#i might end up with more knives by the end of the trip. as i have only gone to 2 of the many sketchy knife shops. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

perlelune · 8 months ago

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Glory And Gore | Feyd-Rautha

The trip to Giedi Prime you take with your mother should have been a mere diplomatic gesture. Instead, you find yourself prey to the inevitability of fate as it sinks its claws into your flesh.

Warnings: NON-CON, Deception, Parental Neglect, Cannibalism, Mutilation, Bene Gesserit Reader, Knives, Murder, Forced Marriage, Primal Kink

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

“I don’t want to.”

“You must.”

“Mother-”

“Use it!”

The authority dripping from your mother’s voice has you shrinking in your chair. You lift your gaze. A shudder slithers through your frame. Your fingers squeeze around the armrests, gripping so tightly you can feel the iciness seeping into your veins.

You study your mother’s face.

An unsettling realization crashes over you.

You no longer are looking into your mother’s eyes…but at the Bene Gesserit. You steel your features and iron your resolve.

You swallow a deep, calming breath.

“Give me the blade,” you repeat, for perhaps the hundredth time that morning. The exact count has evaporated amidst your heated nerves long ago. Your mother is unyielding today, pushing you further than she ever has before. While her purpose eludes you, the urgency etched in her manner from the moment she tore you from bed that day doesn’t. Today, your mother will not settle for surrender. She demands results.

Results for all the years she spent drilling the Bene Gesserit ways into you.

There is no hint of being swayed in your mother, her handle on the dagger unwavering. No twitching. No slackening of her grip. Your spirits dim.

“Again,” she barks.

Pearls of sweat gather on your brow as you strain your mind once more. The humming courses through your blood, the echo of power swelling in your mind. Fiery tendrils trickle through the veil of hesitation and nervousness.

You grasp at the threads, the fleeting wisps of control, pulling on them with all your might. Still, they slip through your fingers like sand. Frustration flares inside you with every attempt.

You persevere, enduring through the agony bleeding inside your mind. Through the liquid fire sweeping through your veins.

You meet your mother’s harsh stare.

“Give…me…the blade…” you articulate, injecting every bit of hazy conviction glowing inside you.

For a while, you and your mother hold each other’s gaze. A battle of wills. An ephemeral, pathetic one that ends as it always does…with your mother snickering at your failure.

She shoots up from the chair, exasperation evident in the drawn-out sigh she unleashes.

“No willpower. Just fear,” she says, pacing across the room.

“Apologies, mother,” you mutter, lowering your head in shame.

The Voice. The damned Voice. In eighteen years, you have never mastered it.

She approaches you, kneeling in front of your chair.

“Child, you must never fear, because fear…”

“...Is death,” you finish. The Bene Gesserit words are woven into the very fabric of your mind, for you have uttered them so many times since childhood.

She places her forehead against yours, cupping your cheeks.

The combination of your two voices echoes in the room.

“Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me…”

As you recite the familiar prayer, a wave of serenity swaddles you in its calming tide.

Your eyes flutter open.

Your mother’s fingers wrap around yours.

“Reverend Mother will see you tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“You are of age. It is time.”

“Time for what?”

A shadow flits across her eyes.

“For the Gom Jabbar.”

“Gom…Jabbar.” A crease appears on your forehead. “What is it?”

A tense smile spreads on her face, her grip on your hand growing tighter.

“You will learn soon enough,” she says.

Rest eludes you that night, your mother’s words weighing too heavy on your mind for it to float away in peaceful slumber. Tormented by nightmares, you toss and turn between your sheets.

A beast chasing you, its claws sharp and long…Like knives. Darkness creeping on your every step. Fire shooting through your veins.

The world in flames, while you burn alongside it.

You awake drenched in your own sweat.

Hugging your knees, you lean against the headboard. You stare ahead. Moonlight drizzles through your carved window, casting shapes of silvery light against your walls. The same granite walls you have known since childhood. Usually so familiar, comforting. Today the sight of them reminds you how utterly alone you are.

Your thoughts churn, the storm of doubt and gloom within you grazing its peak.

Per custom, you are a disappointment to both your mother and the Sisterhood. The Voice. The Weirding Way. No matter which skill your mother and the myriad of Bene Gesserit teachers you had over the years attempted to drill into you…you failed to master every single one.

It’s not for lack of trying on your part. You wish you knew why. Why your voice always cracks. Why your hand always falters. Your mother has never given hope to lure a steel-mindedness out of you that was simply…never there. No part of you wishes to bend others to your whim or cause harm. You don’t crave control or power. Only serenity and peace.

The next day springs forth in a haste, the blinding light of the sun arriving too quickly for your comfort. There is a deliberate languid nature to your motions as you get dressed, fussing with your hair and dress. A pointless attempt at delaying the inevitable.

Gom Jabbar. You mulled the words over and over in your non-sleep. Mighty oppressor or mighty enemy. The translations from Chaksobar to Galach are plentiful. While you don’t know what awaits you on the other side of the door, from your mother’s pinched expression the day before…unpleasantness is guaranteed.

You trudge inside the dark room, a chill shooting through your spine at the sight of the still figure of Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam sitting in the middle. Her pale, weathered features, wrinkled and creased like ancient parchment, stand out amidst the unsettling gloominess ahead. Even behind the black veil, the older woman radiates an aura of ancient, mystic power, her presence both fascinating and intimidating.

No word unfurls from her tongue at first, her keen, bird-like eyes assessing you. Despite the urge to cower, you hold your chin high and stiffen your spine.

“Your Reverence,” you greet, bowing so low your nose almost grazes the tiled floor.

“Come closer, child.”

Your feet move on their own before you even register the command. Shock pulses though you as you approach the Reverend Mother. The Voice…She used the Voice on you. No Bene Gesserit ever did that before. None would even dare. Not on a Count’s daughter.

You land in front of her, stunned and shivering.

She collects a viridian metal fox from beneath her robes, its eerie light glowing ominously in the darkness. Your heart stutters as you note the chasm inside the box, a lightless void reflecting nothing but complete blackness.

“Put your right hand in the box,” she orders.

Her tone is bereft of the thrall of the Voice now. Willing compliance... you realize this is what she wishes from you. You stare at the pitch blackness inside of the box, the sight alone stirring your unease. Hesitation limns your fingertips.

“I…”

The Reverend Mother’s firm voice booms across the air like thunder.

“Is this the respect you show to your elders?” she roars.

You flinch. Shameful heat lurks its way inside your cheeks. Mother would be embarrassed if she saw you now, denying the Reverend Mother herself, the Emperor’s Truthsayer.

You inhale a wide breath and place a tremulous hand inside the metal box. As the darkness engulfs your appendage, a cold wave creeps over it. The prick of a needle on your fingers follows closely. Sensations vanish from your hand, only an odd numbness remaining.

The old woman’s gaze sharpens. Her wrinkled hand shoots upward with a quickness that leaves you speechless, halting right beside your neck.

A glimpse of metal beckons you from the corner of your vision. Temptation to turn your head simmers within you but an instinct set deeply into your bones screeches at you not to move.

You yield to to the second hunch.

“I hold at your neck the Gom Jabbar,” she informs. “The high-handed enemy.”

“Poisoned needle?” you absently wonder.

You catch the shadow of a smile through the black veil.

“Your mother did say you were a clever one.” She tilts her head slightly, reminding you of a vulture circling its prey, gauging the right moment to swoop down and sink its claws. “A soft heart with a sharp mind.” Dread coils around your heart. “The test is simple, girl. Your hand must remain in the box. Keep it in the box, you live. Withdraw it, you die.”

“What’s in the box?”

“Pain.”

Tingles begin to spread.

Your breath snags, needles starting to dig across the back of your hand. But unlike before, the sensation lingers this time. Growing and growing. Uncomfortable at first, then unbearable. Then, it turns blatantly hellish. Fire licks your flesh, the flames causing your entire body to break out in sweat and your breaths to come out labored and uneven.

Pain such as this cannot be of this world, you begin to think.

The kind that grows more vile and intense every second. You writhe, tears rushing to your eyes. Your free hand clutches your stomach, twisting the flesh in desperate need of an anchor amidst the unnatural agony. The room fogs around you, your quick, panicked breaths and the wild drumming of your heart filling your ears.

The longing for death comes and goes, the impulse to withdraw your hand teetering over a precipice. At least, death would bring release from the unfathomable pain.

Blessed freedom. You nearly surrender to that wayward instinct. Nearly.

In the end however, the acute, overwhelming awareness of the lethal needle less than an inch from your neck keeps your hand inside the box.

“An animal in pain would chew its own leg to escape a trap,” The Reverend mother says calmly, unfazed by your tears and sobs. “But a human would bide its time, suffer through the agony until he might remove the threat to his kind. This is a test of humanity. This is what us Bene Gesserit do. Set humans apart from animals.”

An eternity in the pits of hells seems to drag along before she gives you permission to withdraw your hand, her hand dropping from your neck.

“Enough,” she says.

You tear your hand out of the box with a trembling exhale, astonished when your gaze tumbles upon smooth, unharmed skin. You turn it upside down, flabbergasted. It looks the same. Yet the furnace within the box made the burning feel so real, so vividly, terrifyingly real, that you were convinced the flesh and bones were devoured by the flames. You expected a lump of bleeding, smoking flesh. In disbelief, you fold your fingers several times. You wince. Phantom pain still sits in your hand, your nerves alight with embers of ache.

Suppressing a fresh surge of tears, you lift your eyes to the Truthsayer.

“Your tolerance for pain is sufficient,” she states. “Congratulations, child. You are human enough to serve our purposes.” She hums in thought, a sliver of satisfaction seeping through her solemn inflection. “You may not be a complete waste of genetic material after all.”

“You almost failed the test, I hear.”

You shift in the bench opposite your mother, her imperious tone ripping the wound of your glaring incompetence open once more.

Your attention wanders above the closing gate of the starship. You commit the luxurious plains of your planet to memory. Your chest twinges with preemptive melancholy. From what you heard, Giedi Prime is a dry, depleted rock where trees are replaced by rows of factories and metal skyscrapers which only blot out the dusky skies even more. A nightmare from the sounds of it. Though your mother insisted you join her on the trip, arguing your presence is key to the success of the treaty.

So you swallowed your reluctance and agreed to come.

“I thought I would lose my hand,” you mumble, your fingers clenching. The awe over the flawless state of your limb hasn’t left you.

“Her Reverence would never maim a prospect,” your mother argues.

You nod, gaze colliding with hers.

“Just kill them if they fail to prove their humanity?”

You still recall the sharp, poison-dipped tip pointed at your neck. The oppressive weight of impending death nipping at your flesh.

The line between surrender and success had been thin. Too thin.

Your mother’s stern brow furrows.

“Pain is always a possibility…One you must embrace.”

“Why? Isn’t the Gom Jabbar a singular occurrence?”

Instead of answering you, your mother lifts a black, oblong chest from beside her. You noticed it before but forgot to inquire about its purpose.

