulder to stop him from going any farther. Of course, this only sees the soldier crying out in pain and once again trying to fight Steve away from him. 

"Please, stop," Steve says and gestures back to the food he's brought. "I'm not going to hurt you."

If he was, he'd have done so already. After all, he's had ample time and plenty of opportunity. But when the man looks behind Steve, he clenches at his wound and, eyes squeezed shut, nods. Steve takes that to mean he wants to accept the help.

First thing Steve does is bring him back to the pile of hay. The man grunts and hisses when Steve lifts him back to his feet, but has no choice but to let Steve support his full weight. Steve half calf carries, half drags him, and then gently lays him down.

Since he’s shivering, hard and teeth-chattering, Steve covers him with the blanket, leaving only his wound exposed so he can tend to it. The second the soldier has it, he pulls it up to his chin, likely trying to warm himself. No doubt a fever as already set in. 

“Th-th-thank y-you.” 

Head snapping up, Steve looks around before realizing who said that. Not only did he not expect this man to say a word to him, he never expected the words to come out in his own language.

“Can you…you can understand me?”

His eyelids flutter bit and he shivers violently again before responding with a weak nod and pulling the blanket tighter. 

“Y-yes,” he whispers. 

“Oh. Well.” Steve scoops up some of the paste he made and gently applies it to the wound. No matter how gentle he tries to be, it’s not enough to keep the hiss. The soldier’s cheeks drain of whatever color might have remained. “Sorry. My name is Steve by the way.” 

“B-Buchanan,” he mutters. “My…my m-ma-mama used t-to call me…Bucky.” 

“Bucky,” Steve murmurs. “Try not to move much. This is set for now, but any rough movements might make it reopen. You’re probably already fighting an infection.”

Despite the shivering, he’s dripping in perspiration. His hairline is damp and he’s unable to keep his head lifted, so Steve folds up another blanket to put behind it. Now that he’s finished with Bucky’s injury, Steve covers him completely with the blanket and grabs one of the bowls of porridge. He doesn’t bother trying to hand it to Bucky. There’s no way he could feed himself.

Bucky looks a mix of emotions about having to be fed by Steve. Anger. Disgust. Fear. There’s even shame in there. But none of them outweigh the desire to survive so, chin trembling, he opens his mouth. 

“Wh-why?” Bucky asks after he’s eaten the two bowls and half the bread. “Why are y-you…helping me? Why n-not just…let me die?”

“I don’t know,” Steve answers. “Why didn’t you kill me last night?” 

“I n-n-never wanted to k-kill anyone,” he says. “Hydra…they came into m-my home, too. Took me and others…and they made us fight.”

That sounds an awful lot like something Hydra would do. The rumors suggest that they only reason they leave any villages without completely destroying them is to use them as leverage.

Fight for us or we’ll kill the rest of them.      

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “When you’re strong enough, I’ll move you into my house. But I’ll stay with you tonight.” 

“I don’t…” Bucky winces when he attempts to readjust his position. Steve helps him so it doesn’t hurt as much. “Why? Why are you helping me?”

“If what you say is true,” Steve says as he scoops some water out into a bucket, “then you’re as much a victim as my village. And we have a common enemy. You need to get strong again if you’re going to be any good to us.” 

“I suppose you intend on using me to fight as well then.” 

While Steve can understand why Bucky might think that, it’s not exactly what he had in mind. No one should ever be forced to fight. But Bucky doesn’t have to fight to be helpful. 

“No. Of course not.” Steve helps Bucky drink some more water. “You said you didn’t want to kill anyone. But maybe you’d want to help us fix things around here. If you’d like to stay, that is.” 

For a few minutes, Bucky doesn’t say anything. With his eyes closed like that, Steve wonders if he’s fallen asleep. He definitely needs the rest. 

“My family,” he says, eyes still shut, “were goat farmers. I don’t suppose you have any herds of goats?”

Steve grins. “We do. On the outskirts of the village. I’m sure they’d welcome you.” 

“I could earn my keep,” Bucky whispers. “Pay penance for my sins.” 

“What you did…what they made you do…” Steve shakes his head. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know.” Bucky nibbles his lip and opens his eyes. “But I did it.” 

Steve places a tender hand over Bucky’s knee. Wants to promise him that everything will be okay, but isn’t sure how to do that. Bucky’s alive, but alive with a lot of guilt. 

Then there’s that other thing.

That moment that passed between them. The way the world stopped and vanished and became a moment all of their own. Even now, Steve can feel it. 

And he’s sure Bucky can, too. 

“Get some rest, Bucky,” Steve murmurs. “I’ll be here when you wake.” 

Bucky watches him for a moment with nothing but gratitude and trust in his eyes, and then rests his head back. He’s asleep before Steve even has a chance to whisper anything else. 

[of-tatooine]

mercy. | chapter 6 - life

you shoot first and ask questions later.

Obitus.

Death. It had been one of the first basic Latin terminology you had learned all those years ago in nursing school, back when you had thought memorizing ancient words related to your studies was the hardest thing ever. Waking up early for clinical trials and cramming through the tests, sometimes crashing on the library couch were most you could remember from those simpler times but above all the memories, etched deep within your very soul and mind had been your remarkable professors - how much they valued life.

Human or not, all forms of life had always been sacred and should have been protected at all costs - those were the teachings they all tried to instill into young minds, doctors and nurses alike. People who were going to dedicate blood and sweat into treating others in need. The recurring doctrine echoed in your mind relentlessly through the years - if you were going to save lives, you were going to do so by not harming life itself first. Every single medical procedure performed, no matter how unimportant and mundane they seemed, had to do with protecting and letting prosper, and thus was sacred in some way of thinking. If needed, and it often was, you were always ready to completely sacrifice your own health and well-being if it meant doing good for the ones suffering.

Nothing ever came close to the pure happiness and wonder, knowing that you saved the patient in the operating room who would die had it not been for your help - an almost daily feeling back in a better time.

It seemed like you took more lives than you helped live these days. The sacredness of the profession you had chosen for a lifetime had slipped through your fingers when you had first pulled a trigger on a human being, the very creature you had sworn to protect, turned or not. Killing became the new norm in the cruel world, and it contradicted the very essence of your soul. Saving lives had been a losing game in a world full of bloodshed and mayhem, you would learn over years of pain. One you could play only for so long before you succumbed to your own demise.

For the time being, it had to be another one's death in exchange for your life.

It was just the way the world worked.

"Fuckin' hell!"

The residual echoes of the loud gunshot rang in your ears combined with the panting and gasping of the other man. Waiting only a split second to see the guy on your right crumble down on the ground with a sickening thud, blood and brains splattering around the cream walls, you ducked back to cover fast. Faint smoke rose up in gentle waves from the barrel of your gun, your chest heaving up and down in anticipation of what was to come next.

It would have been great if you had a fucking clue yourself. The honed survival instinct within you had screamed less heads the better, and it was a rule you had found yourself following often lately which explained the freshly-dead, bleeding body somewhere in the living room. What the instinct did not tell you immediately was how to deal with a damn Firefly whose best friend you had just murdered in cold blood, who maybe knew you or about you - neither of them increasing your chances of survival against this enemy. Seemed like you would have to improvise once again, you had been doing that an awful lot lately that led you to this fucking mess to begin with - yet you had no other choice but to trust your muscle memory and the leftover bullets in your handgun to get you through this.

The lingering soreness in your injured thigh was making that trust run out in a pretty steady pace.

Mutters of the approaching man could be heard as he took a couple of steps that made the hardwood vibrate, no doubt glancing at his fallen friend for any vital signs. Not finding any hope, you would hear him cursing out again, frantically breathing as a metallic click sound echoed.

“I'm gonna find you, you fuckin' hear me? Come out!”

The knuckles clutching around the revolver in your hands became white from exertion, the grip becoming vice-like as the creaking sound of the wood under his heavy feet made stealth impossible. Coming closer and closer, you could hear his rugged breath - terrified because of the unknown source of death looming.

Holding your breath in haste of what was to come, the adrenaline coarsing through your veins was what made you slowly slide up the wall and land a violent, well-placed kick to the man’s calf as the toe of his boots showed up through the archway, sending his gun go sprawling off with him collapsing in a loud growl.

The blow to his tibia would not be enough to break it, but it was a well-executed one to send him to his knees. Eyes sparkling with determination, a couple grunts of your own slipped past your lips from sheer effort as you took quick steps approaching the man clutching onto his lower leg, left panting, one hand trying to reach towards his gun over at the edge of the wall.

“Alright, now,” slipped out of your mouth, words rather uncharacteristically laced with some form of cruelty as your military boots pressed onto his wriggling fingers in a sickening crunch which made him scream his damn lungs out for all the neighborhood to hear.

“You fuckin’ bitch! I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!” he drabbled in his last stand, spittle on the corners of his mouth, body twisting and turning, trying to claw at your leg. He did manage to, his hand reaching up to tear the bandage on your wound, dirty fingers digging into the sore ache of a scab through the fabric, sending you howling in pain. Without thinking, you would slap the butt of the handle onto his tugging hand through gritted teeth, your leg buckling and threatening to collapse. Your supporting one swung in a desperate attempt to kick the guy in his guts, landing and knocking the air out of him for only a second, giving you enough time to sit yourself down on his stomach, straddling him with a hand viciously pressing against his windpipe.

The pain in your leg as you knelt was fucking killing you, sending warm waves of agony all over your body. You prayed the wound did not pop open again - if it did, you were worse off living than dead. It had been no time to lick your wounds and worry about possible blood infection - with the cold barrel of your gun pressed against the man’s throat, your hand cutting off his circulation bit by bit. He must have been a new recruit, somewhat young - his face did not ring any bells from your old days and maybe it was for the best.

“Here’s how this is gonna play out,” you ordered, voice dripping in dark, dark venom, eyes boring daggers into his terrified expression. “You’re gonna tell me who the fuck you were searchin’ for around here,” the words continued, causing the man to gulp and cough dryly, his foot tapping onto the ground helplessly. 

“Or you can join your little friend over there.”

In a matter of seconds, his blue eyes seemed to be damn near exploding out of their sockets as he took a good look at your face, making you raise an eyebrow ever so slightly as you clenched your jaw. “Please let me go,” he started to beg this time, frantically, the taunts he used to throw your way long gone, writhing under your grip. “Promise I won’t fuckin’ give anything away… not a word outta me. Just let me go.”

Not able to comprehend just what the hell the man was rambling about, you did what you knew best to do - pressed the barrel tighter against his neck, tilting your own head as you inched closer to his face. 

“What the fuck are you squirmin’ about? Give what away?” you asked, your patience growing thinner by the second. The hand on his windpipe eased just the right bit to allow him to form words.

“We were lookin’ for you,” he confessed after a moment of silence, beads of cold sweat descending his cheeks, voice cracking and hoarse. The shock on your face no doubt readable from his stance. Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you would let out a growl, pushing the man more.

“Who the fuck sent you?”

“Who the fuck do you think? Marlene. She said she needed you and sent us over,” he gave out, pressure the barrel on his neck making the veins bulge on his temple. “There. I gave you everything. I swear to God I don’t know nothin’ else. Let me go,” the man would plead, not even giving you a moment to reflect on the new information you acquired that dumbfounded you, to say the least. He would stare at you from his position, see the unbelieving glints in your eyes.

What on earth did the Fireflies want with you again, let alone send men to gather you up? It seemed like you were pondering for a moment, mouth agape only for a second before you came to your senses and gave him a firm nod of your head.

“I believe you,” you would say before you pulled the trigger, sending one right through his throat as red splattered on your face from the impact, sending his head limping backwards as he gargled on his own blood in a relatively quick death.

“Christ...” you muttered to yourself, your brain running a hundred miles a second as you lifted yourself up and away from straddling the dead Firefly. It previously occurred to you that once you left the compound and got discharged from their service, you had been a free woman. That the Fireflies had way more to worry about than a surgical nurse who had escaped from their group. You had managed to get by on your own years after you left, and figured it would always be this way, only hearing about your old crew from the bombings in zones and the wanted posters. Why did the Majesty herself need you so damn badly, then out of all the moments, to the point that she sent actual men after you to your last known location?

Your thoughts were interrupted right away as the tall man and the small girl, who let out a loud fuck the moment the door swung open, stood in the doorway with Joel’s arm shielding her lightly from going further - until he was sure all danger had been gone, his other hand pointing his own revolver. His face that scanned the room intently, was a mixture - shocked, relieved, somewhat disappointed, and scared. It was some expression you could not discern but it gave away more than his usual demeanor - it did not take you much to realize they had stepped in after hearing double gunshots, maybe checking to see if you were dead and if they needed to finish the job themselves, though you had this hunch he had an eye on you as you infiltrated the house, watching from the windows.

It was ironic that a part of you wished you had been killed right there and then, after all. Any demise would be considered paradise compared to getting hunted down by your ex-kin, with you outnumbered and alone.

Yet the lone-wolf survivor in you, no doubt still running high off the pumping adrenaline, told you to put one in between both their eyes and just drive the fuck out of there, it was a good chance as any, but one quick lingering glance at Ellie who stood rigidly alert behind Joel - halted you.

Instead, you took deep, heavy breaths, with a bloody hand clutching onto your overworked recovering leg, all you could do was send a shaky, wide-eyed nod to the pair.