The metal and dark accents of the object mimics the Harkonnen style. Your fingers sweep over the symbols engraved on the box.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Open it.”

You do as instructed. The inside of the chest reveals a set of knives, a long obsidian one and a short silvery one. The blades glimmer as you lift them, their sharp edges catching the artificial light of the cockpit.

“They were forged from the finest steel on Alderan,” your mother says. You give a puzzled stare. Your mother elaborates, “You must gift them to the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen upon arrival. For his coming of age.”

Right. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen’s birthday celebration. You were told there would be a grand spectacle in the arena, that he was a great warrior, revered and admired by his people…perhaps even more than his uncle the Baron Vladimir. Day after day before the trip, your mother has impressed upon you the importance of attendance, of embracing the Harkonnen customs as if born into them. Every single one, however uncanny, crude or brutal.

So, much as the concept of spilling blood for entertainment repulses you…you shelf your disgust for now. Personal feelings must capitulate to diplomacy.

Your critical eye sweeps over the knives. These must have cost a fortune. Sinister beauty and artful skill fused in ominous synergy inside a finely made instrument of death.

“It’s fine craftsmanship,” you say. Your fingertip drags across the curved edge. A crease appears on your forehead. “But the edges…they could be sharper.” Your eyes light up. “I could finish before we land.”

You sift through one the heaps of precious stones and minerals lining the walls of the cockpit.

Victory floods your being as you find what you sought. A flat whetstone that shall serve your purpose well. You find a spot on the floor and begin your task. The knives shine brighter with every swift glide of your hand.

The frown on your face deepens.

“I hope the Baron’s nephew is pleased with our gift.”

You know next to nothing of him. Though you surmise if your families are to start trading with each other, getting along would be wiser.

Your mother smiles at you though it fails to reach her eyes.

“I have no doubt he will be very pleased with all the gifts you bring him, daughter.”

The frosty, pollution-heavy winds of the lifeless planet whip your face as you set foot outside the car. Your eyes roam over the large building housing the Harkonnen arena. The imposing structure casts an intimidating shadow against the nebulous, gray sky above it. Dormant volcanoes peek through the horizon in the distance, the only remnants of natural landscapes.

Hopelessness surges through you.

Despite having landed less than an hour ago, a fierce longing for Alderan’s endless green fields and snowy mountain peaks roars inside you. Every cell in your body screams to go back inside the ship and return home.

But you can’t. Such a display of rudeness would be a disaster for diplomatic relations. So you plaster on a smile and ignore the potent stench wafting around you.

You exert meticulous sovereignty over your expression when the Baron floats toward you and your mother. Nothing could have prepared you for this. The sight of the bald, massive man hovering towards you and your mother in his suspensor chair.

The floating figure of the baron stops in front of you and your mother. A circle of servants, clad in black clothing, follows behind him. You note their bowed heads, the way their eyes never rise high enough to look directly at you or your mother. A brand marks their necks, one you recognize as the sigil of House Harkonnen. You’re reminded how ubiquitous the slave trade is on Giedi Prime. Your mother mentioned it but the harsh reality of it didn’t strike you until now.

“Welcome to Giedi Prime,” Baron Vladimir greets. His gristly tone surprises you, eliciting a chill across your spine you swiftly suppress.

“My Lord,” your mother says, sinking into a graceful bow.

You mimic her. The baron leers at you.

“She is even more exquisite in person.”

You recoil, the glint in his calculating stare stirring your unease.

Your mother’s gaze sweeps across her surroundings.

“The na-Baron isn’t in attendance?”

“My dear nephew is preparing himself in the gladiator pit. There are rituals we Harkonnen observe upon one’s coming of age.” Your mother nods.

The baron smirks, his focus swinging to you. “Perhaps you could pay him a visit, little one?”

You clutch the small chest in your hands.

“I…”

“Go on,” your mother urges, shoving you forward.

You gasp, almost tripping in your shock. The baron’s commanding voice rises.

“Slave!”

One the cowering servants leaps from the circle.

“Yes, sire?” the boy mumbles.

“Escort the girl to my nephew at once.”

The servant approaches you. His gaze briefly lifts before finding the floor again. A pang of empathy twists in your chest as you note the fear etched in the servant’s eye. You find yourself wondering what these eyes have witnessed, what horrors lurk on the wretched rock.

“Follow me, my Lady,” he says.

As you’re led away from the welcoming party, you toss a glance at your mother above your shoulder. The message written in her eyes and stern expression is clear as lake water.

Do not cast a veil of shame upon our house. Remember your duty.

Sucking a deep breath, you turn away.

You and your retinue of two guards and an attending maid are taken to the bowels of the arena. A horrid stench clings to the walls as you trudge through the dim walls. It grows more potent the closer you get to the pit. Your chest heaves. The urge to empty the meager contents of your stomach in the sand tickles your dry throat. You quell your disdain with a shake of your head.

You are here to present your house in a positive light, help Father’s treaty with House Harkonnen be a success.

As you enter the room, you get your first look at Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. Warmth finds your cheeks. He’s almost bare, his rippling, pale muscles on full display. Two servant girls paint broad, black strokes over his carved back. The dark color stands out against his alabaster skin. Not a stray hair covers him and you suppose he’s as smooth-skinned and hairless as the rest of his kind.

When his dark gaze settles on you, you take tremulous steps forward.

You open the chest and present the knives to him.

“This is a gift for you, Lord na-Baron Feyd-Rautha,” you say, your voice cracking at the end.

Silence hangs for what seems eons, Feyd-Rautha cocking his head as he gauges you. It takes every ounce of bravery inside you not to flinch. His presence alone has every hair on your body stand at attention.

There’s a cold intensity in his glare, a tautness on his slender features.

You feel as prey being assessed. The urge to run itches your flesh. Your mother’s quiet warning echoes in your head. Remember your duty. You dig your feet into the ground, willing your roaring pulse to steady.

You hear him speak for the first time. His voice is hoarse and deep. Like the scratching of a stone over a sharp object.

“Would you like some fresh meat, my darlings? Lungs, a liver, perhaps?” he offers, smirking at three women sitting in a corner of the room. Their inky, whiteless orbs and ravenous grins send a chill through your spine.

His eyes fall on the knives inside the chest. His hand sweeps over the blades, an odd gesture almost reminiscent of a lover’s caress. He places the silver knife against his tongue, as if to taste the sharpness of the weapon. You shudder as you watch him, a foreboding feeling spreading across your flesh.

For a brief span of time, the well of your buried childhood memories tugs you to its depths. You recall a day when you were little. Your father took you hunting in the forests of Alderan. You chased a butterfly and got lost. You fell across a field. When you rose, you were nose to nose with a fierce predator. It stared at you a while, so still as its slanted, yellow gaze pinned you to your spot that you thought you were safe. You didn’t notice the calculated way it was prowling towards you, its maw opening slowly in anticipation of its next meal. The gift of tender, unsuspecting flesh. It’s not until your father speared the creature with his sword that you realized the jaws of death almost closed in on you. As it sprawled across the field, it unleashed an ear-piercing dying howl.

You were struck with shock that day.

A similar shock rocks you to your core when Feyd-Rautha slices the throat of one of the servant girls at his side and stabs the other repetitively. Time freezes as the lifeless bodies of the slave girls hit the sand with a loud thud.

Speckles of dark blood stain the bottom of your light tunic.

Your wide gaze lands on the other slave girl, tucked in a corner of the room. You watch her shrink in fear, the quaking in her hands so intense she nearly drops the tray she’s holding.

Horror fills you. She isn’t wondering if she’ll be next…but when.

Feyd-Rautha’s attention swings back to you. Dread coils around your heart.

“Hm, these are shockingly adequate,” he purrs appreciatively, grabbing the other knife from the chest.

It’s hard focusing on his words. Behind him, the three bald-headed women are swooping down on the poor servant girls’ corpses like vultures ripping a carcass to shreds. One of them pulls out a knife and slices the girl open from neck to gut. They bury their hands inside the girl’s body and grab fistfuls of her soft insides that they greedily shove into their mouths. Pieces of guts and dripping flesh jut from their pale lips, trickling down their chins and necks.

One of the women catches you staring and flashes you a blood-drenched, black grin.

You shudder. The maid at your side chokes on a sob, her hand flying across her mouth. Even your guards are appalled by the display, one of them averting his eyes.

A whispery croak slips through your lips.

“I s-sharpened them myself this morning,” you say, your fingers tightening around the chest.

A crooked smile unfurls on the na-Baron’s lips.

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises, pet.”

His smile expands. “How rude of me,” he says, tossing a casual glance at the ghoulish spectacle behind him. The women are still gleefully feasting on the slain slave girls. “Would you like a bite as well?” His mirthful gaze flicks over your heaving chest. “Fresh heart, perhaps?”

You swallow past the lump in your throat, forcing a placid smile onto your face.

“I-I’m quite alright, my Lord. I already ate.” The chomping noises of the cannibalistic women rises, one of them tearing into the slave girl’s side with her sharp nails.

Sickness spreads through your being. You avert your gaze.

“I shall leave you to get ready for your entrance, my Lord,” you stammer as you give a quick bow.

“I look forward to our next meeting, my Lady,” Feyd-Rautha says, the amusement never leaving his face as you scurry out of the room.

A tremor still lingers in your hands as you join your mother in the golden box above the triangular arena. The moment you sit at her side, she questions you.

“So, what did you think of him?”

“Who?” you reply, feigning ignorance.

She sighs. “Feyd-Rautha.”

You press your lips. The crowd chants his name as he steps into the arena, clutching the blades you gifted him at his sides. He walks slowly, with purpose. Yet there’s a hint of tedium in his haughty gait. As if today was no different than any other day for him, and the taking of more lives were nothing more than a mere footnote in his long list of tasks for the evening.

Sadist. Psychopath. Deranged.

These are some of the few choice words that surge inside your mind in response to your mother’s inquiry.

You utter none of them.

“Why does it matter? Our stay on Giedi Prime will be short, will it not?”

You peer through the binoculars your mother hands you. There’s a gut-wrenching brutality to the na-Baron’s practiced motions.

You watch him cut down two Atreides gladiator-slaves with ease. It’s clear something has been done to the men, their wobbly, confused steps through the arena a painful scene to witness.

Your chest seizes every time his blade tears into the poor mens’ flesh. He snarls after a series of successful strikes, seeming more beast than human when he bares a row of black teeth.

A shiver ripples through your spine.

“You must keep an open mind,” your mother heeds.

The last gladiator-slave is different. You note it right away. There’s a lethal precision in his movements that was amiss in the other Atreides soldiers. Panic swarms the golden box. Baron Vladimir’s advisor begs him to cancel the fight.

“This one isn’t drugged,” he says, fear lacing his tone.

“This will spoil my nephew’s birthday,” the baron rumbles, dismissing the man with a withering glare. He remains disturbingly calm. “Show me who you are, dear nephew.”

You take a deep breath. The rest of the fight veers to an unusual route. Feyd-Rautha removes his body shield, welcoming the challenge the Atreides soldier offers with open arms.