“You’re safe,” you would announce the visible fact in a breathy voice, as if you were trying to make yourself believe in that rather than them. “The keys should be around somewhere.”

Only after those words echoed in the house now littered with fresh corpses, Joel would lower his gun only slightly yet did not holster it, letting Ellie move a little move freely as he tossed you a brief nod.

Replying with a nod of your own directed his way, you let the pair rummage through the empty living room while you made your way back to your latest victim, kneeling beside. Crimson oozed in a lazy haze down what was left of his throat, coating the hardwood, the smell of copper sulking. His outstretched hand left in a sickening angle due to his broken fingers under your firm step. It was routine to search corpses for any goods that could help you survive, but this time, it scared you to death knowing what you could find inside those pockets of his.

“Found it,” you would hear Ellie announce with her innocent voice that should not belong in a world full of sins, the jiggling of a metal key ringing in the air much to all comfort.

Just as she found something in the means of her survival, you would come across the bane of yours, something you tried to bury so desperately in your past. From the breastpocket of his jacket, with trembling hands, you extracted the chain, its familiar twinkle surrounding you as the round pendant partially covered in dry blood rested in your palm before you tucked it in your pocket hastily.

And it proved all your fears, seeing that it had your name carved on it, in capitals.

next

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Oooooh I am very much looking forward to seeing this B and Demetri and Connor dynamic!

“Hey Manning, I almost thought you wouldn’t show… Oh you brought the dog.”

An eye roll but the handler kept his smile in place. 

“He still looks like a handful, he’d eat this little one alive.” A  gentle tug and Demetri moved obediently to stand in front of the handler with his head still bowed.

Connor turned, keeping one arm tightly around B. 

 "Yeah, he goes everywhere I go, now. You think I want to be in that hotel bed by myself? Show me the stray." 

 When Demetri moved out in front, Connor blinked with no particular memory sparking. He'd seen a lot of pets come through before he quit. "Oh, okay. This is him? He's pretty."

When B saw who was waiting from them he couldn't have been happier to be there. "Demetri!" He gasped, wiggling out of Connor's tight grip on him to rush forward and slam his hands on the desk. His eyes tracked the hands on his dear friends' back and he growled and curled his top lip to bare his silver canines. "Let 'im go... Right now."

The handler recoiled and unconsciously yanked Demetri back with him, startling the blond into looking up. 

There was a vague recognition of the name that felt almost like his own but drifted too far out of reach to grasp. He stayed pressed to the handler for a long moment before a faint smile cracked through his panicked expression.

 He could hardly believe his luck of who had come to save him. 

 He could never forget B’s face, the only kind face he had known for years and had been grieving the loss of for too long. 

After a moment of stunned but elated staring he squirmed away from the handler, no longer needing the man’s reassurance. 

 Demetri skirted round the desk and launched himself at B with all the strength he could muster, clinging on to the familiar source of comfort without concern for the other two men watching the display. He hissed through his teeth when he bumped the sliced up brand against B but still refused to let go. He was terrified if he let go it wouldn’t be real anymore. He would still be on the street lost and afraid.

Connor stared blankly at B as he ran forward. 

He barely had time to open his mouth to order him to drop the aggression before the hot little blond had jumped forwards too, and the two pets were holding each other. "What the fuck...?" He blinked rapidly, then looked at the other handler and gave a shrug. 

 "Hey." He gave a quick, low whistle to get B's attention. "You know 'im, baby?"

B couldn't believe it, sure that he was dreaming and he'd be woken up by a soft touch on his shoulder and be back in the truck again. "I... How?" 

His words stuck in his throat, his chest swelling with light as he caught the boy flinging himself onto him. He held him tightly, rocking him from side to side like he used to do and tucking Demetri's head under his chin. 

 At the sound of the whistle B looked up, eyes glossy and a smile splitting across his face. "Yes! Yes, sir! This... This is Demetri... He was... He was Mister Rossi's pet..." He said, feeling the tension in the other and the pained hiss. 

 "W-Wait... You're hurt..." He murmured, gently pulling him back to look at Demetri's chest. "Oh..." He noticed the blood staining through his shirt. "Oh ... isn't that... Hey... Dem-... Pretty? You alrigh', lad?"

The handler behind the desk couldn’t keep his jaw from dropping, everyone had heard rumours that Rossi’s pet had been run through the system but of course his links to WRU were very hushed up. 

 “Fuck.. that’s Rossi’s pet? Shit, we probably need to let someone know, who was his primary? They’ll know how to reach him.” 

 Demetri let all of the distress from the moment Rossi had dropped him on the street drain out of his body. B was safe, B could protect him. He glanced at the man who had whistled, the dark hair and eyes were disturbingly similar to Rossi but this one seemed less of a threat. 

 There wasn’t a response until B used the correct name and Demetri glanced down at the spotting on the pale grey shirt, staining the fabric. He tugged the neckline down and exposed the damaged brand, it was bleeding a little from slamming into B with such eagerness but was obviously deliberately done. “It’s... it’s fine... I was good, I didn’t move I swear.”

"Oh, Jesus fuck, not those assholes," Connor muttered, feeling a drop in his stomach. B was so excited, he'd be heartbroken when Rossi showed back up to take his pet back- 

 Then Demetri pulled back enough to pull down the neckline of his shirt and Connor's eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. He held up a hand. "Gonna guess you don't need to call Rossi," He said to the other handler, moving closer to take a better look, leaning over with one hand on B's back, casually possessive. "Look at that. That's not amateur work and it wasn't done mad. Bet you fifty bucks Rossi did that himself."

B blinked, struck by the horror of what had happened to his friend. And fury at Rossi. He had never been good to him unless it had served him a purpose. And he used him and hurt him. 

Demetri had been changed by this place as much as he was. Because of him. 

 "It was him..." B said lowly, leaning instinctively into the touch on his back and looking at Connor. "He ... He hurt him. He can't go back to him, sir." B's voice cracked slightly, trembling slightly as he carefully angled Demetri so he could hold him without pushing into the wound. "Please... Connor. He needs to come home with us."

Demetri laid his head on B’s shoulder, offering up a smile to the man who was now close to them. If B trusted him then this man, whose face Demetri was still trying to place, he would have blind allegiance without question from Demetri. 

The handler had shifted around the desk to get a better look, a small piece of scarring was untouched, the only suggestion there had been a brand under all the slices. “Shit, they’re always so much harder to sell on with this kind of damage. I’ll have to see if anyone has space for a refurb this week before he gets a fucking infection..” 

Even with the dog cradling the blond so possessively, the handler never expected that Connor would want to take on more damaged goods.

Connor had a reputation for how he dealt with pets, he couldn’t possibly want this emotionally fragile little wisp of a pet. 

 Demetri lifted his hand and gently traced over B’s chest, the firm planes of muscle just as he remembered them. Capable of so much damage while only ever trying to protect him. His voice was a low wistful murmur. “I missed you B... I wanted you to come home.”

Connor frowned, watching the two pets together. B was always gentle as a lamb with other pets, whether it was Socks or when he was in the Facility training. And B so rarely asked for a single thing for himself - he just took what Connor gave him with gratitude and adoration. 

But he was asking for this. 

Connor moved forward, taking Demetri's chin in his thumb and fingers to tilt it up and look at him, at his eyes. 

 "Baby," He said to B while looking Demetri over, "Baby, I am not a halfway house for stray pets. I can't just bring home every pretty thing that catches your eye..."

B kept his arms tightly wrapped around Demetri, allowing him to touch his chest. His own brand still stung from time to time. But Connor had transformed it. And he hadn't cast him aside when he did. 

 "Missed you too... I missed you so much... I'm sorry..." He rumbled, burying his face into Demetri's hair. He swallowed the lump in his throat, loosening his grip slightly to allow his owner to look over Demetri. 

 He crushed down the urge to smack Connor's hands off him. Connor was kind. Connor wouldn't hurt him. 

"He's... He's not just Pretty..." B murmured. "He's Demetri... He's my ... my friend... I... I love him very much, sir. He needs to be with us... He can be good for you too. He's very good."

Demetri tipped his head with the slightest pressure from Connor, turning his face until he met the man’s dark eyes. There was no hiding his enjoyment at even the barest of contact, the gentleness was what he craved. 

 The handler scoffed from a few feet away, he was still wary of the dog. He had heard about the state of the rookies after a tangle with it and now it had something to guard. But Manning had a point, surely here wasn’t going to let his dog tell him what to do. 

 “You’re not running a charity Manning, don’t want people to talk. The boy’s got Romantic training, the clinic can clean up the wounds and he’ll be on his knees for some cheapskate client in a week or two. He is very pretty..” 

 Demetri couldn’t hide the fear that shone in his eyes, he was supposed to be for Rossi. He should go back to Rossi... but they were talking like Rossi didn’t want him... like he wasn’t good enough. 

He prayed he could stay with B, not daring to want it yet, he could at least understand Connor was in control. Teeth caught his lower lip, his head tipped to the most attractive angle as he all but batted his eyelashes up at Connor. Classic Romantic look, perfected to be irresistible, combined with the low needy whine, most people caved and gave him some attention at that point.

Connor bristled a little at B pushing him in front of the other handler. While technically he wasn't one anymore, he still sure as fuck didn't like the idea of someone looking down on him for being pet-whipped. 

Some owners got that way, spoiling the shit out of their pets and treating them like real people, and Connor had mocked plenty of those in his time. He definitely didn't want to invite the same mockery from the other handler. 

 "Baby, I think I decide what we need in my house, yeah?" His voice was still mostly gentle, but there was an edge of irritation, a warning there. He'd never really hurt B beyond the bedroom - and they did plenty of that, which was perfect and B did so well - but a couple of days barred from petting Socks or the barn cats usually did the trick for discipline. 

 He watched Demetri tilt his head just the right way, blinking at him. "Yeah, he was definitely one of ours. Rossi's pet..." His voice trailed, off, turning Demetri's head to the side, catching faint scarring along his jaw. "Wait, didn't I fuck you once?"

B swallowed thickly, chest tightening at the edge to Connor's voice. He bowed his head hastily. "Yessir... M'sorry, sir... I'm... I just... I thought we could..." He mumbled, heat spreading across his cheeks. 

He had forgotten his place. He wasn't allowed to want things. That wasn't his place at all. 

 He took a small step back, keeping his head lowered reverently.

Demetri still felt the little flutter of panic when people caught sight of the scars. If you aren’t Pretty what’s the point in keeping you around? 

At least Connor didn’t seem put off by them, in fact his words reached into the blond’s scrambled brain and plucked out a memory with shocking clarity. He grinned, a warm natural expression rather than one designed to entice. “Asshole number two...” 

Flickers of shared food, kneeling for the man, the heated mat and a few hours reprieve danced through his mind, they didn’t linger but he knew enough to know this was one of the nice ones. His attention turned back to B who was visibly distressed. 

Without hesitation Demetri was nuzzling his cheek and sliding his hands under B’s shirt. His usual conflict resolution skills kicked in without a second thought, he needed to make B happy, he needed to be good. 

“Shit, are you taking him or not? I would really rather avoid the paperwork and not have him fuck your dog in the lobby.” The handler just needed to wash his hands of this. Rossi was trouble and he needed to avoid that if he wanted to get taken off of desk duty.

Connor took a deep breath, watching the embarrassment and sadness on his dog's face, and then audibly groaned, putting a hand up over his face. Jesus, if B turned on the fucking waterworks he'd be totally lost, right in front of the other handler. 

 "Yeah, fuck. Yeah. Damn it. Baby, you know I hate when you-... fuck." 

Connor sighed and waved his hand at the handler. "Yeah, fine, okay. Just... just whatever means we don't have to call that piece of shit two-bit mob boss." 

 He took Demetri by one arm, pulling him closer to himself and slightly away from B. 

 "This is not because you made your sad face at me, sweetness. It is not. Now come on, we're going outside to figure this shit out a little bit and get you two out of the lobby before someone calls the cops for public indecency." He moved towards the door, pulling Demetri with him, trusting B to fall in as well without even a glance back.

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

California

Pairing: Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels x OC

Warnings: Mentions of torture, angst, hope

A/N:  My state is on lockdown, so while I’m going into the office to prep my site for three weeks of isolation, I figured I’d get this out today earlier than usual so no one is waiting too long.

And I can’t believe the number of people who have followed this blog in the last week or so (has it only been that long?) and the people who are liking the posts.  Y’all know how to make a girl feel good. :)

Reminder: I haven’t seen Kingsman: The Golden Circle, so I’m just using the Wikia, IMDB.com, some gifs, and my own weird ass brain to make up this whole ass story.

Tag List:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @tarrevizslas , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest [please message me to be added or subtracted]

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]  [PART 5]

Part 6

Homeward Bound

As the plane flew back towards Kentucky, the quiet that permeated its cabin was nearly stifling.  Agents sat throughout the plane lost in thought, but all were facing the same direction.  In the back of the plane, a motionless body lay under the covers on a makeshift bed. And every single person prayed that they made it back to Kentucky soon.