A psychotic smile decorates his lips as he fights for his life. For the first time since the fight began, he comes alive in the arena.

The vicious trading of blow after blow has bile rising to your throat. Unable to stomach it any longer, you bolt to your feet and mumble a rushed apology to the Baron.

“I shall retire to my chambers,” you say.

As you exit the golden box, the excited clamor of the crowd as they scream Feyd-Rautha’s name follows your hasty steps.

You sneak a glance through the high, blue doors. The sight inside the vast hall has your blood curdling. Debauchery the likes of which you have never witnessed unfolds before your eyes. A peculiar blend of orgy and slaughter occurs in the hall. You’re failing to comprehend what you’re seeing, relief coursing through you that you refused the Baron’s invitation.

Once more, you are stunned by the vast cultural differences between your people and the Harkonnens. Sickened, you step away from the doors. Twisted curiosity led you there, and blatant disgust will take you straight back to your room.

The dusky, barren walls of the Harkonnen keep are a stark contrast to the colorful tapestries that can be found all over Castle Alderan.

Homesickness tugs at your heart strings. This alien world is hostile, wretched. You long for the familiarity of your bed and the warm, soothing winds of your planet.

As you roam the hallways, a prickling across your nape has you whirl.

Your sight fills with Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

Your chest clenches. Your head whips around, a fresh urgency livening your steps.

“Should you not be celebrating your grand victory, my Lord?”

“Frivolous pleasures do little to sate me,” he says, easily keeping up with you. His gravelly baritone ripples across your spine. “This isn’t for me…It’s for them. And my uncle knows it.” His arm brushes yours. You bristle. Amusement bleeds in his tone. “Where are you running off to, pet?”

Pet. You tense at the belittling moniker, the one he forcefully bestowed upon you.

“To my chambers. The evening has exhausted me.”

“You left early.”

You cast a puzzled frown upon him.

“In the arena," he specifies.

Your fingers curl into fists. The unfairness of what you witnessed still staggers you. The Atreides soldiers weren’t given a chance. Pigs led to their inevitable slaughter. And Feyd-Rautha plucked joy from their misery, seeing every slave as a tool to satisfy his unquenchable thirst for blood.

“I have no stomach for violence, my Lord.”

A humming sound pours from his throat.

“Perhaps it was careless then.”

Confusion flutters through you.

“Careless?”

A wicked smile tilts his lips skyward.

“Of my uncle to hand me such a delicate flower…one whose petals are bruised so easily.”

You let out a hollow laugh, dread gripping your insides. Loathing the way his dark gaze slides over your frame, you set your eyes forward.

“You say such strange things, my lord.”

“Do I?” He adds casually, “After all, you were promised to me.”

Your heart falters, missing a beat. He must be drunk, you ponder, in a feeble attempt to placate yourself with reassurance.

“Perhaps you ought to sleep the evening off, my lord. I believe victory may have gotten to your head, warped your perception.”

His sinister chuckle bounces against the walls.

“A pet with a sharp tongue. How fortuitous.”

It’s the only warning you receive before he snatches your wrist and slams you into a nearby wall.

You gasp. He pins your wrists beside your head, trapping you between him and the wall. You squeal, eyes bulging at the abrupt impact. You can already feel bruises form beneath his steely grip.

You fight to get free but he doesn’t budge. Sadistic enjoyment contorts his features as he admires your fruitless struggle.

He leans close to you. Your pulse soars.

“What are you doing?”

His lids sag as he drinks you in.

“Well…sampling my other gift, of course,” he whispers, lust oozing in his voice.

His mouth crashes over yours. You go dizzy. The kiss is bruising, staggeringly possessive. A brutal, sloppy clash of lips, teeth and tongue. You give his lip a harsh bite but it only draws a cheerful laugh from Feyd-Rautha. The acrid tang of metal coats your tongue. He moans against your lips and starts exploring your curves.

As his hands pluck at your soft flesh, fear surges through you.

“Let me go,” you scream, trying to use the Voice. There’s a flicker in his eyes and you feel hope…but it swiftly vanishes. One of his hands fastens around your throat while the other charts a dangerous path under your tunic. His fingers crudely poke and prod the apex of your thighs.

Your panic swells.

“Unhand me this instant!” you shout, a trickle of power rushing in your words.

Feyd-Rautha shakes his head, your thrall only seeming to last a few seconds. Mirth shimmers in his inky orbs as he studies you.

“Are you trying to use Bene Gesserit tricks on me?” The hand around your throat tightens. You claw at his arms, your vision flickering as he taunts, “Why don’t you try again, little witch?” He sinks two fingers through your dry entrance. Tears swim in your eyes at the aching, sudden stretch. His cruel voice flows against your temple. “Perhaps I ought to slice your tongue and shove it down your throat for our wedding.”

The hammering of your heart grows deafening. You swallow your tears and look into his eyes. You gather a thin breath to speak.

“Back away…” you croak weakly, desperation flailing inside your chest.

He gives a slow blink. To your surprise, the hand around your throat slackens. His eyes narrow as he leans away from you, a dazed expression on his face. You don’t take time to bask in fleeting relief, racing to your mother’s room as soon as his hands aren’t on you anymore.

Once you reach your mother’s chambers, you fling yourself into her arms.

Her arms wrap around your shuddering frame. She caresses your hair, gently whispering, “Daughter, the hour is so late…Is something the matter?”

You release a shaky breath, sinking further into her embrace.

“May we return to the ship? Go back home?”

“Why?”

You cast a tearful gaze towards her.

“Haven’t we done our duty, mother? Is it not enough?”

A long weary breath flows from her lips. Her hands curl around yours. She takes a deep breath before speaking again.

Her face becomes stern, impenetrable.

“Apologies, sweet child. We cannot.”

You search her harsh gaze. A heavy silence settles between the two of you. You retreat, horror clogging your airways as unsaid words hang in the air.

“Mother…What have you done?” you mumble, a fresh wave of tears breaking past your lashes.

“You are to marry Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen in three days’ time,”she bluntly announces. Your jaw drops as you take another step back. “All the arrangements have already been made.”

Your voice trembles.

“And Father agreed?”

“It was his idea, approved by the Reverend Mother herself.”

The deepest pits of hell welcome your plummeting heart. You sink to the floor, the weight of your kin’s treachery growing too heavy to bear.

“And you did not speak against it?” you mutter, disbelief confining your breath.

Your mother falls to her knees, joining you on the floor.

She cradles your face. “It is your destiny. We are Bene Gesserit. We exist only to serve.”

“He is a monster.”

“I’m afraid it’s irrelevant.”

A sharp breath spills from your throat. Your head snaps up.

“Is this all I am to the Sisterhood?” You unleash a dry laugh. “A broodmare to be sold and used to further their plans? To you and father…”

Her mouth wobbles. “Our way is not to question, but to answer when duty calls.”

You bring a quivering hand to your throat. You can still feel his harsh fingers crushing your windpipe.

“Do you see what he has done to me?”

“Mother, please…”

A flash of regret appears on her face. It barely lasts a second before a mask of indifference drapes over her features again.

“You should rest,” she says, cupping your cheek. “You will need your strength for the days ahead.”

You take in your mother’s blank expression. The blatant lack of emotion despite her knowing what Feyd-Rautha did to you. You swallow a shivering sob. It might have hurt less if she struck you across the face. Or drove a dagger through your chest.

The room chills around you as you reach a sinister conclusion.

You are completely alone.

Packing your scarce belongings takes little time. You didn’t bring a lot with you on Giedi Prime. The trip was supposed to be short after all. A mere courtesy visit to honor your father and the Baron’s alliance. How naive you were.

In the end, you are just a pawn for the Bene Gesserit and your father to move around. You always knew marriage would come eventually. It is what you have been prepared for your whole life. But you harbored the faint hope that your future husband would be kind, or at least a decent man.

As you recall every instance of Feyd-Rautha’s cruelty, horror clutches your insides.

There isn’t a sliver of kindness in him. You venture he may even draw sick pleasure from others’ misery. The smile that touched his lips when you struggled against him still chills your veins.

It stuns you that someone like him, who seems more animal than man, even passed the Reverend Mother’s test, that he somehow withstood the pain, and maybe even embraced it.

Logic dictates that he must have however. Otherwise the Reverend Mother wouldn’t ratify the crossing of your two bloodlines.

The mere thought fills you with dread. He is dangerous. A monster who thinks, who plans, who schemes, who gathers joy from pain.

You come to a decision. You will not be Feyd-Rautha’s bride.

You must find your way back home. The sisterhood can find another sacrifice to fulfill their prophecy. It will not be you.

You wait for the keep to be quiet, not a sound lingering in the cold, blue hallways. You conceal a few belongings beneath your cloak. Another set of clothes, a compass, some jewelry and other valuables you’re hoping to trade for safe passage on a starship. Doubts wander inside you.

Where will you go? What will you do? Will you survive the weather conditions and atmosphere of a completely different planet? You still remember your brief visit on Salusa Secundus for the Princess Irulan’s coronation day. How you couldn’t move without fire rushing to your lungs. How every single step felt like you were taking a hundred. You could die.

Still, the prospect scares you far less than what awaits you in the Keep.

Uncertainty lies in your future. But you do know one thing. You must run as far away as you can from Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

Getting past the guards is easy enough.

You use what you remember of your Bene Gesserit training to sneak outside the fortress.

Harko city welcomes you in all its dull, somber rotting glory. You cross past discarded piles of rubbish and large oily puddles as you race through dark alleyways. Everywhere your gaze rests, it’s assaulted by sheer decay and putrefaction. Unlike the clean, cold, pristine interior of the Keep, the city is crumbling.

The putrid stench rising from the streets almost causes you to turn back. In the end, you refrain, steadfast as you rush through the busy streets. Every second is precious. You could get caught, dragged back to the Keep.

The back of your neck prickles. Your pulse escalates. The presence of three men hovers at the edge of your sight. Pretending you didn’t notice them, you subtly hasten your strides.

They catch on quick, too quick.

One of them pounces on you. You keel over and collapse on the harsh, dirt-covered ground. You try to crawl away, fright engulfing your senses.

Another of the men grabs your ankle and yanks you towards them.

Leering smiles float above you in the dim light of the alley.

“Hm, we could fetch a good price for that one,” the last man says. “Such a pretty little thing with pretty, pretty hair…”

The man who caught you barks a derisive snicker.

“An outworlder. How exotic.”

The second one bends closer to sniff the air around you. Your throat constricts as you turn your head.

“Not just any outworlder,” he says, his head tilted in curiosity. “This one smells like royalty.”

Elated chuckles burst in the darkness.

“That royal bitch will make us rich.”

The man who smelled you licks his lips.

“But shouldn’t we sample the goods first?” Fear shoots through you. “Never had me a highborn gal before.”

“Me neither.”

“This is a once in a lifetime-”

The man chokes mid-sentence. Your mouth drops as a blade is driven through his neck from behind, practically beheading him. Blood rains over you. Wet spots drip onto your face and dress as each of the men is gutted by a swift, ruthless opponent. You watch one pull a knife. He doesn’t get to use it, unleashing a blood-curdling scream when his hand is sliced at the wrist. The fingers of his severed hand twitch as it hits the floor. He sinks to his knees, wailing while cradling his bleeding stump against his chest. He meets his end with a brutal smash of his head into the stone wall. Gray matter spills from his skull as his eyes roll back and he falls in a dark puddle lifelessly.

The last one tries to run but is dealt with in the same merciless fashion.

Your wide, horrified gaze sweeps over the massacre. The speckles of blood on your face are still warm with the heat of the dead men’s bodies.

A shaky breath spills from your throat.

Your head rises. You come face to face with Feyd-Rautha’s expressionless stare. He picks up your trembling frame from the ground and tosses you over his shoulder. He strolls over the men’s corpses as if they weren’t even there, huffing a deep sigh of annoyance.

“You should be glad I found you in time, pet,” he says.

He throws you inside a car. The door slams and you huddle in a corner. Feyd smirks at your shrinking form.

“Truly? Nothing to say after all that fuss?”

Tremulous words trickle through your lips.

“Just let me go home.”

He slants his head, the corners of his lips lifting slowly. “No.”

“You could say that you didn’t like the look of me,” you insist. “That I repulsed you.”

Feyd-Rautha snorts.

His hand shoots out, moving too fast for you to comprehend. He leans over you, fingers squeezing your throat. “Pet…you were mine before you even set foot on Giedi Prime.” His dark gaze drags over you. You get a glimpse of black teeth as he grins. “The only place you’re going tonight is my bed.”

Once the car reaches the Harkonnen keep, you’re roughly pulled from your seat. Your chest tightens as you note the severed heads of your guards and maid lined in a neat row near the gates. Their lifeless eyes are wide open, staring at nothing.

You stumble back, hands flying to your mouth.

Satisfaction twinkles in Feyd-Rautha’s dusky orbs.

“I had to kill these incompetent fools, of course. They let my precious bride slip away.”

You gawk at him in shock. Guilt presses inside you. If you hadn’t tried and failed to escape, those poor people might still be alive. Tears swell beneath your lashes.

The na-Baron exhales, gripping your arm and tugging you along when you refuse to move. He smiles. “Do not worry, pet. We will find you new servants. Better ones.”

You end up in a large room inside the Keep. A tub filled with water sits in the middle. Feyd-Rautha’s concubines flash black-teethed smiles at you as you crash into a heap on the floor.

“Get her ready for me,” he says.

“Yes, master,” the three women reply in concert.

Your eyes swing upward in alertness.

“Ready for what?”

His inflection is chillingly matter-of-fact.

“Well, our wedding ceremony, of course.” You unleash a whimper as his fingers twine in your hair, twisting your neck backwards. His feral gaze seems to peel the layers of your blood-soaked tunic. “Why wait a few days when I can have you as my birthday gift tonight?”

His hand coils around your jaw, forcing your head to pivot. Your gaze falls on a slave girl standing fearfully in a corner of the room. You’re struck with recognition. She was in the arena before his fight, tending to him along with two other girls. Two girls who are now dead. Courtesy of Feyd-Rautha. She glances at you before her eyes tumble to the smooth black tiles again.

“Do you see her?” he whispers, his chest brushing against your back.

Feyd-Rautha beckons the girl with two fingers. She staggers forward.

“Speak, slave,” he orders.

The girl opens her mouth. However, instead of uttering words, only distorted whimpers come out. Horror twists your insides as you realize something crucial is missing inside her mouth.

“W-What happened to her?” you ask, dreading to hear what you already suspect.

His dark chuckle resonates in your ear.

“She can’t talk anymore. Do you know why?” His lips graze your cheek, his raspy tone lowering. “Because I took her tongue.”

Your stomach sinks.

When you attempt to turn away, his grip on you becomes harsher. He forces you to keep your eyes on the girl.

“I want you to take a good look at her.” His hand spreads over your chest, right above your hammering heart. “Try any of your Bene Gesserit tricks on me again…and I will feed your tongue, and perhaps even other parts of you to my darlings here.” He snorts. “After all, I only need one part of you intact to make me an heir.”

“Do you understand, my love?” he inquires, his husky bass dripping mockery upon the last two words.

You swallow a large gulp of air. “I-I understand.”

He storms out of the room and you sink to the floor. His concubines dive upon you. They nudge you to the tub and remove the clothes off your quivering frame.

The blood, grease and dirt is scrubbed off your flesh. Scented oils are massaged into your skin and hair. A dress is wrapped around your body.

You numbly let it all happen, defeat sinking its hooks deep inside your soul.

The farce of a wedding ceremony flies by in a blur.

Baron Vladimir and your mother are both in attendance, the two wearing satisfaction on their faces, albeit in different manners. While the Baron is smug, your mother is attentive. Not a single emotion betrays her face and you feel thoroughly abandoned.

Before the ceremony, she mumbles in your ear that the Reverend Mother requested a girl-child. You know the process, have been taught how it’s done. But it’s a cruel reminder…that you are nothing more than a tool in the larger schemes of the Bene Gesserit.

And that perhaps, your entire life you have simply been your mother’s mission. Maybe she even feels relief to be delivered from her duty.

The thought overwhelms you with sadness.

You stand before Feyd-Rautha in a flowing white dress while he dons black from head to toe.

He astonishes you by uttering his vows with the utmost seriousness, swearing to protect and cherish you until death forces the two of you apart. Death...In that moment, you find yourself silently wishing for its swift, imminent arrival.

When the Harkonnen priest whirls to you, the words stick to your throat, refusing to unfurl from your tongue.

“Does the bride consent to the match?” the officiant repeats.

Shell-shocked, you shiver in your spot. Feyd-Rautha’s mouth quirks upward.

“Oh, she consents. She is simply too overwhelmed with happiness to speak,” he replies on your behalf, openly taunting you.

You grimace as he slices the inside of your palm with a dagger and brings it to its lips. Your blood coats his mouth and his tongue flicks out. He hums at the taste, a smile blooming on his face. He does the same to himself, digging even deeper in his alabaster flesh. You flinch as he presses his bloody palm against the bottom of your face.

The Harkonnen wedding ritual concludes with him planting a rough kiss on your lips. He shoves his tongue inside your mouth, pulling you against him.

When the ceremony ends, he hoists you in his arms and takes you to his bed.

As promised, he lays his claim on your body right away.

Your wedding dress is ripped open with a few precise slashes of his knife. Your insides coil, the fear of him driving the weapon through your soft flesh keeping you docile underneath him. You don’t say a word, your tongue shackled by his earlier threat. He takes a moment to drink you in, relishing the rapid rise and fall of your chest as he drags the tip of his blade across your skin. He savors your fear like the sweetest offering, growing harder against your thigh as you tremble beneath him.

His black-toothed grin freezes the blood in your veins.

“My pretty little pet…all mine to play with, finally,” he rasps.

There’s no gentleness in the way he explores your body, scratching and nipping at your flesh as if to make sure no one dares doubt whom you belong to when you leave his chambers. Every plea for him to slow down is met with renewed ferocity. He tastes and fondles every inch of your quivering flesh. Your nipples pebble under his palms. Your core ignites below his tongue. Pleasure and pain mingle in sinful, twisted harmony.

Your back folds and your eyes roll back as a myriad of confounding sensations assaults your senses.

As he buries himself inside you to the hilt, he frees a satisfied grunt.

Pain clamors through you when he starts to move. Your walls catch fire at the aching, brutal stretch.

Holding your wrists above your head, he pours every ounce of lust and aggression inside you. You feel it in every stab inside your core.

His pale, muscular form pins you to the bed as he thrusts deeper inside you, reaching a tender spot that has you releasing an ear-splitting scream. You squirm over the soaked sheets as he takes you again and again, the mix of blood and arousal coating his length easing his blunt intrusion. Your helpless wails mingle with his feral moans.

Raspy words in the coarse Harkonnen tongue are heatedly whispered into your ear. You don’t understand any of them and it makes your terror grow.

You feel as if you will break, shatter at the seams beneath his rough, careless touch.

The agony seems to stretch into eternity.

Feyd-Rautha’s lips skate across your bruised cheek.

“Do not fret, pet. I shall aim not to break you just yet,” he teases, sinister promises lurking in his lewd inflection. “Not when our fun has just begun.”

A single wayward tear traces a slow path down your cheek.

He greedily licks it, purring at the taste of your misery.

You feel him strain against you as he nears his peak, his thrusts getting slower and deeper. He comes with a deep roar.

The na-Baron spills his seed inside you. Your eyes shut. Power flows inside your womb as you conjure the right outcome.

A girl they desired. A girl they shall have. As you writhe beneath Feyd-Rautha, forced to bear his rough, bruising touch, you wish your daughter fierce and strong.

Strong enough to pluck the stars from the heavens. Strong enough to unweave the tangled threads of time.

Strong enough to twist the arm of fate itself if she wills it.

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #feyd-rautha #dune fanfiction #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune part 2 #dune #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #dark fic

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coalswriting · 1 year ago

Text

being protective of reader in the wilderness + subtle demonstrations of affection headcanons - natalie scatorccio

a/n - my ass got a lil carried away with it but SURE WHATEVER lol. i also tried to play off natalie's over-protective nature as 'subtle' because i feel like she's way too hard-headed to be simping like crazy

(approx 1.1k words)

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

the two of you had first kissed at the party the day before the flight for nationals.

you decided to put your romance on hold until after so that you could focus on the match.

when the plane first crashes, the first thing nat does is look for you.

she finds you a few metres outside the plane, groaning in pain; you were shot out during the initial crash.

you have a concussion and a few gashes but surprisingly, no breaks or anything that requires misty’s surgical skill (thankfully!)

natalie is already naturally a stand-offish person, but after the disaster that unfolds, she closes off even more.

you try to talk to her but she keeps giving you reasons why she can’t.

“sorry (y/n), i have to go hunting with travis.”

everybody notices the way you look at her longingly as she leaves every morning.

you’re always sitting by the fire, sharpening the knives when you catch her eye. it’s part of your routine at this point, and you swear you can see a remorseful look in her gaze.

eventually, natalie, overcome with guilt, tries to be more attentive to you.

one day she invites you out hunting.

“uhhh, look, (y/n). i know i haven’t been great but do you want to come with me? hunting? just the two of us…?”

you say yes almost immediately, longing to talk to her about unspoken things.

natalie is a bit awkward as it’s been a while since you’ve properly talked. you fall into a tense silence.

however, things brighten up a little when you trip on a fallen log. before you can hit the ground, natalie snakes a sturdy arm around your waist, holding you close to her.