---***---

As darkness gripped Sacramento, Champ gave the signal.  The agents quietly surrounded the building and let themselves in.  Leading the pack, Champ and Tequila had their guns drawn and Jack had his lasso ready. The remaining agents drew their weapons before stepping inside. After the all clear was given, bodies fanned out through the building.  The three men took a quick pause to look at each other and with silent nods, they split up. Champ to the right, Tequila to the left, and Jack straight ahead.  He was going for Sirah and god save anyone who crossed his path this night.

Soon the sound of gun fire rang out through the building and shouts could be heard.  Despite feeling as if he should help his fellow agents as the sounds got louder and faster, Jack never strayed his course and soon he found himself on the third story of the building.  He investigated every room but found each one empty.  His gut roiled as he turned up nothing time and time again.  Then at the end of the hall, he opened the door and there she was. He dropped to his knees.

As she sat on the floor, arms shackled to the wall, Sirah look dead to Jack. Her head lolled to the side, but he could see her face grotesquely swollen from the repeated beatings she received.  She looked nearly naked in just her tee shirt and underwear, both soaked through with blood. He could see parts of her body horribly scarred from burns sustained in the explosion, and her entire body looked as if was one giant bruise.

He crawled over to her, whispering ‘no’ over and over like a prayer. She had to be alive, he needed her to be alive.  Hear her voice, her laughter every day.  When he reached her, he drew a shaky breath and touched her.  To his immense relief she was warm.

“Sirah. . .”  he called out in a low voice, not wanting to startle her.  “Sirah!”

She didn’t move, but he could see her breathing.  He touched her gently and shook her.  He called her name again and when she didn’t move, he took a risk. He looked around to make sure they were alone.

“Marigold, wake up.”  He whispered her name, her real name.  Their own secret that they carried between the two of them.  Statesmen used code names to protect agents and their families, and while Jack liked to buck tradition, the unspoken rule of code name only ruled the organization.  But one night, as the two laid side by side staring at the stars from the roof of a Statesmen outpost, she told him.  It was the most intimate moment they experience and from then on, everything changed for them.

“Marigold, please, baby, I need you to wake up.”  His voice caught but she stirred and groaned a bit in response. He closed his eyes briefly before opening them again.

“Jack?”

“Marigold, I’m here my love.”

“Jack.”  Her head hung back down. “Just five more minutes, I promise I’ll get up then.”

He couldn’t stop the small smile at her joke, but knew he had to get her out there fast.  He ran back to the hallway and saw Agent Saki at the end.  He shouted towards the young man, who turned and yelled further down the hall.  A host of feet came running, led by Champ.

When the agents entered the room, they all stopped at the sight.  The horror couldn’t be contained and when someone saw Tequila coming down the hall, Champ ran out to stop him.  It was bad enough Jack had to find her; Tequila may never recover if he saw her the way she was.  He convinced the agent to go get their medic crew and he turned back to the room.

Champ and Jack unlocked her shackles thanks to a set of keys found in a spare office by one of the West Coast agents.  Her arms dropped and she slumped over onto Jack’s chest, groaning. She looked terrible and both men were afraid to pick her up.  Thankfully, the medics came in with a transport board and carefully pulled her onto it.  They worked quickly to stabilize her before she was hoisted off the ground by several agents.  Three to a side.

Jack wasn’t a superstitious man, but as he watched them carry her out, he couldn’t help but to think he was watching a funeral.  A hand landed on his shoulder and he looked over at Champ. The sadness in the older man’s eyes was devastating and they looked at each other for a long time before stepping out of the room.

---***---

Once they arrived back in Kentucky, Sirah was whisked away to the medic bay with Ginger on the heels of the med team.  The junior agents were sent back to their apartments and the three senior agents stood in the foyer of HQ.  For a long time, no one said anything or moved.  The West Coast branch descended on the Sacramento site after the rescue to contain the scene and Champ gladly let them take the lead on the case for the time being.  None of his agents were going to be able to handle this right now

The men eventually moved upstairs and on the third floor, they found Ginger sitting in the small waiting room of the medic bay.  Her eyes were dull, and her arms were wrapped around her body, as if she was trying to warm herself from some cold no one else could feel.

Soon after, the doctor walked out into the waiting room. Known as Dr. Licuados, the older gentleman looked exhausted as he sat down before looking at everyone.  They waited with bated breath.

“She’ll live,” he said.  “But she has a long road to recovery.  She’s got second and third degree burns across most of her back, arms, legs, and neck, all from the explosion.  If we didn’t find her in time, the infection from that alone would have killed her. She has contusions all over her face and body.  Shallow cuts all over her chest and upper arms produced most of the blood she was covered in.  Her hip and three ribs are broken while her jaw and her left hand have hairline fractures. She has other burns as if from a cigarette or some other source and she’s dehydrated as hell.”

Champ cleared his throat and asked the question everyone was wondering, “Doctor, was she. . .”

Licuados raised a hand and stopped him.

“No. We haven’t found any evidence of that.”  The relief was palpable in the room.

“When can we see her?” Asked Tequila.  He had been the quietest since they boarded the plane in California.  It almost startled everyone when he spoke.

“We’re getting ready to wheel her into surgery right now to fix the broken hip and reinforce the ribs.  It will be several hours before she’ll be out of surgery, but I’ll ask the nurses to wait so you can come in before she goes under.”  He got up and squeezed Ginger’s knee before shaking Champ’s hand.  He walked back through the doors and several long minutes passed before a nurse waved them back to the holding bay.  There in the bed lied Sirah, unconscious and to her friends, she almost looked dead.

Each of the agents took time to hold her hand or to touch her face as gently as they could.  Each whispered their love into her ear and stepped out when the next agent went to do the same.  As Ginger left the bay last, they stood in the hallway looking at each other.  The nurses came for Sirah and wheeled her bed towards the operating room.  Champ spoke only when the door closed behind the party.

“As much as I know we all want to be here, it’s been a long twenty-four hours and I need you all go back to your apartments and get some rest. She’ll be in surgery for hours and it’s not event certain when she’ll wake up afterwards.  I need you all fresh tomorrow so we can find this son of a bitch.” The three remaining agents nodded their agreement, and all moved out of the med bay.

But none of them went to sleep that night.  It wouldn’t come to some and to others, it softly taunted them with visions of death and decay when they tried.  Exhausted, Champ entered his apartment and walked straight to the bedroom, where his wife was awake and waiting for him.  He sighed as he stripped himself of his work clothes and set his gun on the dresser.  When he turned, she opened her arms to him, and he crawled across their bed and laid his head on her stomach.  As she ran her fingers through his hair, he curled his arm around her waist and cried until there was nothing left in him.

Two stories up, Tequila and Ginger laid in his bed, holding each other as they cried.  Sobs raked Tequila and Ginger was certain she had an endless well of tears.  His grip on her hand was hard, but she welcomed the pain because it made her feel alive, the total opposite of the deathly cold that settled in her chest earlier in the evening.  Throughout the night, the crying jags continued between bouts of fitful sleep that brought no relief to the two friends who hurt so much.

Jack walked into his office and closed the door behind him.   Through his office window, one could see the sky brightening in the east, heralding the dawn of a new day.  But he never saw it as he held his head in his hands and sobbed until his throat was raw.  When his energy gave out, he sank to his knees and dropped his head to the floor. The cool tile almost stung against his hot forehead, but it did little to help.  He stayed like that for hours, rocking back and forth praying that the woman he loved would come back to him.

[xtolovers]

The Best Of Us

The Last of Us Joel/OC  Rating:M

AO3

Joel and Ellie nearly die on their way back to Jackson,  Wyoming.  Traumatized, tired and with a tentative new bond between  them, they move forward into a new, very different life. Luckily there  are new friends to be found that are not easily deterred by their wounds  and flaws. And there is a woman who likes to laugh, to get into other  people's business and help and heal were she can. Maybe she can help  heal their bond. Maybe she can move more. It has been long since either of them had a home.     

Chapter 2: Nursing Suspicions     

Something wet splashed in his face and washed the darkness away with it. Slowly he blinked his eyes open. “Welcome back to the land of the living.” The woman was kneeling above him, with a soft smile and a canteen in her hand, the pale purple sky above her.  Passed out again, goddamnit. With a grunt he took her outstretched hand and together, they heaved him up to his feet. Relieved, Joel found that the world had stopped spinning. “Also kinda the land of the dead.” The woman— Liv, it came back to him— rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue up at the teen peeking over the edge down at him. “Very helpful Jesse. Maybe he’s got amnesia— is this how you wanna break it to him?” “He fell into  mud  Liv. ” “Men have forgotten more over less.” “ Or so they’ve told you.” She laughed, but quickly concealed it as an outraged gasp. “You just wait till I get up there and we’ll see how big you’re talking then.” “Well, come on up then.”

She turned to him then, but Joel looked around, half expecting Ellie ’s stretcher to lie on the ground, only to find it nowhere to be seen. A tap on his shoulder drew his attention to a branch and the tip of a sneaker, barely visible over the ridge. Apparently they’d managed to grab on before he blacked out. Liv nodded towards the spruce-ladder. “You ready? I’ll go behind you.” She looked confident in her assessment, but he was a good head taller, and a lot heavier than her. “Doubt you can catch me.” “No, but I’m soft. I’ll cushion the fall,” she said with a grin, and to his mortification, he could feel his cheeks warm. “Ah, there. A little color. Well, if you fall, I’ll have to climb down again anyhow, so I’ll just spare myself the trip. Now. Up you go.”

Happy to look at nothing for a minute, Joel followed her instruction and set about climbing out of the ditch. It was both easier and more difficult than he’d have thought; easier to traverse, but exhausting physically. Every muscle in his body was straining, his whole body felt heavy as lead. After the first three feet he nearly lost consciousness again, his left foot slipping from its hold, and he sliced his leg open on the cut-off branch. A round of curses erupted — not just from him — and he held on for a second, gathering himself. He bit the inside of his cheek and nodded his quiet acknowledgment that he was okay, before he slowly continued his way upward. Above him, both men had lain down at the edge of the ditch, reaching towards him, ready to help, and as soon as he got close enough, they grabbed onto him and nearly lifted him up just by themselves. With a mumbled  thanks  he hobbled over to Ellie and collapsed next to her, relieved to find her safe. He tried to untie her binds, and the kid next to him bent down to help as he saw Joel struggle — his fingers were weak and his skin chaffed raw from his efforts to climb the ditch throughout the last days. While they were working, Eugene bent down again and lifted Liv over the edge, clapping her shoulder good-naturedly afterwards, sending her staggering. The man was tall, broad-shouldered and clearly strong, his wild mane of greying curls the only thing making him look less threatening. “All right. Let me see your ankle real quick.” Liv wiped her hands on her jeans and knelt down at his feet. She made quick work of it, cleaning the wound with a rag and some water Jesse handed her, before she tied the rag around his leg to stem the bleeding. “Not too deep, but I’ll probably have to stitch it up later.” She stood and exhaled heavily before studying the sky. “Let’s take them up to the lodge, then we can make some food and clean up. See how we go from there.” Eugene nodded. “Sounds like a plan. You’re better riding with me, buddy. Can’t have you fall of the horse if you black out again.” He wanted to argue, but Liv declared that she’d take Ellie so she could keep an eye on her, and as much as Joel didn’t want anybody to split them up, he knew that they were right. He’d have to trust them— no help if he keeled over with both of them on the horse. “All right.” He accepted Eugene's hand and climbed up in front of him.

Liv carefully lead the way, trying to keep Apollo steady beneath her so the girl wouldn’t get shaken up too badly. She was burning up in her arms, the fever doing it’s best to burn off the infection, but without a proper exam, Liv was worried about her state. The last patrol that came through had been a week ago, and the rains had started after, but by the looks of them, they’d been down there for  days. “  What ’s her name?” She glanced over her shoulder to Joel, who was watching her like a hawk. “Ellie.” His voice was still raspy from disuse. There was no doubt he was Tommy’s brother; they shared the same eyes and jaw, and while Liv hadn’t met him, Tommy had told her his brother had been at the plant back in autumn. What troubled her more was the haunted look the familiar eyes held— she was used to seeing traumatized people, their world made sure of that enough, but Joel looked like trauma on legs. His whole focus was on the girl in her arms, she could feel his eyes boring into her back, or rather,  through  her, always careful, always calculating, making sure they weren ’t harming her, although she could see him fighting it, trying to push down the impulses of survival. Maybe she should be more careful— there was something almost…  feral about him, and she had seen the look that crossed his eyes when she suggested lifting the girl out of the pit, a look that calculated what leverage Liv could give him if he attacked her, should any harm come to the girl — but he was also barely standing, and she had Eugene and Jesse with her. She figured that as soon as they were safe and she could patch them up, he ’d relax, too. He was in survival mode, something she knew all too well. So she made sure to stay in sight, to keep him calm and move slowly. Jesse kept bickering with her, apparently picking up on her carefully kept ease and trying to help her, bless his heart. Eugene was silent for once, but didn’t look bothered at all. Then again, little ever bothered Eugene. About half an hour later, the roof of the ski lodge came into view over the tree tops. They hadn’t seen stragglers in weeks, but she’d rather be too careful than be surprised with two injured people under her care. On her sign, they dismounted, and she handed the girl to Joel, who looked almost ghostly pale. She tried to catch a look at his ankle, but as far as she could tell, there was at least no fresh blood. After she dismounted, she took her bow and arrows over and nodded to Jesse, who dutifully shouldered his rifle. “Well go and see if it’s clear, just to be safe. You stay here with them.” “Is this some kind of comment about my sneaking skills?” Eugene scoffed, but Liv saw the glint in his eyes. She patted his cheek as they moved past them. “So glad we understand each other, Eugene.” At her nod, Jesse and she left the path and sunk into the woods, deciding to approach from the side, where they wouldn’t be spotted as easily. Jesse stayed next to her, and she felt fondness well up for him. He was a good guy: responsible, level-headed, loyal to a fault. This was the fourth patrol she was doing with him— he’d just turned sixteen and had started his training with her out in the field.

For the last months, he’d been stationed to help her out at the Med Bay, and had impressed her thoroughly by never flinching or hesitating to wash, shave or massage body parts that weren’t his own, something most struggled with. All Jackson inhabitants landed as her apprentices now and then, so they’d learn something and Jackson wouldn’t be left without medical help should something happen to her, but most that came were either squeamish in general, or expected only to treat the most gruesome wounds, cut some flesh and set some bones, easily forgetting that most of her work still was  nursing  . Jesse however, despite clearly having goals to fulfill a different role in the community later, had taken on his duty with a grace that was uncommon for his age, and had been an immense help. That ’s why she was out here in the first place— everyone had patrol duty now and then, but Liv had made up some excuses about checking up on the first-aid stashes they kept at the outposts, opting to take Jesse with her as her current apprentice. This had the benefit of also counting as patrol training, effectively qualifying him to apply for group patrols after his service with her was over. Liv had the feeling he knew what she was doing, but neither had breached the subject. For her, it wasn’t necessary, Jesse, she was sure, didn’t want to say something, afraid that might make him look insecure. His carefully crafted grave maturity was important to him, in the hopes of securing the bigger responsibilities he craved. Liv, unable to try and be helpful, had almost pulled him aside when he first came under her tutelage, and told him to loosen up a bit, but she soon found that Jesse wasn’t uptight at all— unless there was responsibility to be carried, so she let him be. No, he was alright. As always, she didn’t have to tell him much. He was new to this, but not new to reading her body language and understanding what she wanted without many words, and he was a natural. Jesse wasn’t the first teen she’d taken along, but he was the best, and she was proud of how far he’d go. They stalked the perimeter of the building, just behind the tree line, but found no movement anywhere. On her sign, they rushed to the doors, and as he slid the doors slightly open, she peered in, bow drawn taunt. “Clear.” They slipped inside, and Liv exchanged her bow for the revolver that she’d stuck into the back of her jeans. They split up, methodically screening the side- and backrooms, before meeting up to check the hallway that went back out to the utility sheds and the old abandoned parking lot, but found nothing. Relieved, they dropped their cautious stance and made their way back through and down to the others. “You really think that’s Tommy’s brother?” She threw a glance at Jesse, but he seemed more curious than bothered. “Yeah. Tommy told me he already passed through a couple of months ago. Besides, they got the same eyes.” “If they were already here, why didn’t they stay?” “I don’t know.” Liv had asked Tommy the same, and he’d closed off and said they had something else to do. She knew Tommy well, and the way he’d evaded her had made her neck tingle. Still, if Tommy didn’t feel like disclosing it to  her  , Jesse didn ’t need to know more, even if it were only her guesses. “He said they still had some business to wrap up somewhere, but that they might come back after.” Which wasn’t entirely true. Tommy had said that  Joel might return, and from the way he said it it sounded like it ’d be a couple of weeks at most. When winter came around, Liv felt like Tommy deflated a bit, and she’d theorized it had to do with his brother not returning. When she asked, he’d brushed her off again. At least Jesse seemed satisfied with the answer. “Seems like they’ve been through some stuff. You think his daughter will live?” She hesitated. “I can give a more confident answer about that in an hour.” The rest, she left unsaid. Liv knew that Joel’s daughter was dead; Tommy and she had often talked about Outbreak Day on their patrols, and she knew the story of how he saw his niece die that day, killed by a FEDRA soldier, and what it did to his brother. This girl was also too old to be another daughter; she had to be thirteen or fourteen, and Liv knew that Tommy and his brother had stuck together for a couple of years after the outbreak. If she were Joel’s, Tommy would’ve been there when she’d been born. She had no clue what was going on, but she was sure that she wouldn’t get any answers out of Tommy, or Joel for that matter. Especially not if I can   ’t keep them alive. “Clear?” Eugene called up to them when they came into sight, and Liv simply waved her arm. Eugene helped Joel up on Apollo and set Ellie in his arms, before he mounted himself and led them up the hill. Liv and Jesse turned around and walked back towards the lodge. “Can you get a fire going and boil some water for me?” With a nod, Jesse jogged ahead to the far side of the cabin where they stored some firewood, while Liv went over to the bar and grabbed the key they’d hidden on a small ledge beneath it. With it, she went to open the back room they kept locked, were they had stashed medicine, bandages, drinkable water and some non-perishable food rations. Usually the patrols carried their own rations with them, and they always kept something “free” to grab that they left outside their locked stashes, so stragglers would have something to eat and grab, but each watch post had a hidden stash for the Jackson patrols in case anything happened. While she grabbed what she needed, she heard Eugene talk outside, and as she stepped out of the room, Joel was stumbling inside, carrying the girl. “Put her down over here.” Liv gestured to one of the two sprawling couches surrounding the two luxurious fireplaces that hung free from the ceiling, in one of which Jesse was just piling up firewood. She dumped all she’d taken on a table that she pulled over, sat her backpack down and pulled out the sandwiches she’d taken with her. Then she shoved both her canteen with the slim rest of water that was still in it and the food in Joel’s hands. “Drink this, slowly, and then eat a couple of small bites. Just one or two,  slowly  . I know you ’re hungry— “ he interrupted her with a nod. “I know, otherwise I’ll just throw up.” He gave a small sardonic smile and a light bow of his head. “Not my first time starving, I’m afraid.” Liv sighed. “ Didn’t think so, but you’d be surprised by how many people will still make themselves sick despite knowing better.” “Hunger will do that to you.” “Well, be smarter.” Satisfied by his dutiful unscrewing of the bottle, Liv turned her attention to her work. Jesse had successfully started a fire and she sent him to fill up three pots of water and set them to boil, when Eugene came over to them. He was carrying the blanket from his bedroll— they’d planned on staying the night— and spread it over Ellie, who was now laid out comfortably on the sofa, before he settled against the armrest near her head. “Signed us in.” “Thanks.” “Anything I can help?” “ We’ve got that basin in the back. Could you fill that up with some water from the brook? Just to clean up.” He nodded and lumbered out, and for a couple of minutes, they all worked silently. Liv prepared some bandages and the small bottle of iodine she kept for emergencies, to treat the girls arm. For the smaller and less dangerous wounds, she got out some cloves of fresh garlic that she kept in her pack and had Jesse peel, crush and boil them. “ Garlic is the best natural disinfectant we have, vinegar helps too. Witch hazel helps with healing, and cherry bark acts as a painkiller if you boil it,” she explained to Jesse, and after showing him each, added them to the garlic water, then set some of the bandages in to soak. Eugene had prepared the small tub, poured the boiling water in and chased down a relatively soft cloth. Under Joel’s watchful eye, she first cut open Ellie’s sleeve, then the improvised bandage. The cut was deep, that was easy to see, even though it had scabbed over completely. The angry, red, swollen skin surrounding it was a bad sign, but it could be worse.

“Could be better, could be worse. I can treat her here, for now, but I’ll be much more relaxed the sooner we get her to Jackson. If you two leave now and ride fast, you’ll be back by sundown. I’ll give you a list for Ellen of things to prepare for me, and some I need for the way. Get Tommy, get a truck, get someone to relieve us for patrol, and come here at first light.” As expected, both complained. “That’s too dangerous.” “You’re alone with two injured people, it’s too risky.” “I know what I’m doing. We haven’t seen anyone in months. We’ll barricade the doors, and Joel is exhausted, not incapacitated. I’m pretty sure he can still hold a gun if necessary.” Eugene looked at her, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. That’s what’s worrying me. “It’ll be fine. It’s a risk we’ll have to take.” Before they could complain again, Liv mustered her best Maria impression. “No discussion. You can disagree all you want, I’m afraid I’ll have to pull rank here. Now, go. You’re losing light.” Jesse was displeased, that was easy to see, but Eugene knew her long enough. He clapped him on the back and they both went to their horses. Jesse gave her his bedroll and both of them tried to give her their food. She took half of it and insisted they eat the rest. “We’ve got rations here, and they shouldn’t eat that much anyways right away. If the kid wakes up at all tonight.” She rubbed her face wearily and shooed them off. “Hurry, but don’t risk anything, okay?” “Barricade the doors and keep the lights low. Keep out the generator at night.” “I will, but we need a fire.”

“We can see the lodge from the east gate, right?” Jesse asked. “I’ll stay up and take watch there with someone through the night. If you’re in trouble, flash the lights or give us a visual, and we’ll come and get you.”

“Someone like Dina, maybe?” Eugene asked as they mounted their horses, making Jesse blush quite a sensational shade of red and sending him mumbling. Trying his best to keep his dignity, he kicked his horse into a trot and started away from them. Eugene chuckled before he sobered up and pointed at her. “Be careful.” She gave him a mock-salute and he rolled his eyes before he turned to catch up with Jesse. When he caught up, both kicked their horses into a gallop, quickly vanishing around the corner. With an uneasy sigh, she grabbed Apollo by the reigns and led him inside the entry hallway. Let   ’s do this.

[nev3rfound]

the swan : chp.1 - the past (b.b)

nurse, friend, lover, assassin. these are the titles you were known under in his head, something he never wished to share until rumours spread of the swan being out of retirement. 

overview / chapter one / chapter two / chapter three / chapter four / chapter five / chapter six / chapter seven / chapter eight / chapter nine / chapter ten / chapter eleven / chapter twelve (final chapter)

You followed the two guards down the long corridor as cries echoed through the doors. It was hard not to ignore the screams and the sight of hands pleading against the metal bars, wishing for the pain to be brought to an end. All you could do was keep your eyes set dead ahead, awaiting your first role within the company. 

It wasn’t the job you intended to become a career. Growing up you helped your Father in the great war as a child, you were a natural healer, someone to be relied on in a time of a crisis. Some say this entire place is a crisis, hence why you were instructed to be brought with no choice. 

They came to your house, bursting through the door as your Mother fell limply to the ground. You saw a flash of fear in your Fathers eyes as he told you to run before a knife impaled him. And that was when they walked towards you with a sharp needle, causing everything to disappear until you awoke in an empty room and listened to the instructions. 

“We need you to look after our soldat, Ms Y/L/N.” A voice boomed into the room as you sat with your legs close to your chest, the images slowly replaying like a nightmare, one that unfortunately wasn’t a figure of imagination. 

The instructions were strict, ones you had to abide if you ever wished to see your family again. Hearing the word again gave you hope that possibly they might still be alive, they’re somewhere unknown, much like your current location. 

“This is your new home, you will look after our Soldat, keep him alive.” The voice repeated this fact, whoever the soldat was, he had to make it out of your door in better shape than when he is brought in. 

The guards in front of you come to a halt, moving either side of the large door whilst you hesitated. You lift your hand to your necklace, fiddling with the pendant belonging to your mother, a gift given days before you were taken. 

“Vash ofis.” One guard speaks up, and you simply nod as you lift your shaky hand as you push the door open, hearing the hinges creak loudly like the screams that line the walls. 

Before you is a large desk, filled with equipment you could not begin to comprehend. There is a small bed in the corner of the room, a bathroom to the side of that. But your eyes fall to the large metal slab that has been recently wiped down. 

As you walk in slowly you look around, seeing a guard quickly step in as your eyes spot the blood stain on the tiles. He moves to stand over it, his cold gaze meeting yours before you turn away, knowing best not to ask questions if you wanted to stand a chance. 

Wiping your hands on your dress you let out a shaky breath. “Is this my room?” You nervously ask, turning to face the guards as you pull on your sleeves, covering your hands. 

The guards share a look and you let out a silent sigh, Russian would be something you’d have to master eventually. “Eto miss tvoya komnata.” 

This is your room, Miss.

Nodding you walk around, your delicate fingertips lining the trays of equipment laid out neatly for your use only. You knew a few details from the voice in that room, they told you as little as they could in order to prepare you for the worst. What the worse may be feels irrelevant having experienced these past few hours, or days. The current time and date remain unknown to you as you’re hidden away with no sign of a clock or calendar. 

As you turn the two guards walk out of the room, slamming the door behind them. Instead of running towards the large door, banging incessantly you move towards the small bed and curl up into it. “Maybe it’s all a dream.” You mutter under your breath as you shiver, closing your eyes in hope when they open you’ll be back home in the comfort of hearing your family laughing downstairs. But the painful reality is this, the place you’re now a Nurse, someone who has to look after a broken solider, one you have yet to meet.

*

It had been several days since you arrived, but you still hadn’t met him. 

Every day, twice a day someone appears with a tray of food and pills. No one explained what they were, but waited until you swallowed them before leaving. You were simply instructed to wake up, eat and then sleep. Not once did a single person mention their solider and when he would be due in, it was almost a taboo subject for them. 