“careful,” is all she says, her warm breath hitting your neck.

both of you blush hard and you cough as she lets go of you.

hunting with natalie becomes a normal occurrence (which travis hates because he thinks she’s totally into him).

one day, natalie gives you a wildflower. it’s half dead and looks like shit, barely able to survive on the coarse, dry ground, but your cheeks grow rosy, and you melt.

you give her a tight hug, to which she instantly stiffens up. after you apologise, she brushes the awkwardness off, but you swear you can see a small smile on her warm face.

natalie likes to give you lingering touches. she hates to be one of those ‘obnoxiously in love’ people, so this is her way of showing that she likes you. you notice the touches and appreciate them a lot.

for example, she might have her arm touching yours when you sit together eating or link your pinkies together when you’re standing/sitting next to each other.

she touches her foot against yours as you sleep, but after it starts to get a little colder, you wake up with her arms wrapped around you.

she denies it at first, extremely flustered, but starts to own it after the other girls tease you about it.

natalie never admits it, but she’s a little spoon. despite this, she will try to big spoon you even though she always ends up curled into your side, your arm draped over her securely.

she’s honestly a bit of a radiator and her warm breath against your skin is one of your favourite feelings when you’re sleeping.

being the competitive girl she is, natalie has a lot of competitions with you; think competitions about who can find food the fastest.

she always coincidentally gets ‘distracted’ when there’s a deer around the corner. you know she just loves to see your joy when you think you’ve gotten her beaten.

when winter hits, natalie is reluctant to let you hunt with her because of the terrain. however, you convince her with your very innocent puppy dog eyes.

cue natalie tightening the strings of your hood before you go out every morning – it’s such a subtle caring moment but you love it. you always smile at her when she does it, and she grins back.

another thing she does is rub her palms together while blowing her breath on them, and then putting them on your cheeks to keep you cozy. it really doesn’t work when you’re in freezing temperatures, but you appreciate the sentiment.

she also loves snowball fights. you’d be blabbering on about something and she’ll suddenly assault you.

“yeah, mrs stevenson was so damn strict, right? but i think she was going to go on maternity leave right before we left for nat- ooph! did you just fucking throw something at me?”

natalie’s face is red as she laughs her ass off, nearly losing balance.

“you should’ve seen your face, (y/n)! you were all like ‘arugh!’” she’d exclaim breathily, mimicking your shocked expression.

her face changes to faux fear the moment she sees you sprinting her way.

you tackle her into a snowbank, knocking the breath out of her lungs and the both of you wrestle, giggling as if you’re just two teenage girls with no fears in the world – no plane crash, no death, nothing.

natalie suddenly sobers up and you stop laughing, noticing.

“you okay, nat?” you ask, before she grabs your cheeks and pulls you in for a kiss.

ah, yeah. the whole romance thing you never ended up talking about.

you both discuss it as you walk back to the cabin, and that night, natalie seems a bit more obvious with her romantic advances.

one day, you get split up while hunting and as it grows darker, natalie can’t find you.

she returns back to the cabin hastily, begging for you to be there waiting for her.

but you’re not.

tears streaming down her face, she tries to leave to find you again. anything can get you; the cold, wolves, your clumsy ass could even trip and fall down a cliff or something.

tai and van have to physically hold her down to stop her from pursuing you. after all, she’s too much of a skilled hunter to die.

the next morning, she looks for you. she thinks that she’s out of luck and starts heading back to the cabin at the end of the day until she sees a flash of green in the snow. your jacket.

she runs over and starts digging, finding you, cold and barely responsive.

with a newfound adrenaline, nat brings you back all by herself. the girls are shocked to see you and after you’re warmed up, she talks to you.

she can’t stop crying the whole time and you hold her face with trembling, weak hands, giving her a kiss.

this is the first time natalie ever tells you she loves you.

and god, does your weak heart swell with adoration.

that night, she’s the big spoon and she traces shapes into your back while breathing on your nape.

she’ll warm you up as a thank you for all the time’s you’ve warmed her cold heart up.

she just loves you so much, and you love her too.

#yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader

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bruisedboys · 2 years ago

Note

hi love! congrats on 3k :) may i request KNIVES OUT — james + subtlety ! maybe the reader even doing his tie too? i find it so intimate and romantic especially for james 😩

thank you lovely! omg yes, it’s so romantic ugh. as a result this is very romantic and sappy. you’ve been warned

prompt: subtlety - muse a gently brushes their hand over folds and wrinkles on muse b’s clothing

fem!reader 0.9k words

James is so nervous he thinks he might throw up. His hands shake so badly he can barely iron his shirt. He’s taking you out to dinner tonight, to your favourite place all the way in town, and he’s going to ask you a very important question afterwards. A question involving a ring and a bit of bravery. Though it all depends on whether he can make it through dinner first without his heart giving out.

The feat seems highly impossible. Especially when James returns to the bedroom with his poorly ironed shirt and you’re standing in the middle of the room in your prettiest red dress. The zip undone at the back, exposing the skin of your back, all your birthmarks and little freckles that James has memorised by now. He stops in the doorway and swallows.

“Oh good, you’re back,” you say, throwing him a frazzled smile over your shoulder. “Can you zip me up, handsome? I can’t reach.”

James practically trips on his own feet in his rush to help you. He hangs his shirt over his elbow and then takes your zipper in between his thumb and finger, his other hand set on your lower back to hold the fabric taut. He zips you up and watched your bare skin disappear, letting his thumb skip over your spine as he does.

When the zip reaches the top he rubs his thumb into the nape of your neck and lays a kiss on your shoulder. “There you go, lovely.”

You twist so you can look at him where he’s got his head hovering over your shoulder. You beam.

“Thanks, Jamie,” you say, and then you’re disappearing into the bathroom again before James can even say you’re welcome.

By the time you come back into the bedroom James is dressed. Well, mostly. He finds his hands are shaking too much to do his buttons up properly. He does the bottom one and then gives up, slumping down on the end of the bed in defeat.

“James,” you say, and your hair is all pinned up and beautiful and James feels more lovesick than ever. You look at him all worried, eyes on his half-done up shirt and his hands clamped on his thighs. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” James says weakly.

You frown like you don’t believe him. Walk the rest of the way to the bed until you’re standing right above him, your knees slotting between his. You smell sweet. Like honey and something else flowery. James thinks you might be wearing a new perfume. It’s definitely one he doesn’t recognise.

“You’re shaking, James,” you say worriedly, and take both his hands into yours. You press your thumbs into his palms. “What’s the matter? Are you not feeling well?”

You lean over him and press one hand to his forehead, pushing his hair back so you can spread your fingers over his skin. He’s sure it feels like he’s got a fever. He probably does.

“I feel fine,” James lies, and tries to control the minute shaking in his hands. “I— I’m just … a bit nervous, I guess.”

You pull your hand away, perplexed. “Nervous? James,” you laugh, baffled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Dove.” James takes your hand from where it’s pressed to his forehead, curling his fingers around your wrist. “You look like, really pretty,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Am I not allowed to be nervous?” He drops his eyes and he’s sure he’s blushing. “You make me nervous.”

You giggle, surprised. “Oh.”

James makes a pained noise and wishes the floor would swallow him up. He’s already making a fool of himself and the night has barely started. He hates to think the state he’ll be in later tonight.

You don’t seem to mind. You hover over him for a moment. Then your hand finds his chin and you tilt him up to look at you.

“You don’t need to be nervous,” you say quietly, your fingers on his freshly-shaven jaw. “It’s just dinner.”

It is very much not just dinner. But James isn’t about to give away the surprise. No when he’s almost accidentally given it away three times in the past week. “Right. Sorry.”

You laugh fondly. “Don’t be sorry, baby.”

James opens his mouth to say sorry again before realising he shouldn’t. Meanwhile you’ve bent over him to take his shirt collar into your hands. James shuts his mouth abruptly. You secure his top button carefully, then the next, and then the next. James heart beats its way up to his throat until he’s sure it’s gonna pop right out of his mouth. Your fingers graze his chest as you do up his buttons one by one. Your perfume washes over him and he think he might die. This wasn’t part of the plan.

When you’re done you smooth out his shirt, dragging your hands gently from his shoulders right down to his stomach. James tries not to shiver from your touch and fails miserably.

“Are you wearing a tie?” You ask him, hands back on his shoulders again and squeezing gently.

James nods, a bit giddy. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, it’s um, on the dresser over there.”

You retrieve his tie from the dresser and sling it around his neck and start to tie it. James sits quietly as you do up his tie. As you centre it on his chest and pull it tight.

He’s a little (a lot) lovestruck by the time you’re done.

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it genuinely, even if his voice comes out more a whisper than anything. “You’re an angel, Y/N.”

You smile wide, standing over him looking lovely as ever, and James almost asks his big question right then and there.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

You bend at the waist to kiss him on the lips, effectively stopping James from blurting what he’s not supposed to. James kisses you back without missing a beat. The big question can wait.

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cas-backwards-tie · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter Five: Threatened to Reset

Heiress of Gotham

Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: With the family's help everything is planned for the big move. A trip to Bludhaven to organize, pack, and move all your belongings leaves the past to be drug up. How will they react to your home? Will any secrets be found? Will emotions rise? Will your past be disclosed? It's all up to you... and maybe a crime boss and his goons.

Words: 4.3k

Warnings: The usual Banter and Bickering, Cursing, Knives, Threatening, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Arguing, Fighting, Shame, Guilt, Fight or Flight.

Mentions of: Sex Trafficking, Criminal Activities, Police, Drug Busts, Prostitution, Assassins.

A/N: There's a lot of information to digest in the chapter, and really what was meant to be one chapters I actually am going to have to split up in order to make them manageable. It's been awhile, and while I'm still trying to figure out how to manage my life in the sense of hobbies, work, my health, a possible second job, and extracurriculars, I request you all be patient with me. I definitely do have more in store, yet for now this chapter isn't proofread (at least the beginning and end) I just need to get this one out.

Having discussed tomorrow’s events as a group at dinner, your Father let you lead the charge in what would happen with your apartment’s belongings. Decided on packing everything up and either donating the things you don’t need, storing the important things, and transporting the things you do need, it was simple enough. Nothing a little packing tape and rounds of boxes won’t fix.

Starting the day with a hearty breakfast from Alfred, you all packed into a minivan you didn't know or think the Bruce Wayne would ever own, let alone have anything to do with. Nevertheless, the ride was fairly timely to get to your old apartment building. Saying hello to the few neighbors coming in and out who you recognized and knew, you led the gang up the seven flights and begrudgingly let them inside. You knew sooner or later they'd find out where and how you lived. It certainly isn't as nice as Wayne Manor, but of course, what else would you expect?

Assigning everyone to different spots and or groups of items in the apartment, you really feel like they went for overkill. A welcoming and slightly overwhelming sense of love blossoms in your chest as they really didn't all need to help, but everyone insisted on coming anyway. Even Tim's girlfriend, Stephanie. How nice, you think, for someone to actually care that much to go out of their way. Family almost congesting the apartment, you focus on your room and belongings. The fact that Damian hasn't even made any rude remarks (that you know of) is surprising in itself.