And then it happened. 

You were sat behind your desk, fiddling with one of the scalpels when the door burst open. Immediately you rose to your feet in a blind panic, reaching for the knife you kept in your back pocket, but then multiple figures appeared in the room. 

“Privesit yego v.” Bring him in. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat you listened to the sounds of chains being dragged across the floor. Two guards held the lifeless figure, forcing him into the room as his feet barely left the floor. 

His head remained hidden as it was slumped forward, dark brown hair covering his face from my view as I kept my eyes trained on my equipment, wondering what I would have to do first. 

“Miss Y/L/N. He is here.” The one soldier who spoke fluent English speaks up as they place the man on the cold table, his body slamming but he doesn’t moan in pain, he remains silent. 

“Thank you.” You mutter as you slowly move from behind the desk, standing in front of the trays that he’ll quickly notice. 

One by one the guards exit the room until you’re stood alone with the man sitting before you. Unsure what to do you wait for him to reveal himself, but he remains perfectly still. “Can you tell me where it hurts, Sir?” Your voice is weak, frightened of the figure you’ve been instructed to keep alive. This man is the reason you’re here, the only means of your survival for the future. 

The man slowly lifts his head as your heart rises to your throat, suffocating you as his hair parts, revealing dark blue eyes lifelessly staring back at you. 

His lips part against the thick stubble lining his jaw, but he merely tilts his head at the sight of you. “Everywhere.” His Russian accent is thick, and he slowly hides himself away, the chains rattling along the metal slab. 

Sighing you push yourself off of the desk, standing slightly closer. “I’m going to need a bit more information than that, Sir. Such as where the source of your pain is.” 

The soldier tilts his head up before turning to his arm, pulling his sleeve down to reveal something completely alien to you. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat you compose yourself for the strangers' sake, unsure how he expects you to react to the sight before you. 

His entire arm is metal, sharp pieces sticking out as opposed to gliding smoothly where skin should be. Where the metal joined the skin it looks infected, it was recent by the looks of it. The skin is inflamed, red raw as it is flaked with dry blood buried beneath the metal. You could see exactly where it was joined, the awful operations that must’ve taken place to create such a thing. 

Nodding you turn around, telling yourself step by step what ought to be the best means of this and how to help ease his pain. “This may sting.” Your voice softens as he remains emotionless, no voice behind the large figure. 

As you placed the cotton pad on the joint he didn’t even flinch. It was the sort of thing soldiers you had dealt with screamed at, cried out in agony. But not him, he was numb to all of it. 

Removing the pad you smiled to yourself, already seeing the wound clearly without the dried blood and severe inflammation distracting you. 

“How would you like to be addressed, Sir? I’ve only heard you discussed as a Soldier, but every soldier I’ve met has at least a name.” You somehow find confidence in your voice as you work on the silent man, easing the discomfort with every movement he’ll take with his arm. 

Glancing up you watch as his eyes remain on you, void of emotion he just stares like a robot. “I’m the Soldat, Miss.” He mutters under his breath and you force a heavy sigh. 

“That’s it?” You question, but he turns away refusing to give you anything else.

You continue to work in silence, knowing an attempt at conversation is pointless. The man before you is a complete stranger, a machine to these people that they need alive. Whatever or whoever he may be, he is important. 

Pulling on the last bit of thread you cut the ties off before turning around and hearing the door open. Three men stand before you, all with guns to their chests. 

Holding back the uneasy breath you clear your throat. “I think that should help with the pain he’s experiencing in his shoulder. But he should rest, he needs it.” You inform the guards, not knowing if they understand a single word you’re saying. 

Instead, two guards pick the Solider up before slumping him out of the room without another word whilst the third guard nods before slamming your door shut. You stand still, hands gripping your desk harder than you realised as you finally breathe for the first time since the man entered your office.  

*

Every other day he is brought in by the same three guards. He sits in silence as you find a new injury to heal, ease the pulsing of blood that soaks his clothing. 

Humming to yourself as you stand behind him, wiping the gash on his shoulder blade you watch as he tenses. “That song.” He mutters, his accent somehow thicker, but for a split second, you almost sense emotion burning through. 

“It’s a lullaby my Mother once sang to me.” You inform him, singing it ever so lightly and he relaxes under your touch. 

What you can’t see is the confusion on the Soldiers face, why such a thing would convey anything from him. But there was something familiar about that song, the soft tones in your voice as your lips remained closed. He eased into it, closing his eyes willingly, every fear vanishing for a split second. 

But it was short lived.

The door swung open and rather than beeline for their Soldier, you were their victim. You were thrown against your desk, yelling harshly as the Soldier watched. The men began yelling in Russian, not understanding a single word you just covered your head, cowering until you felt a strong kick in your side. 

You only opened your eyes at the sound of the door locking, and you were alone once again, singing to yourself like your Mother would after a nightmare. But she’s not here to ease you out of this one, you’d have to survive alone. 

*

After that, you reframed from talking to him. You worked in silence, ignoring the questions burning you inside as they itched in your mouth, desperate to crawl out of your lips. 

“You’re English?” Snapping out of your deep thoughts he speaks up. 

Hesitantly you lift your head up, facing the cold eyes as you simply nod in response. He notices as you wince at the sudden movement, one that clearly caught you off guard. “Sorry.” You mumble as you place your hand on your ribs ever so lightly, the slightest of pressure increasing the pain.  

“They hurt you, didn’t they?” You wish you had the willpower to laugh, but you keep your lips sealed, nodding instead. “Are you a mute?” 

You stare at him dead in the eyes, “No.” Stating the fact you wait for him to speak up, but instead he allows you to continue working in the comfortable silence. 

Silence was safer. You’d learnt your role is to simply heal him physically, the scars within go much deeper than those on the surface.

“Bucky.” He whispers, barely making it audible. “My, my name.” You lean closer into him as he mutters it once again, careful of the ears in the walls. 

He can almost see the smile ghosting your lips as you rub them together, his heart pangs lightly before it freezes over too quickly. “Well,” You clear your throat as you turn around, placing your equipment back on the tray knowing you’ll soon be interrupted. “it’s nice to meet you, Bucky.” 

taglist (thank you for the endless support on this series)

@callie-bear15 @vgirl10123 @markusstraya @krystallynx @toxic-pineapple @not-jarred-padaleki @tearsforhan @worldofchoices 

[tiny-maus-boots]

Garters and Gunslingers - Staubrey

“Since Beca mentioned loving their love story, it would be amazing if you did a one shot or quick fic about how Stacie and Aubrey first met, got together, etc. That would be wonderful! Thanks for writing this story. I have fallen in love with this version of Staubrey!” -Staubreybechloegoals4life

A/N: This is completely unedited so...please overlook everything wonky. I got this request on Ao3 and I totally should be in bed sleeping right now.

“C’mon, let me see.”

“No. It’s just a scratch, Chloe. I’m fine.” Aubrey pulled the cork out of the bottle with her teeth and regretted it instantly when the movement jarred her ribs. She winced and it was all Chloe needed to make her point. The redhead snatched the bottle away before Aubrey could tip it to her lips, setting it just out of easy reach. If she wanted it she would have to really stretch and that would be painful. “Chlo…”

“It’s right there. G’wan. Reach for it.”

It wasn’t worth it. Aubrey sighed and settled against her saddle, using it as a back rest. Her lips turned down in a frown and Beca snickered softly. She would have glared but that would have involved turning around and she really didn’t want to twist any more than she had to knowing that the cut along her ribs would bleed more.

“Alright that’s it. If you don’t let me see it I swear to God…”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Aubrey, goddamnit, stop being so damn mule-headed! Let me see it!”

She could tell Chloe was reaching the limits of her admittedly long patience and thought she had better just give in before she found herself hogtied in the dirt. Aubrey gave a deeply aggrieved sigh and unbuttoned her vest, wincing again when she untucked her shirt and lifted it high enough for Chloe to see. “It’s not that bad. Just tetchy because of where it is.”

“Not that bad. Jesus Lord Almighty…it needs stitching.” Despite her angry tone her hands were gentle as she inspected the knife wound carefully. “Honestly Bree I just don’t know what’s got into you lately. It’s not enough that we’re robbing folks, now you’re picking fights with them too.”

Beca snorted as she emptied her canteen into the cook pot over the small fire she had built. They both looked at her and she shrugged. “The problem is that nothin’ is getting’ into her.” Chloe blinked a few times at Beca who shrugged and opened the small leather pouch that held Chloe’s kit. “Bree would be just fine after a lil wrassle in the bedroll if you know what I mean.”

“Shut up Beca.” Aubrey’s face turned hot and she dipped her head to the side to let her hair fall in convenient cover. “Just because Jesse isn’t getting the job done for you doesn’t mean everyone is itching for…that.” She felt guilty immediately after the words were out of her mouth but it was too late to take them back. Chloe’s mouth snapped shut and she turned to the pot of water to pull it off the fire without looking at either of them.

Beca said nothing for a long time and that somehow made Aubrey feel even more petty and ashamed. “I’m sorry Bree my mouth ran away with me. I didn’t mean to say…I didn’t mean to tease you.”

It was worse hearing the apology from her friend because deep down she wasn’t so sure that Beca was wrong. It wasn’t sex, or at least it wasn’t just sex. Aubrey was realizing that she would never have a family of her own, or someone to love her the way she could see Chloe loved Beca. She would never have a partner the way that Beca had Jesse. And the more that realization weighed on her the more she found herself angry at the whole world for it.

“No Beca…I’m sorry. I’m sorry to both of you.” Aubrey sighed and lifted her shirt again when Chloe settled on the ground next to her with her kit. She had never wanted to be a hateful person, and she prayed every day for God to take the spite and jealousy from her heart. But it was harder and harder to ignore the stares, whispers and pointed fingers. Harder still to ignore the way mothers turned their children away as if she were monstrous to behold. It cut her deeper than blade had.

Chloe was silent as she worked to close the split in her skin but she could tell her friend wanted to say something. Aubrey grunted once but bore the pain in silence as she always did choosing instead to focus on Beca’s words echoing in her head. The idea of it set her face to flaming again and she shook her head to try to clear the thoughts. Her experience had been extremely limited and violent as much of her life experience had been and she wasn’t even sure she would know what to do even if she’d been given an opportunity.

“All set.” Aubrey let out a breath and dropped her shirt back down into place with a nod of thanks. “You know…it doesn’t have to be so lonely for you Aubrey.”

She gave a soft snort of derision and shook her head. “Chloe not a single one of your brothers would marry me.” The redhead made a sound of protest and Aubrey shook her head quickly. “I know. I know they would look past my face but it’s harder to see the scars on my body and ‘sides…not a single one of those great big Beale hearts holds more than a brotherly love for me.”

And she didn’t feel any differently for them. They were Chloe’s older brothers and they would always be that in her mind. Not to mention that not one single man had ever made her breath short just as the sight of him. Her pulse did not quicken at the mere mention of any man she had ever met. She found them likeable enough but…they didn’t ignite a passion in her spirit.

“There are other good men Aubrey. Maybe…maybe if you laid down your guns…with my share and yours, you could have your own homestead in a place far from Louisiana. Far from your family.” It was a sweet thought but Aubrey shook her head at it.

“They’d find me Chloe, they always do. And even if they didn’t…” She reached up and pulled her Stetson off then tucked her hair behind her ear to expose the long scar down her face. “I still couldn’t pay someone to look at me let alone touch me.”

Chloe’s eyes darkened and she reached out a gentle hand to trace the scar lightly. It had taken twenty odd stitches from brow to jaw and Chloe had cried the entire time. She would have lost the eye to infection had it not been for her best friend’s quick work and constant vigilance over the wound. Beca cleared her throat but kept her gaze on the fire as she tossed a twig in.

“Wanna bet?”

They both turned to look at her, Aubrey hissing when it tugged the laces in her side. “What?” It wasn’t that she hadn’t heard Beca, she had, she just didn’t understand what the other woman meant. “What are you talking about?”

Beca sighed and tossed another twig in the fire. “I know a place we can go to rest up a bit, get a drink or two. They don’t ask questions about where our coin comes from and the company is real fine.” Aubrey frowned still unsure of what Beca was implying. “The girls are clean, might even find you a Christian one.”

It dawned on her with sudden clarity and her face flamed anew. Aubrey looked away quickly and put her hat back on and looked away. If Beca hadn’t been so quietly earnest she might have shot her where she sat. “Are you suggesting I go to a house of ill repute?”

“Maybe. I think we could use a drink and it’s as good a place as any to get one. Better since most people there will be too busy ruttin’ around to notice any of us.” Aubrey couldn’t find fault with that logic and in fairness maybe she didn’t want to find fault with it. Beca stood slowly, tossing her last twig into the crackling fire still keeping her gaze steadily averted. “Up to you Bree. You can live your life any way you see fit, I think you know you won’t find any judges here.”

Beca finally turned her deep blue gaze on them and Aubrey shifted uncomfortably. It was all too knowing and understanding and that somehow prickled at the deeply religious part of her. She had to break eye contact and clear her throat. “How far is it?” When she peeked back up Beca’s lips had quirked into a hint of a smile. Not the mocking smirk she wore as her every day habit but something else, something somehow gentle and almost welcoming.

She was sure the devil had a smile just like it.

---

It had taken just fifteen minutes to break down camp and another two hours hard riding to get to a house in the middle of nowhere. No town close enough by to lay claim to the land, but not too far as to keep folk away. Beca and Chloe dismounted their horses and glanced up to her in unison. Aubrey took a settling breath and slid carefully from her mount. The pain in her side had dwindled to a dull ache so long as she didn’t try to move too quickly. It was a good enough excuse for why she hesitated as she stared up at the two story edifice.

“We can go if you want, Bree.” Chloe’s soft tone made her glance over at the women. She didn’t want to leave, she just didn’t know if she could actually go in there. Her father’s voice rang in her ears admonishing it for the den of iniquity that it was. It was oddly centering and took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She’d committed worse sins without batting an eye, this should be no different. Just another dark mark in God’s ledger to judge her by. “Bree?”

“I’d like a drink or three.” Beca gave a light chuckle and playfully nudged at Aubrey’s shoulder. At best she would finally touch and be touched, and at worst she’d be in good company and drunk off her ass by sunrise. Aubrey took a step then paused to look back at the horses. They’d need tending to before anything else and she knew the second she turned away from the house she’d lose her nerve. Chloe must have sensed her dilemma and to the reins gently out of her hand.

“G’wan Aubrey. I’ll take care of your horse.”

She gave a slow nod and took another step then turned back with a worried expression. “I don’t know how much…I mean…how do I…what do I do?” For one aching second she wanted to get back on her horse and ride back out but Beca handed her reins to Chloe and jerked her head toward the house.

“You’re not here alone, c’mon I’ll buy you a drink.”

It was the kindness in the offer that let her take another step and then another. Before she knew it she was on the porch and past the threshold of the front door. The dust and dirt from her boots seemed an obscene contrast to the plush rugs that adorned the floor. She only noticed them because she didn’t dare raise her head lest she be caught looking where she ought not look. Aubrey followed Beca’s buckskin clad legs through the entry and into a large parlor. When she did chance a glance up she noted that there were a few men lounging on chairs and chaises with women sitting on their laps with more leg showing than was decent. A shiver ran through her as her eyes lingered a little long on the women and she turned quickly to the bar along one wall.

“Two whiskeys, best ya got.” The man behind the bar gave a nod and placed two glasses in front of them, filling them with a bottle that was stowed behind the bar before moving away to give them a little space. “You okay there, Aubrey?”

She gave a short nod and knocked the drink back with a soft hiss at the burn as it slid down her throat. Aubrey was most certainly not okay but like hell would she ever admit it. Beca gave a small cough as she downed hers, turning to look around the room with open interest. It occurred to her that the other woman seemed a hair too comfortable. “How do you know this place Beca?”

“Jesse and the boys like to come here sometimes after a job.” It surprised her and she blinked at Beca in confusion. The brunette smirked and shook her head. “I don’t mind Bree. He’s not a bad man, but he’s a man just the same. Besides it’s safe here, as safe as can be for ‘slingers. Sometimes the boys just need to let off some steam.”

The curiosity was killing her and she caught herself asking before she could stop. “Does Jesse?”

Beca looked away and nodded distractedly. “Sometimes. Truthfully…sometimes I’m glad for it. You weren’t wrong when you said he’s not doing it for me.” Aubrey suspected that had something to do with the way Beca and Chloe looked at each other. Jesse was handsome enough, charming enough…but he wasn’t Chloe Beale. But Beca was married to him and had taken that oath to heart. Til death do them part meant a lot to Beca, more than all the love for Chloe that she held in her heart.

“I didn’t mean it Bec. I was just sore at you for seeing to the truth of things. Laughing an’ such.” Beca chuckled and raised two fingers to order another round. The bartender refilled their glasses and Aubrey downed it just as quickly as the first. “Do you still love him?”

“Yeah, I do but it doesn’t mean you were wrong. I mean, it’s different now. It’s not how I thought it would be but I do still love him. Sometimes.”

It made her laugh and she couldn’t tell if it was because that second shot had loosened her up or if she just felt comfortable in her own skin for a change. Aubrey turned her back to the bar and let her gaze drift around the room, taking in all the decoration on the walls and tables. She caught her own reflection in a large mirror across from them and the smile faded from her face. She had almost forgotten for a moment where she was and why but the scar was a stark reminder and she sighed.

“Hey Cowgirl, Bree.”

Chloe’s amused voice made them both look as she crossed the room to the bar. Beca gave a soft wistful sigh and Aubrey knew it was because of Chlo. Whatever Bec felt for Jesse it was clear her heart belonged to 5 feet 4 inches of red haired gunslinger.

“Hey yourself. Drink?”

“Yes please.”

Beca ordered another round and when the bartender hesitated she put some money on bar with a sniff. It seemed to be what he was waiting for because he took the money and pocketed it before refilling their glasses and setting out a fresh one for Chloe. Aubrey reached into her vest to pull out her own coin purse but Beca shook her head and nodded at the women eyeing them curious eyes.

“Save your money, the way some of them are lookin’ at you, you’re gonna need it.”

It made her blush again and she scratched idly at her ear. “You just hush up.” They both laughed and raised their glasses. Aubrey brought hers up to clink gently against theirs before they tipped them to their lips and drank them down.

“Hey come take a walk with me Bec. I think my mare mighta thrown a shoe.” Beca gave Chloe a confused frown then blinked her expression clearing as she nodded.

“Yeah sure. We’ll be right back Bree.”

Aubrey turned when they both started off and found herself face to face with the most gorgeous creature she had ever seen. Her eyes went wide and she turned quickly to face the bar. The woman was tall and dark haired with a body that looked soft in all the right places. And it was just a little too much to take in all at once.

“Hi. Mind if I sit?”

Her breath caught at the sweet tone of the woman’s voice and Aubrey could only nod once. Despite her own discomfort the other woman seemed perfectly at ease as she gestured for two drinks and then turned to fully look at Aubrey. It was slightly uncomfortable and she kept the ruined half of her face turned away.

“I’m Stacie. You’re new here aren’t you?”

“Yes ma’am.” It was formal and polite because it was all she could manage with her heart beating the way it was. She was sure the sound was audible enough for the whole room to hear but a quick glance around showed that not a single person seemed to notice or care. A drink was pushed in front of her and she looked up quickly, realized her mistake when the woman smiled, and looked back down at her drink. She reached out for it but it felt slow and clumsy and she stumbled over her words. “Thanks you. I mean. Thank you.”

“Never had a gunslinger quite like you before.”

There was a challenge in the tone and Aubrey felt her back straighten. “A woman?”

“Polite.” The laugh oddly put her at ease and Aubrey’s lips curled into a grin. “What’s your name?”

“Aubrey, Aubrey Posen.” It came out in a rush and she wanted to believe it was the whiskey and not the woman that had turned her all up inside. But the truth was every little stolen glance at Stacie made her feel like a swarm of butterflies wanted to escape from her belly.

“Well Aubrey Aubrey Posen…here’s to your health.”

The woman knocked the drink back with a sigh and Aubrey let her gaze trail down the long pale neck and across her collarbone before she realized she hadn’t taken her shot. She’d lost track of how many she’d had and only just managed to get the one down before the room got a bit hazy at the edges.

“You’re not a big talker are you Aubrey Aubrey Posen?”

She cursed herself for her ineptitude and wished fervently that Beca and Chloe had not abandoned her in her hour of need. “No ma’am. Ain’t much to say I suppose. Never been to a place quite like this before. ‘Course I never would have been allowed…” She stopped herself there and shook her head. For not having much to say she suddenly felt the compulsion to speak every word that came to her mind, if only to keep Stacie there awhile longer.

“Never been allowed? Let me guess, your family is religious and you ran away to live your life free and thieving?”

She gave a non-committal nod and chanced another glance up. Stacie was watching her very intently and Aubrey felt the weight of her searching gaze. Their eyes met and she turned fully, caught by the gold flecks that seemed to sparkle in the light from the lamps. “What about you?”

“Oh you know…just another sad story. Daddy was a stick man for the railroad and when he passed I had nowhere else to go and no inclination to marry a backwater rancher to bear a gaggle of babies. So I ended up here with Ma and Pa.” She played with her glass, batting it lightly between her hands and Aubrey wondered if Stacie were feeling just as nervous as she was herself. “You still go to church?”

It started a laugh at her and she leaned back against the bar, forgetting that it left her face fully exposed. “Not as much as I should. Why? You itchin’ to get saved?” She hadn’t meant it how it sounded but the surprised grin she got for it was enough to make her own lips quirk.

“Darlin’….smile at me like that again and I just might become a believer.”

No one had ever said anything like that to her before and Aubrey ducked her head down suddenly embarrassed all over again. Her hair fell like a sheet to obscure her face but Stacie reached out to tuck it back. Her long fingers combing through Aubrey’s blonde locks before tracing along her jaw. Gooseflesh rose in the wake of touch, igniting something low in her belly and it took her a moment to find her voice. “You’re not…bothered? By this?”

She raised her own hand and traced a line down the scar. Better to address it now because she couldn’t hide it forever. Stacie’s eyes tracked to her cheek then back to Aubrey’s eyes. “Honestly I hadn’t even noticed.”

Aubrey scoffed at that and shook her head. “Sure, and the sun sets in the east and rises in the west.” Tension pulled the muscles in her shoulders and she realized that of course Stacie would say that. She was working and her job had nothing to do with liking Aubrey’s face. She looked away and sighed, heart heavy with the knowledge that for the right price it might not matter to some but it did still matter to her.

“Aubrey…” The quiet command in it made her look at Stacie and she was startled by the clear and open gaze. “I really didn’t notice. I came over here because…well…because you stole my breath the second you walked in.”

Lies she was used to, but that kind of honesty she was not. It made her smile slowly reappear and the tension eased back out of her body. “You actually mean that.” It wasn’t a question, she knew it for the truth when Stacie reached out again and cupped her face gently. Aubrey let out a shuddered breath and tipped her head letting her cheek fill Stacie’s hand. She was a little ashamed at how hungry she was for such a simple touch, her breathing ragged and deep as she tried not to lose herself in the softness of it.

“With every fiber of my being, darlin’.” She stayed like that, eyes closed and soaking in the warmth from Stacie’s hand until the other woman spoke. Her voice a gentle plea. “Come upstairs with me…”

Another shudder ran through her and she nodded her agreement. The hand pulled away and she opened her eyes to find it waiting and outstretched before her. Aubrey swallowed hard and raised her own hand slowly almost afraid that Stacie would jerk hers back but the slender, strong fingers grasped hers firmly, tugging her along to the stairs. Each step up seemed to take her further away from the weight of her worries until she was light as a leaf gusting in the breeze.

Stacie pushed in a door and led them inside and a roll of anxiety almost shook her to her knees. The tall woman noticed and tugged her closer, sliding a hand up Aubrey’s arm to her shoulder and finally to her cheek. It calmed her trembling but did nothing to stop the racing pace of her heart. “I’m gonna kiss you now Aubrey Aubrey Posen.”

Aubrey nodded a little quickly and Stacie reached up to lift her hat off and toss it on the chair by the bed. Her blonde hair fell softly around her face and Stacie smiled at the way Aubrey pushed it back. “I’ve never…”

“Been with a woman?”

To say the least. “Been kissed.”

She swallowed hard but Stacie’s gaze didn’t waver in the slightest. Stacie leaned in, all her soft curves and full skirts pressing into Aubrey’s body. Her lips brushed softly against her own and in that moment Aubrey swore she saw God. It was sweet and chaste and everything she never knew she needed. Her fists clenched tightly and she raised her hands only to let them drop futilely to her sides, unsure where they should go. “You can touch me you know. It’s okay.”

Slowly she unclenched her hands and reached out to rest them on Stacie’s waist. The satin and lace under her fingertips felt foreign and she wondered what all that smooth skin would feel like instead. There was a breath between thoughts before she pushed back into the other woman with an intensity of desire she had never known before. They shuffled a few steps before the world tipped and they fell into the metal frame bed together. Stacie’s laughter lit her soul on fire and her last thought before she lost herself in bliss was that she would gladly present herself before the gates of Hell if it meant just one more kiss, one more touch, just one more moment with this angel come to earth.

[allyvampirelass29]

The King of Nothing: Scene 3

A Vampire Diaries Prequel By: Allyssa J. Watkins

Klaus felt the adrenaline coursing through him like an addictive toxin, infecting his whole body, and he moved with callous force to blur to her side, when an even more ferocious flash slammed hard into him, knocking the air from his lungs, one of them deflating with a sickening, anguished gasp.

The two vampires landed with a bone-shattering thud, creating a crater as the ground sunk beneath them, and Klaus could already feel his brother's fist cracking against his jaw with ravaging, undiluted, rage.

He grunted and growled, as Elijah assailed him, first one fist, and then the next, his neck jerking back and forth, feeling the bruises spread on his face as they took form, and for the first time in a veritable age, he considered biting him, making the holier-than-thou fop bleed, and cower before his King Brother. 

Elijah roared again, his whole body shaking uncontrollably seizing Klaus' neck with both hands, his nails biting hard into the skin, his grip like an iron restraint around his neck, lifting his head, strangling him mercilessly. Klaus fought back, almost impressed as the calm, austere face he knew and sometimes loved, erupted, animalistic, into a bubbling volcanic seethe. Elijah, The Eternal Peacemaker, was GONE, his eyes, whites and irises, a blind window of red, his back arched, his fangs gnashing in Klaus' face, and when he spoke, even Klaus felt the ice crystalize in his blood.