After almost everything is packed away, it's a few hours past noon, and Alfred is tired. Damian insists he's spent enough time in this 'hellhole' and almost demands that Alfred take him home. With the time having gotten away from you and some of the others, it seems to no one's surprise that Tim and Stephanie also apologetically explain their need to leave. They have homework they need to get done; and with that, Alfred agrees that it might be best to head back to the Manor with everyone who needs to leave. Dick lives in Bludhaven, so there's no surprise he'd stay. And while Jason has his motorcycle, coming from his own apartment, he says he doesn't mind staying until it's all finished. Bruce also having come separately after checking in at work, explains that the two of you can drive back together once everything's done. It'd been lucky enough that he'd brought his car, and not one of the nicer ones, either.

Searching all the nearby boxes, you don’t find it. It’s nowhere to be seen, and if it’s not here then that can only mean one thing: They took it. Opening up the box near the kitchen you retrieve a butcher’s knife. Hand gripping the handle tightly you storm to the front door and lock it.

“Woah, woah- what’s going on?” Jason asks, hands raising in concern as he stops boxing the books that’d been on the nearby shelf.

With a tense look in his eyes, you adjust the knife in your palm, getting a better and more sturdy grip on it. Other hand rising to your mouth you place your pointer finger before your lips. A tacit command of ‘silence’. Jason’s fear had drawn the attention of the other two, though you ignore them as you quickly storm through the living room and down the hall.

Eyes flitting back and forth out the window, up and down the fire escape you quickly return with the same fervor you’d previously held. “Why do you have a knife?” Dick questions.

Back at the front door, you press your ear to it and listen to the hallway, hoping that if anyone were to come, you’d hear them and be ready. In the attempt of a raid via bursting through the door, at least you’ll be the first one in the line of fire, able to protect everyone. No sound so far; backing from the door slowly, you turn toward the men. While the worst case scenario always pops into your mind first, you’re not oblivious to the measly chance this could simply chalk up to coincidence. Holding out the knife, you point to each man in the room as your gaze shifts between them.

“Look. There was a gun in there last time we were here. It’s always there. If none of you have seen it, let alone packed it away… then we have a big problem,” you reveal. Knife pointed in the direction of the safe that's now open within a drawer of the tv stand, it's clear that everything else has been packed away.

Between the couch and television diagonally to your left stands Dick. Hands raised, he holds a stoic expression as he stands closest to the safe. His blue eyes flit to Jason. Knife shifting toward him, he too stands with his hands by his waist, palms facing you. Eyes filled with confusion and concern, he shifts his weight as he stands across the room in the corner between the kitchen's counter and the opening to the hallway. His green eyes shift to Bruce.

Before you can even turn the knife on the man closest to you, diagonally standing in the kitchen opening to your right, someone speaks up. “I took it,” Jason announces. All eyes dart to him and you watch as he slowly starts to reach around his back towards his waistband. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Bruce move.

“Don’t!” You warn, stepping back and pointing the knife at him. He’s not going to disarm you. Eyes back on Jason, you motion with the knife for him to place the produced gun onto the table between you two. Gun dangling from his fingers, he doesn’t move, so you gesture again with more of a ferocity this time. “Put it on the table.” It’s a command, not a request.

He slides it across the table. Three steps close the distance between you and the item. Though Bruce could easily do something behind your back, just out of your peripheral vision now, you focus on the task at hand. One look at the gun has you skeptical; face tense, you use the knife to turn the gun around. The examination is short. One flip of the gun onto its other side and a quick lift into your hands to make sure the safety is on, you release the bullet cartridge to find that one bullet is missing. With a click of the cartridge locking back into place, you toss it back onto the table.

Storming back to the door where you're at a far enough distance from all of them, your forearms rest against the splintering wood, face buried within them for a moment to gather yourself. Slowly turning back toward the men, but more specifically Jason, you glare daggers at him. “Why didn’t you just tell me you had the gun when I first mentioned it missing,” not waiting for an answer, your head tilts a bit as you don’t play his game. “Nevertheless, did you really think I’d be stupid enough to not recognize that that’s an entirely different gun? So what’s your game?”

Silence lingers. Jason knows he’s fucked, and they all know it too. Why did he think she’d fall for that? Better yet, why wouldn’t she?!It was worth a shot, sure, but the real gun is still back at the Batcave. However, she can’t know that. “There’s no game,” Bruce says your name, a sincere look in his eyes.

“I wasn’t asking you,” you bark, knife turning on him as he tries again to take a step closer. His hands are still raised in an attempt to de-escalate the situation.

The silence is expected, however, the smile that creepily inches across your lips is not. A shift of the knife in your palm has you gripping the handle in an underhanded approach, ready to stab, rather than slice. “Ha,” you scoff, “I knew it… too good to be true. I can respect the lengths he’ll go to play his little games, but this is just beyond fucked. A ploy to what? Fuck with me, pretend to be my family, and now what? Kill me? I knew it. After yesterday, I just knew it was coming.”

“What are you talking about?” Jason asks incredulously, a hint of anger and fear within his tone.

“Who?” Dick asks coldly, taking a step closer.

“Antonio Marin?” Bruce asks. Eyes darting to meet his, you shift the knife in your palm again to get a better grip on it.

“Oh, you wanna play it this way? Act all fucking coy and innocent now?” Gears shifting, you eye the other two men. “Unless he’s just another victim to his plan, I don’t buy it. Richest man in the world and he’s a good guy? Yeah? No.”

“Should’ve known,” you sigh, shaking your head. “BPD? Too obvious.” With a sad smile and tears beginning to threaten your eyes, you chuckle. “Well if he wants me, then go ahead. I’ve got nothing left. If I’m the last piece to the puzzle then do it. Kill me. It’s three to one, I know you’ve got a gun and more than enough bullets to take me.” You thump your chest with your free hand, open, ready to accept your fate. “Do it! Shoot me, Jason. Right now! Kill me.”

As if the reality of the situation suddenly dawns on you, fear readily replaces the confidence you’d just boasted. Backing up against the door you shift the knife in your hand to a stabbing position again, as you continue to shift it, unsure which approach will be best in your defense. Suddenly you're terrified of what’s to come. “No… no. Three big men on one teenage girl?” The way Jason had hesitated, it’s apparent. “I knew he was expanding the business, but like this? NO.” Chest heaving with rapid breaths, you’re suddenly running on pure adrenaline. Panic sets in as you know what the man's got planned for you. “If you want me then I’m not going down alone. I’ll kill myself before I let that happen to me- and if that doesn’t work then I’ll mangle myself SO badly that nobody will buy me,” you threaten, voice deepening in a terrifyingly chilling way.

Placing the knife against your neck, you’re more than ready to take yourself off the table. You won’t let that happen to yourself. You won’t let anyone take advantage of you that way. A punishment worse than death is something you're not willing to participate in, nor offer.

Dick calls your name in a calm tone, one far too calm for this situation. “This isn’t any ploy, or game. We don’t work for anyone. If you think someone’s after you, you need to tell us. We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on.”

“Oh,” you relinquish too easily, knife falling back to your side. Turning to face the door your eyes settle against it for a moment before spinning back to face the man. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that Officer Grayson from the BPD was here! I’ll just tell you everything so you can either arrest me or take me out on his behalf!” With a step toward him, you raise the knife by your side again. “Do you really think I’m that stupid, Grayson? That I wouldn’t realize you’d try to get a confession out of me, record this- have them take a voice memo? This isn’t my first rodeo.”

"It's not like that. We're just trying to help! You can't seriously believe this is all some conspiracy against you," Dick argues. His voice is still calm, and while the raised brow elicits a begrudging irk and prick of paranoia in your mind, his words do nothing but continue to cause the gears to mentally turn. "If someone wanted to take you out there would've been easier methods. You would've been dead weeks ago."

A wry chuckle leaves your lips, a knowing smile still set on your features as you two stand off with one another. "Sure... if it was anyone else. Yet that's not how he plays his game and you know it."

"You still think I'm corrupt?" Dick asks, shifting his weight to lean into his hip on one side.

"How could you not be?! Look at me and tell me that you're not! That you don't know about Perdy Chapman, or any of the sabotage the BPD plays," you demand.

"I know about the sabotage. I don't know about Perdy Chapman, but if you know something," he recites your name, "you have to tell us. I can't do anything or help anyone if everyone's keeping secrets."

"What? So this is all a loyalty test? An attempt to get me to come back? There's no way he's that desperate."

"Come back? You worked for Antonio Marin?" Bruce pipes up, concerned blue eyes turning on you as he shifts his gaze between you and Dick. Hands still up in surrender, he takes a step towards you.

"Quit fucking with me! If this is because he thinks I'll rat, I won't! I'm not a fucking rat. We got out, we left! We don't owe him anything!"

"If you know where he is you need to tell us," Jason voices his concern, also taking a step closer. "No one is taking you back, no one is gonna hurt you. I'll be damned before that happens." Jason whispers your name, garnering your attention as he gives you a serious look, "If you think he's after you, we need to know. We can't help you if we don't know what's going on."

With a stomp and a slash of the knife by your side as you realize they're right, you won't do this without a stipulation. "Fine! But... I can't go to the cops. I can't... file a report. I can't do anything. Promise me-" you respond, voice starting off confident until his falls short of a whisper. Jason nods, starting to close the space as he pulls out the last chair remaining at the dinner table.

"No cops, you got it. Just... tell us what happened, what's going on," Jason concedes, hand settled on the back of the chair.

As you shake your head in decline toward the chair, Jason easily swivels it around and sits on it backwards, attention on you. As you place the knife on the side table by the front door, you start to pace. "I... don't know where to start," you voice your thoughts.

"From the beginning," Dick encourages, voice gentle as he realizes Jason has made progress by building a rapport. Something he hadn't realized he could be making more of an effort towards, he supposes. Even if he already feels like he's done more than he can for the girl.

As the Detective sits on the back of the couch and Bruce leans against the wall, your eyes can't help but find his... your Father's. "I... I can't-" you realize. Steps coming to a halt, you find yourself face to face with the last person in your life who you feel like you can't lose. The only person you need to impress, to suck up to.

"This is important," Bruce says your name, head tilting further downward as he offers a more straight-on look with your height differences, not to mention the sympathetic look that crosses his features.

Eyes falling to the floor, you shake your head. "I can't. I don't want you to look at me differently, and I know you will. There's no way you can't." It's a warning, a vague divulgence on the subject matter. There's no way this conversation can happen without someone's impression being changed or shifted. It's just not possible.

"That won't happen," Bruce reassures.

"There's no way it can't happen. You don't know!" You argue, hands gesticulating the emphasis of your seriousness.

"This is your safety we're talking about," Jason reminds.

"We all have pasts," Dick reiterates your name, "we've all done things. It won't change anything."

"I promise," Bruce adds on, following up with Dick's words. Bending to be on your level, he holds out his pinky, and while part of you hesitates, the seriousness in his eyes begs for a piece of trust. An inkling of hope, sincerity, vulnerability, trust. Wrapping your much smaller pinky around his, you shake on it.

As he lets go and returns to leaning against the wall, they all sit in anticipation, waiting for you to speak. "From the beginning?" You question.

"From the beginning," Dick echoes again, trying his hardest to be patient. With a tacit gesture of his hand, he guides you to sit on the couch cushions. Despite his offer, you choose to sit on the floor in front of the couch, back leant up against it as Dick chooses to sit in the armchair to the left of it. Jason comes closer, perching himself on the edge of the tv stand, while Bruce lingers by the back of the couch to your right, still in your periphery.

"It... all started about, I don't know, two years ago?" Jason nods in encouragement, a sign for you to keep going. "I don't- I don't know exactly when, I can't really place a time or say because I didn't know- I didn't- I never thought- I mean," the words tumble from your lips as your thoughts begin to race with the memories. Heart beating faster, there was never a definitive point in time you could place. "He just... started coming over. After-" swallowing the thick lump that forms in your throat, the faint burning sensation of tears threatening to start welling up becomes real. "-Mom got laid off."

"Mhm," Dick hums, hands clasping in his lap as he expresses the fact that he's listening.

"Everyone knew who he was. We all do, but of course, you're nice to people you don't necessarily know. You don't wanna start any problems. I guess Mama met him one night when she was out with my Tia. He said he could get her job back, that he could help her make money again, that we wouldn't have to move, to get evicted. He'd get her job back. So he did. She didn't ask, she didn't even want her job back after everything they said and did to her, firing her just because of her skin- but... he did it anyways. He got her job back at the hospital and even got her a promotion. How? I never asked, but if you know Marin, then I guess you can imagine."

"Then he told her she owed him," Bruce speaks up as you take a breath. His tone is definitive, certain, as if he knows. A shake of your head lets him know he's wrong.

"Of course, she went back to see him at the same bar. She thanked him, we all did... but that wasn't the end of it. He said if she ever wanted anything more, a side job, extra money, anything else, that he could give her that. That all she need do is ask." A sigh escapes your lips and you subtly shake your head again. you know you'll have to tell them. It'll get there eventually, yet there's no way of knowing how they'll react. "They became friends. I always thought he liked her, that's why he was so nice."

"But he showed his true colors, didn't he?" Jason comments, a dangerous and almost vengeful tone in his voice as he leans forward so his elbows rest on his knees. His hands curl in and out of fists as he listens.

"No... he was... just nice." Finally looking up to meet their eyes, you gauge the room. Each man has a different expression on his face, looks of curiosity, intrigue, suspicion, and anger all around. "He'd be at the parties, come over, take us out, have a drink. He became a part of the family, at least... for a while. I think it all changed when Mama said no to him. He asked her out, and she finally understood why he'd been so nice to her. Yet, that didn't change anything. Being friends, he was still coming around. Maybe he was doing more, becoming more distant, but not much changed. He kept offering, and offering, and eventually I think she figured if she had control, and it was something he'd offer, then how could it hurt? It was only after that year and once the gifts died down that, well..."

"What?" Jason raises his eyes again to meet yours as he'd been mulling over his own thoughts for a moment, head in hands. A chuckle shakes his chest subtly as his hands shoot out in gesticulation. "You can't just say 'after that, well...' and not finish the story!"

"Come on, Jase-" Bruce gently reprimands with a look.

"It's clear there's more," Dick interrupts his Father to address you, still in the position he'd been in. Eyes intent on you as he waits for an answer, a scowl on his lips.

"I finally asked him if there was any way I could do something. Something small to make money; like mow someone's lawn, pet-sitting, house-sitting... things like that." Eyes falling to the pilled carpet by your sock-clad feet, you pick at the fluffy brown fabric. "I had school. My mom would hate me if she knew I asked him, but everyone else was getting money, and I figured if he was like my Uncle or Dad it's normal to ask for those things... I think." Hair falling over your shoulders, it masks your face as you rush to get the rest of the story out.

"He... had me do jobs for him. It was easy. Deliver presents, bouquets, envelopes, packages, things like that. No problem, lots of people do that, right? But I was making at least a hundred every week, if not more, and, and I didn't think about it. It was easy money! I could buy whatever I wanted, I could save, I could spoil my friends, my mom... I never thought about it until I... got curious." Words trailing off, you risk a glance up at Dick. Tucking your bangs behind your ear, his expression is immovable. He's stoic; a pickup of heartrate leaves you anxious as you haven't been able to easily read him like many of the others.

The movement of Jason's lips slowly opening garners your attention, and as his eyes widen you quickly duck your head back down again. "You were..." he tests the waters.

"So one day I decided to stay. They never opened their packages in my vicinity. Never opened the presents, envelopes, packages, or undid the bouquet. It didn't feel right. I haven't gotten many presents in my life, but I'd think if I got a big one like those, I'd open it right away... see what it is." Continuing with your story, you didn't give Jason even half a fraction of time to finish his thoughts. "So I delivered the package like normal, watched them count out the money and hand it over before I was on my way. Around the corner, I was halfway down the block when I realized I could probably wait it out, hide somewhere across the street and watch them from one of the store windows. They wouldn't notice. I could just put on my hood, if anything, and... well, then it-" eyes shifting back up to Dick, you don't look away this time, "-it happened."

"I hadn't realized it but parked on the opposite side of the road and right by me out of sight from where I'd come there were cop cars parked. Cops lined up with their guns pulled, batons and riot shields ready. I froze..." At this moment it seems like the gears in Dick's mind are finally starting to turn and place things together. "I thought I was caught, for something I only suspected, but... within seconds the cops were ushering me out of the area while the second team were busting the gang of boys I'd come from for having drugs."

"They were using you," Bruce states, an air of sympathy encased in his word choice.

"You were a mule f-" Jason affirms.

"-But that wasn't the end of it," Dick says confidently, his dark blue eyes still set on you, unmoving, a quirked brow joining his visage. "You said you're out. So if that's true then how'd that happen?" He asks, finally shifting in his seat as his head slightly tilts. It's almost as if he's testing you. "Exactly," he clarifies.

"Once I realized what was happening I ran home. I-" jaw clenching, your eyebrows furrow as you don't want to have to admit this. Especially not when Dick looks so confident and arrogant. You know he'd seen you that day, just like you knew you'd seen him. A silent staring match follows,a few seconds, before your resolve crumbles upon the memories. "I told my mom. I was crying, and she was shocked and surprised and angry and mad and I didn't know what to do! I didn't know where to go or who to tell, and I knew she'd be mad but she said she wasn't mad at me, but at him and that it was okay because she was gonna get us out of it. We met up with Anto- with- with Marin," you correct yourself. "We demanded out, and... he let us go. He said we were free to go as long as we didn't say or do anything that went against him. My mom didn't want us involved with him anymore."

"He just 'let you go'?" Dick reiterates.