"IS THIS THE VIOLENCE YOU SO CRAVED, BROTHER!? TELL ME!!!!" Elijah slammed Klaus' head back, with concussive force, almost burying it into the ground, and Klaus choked on the dirt as it streamed down, crumbling from the broken earth. "DOES THIS DO TO SATE YOUR STRINGENT THIRST FOR SHEER BRUTALITY OR SHALL I TRY...… AGAIN!?"

Klaus flew up from the ground, leaping, his own eyes murderous and flashing erratic red, his mouth open and snarling, fangs dripping, like a riled, uncaged beast, but Elijah was driven by both the powers of love and hate, harnessing their combined strength, and he didn't even hesitate to halt Klaus, mid-air, with a single strike to his still bleeding heart, and effortlessly flip him over his shoulder, snapping his arm in two.

"YOU DEMON!!!!!" Elijah roared, his voice deafening, making the overcast air shudder, as he whirled around, poised to strike again, his eyes wild, and incensed. "YOU DARED DRINK FROM HER!?!? HELLSPAWN BLOOD OF MINE, if you EVEN so much as make one single move towards THAT girl, An Original SIN such as even Cain and Abel did not know will be perpetrated on this unholy ground, upon which you stand!!!"

Klaus screamed into a blur, holding his wounded wing to his chest, and unleashed his fist, Elijah's windpipe crushing beneath his knuckles, and his boot connected severely with his knee. Elijah let out the faintest, gravelly groan, sinking for a split second to his knees, and he felt the steel press against his throat, as Klaus towered over him from behind, breathing heavily, blade raised, and the thunder above them, threatening the inevitable storm, clashed with the thunder of Klaus' own tempestuous scorn.

"Come, COME, now, Brother of the two of us, which is more likened to CAIN, himself, having the courage to ERADICATE his own BLOOD!?!?" Elijah gritted his fangs, as he felt the sword, covered in Klaus' blood, cut shallowly across his own throat, mingling with his. "Am I my brother's keeper, or his KILLER!?" Klaus mocked bitterly, making another cut, and Elijah did all he could to suppress his anguish. "Valiant Elijah, Chivalrous, STUPID, Prim Paladin, YOU think yourself her Champion, but you are only going to make things infinitely worse for her, by CHALLENGING ME!!!!"

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!? VILLAIN, I KNOW YOU NOT, AND RECOGNIZE NO BLOOD OF MINE IN THAT HATED FEVER THAT FLOWS THROUGH YOU!!!!" Elijah's voice drowned out the growing thunder, a glint of blood and silver catching his eyes, and he struck at the sand, retrieving his stained dagger, plunging it deeply into Klaus' hand, making him fumble his sword, and Elijah blurred swiftly toward Natalia, standing between the monster he called brother, and the beautiful thing he had sired.

Klaus thrusted his now healed arm out, pointing his sword in a fiery seethe at his brother and enemy, his blood and Elijah's one as it reddened the blade, but now they stood here as strangers. "Let me tell you...… who the HELL I am, you PREACHING HYPOCRITE!!! I am the man that is going to save this girl, yes, this one that you seek to save from me, and it is I who am going to SILENCE her demons once and for all. Now, step AWAY from My Sired!!!!"

Elijah shook his head, bewildered, frustrated, and Klaus watched a little amazed, as his perfect brother, ran his fingers, deranged through his once, never-a-strand-out-of-place coif, wrecking it with purpose. "WHAT MADNESS IS THIS!? You FRIGHTEN ME, KLAUS, HOW do you seek to slay this girl's demons!? By becoming the WORST of them!?"

Klaus smiled, but it held nothing but foreboding and threat, his eyes focused hard, and unfeeling, almost reptilian. By making them..... FEAR ME. You, yourself, have seen me as thus, HELLSPAWN, yes, so poetic, Elijah, truly. You see this as a battle of that which is good, versus that which is evil, but the only thing evil fears, Dear Brother, is WORSE evil, and if I must frighten you, or her, or HELL itself, so BE it!!!"

Elijah, stepped back, as though to guard Natalia's helpless form from this inherent madness. "Do not THINK I have forgotten your crude display of INSANITY from the day previous, FORSOOTH, SIR, I am just as potently plagued by it!!! Those words...…. they're the fatally blind ambition and uncouth ravings of a MADMAN. You don't want her to be better than you, Niklaus, you want to harm her, PUNISH her, and you DARE do it under the guise of instructed PROTECTION!? YOU SICKEN ME!!! You're going to DRIVE this spirited maiden to her DEATH!!!!"

Klaus laughed cruelly, the sound biting, digging his blade into the ruptured earth, twisting it, each word spat from his mouth. "Oh POOR Elijah, without this darling Spanish Rose, whoever will you charm, scrape and bow to? She will be the BEST, or she will die...… Are we any worse off than before if she does? Tell me, what is truly lost, when you kill an already dead girl?

The tears fell from Elijah's stricken brown eyes, his lips quivering at he stared at this malignance incarnate that bared no resemblance to his brother. "You- You don't mean that.... You CAN'T mean that...…. Not even if your heart were carved of stone could you- could you speak so heinous...….

Elijah got very quiet, and Klaus watched suspiciously, as he knelt down beside Natalia, lifting her head delicately, his fingers poised beneath her chin. "Look at her....." He said softly.

Klaus' eyes went wide, and he brushed off Elijah's request with haughty annoyance. "What are you playing at? I don't need to look at her, and I should punish you for even touching her...…….

"Klaus...… Do you think I don't see it? Do you really think you can deceive me in this, hide your heart from the brother that knows it better, even than I presume, yourself? She's young, so young, she doesn't know you, not like I do, your mannerisms, your idiosyncrasies remain a confounding mystery to our young lady, while I can read them like words you've written in your own hand. It's so slight, these nuances, subtle movements, almost invisible flinches...… Your body whispers, what your mind screams in anguish to drown out. You're in love."

"Am I, now?" Klaus scoffed, his fingers tightening on the blade in his hand, moving closer, his eyes, cool, sapphire rings of azure fire. "WHAT a revelation!!! First, I am accused of being too cruel to this bloom, and now I LOVE her!? My, my Elijah, how ridiculously you contradict yourself. Which is it, then!?"

"Look at her. You know, and I know, Brother, it is no contradiction..... It is both."

"Impossible!"

"LOOK AT HER!!!" Elijah commanded, holding Natalia's head up higher, her curls dangling, "DAMN IT, I said LOOK!!! Look into the face of your greatest happiness, look at that which you love and therefore fear with more suspicion and frenzy than even the evil of your own parentage!!! This beautiful, alive soul, who's ONLY crime exists in feeling tenderness for a diabolical, lunatic king!!!! You are Richard III, Klaus, save that your deformity lies not in the physical, but in the perversion of your heart. You ARE King of Nothing, except reigning royal of CRUEL Men!!!!"

"DO NOT SPEAK TO ME OF CRUEL MEN!!!!"

The lightning struck blue and purple in the sullen sky, as if summoned with the raging power of Klaus' piercing scream. His chest heaved, and his eyes were deadly with blue lightning of their own. Elijah caught the thrown sword between his palms, it's razor point just inches from his forehead, and he hurled it over the fence, thankful that Rebekah was safe inside and spared the inhuman evil now possessing her favourite brother.

"I was not borne of a cruel man, but I am the bastard Frankenstein creation of one!!!!" Klaus seethed, his voice a low growl, feral and frightening. "As much as I loathe this cruelest of all CRUEL men, as much as I ache to drive a blade through his cold heart, just so that I might be granted the utmost pleasure of doing it again and again, until I spear it out with coursing triumph, I was MADE INVULNERABLE by a cruel man. There is NOTHING, not one contrived torture by mine enemy's hands that has not already been thus afflicted by my HELLION father. Cruel Men don't only make monsters, they make...…. Indestructibles……. A Cruel Man, with far greater purpose than the one that came before, is what's going to turn a fast withering rose into sharp-edged diamond that can cut glass. Do not speak to me of Cruel Men...… when they are what forges warriors."

Elijah shook his head slowly, his eyes even darker, rife with revulsion, his elegant hands, hardened fists.

"That's it then, Your Grace? The sins of the father become the sins of the son!? You would commit these same atrocities against her, as they were waged against you!? YOU would recreate her in YOUR image!? Are you a King or a GOD, Niklaus, WHICH IS IT!?!? You ply the heart of the woman you love with the sword, to harden it against you, and here you stand, daring to EXALT the conniving TYRANT that made MONSTERS of us all!? Tell me, Brother, TELL ME your love and your hate are NOT one and the same!!!!"

Klaus growled turning his back on his brother, fangs bared, wishing he'd had another sword to hurl at him in a rage. "One is just as much a curse as the other, my love, my hatred, what does any of it even matter if both parties SUFFER!? He paced back and forth violently as he spoke, snarling the words, deranged, his irises still glowing blood red. "I do not exalt the DAMNED CUR, Elijah, do not mistake me. I exalt the hatred he instilled in me, that breathtaking animosity that made me strong enough to slay him, the author of my hell, along with any man or beast that dares thwart MY WILL!!!!"

"And WHAT, PRAYTELL, is your WILL for her!?!?" Elijah screamed, pointing accusingly at Natalia's form, which had assumed every appearance of death. "You drive me, spur me on to HURT her FOR YOU!!! Again, again, AGAIN!!! It's NEVER enough, and I am ASHAMED of the PAIN, the psychological and physical, that this young, vivacious creature has suffered at BOTH of our hands!!!"

"Ahhhhh," Klaus arched an eyebrow, with a horrible smirk, the tip of his fang visible through his pressed lips. "There it is...…. There we find why you've so smartly donned your kid gloves, Brother, why you've been less than useless to me today, why you will never be a suitable sparring partner for her, THERE we find, why you stint her promising potential...…. I pushed you too hard. You actually got those white gloves dirty, and you're scared that she'll see the monster in you too, even more treacherous for wearing the guise of mannered civility. You do not yet realize in this selfish attempt to keep yourself above it all, you prove yourself her worst enemy."

He started to move slowly toward them, stone-faced, and Elijah's lip trembled, the placid surface of his own countenance rippled with the angrily thrown stone. "DAMN YOU!!!! DAMN you to HELL!!! I am her ONLY solace in this INFERNO you have authored, with the SAME hand as the father you revile!!!! I used to think you were better than him, Klaus, I used to hope there was something still HUMAN behind those imperious eyes, but I LOOK at you, at what you're doing to her, why you're doing it, and I see only HIM!!!"

Klaus' chin shook with his indignation, his red hot irises blazing rings of fire, his seething breath, making his shoulders rise and fall, until they remained hunched with his venomous fury. Elijah's lips were tremulous, as he moved to protect Natalia, regretting the words as soon as they let loose their barbed arrows, but what they reaped in return, made his blood run cold, for never in a thousand years had he tasted more paralyzing fear.

"GOOOOD!!!!" Klaus thundered back, still advancing on them both, eyes manic, getting closer and closer, his voice more howl than human sound. "If you see in me, that particular evil, if my words bite with that wretched POISON, it means my plan is WORKING!!!!! MY PLAN that will make this girl a MARVEL, as opposed to yours that douses her fire, leaving her like this, limp and lifeless!!!! YOU, LOOK AT HER!!!! IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED!?!?!?" Klaus' shuddering yell reverberated through the arena, making the air tremble all around them, and the lightning itself shivered in spastic flashing trails.

"I WANTED HER.....… FOR YOU!!!!!!" Elijah roared back, open mouthed, drowning out the next clap of thunder that rushed down at them, and Klaus took a step back, his own screaming threats falling silent, unnerved.

"What did you just say to me?"

"I wanted her for you...…. I wanted love for you, to gentle you, to heal you, to help you forget these long worn scars, Klaus!!! I saw something rare and uncommonly beautiful, a purity in this divine bond between you and her, love at first sight, such as there has never been before, nor will there ever bloom again, but you- you have poisoned this apple of Eden, and I see how blind I've been. I see how unnatural, how twisted this affect, one on the other, truly is. This isn't love, this can't be love, it's something darker, something wrong...…. You love her...…. but it is WRONG."

Klaus scoffed, flinging his arms out, exasperated, and broke into a joyless laugh. "Love, love, LOVE!!! How QUAINT!? What kind of FOOL do you take me for, Elijah, I barely know the girl, and she DESPISES me, she'd kill me right now, all you need to do is put a white oak stake in her hot little fingers, and point to my allegedly existent heart!!!!! WHAT are these flinches, these purposed movements that confess to you my love, hmm? Why do you think me capable of so weak, so human an emotion, that fragility, that madness, that hateful infestation that can only be called love!?"

"Me thinks he doth protest too much...…." Elijah said much quieter, searching his brother's eyes for mercy, but was not at all surprised when he found none. "Rant, rave, spew the opposite, but Brother, your body fails you in this unnecessary deception. I see you...…. Every blow, every cut, every bruise, every pain, that has befallen this young woman, is mirrored in your own body. You flinch when I strike her, even as you command me with your own lips to strike her harder, you wince at her wounds, and I see the glimpses of an escaped truth. Her hurt is your hurt, you feel her pain, and still you make her suffer, and in effect, suffer yourself. You hurt her with your own hands, you BIT her, tasted her blood, such graphic theatrics all to prove you feel nothing. All to prove...…. you don't love her, but oh the elaborate and ghastly lengths you go to, prove that you do."

Klaus rubbed his lips together, his gaze hard, flitting from Elijah, to Talia, but his eyes were unwavering in their indifference.

"Why do you do this to yourself, Niklaus...….? Why suffer the girl, sacrifice her, for the sake of your own unyielding pride? FORGET this Fool's Errand. This MAD babble about making her better than you, you're an ORIGINAL, such a quest is a death sentence for any who seek to undertake it. Stop pushing her. Stop pushing her away, let her in, save her...… even if it must be from yourself. Either let her in...…. or let her go...…."

"No." Klaus said with a scathing finality, his red, bloodshot eyes piercing into Elijah's as he leant forward in his face. "I told you, I cannot be deterred from this path...…. Whether it is love or hate that burns between us...…. She WILL be better than me, SHE will be the most powerful vampire of all time, or she will be...…. sacrificed. My course is charted, call it madness, call it prudent, but you will not stop me."

Elijah looked down at Natalia's slumbering form, and Klaus could see it in his austere brown eyes, his temptation to gather her up in his arms, and speed her away, never to return, but instead Elijah breathed deeply, palms up, backing away. "I will not court this madness, I will never condone this obscene abuse, this hold you have on each other, this ruined love that now shackles you together, condemning you both. These fates once braided, cannot be untied. I wash my hands of this...… I wash my hands of YOU."

Elijah turned, shaking, blurring away, and the moment he was gone, Klaus felt his legs falter beneath him, stumbling forward to Natalia, collapsing in the mud, his eyes stinging, as the dreary sky opened up and wept with him in a deluge of descended rain.

His tears mingled with the pelting raindrops, tasting salt and freshwater on his lips, as they shook, and he coughed, choking on his own flooding sorrow. He crawled through the mud, moving closer to her, more tears streaming from his anguished blue eyes, and he brought forth a trembling hand to touch her face, a pained murmur escaping him, as he brushed it against her cheek, moving his fingers up to the wound gaping, haloed with a bruise, at her temple, single tears becoming sobs, as his hand trailed with the rushing water down her neck, the rain washing clean the dark red blood pooling from two deep puncture wounds. The artist's unsavory mark.

He fell upon her chest with a desolate scream, as though cursing some unseen evil, knowing full well this malevolent foe that so assaulted his beloved, resided inside him even now. He wept bitterly, gathering her up in his arms, holding her to him, his head pressed against her heart, the beat of which soothed the chaos within. He slowly lifted his drenched hyperion curls, rain falling from his eyelashes, streaming down his nose, soaking his leather clad skin to the bone. His two fingers shook even more, the closer they drew to the bloodied bitemark, and he forced himself to touch it, feel the depth of his imprint, more sobs released, her blood on his hands in every sense. It dripped down his fingers as he spoke, staining them red, his other hand drifting through the water droplets collecting in her muddy, mangled curls.

"CURSE these wayward hands that have done naught but bring you harm. CURSE these impure lips that dared profane your neck, your blood!!!! CURSE this man who was never anything but a monster, who does not know how to love something without killing it DEAD!!!!!" Klaus sobbed profusely, his voice broken and choking, his words bleeding with the profound depth of his pain. He fumbled into an upright position, pulling her tenderly to him, laying her body across his lap, his chest shuddering, her head resting atop the curve of his shoulder. "Never...…. again." He whispered, his lips still trembling, the words drowning in his misery, with barely a sound. "Never again, will I violate you so, drink from you without your consent..... this I vow….... Forgive me, Natalia...…. Forgive me, though in secret, never shall I forgive myself."

He bit deeply into his own wrist, much harder than necessary, squeezing his eyes shut, wanting it to hurt, the way it had hurt her. Fresh tears blurred his woeful gaze, as he pressed his bleeding wrist to her wet, luscious lips. "Drink, My Love....... I know it is not recompense sufficient for the pains I have caused you these languishing weeks, but let me heal you, repay the blood I have so recklessly taken, both with blade and fang. Precious blood spilt by a mad king. You were right, Sweet Talia...… I am the King of Nothing. How else can I do this, fell my own sacred queen? Where is my kingdom? Here lies King Richard III, I, with my deformed love, clinging to my crown above all else, and I wish you would prove him and I, the same in such heartlessness, return that sword to this sheath a hundred fold, for this sin unforgivable. He pressed one hand against his pierced heart, still holding his bleeding wrist to her lips, but they stayed unmoving against his skin.

"No, no, no, my bloom of fire, you must drink, please, let me ease your suffering and thus...……. my own. Elijah's innate perception serves him far too well...…. I cannot see your pain, without it becoming my own...….. He sighed, cradling her curly head in his palm, easing her mouth open with a trembling finger, the rain cascading over them both. "I am doomed Hamlet, driven his dear Ophelia, and himself mad. This is courting madness, and I muse how long until this worn mask becomes my real face? That face which you could never love......"

He felt more tears stream from his stricken eyes, as he dripped his aromatic, spiced blood into her open mouth, watering his rose, drop by drop, and he saw her crimson lip quiver with hunger. "Yes, there's a good girl," he whispered through his raw ache, returning his wrist to her mouth, and this time she drank deeply from him.

"That's it, Mi Reina, bebida," he whispered in Spanish, watching her curved chest lurch forward to get more, and he stroked her soaking wet, raven tresses, his touch tender, letting each glistening curl fall through his fingers. He gathered her into his arms, lifting her up from the mud, and his face was solemn as he held her, cradled her, assailed by the unrelenting rain.

Curse these arms that are strong, but not careful enough to hold you, curse these eyes that cannot look on you with love, unless yours are closed...….. His mind lamented, his expression hard as he carried her inside, rain pouring off of both of them. Curse this lying tongue that dared call you dead, when I've never seen anything more fearlessly alive...…. Curse the wounded heart that will always break yours.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

[amazingmsme]

Preventing Apotheosis Part 3

I know it’s been a hot sec, so here’s part 3! If you want to catch up, the first 2 chapters can be found in my preventing apotheosis tag!

Curt looked around for any sign of people nearby, but found none. The haunting wails sounded off all around them. General McNamera stood next to him as still as could be with his eyes shut. He tapped his shoulder, "What are you-"

"Sh! I'm trying to hear what direction is loudest. That way we'll know which one's are closest and work from there." A few more seconds and McNamera turned around and pointed down the road, "There, downtown. Makes sense, since it's closest to the crash site. Walker, Mega and I will head that way while Pierce, Ramirez and Morgan will take the northside and we'll meet back here at 23 hundred hours. The chopper will take us back." They split up and went their separate ways. Curt held his gun at the ready as they ducked between buildings. The farther they went, the louder the singing got. As they hid behind trash cans, they saw a group of people dancing down the street, twirling and leaping about. They waited until they were right in front of them before they opened fire, mowing them down before they could belt another note. John motioned for them to keep moving, so they pressed forward. 

They ducked into an alleyway searching for anyone when a man stepped out from behind a fire escape. His eyes were glowing a striking electric blue, and he was missing an arm. The blood that was dripping from the wound which should've been red was the same piercing color as his eyes. Despite this, he wore a crazed smile on his face as he opened his mouth, letting out an operatic high C. They all instinctively reached for their guns, but two more people came up from behind them, knocking them to the ground. Mega grabbed his second gun and shot the man in front of them in the chest as McNamera spun around and punched an infected elderly woman in the face. Walker dove for his gun, firing at the third alien human hybrid as soon as it was in his hand. The aliens were still alive however and recovered fairly quickly, unlike the group they had massacred so easily. Music filled the air, and it seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The old woman grabbed John in a choke hold while the other two pinned Curt and the other soldier to the wall. He had been in this position before and knew how to get out of it. He brought his knee up to the man's stomach, making him double over. Even though the wind should've been knocked out of him, he still managed to sing with the rest.

"Oh Mr. Gun Man, Mr. Military Brat, you shoot at us and think you're all that. But this is a new dawn, this is a new day. Welcome to the new age."

After freeing himself, he shot the alien in front of them before killing the woman choking John with a swift headshot. The commotion allowed Walker to escape and as they tried to run away, he shot them in the back, and they crumbled to the ground as the music came to an abrupt end.

"I'm not a military brat," Curt spat at the dead bodies before them. John gave him a look, "I believe they were talking, well singing, to me," he said. Mega furrowed his  brows and his nose scrunched up a little.

"Relax Curt, I'm only messing with ya," he said and shot him a quick wink. He couldn't help but smile at him, but ducked his head down as soon as he felt heat rushing to his cheeks. He couldn't believe himself. He swore he wouldn't fall for someone in the field ever again after what happened with Owen because it would only end in heartbreak. But John was so good looking and strong: physically and mentally, and he had that same snarky, sarcastic humor that had drawn him to Owen in the first place. He had to keep his head in the game! Had to keep his eyes on the prize and get the job done! Then he could think about his love life. "Let's keep going."

They reached a school and heard loud singing and music blaring from the building. They tried the door, but when that didn't work, McNamera kicked it in. They followed the echoing voices through the eerily empty halls. He didn't know why, but empty schools always made him uneasy. It was unnatural. Once they found the source, John held his fist up signaling them to stay put and not enter. The three of them peaked in through the window and saw three teenage girls slowly creep and advance on two men who appeared to not be infected, but you can never be too careful. The shorter of the two tried to reach out to the girl in the middle, but the other man pulled him back. Once the song ended, he started talking, but they couldn't quite make out the words. John cracked the door and they all listened.

"I can't live in a world without my daughter."

"Bill, whatever you're thinking, stop it."

"I can't live knowing I'm the reason they got to her." He brought the barrel of the shotgun to his jaw, and the other man tried to wrestle it away. Bill begged for him to let him do it, but the gun was yanked from his hands and tossed to the ground. As his friend held his shoulders and spoke to him, McNamera noticed the middle girl step forward and pick up the gun, aiming it at the oblivious men.

"I won't let you die!" BAM!

The men jumped at the gun shot, the taller man whipping around towards them as the other rushed to the fallen girl. He scooped up her lifeless body and started weeping as they burst into the room.

"Get down on the ground, we're the army!" BAM! BAM! BAM! Walker shot at the remaining zombified girls before they ran out of the room and escaped. The man apparently named Bill didn't move from his spot on the ground.

"Alice! Alice no! Please wake up, you're gonna be fine, daddy's here," his words were strangled and choppy from the large lump in his throat. Tears and snot rolled down his face while his choking sobs filled the air.

Walker and McNamera walked up to the other man as he pleaded that he wasn't one of them, and Curt jogged to where they were, having been frozen at the sight. "Yeah prove it asshole we're the army," McNamera deadpanned as he knocked him out with the butt of his gun as Mega fumbled with his badge and whipped it out, "CIA- oh he's unconscious." He looked down at his hands with a frown and waved his badge out to the side aimlessly. Bill finally seemed to come somewhat to his senses and turned around towards them. He was still cradling his daughters face is his hands, and his face morphed from grief to rage.

"You! You killed her!" he screamed at them. Curt didn't like this. He wasn't used to dealing with civilians and "cleaning up." He stole things, tortured people, killed people, but they were always bad people with cruel intentions. These were normal people with normal lives, and it only just now dawned on him that they were supposed to kill them. And then he charged at them and General McNamera knocked him out with an elbow to the face. His body hit the floor with a loud smack that made Curt wince. John bent down and picked him up, throwing his limp form over his shoulder and motioning for Walker to do the same.

"Mega go kill those alien bastards before they leave the school while we tie them up. We'll be in the classroom across the hall."

"You're not gonna kill them, are you?"

"Those are my orders," John said matter of factly.

"So that's it? You just knock them out and kill them without another word?"

"It's better than if they were conscious."

"If they survived this long don't you think they deserve to live? Who knows what all they've been through, I mean you shot a man's daughter for Christ's sake!"

The General grabbed the cigarette from his mouth and used it to point at him, "That thing wasn't his daughter! Whoever she was, she was dead long before I shot her. And she was going to kill him anyways, so I killed her before she could."

"Why? So you can kill him instead?"

"That's not-" but McNamera couldn't finish his sentence and pressed his thumb and pointer finger against his temple. Curt didn't stop talking however.

"They're innocent people. We should be helping them," he pleaded. The last thing he wanted was for them to die.

"You may be used to saving the world, but my job is strictly damage control! Do you know the kind of chaos that would spread if people found out about what happened here? You can't even begin to imagine! Without P.E.I.P. hysteria will ensue, and I'm not willing to let that happen just so two meaningless people can live!"

"That's why we only threaten to kill them if they ever tell anyone!" He really didn't want to do this, and he wondered why Cynthia had to send him of all people. Because he was Curt Mega, one of the world's greatest spies. Or maybe because he had the worst luck.

"Damnit Curt, do you think this is what I want? I just follow my orders, I don't get to make them. Look, maybe we can come to an agreement, and we won't have to kill them, but I'll have to talk it over with my superiors." Curt nodded, "Okay."