"Yes. That's it," you reveal, a shrug following as you don't bother to make eye contact. "Now you know!" The revelation leaves you upset and unaware of anyone else's responses. You just know that this changes everything, now that they know... they know that you're a bad person. You dealt drugs. You worked for a mobster. A gangster, a criminal; you stocked up drug money, saving it, keeping it. Blood money, one could even claim in earnest... and you couldn't argue with them.

~~~~~~~~

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whiteheartlight · 5 months ago

Text

hey I wrote a fic while my internet was down about the world's grumpiest Toa while he and the others were traveling back to Mata Nui with the Matoran. please let me know if you enjoy. Onewa is such a bastard. but a bastard with nuance?? I've always thought he and Vakama should get to talk after the Visorak arc

It would actually be pretty cool, Onewa thinks, if Nuju didn't manage to concuss himself so bad while he did it.

He was up there where he needed to be, that's the thing. And Onewa's not afraid of heights like Whenua is, but when that bird smashed through the window of their airship and tried its damnedest to get Vakama by the waist, Onewa did think to himself, for a moment: I'm a Toa of Stone. Maybe the others should handle this.

Nuju might have intuited that thought, or maybe he had just been itching for some action after being stuck on a ship with the rest of them for weeks on end, but one way or another, he pulled out those ice spikes and practically leapt out the window to go after that over-sized set of knives on wings.

“Can't we just let the poor thing go?” Whenua had called, clinging queasily to a nearby support pole as the wind rocked over him. “It was probably hungry!”

“So it gets to eat Vakama?” Matau replied. “Or do you think it needs two of us?”

“If we let it go it could go after the Matoran spheres,” Vakama called over the wind. “We need to at least knock it out of the sky!”

“I'll handle the draft it's riding!” Matau shouted, leaping out the window and spreading his wings. He dipped hard before he caught the wind and came back up towards the bird, one hand curving through the air as he redirected the draft.

Unfortunately, he didn't redirect himself to avoid it. The bird panicked at the sudden change, flapping hard to try and course-correct, and Onewa heard Matau go “oh, whoops” before a metal wing was slicing towards his own. Matau disengaged his wings to avoid the blow, and he instantly started to plummet.

Onewa grabbed him neatly by the back of the armor from the side of the ship.

“Can you watch it, Matau?” he snarled at him. “What a stupid fucking stupid way to die that would have been.”

“Aw, were you worried?” asked Matau, making a fake pout.

“There would have been a whole village of Matoran with no one around because you weren't paying attention. Do you even care about that?”

“Spirits, Onewa, I would have quick-caught myself. Don't be a stuck crab about everything.”

“You two both focus!” Vakama called sharply, and Onewa swore before hauling Matau back in to safety. The bird swooped past them again, enormous talons reaching for either one of them before it darted back out again. He probably did need to focus, but honestly, in that moment, he felt so angry he could scream.

Look, it's not just been this, okay? Ever since Vakama got back from his stupid fucking solo trip that he still won't even tell them about, the others have been wearing on his nerves like they're getting paid good widgets to do so. He doesn't even really know why. They're just all... the same. They're all the same beings they always were. Weren't they supposed to change over time? Not just Vakama putting his shadows to rest, or Matau toning down the sarcasm, or whatever you want to call what any of them have been through. Wasn't there supposed to be a moment where he looked around and realized that they were all – you know – professionals?

Aren't they supposed to feel like real Toa?

Instead they're here, on a busted old airship, trying to caravan a pack of comatose Matoran across unexplored waters because they couldn't save their real homeland. It seemed to strike him in the chest for a second, as the shadow of the bird's wings passed over him. No matter how many times he thinks it, it always punches him. He always thinks to himself Lhikan expected more from us.

He was thinking it again when Nuju distracted him by finding his footing along the side of the ship. Onewa couldn't even see what support beam or structuring he was standing on, but, with his ice spikes in the side of the ship's metal to steady him, Nuju got up.

“Oh, wow, he's up there,” said Whenua, and then promptly covered his eyes with his hands. “Be careful!”

“Matau, be ready to catch him if he falls,” Vakama ordered, and Matau bounded back into the sky. Nokama had a selection of clouds pouring down a fence of rain, bringing the predator bird towards Nuju, there on his feet, and he pulled an arm free, striking it through the air like he was giving a command. Onewa saw the light catch brilliantly on the heavy ice that formed along the creature's wings, sending it swerving, shrieking, and then falling. It came close to Nuju, who leapt away gracefully, back towards the entrance of the ship –

And, in one unfortunate push from the bird's spiraling wing, cracked his head hard against the edge of the open window.

“Oh!” groaned both Whenua and Nokama at the same time, everyone shifting towards Nuju in a collective alarm. Vakama grabbed Nuju's shoulders from the front while Matau swooped back inside to grab him from behind. He was only limp for a second or two, a white hand staggering up to grab at his head, but they had all heard that metal clunk of his cerebral casing connecting solidly with the harsh edge.

“Is it cracked?” asked Onewa tersely, coming to stand at Vakama's shoulder, hand out-stretched with nothing to do. Vakama was looking at Nuju's casing with a forger's eye, searching for any fractures.

“I don't think so. It'll be the inside we should worry about. Nuju, you need to sit down.”

Nuju was trying to get onto his feet without needing support, but not having much luck at it.

“I'm fine,” he snapped, voice shaky. “I handled it.”

The attitude is what's really getting Onewa mad, now that they're all here, crowded around Nuju. Onewa scoffs, shaking his head at him. “Seriously? You could have fallen too. We couldn't have just handled that from inside the ship? A couple ice darts wouldn't have taken it down the same? Oh, you were just aching for a fight.”

“Onewa,” warns Nokama, trying to get Nuju to at least lean back on them. “Not now.”

“Don't worry, sister, I think the odds of him remembering any part of today are pretty slim after our resident genius's latest idea.”

“Nuju, sit down,” Vakama insists, pulling his shoulders. Nuju's being such a pain. Is this how Toa act?

“I don't want you all touching me!”

“We're trying to stop you from falling. Let us get you checked over and then we will all back off, I promise.”

Nuju grabs at his mask again, groaning, but he doesn't let them lower him. He grips at the wall and then shoves Matau's arm off him. “Brother, just one second,” Nokama's telling him gently. “You're okay, we've got you.”

“I'm fine, get off!”

“Oh, by the spirits, Nuju,” Onewa hisses, something molten rising up in him. “Just sit down and shut up.”

Nuju's legs give out from under him so fast he nearly smacks his head a second time, but Matau scoops him up with a yelp. Pale blue eyes pierce Onewa with a fury that needs no words, but as his mouth fails to glow, Onewa realizes he can't talk.

Something races down his spine. He didn't mean to command him like that. Or maybe he did – the intention was there, it has to be, for his mask to work, but he didn't mean –

Nokama grabs Nuju's wrist before his hand can come up to strike back with ice. He grabs her wrist in return, mask contorting, but then something goes blank in his eyes and he sways, just trying to breathe. He hit his head hard.

“Onewa, go cool off,” Vakama orders shortly.

Oh, yeah, of course the Fire Toa's going to handle this. Their fearless leader.

Onewa scoffs and turns his back on his siblings, feeling four sets of eyes on him as he goes.

He shouldn't have done that. But this is it. This is... this is destiny, he supposes.

It doesn't feel right in his chest. Nothing has for weeks.

“You come to kill me, ice-weaver?”

Onewa's adjusting the shape of his whetstone carefully in his hand, its form shifting like water beneath his fingers, when he hears the steps approaching him.

Honestly, he's impressed Nuju knows about his little hiding spot. At the back of the landing bay, on the bottom of the ship, the tow cord stretches out towards the airships connected to their own. The windows around it are meant to allow Matoran to check that the cord is intact and undamaged, but it also makes a nice viewpoint. The other ships bob along through the air behind them, and at this time of evening, the sun comes through everything like its trying to cram the light inside. He likes the white noise of the nearest blade spinning through the air too – whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, low and heavy.

“Nokama's trying to talk him down,” comes a voice that isn't Nuju's. “He was more sullen than angry. I think he's embarrassed. It wasn't very kind of you.”

Onewa turns to level Vakama with a look, taking in the sight of him crouching to meet Onewa's gaze, still outside the bubble of the tow cord area, which is not tall enough for a Toa to stand in. Onewa shakes his head and pulls out his proto pitons, setting them on his lap.

“There's no difference between embarrassed and angry for a Ko-Matoran. He'll have his revenge, and I'll take it. End of story.”

“You lost your temper with him.”

“My real punishment is right now. Nokama really knew who to send to give me the most grief, didn't she?”

“She didn't send me.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Come on, you know she's focused on Nuju right now.”

Onewa snorts. Okay, that's fair. She takes care of all of them in a lot of ways – probably more than she should – but she does pick favorites sometimes. He doesn't care, though. He doesn't want her coddling and he loves his sister no matter who she's standing up for.

“Look, Onewa,” Vakama says, taking in a deep breath. “I understand entirely that you have extra doubts about everything since what I did with the Visorak, but – ”

“Can it,” Onewa cuts him off, curving his whetstone along the underside blade of his piton. He loves that slide of protodermis on stone. “If you could get out of your head for more than five seconds you'd remember that I'm not treating you any differently than I always have. Honestly, that whole drunk-on-power shtick might be the most interesting thing you ever did in your life. No more big sad eyes. Just bright red rage.”

Vakama scowls at him. “It was monstrous.”

“I can't tell you how little I care about your pity party. Seriously, if I tried to find the words – ”

“Alright, alright,” Vakama sighs, sitting down beside him. “Well, you're certainly treating the others differently.”

Onewa examines his piton in the light. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Sure,” Vakama answers flatly. “Onewa, one way or another, couldn't we try getting off on a better foot? All of us?”

Onewa finds that pretty funny. “A tiny bit late to be asking, don't you think?”

“Now's the time. We're going somewhere new. Leaving old enemies behind. Old shadows. Speaking for myself, I can acknowledge I'm in a much better headspace to be...”

“Less aggravating?”

Vakama pins him with a look. “Whatever you need me to be.”

“How noble.”

“Onewa. You controlled Nuju today. He's going to have your head. You can't be treating the others like that. I don't know why you'd choose Nuju of all people to pick on, but whatever I need to do to help you – ”

“Did you ever meet Toa Rooka?” Onewa asks.

Vakama stops short, evidently turning this change of topic over in his head. “No,” he replies. “Saw him from afar, you know how it would go. Rooka, of course, was – ”

“Larger than life?”

“In a number of ways,” Vakama agrees. When Onewa doesn't answer, he presses on. “You knew Rooka?”

“I saw Rooka die,” Onewa says.

Vakama goes quiet. “I didn't know that.”

Onewa nods at nothing, frowning out the window.

“How did it happen?” Vakama prompts him.

Yeah, he still remembers that answer in vivid detail, no matter how the years pass. Onewa presses his thumb hard into his wrist, below his vambrace. “Dark Hunters. Long before Nidhiki started crawling around or anything, just... the war, or its remnants. I was out in the fields where the fighting had happened, part of a search and rescue thing that the Mangai were leading. All the Hunters were supposed to have cleared out, but... I wandered onto them. Had my carver's tool in my hand. I remember coming over this crest and seeing him there, more gold than brown in the sun like he was. They put an axe through most of his throat, and the ichor sprayed like crazy. He didn't make any noise or anything. I think I said his name, so I'm lucky they didn't hear me. Or maybe I said 'Toa.' I think I just said 'Toa.'”

Onewa shifts in place and shrugs. “Anyway, some of the others must have been patrolling with him, because Naho and Lhikan were already looking for him before he was gone. I didn't go fetch them or anything, but they saw me sitting on top of the rocks, watching. Naho started cleaning up Rooks, and Lhikan came and got me. He picked me up – and you can imagine how much I would tolerate that normally, but I let him that day – and he took me home. Checked on me, afterwards, and then, he just never stopped checking on me.”

He can see the second Vakama becomes tempted to cut in with some anecdote about how Lhikan was always so caring like that, wasn't he, and Onewa cuts him off sharply.

“So I'm saying you aren't the only one who lost him, Vakama.”

“I never said I was,” Vakama shoots back, with a little of that Fire Toa heat.

“Yeah? You act like it sometimes. Now you know. And whatever, okay, you were stuck in your head, that's fine. But if you could stop acting like this is the fire-spitter show for two minutes, it would help me out, thanks very much.”

“It's always something I'm doing wrong, isn't it?”

“And here we go, right on schedule.” They glare at each other for a second before Vakama reels himself in, puffing out this hot, annoyed breath and crossing his arms over chest.

“So, what? You're saying you're just grieving, then, and that has you tearing into Nuju for no reason?”

“First of all, the reason was that he's insufferable. But no, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying – it's been on my mind – I just thought you should know that I miss him too.”

“Oh.”

Onewa twists his vambrace around unhappily. “Yeah, fucking 'oh.' And I know that I've been an ass too. And now there's a lot to adjust to, and I don't know, Vakama. I only ever started following you to whatever degree I did – or sticking with any of the five of you – because I thought it's what he would want. But now look at us. Are we really getting anywhere? I'm supposed to believe we can lead a whole society of Matoran now? I don't understand why he picked us. Any of us, sometimes. But I loved him too.”

Vakama sighs and spreads his hands in an open gesture. “I know you did, Onewa. I know you're not actually... I don't know. Unkind.”

Onewa scoffs, shaking his head. “Really? How would you know that?”

Vakama frowns. “Well, I know you're not.”

“And you're so sure?”

“Yes,” says Vakama simply.

Onewa drops his hands into his lap, frowning back at him.

“Onewa,” says Vakama. “I would rather be your brother than your enemy. We all would.”

“So you're asking me to start being nicer and then we're good?”

“I'm asking you to follow me,” Vakama replies, which is pretty fucking bold, considering what they were just talking about.

“Why should it be you?” Onewa asks. “What have you ever done to deserve my loyalty? Two weeks ago you ran off on your own back to Metru Nui! Why would it ever be you?”

“Are you so opposed to it?”

He's not, Onewa realizes, turning irritably back to his other piton. No. He thinks Vakama could do it, actually. He saw him there at the end of the Visorak, coming back to them as himself, somebody upright and certain, if worn. He saw a leader.

“Maybe you're just not used to following, to being part of a team,” says Vakama, softer. “Which is fine. But here we are, Onewa. You're looking at your future and realizing we're all going to need to be leaders, together. We're going to need to be united. And not just to save our own tails when trouble comes, but because...”

His hand moves towards the other ship in the sky behind them, and Onewa stares out at it. He knows. There are hundreds of Matoran there who will need all six of them. United. There are Matoran who might need someone to carry them somewhere safe, and then to look after them. And that's him, somehow, him and these others. Because Toa Rooka and Toa Lhikan and the others are all gone, and Onewa and these five beings here with him – they're what's left. No other options, not anymore. Onewa and his brothers and sister.

“Deep down, I think that starts your heartlight flashing in a way you're not used to,” Vakama continues. “So maybe instead of telling us you're nervous, or scared – ”

“Watch it, fire-spitter.”

“ – you lash out. But Onewa, the reason that it should be me – just so we're all on the same tablet – is because that's the leader the others chose. And I have not done anything to deserve that. In fact, I've done plenty to be banished from your sights forever. But here we are. Call it destiny, or Lhikan's hope for us, or even say it's only because this is the fire-spitter show, I don't care. Here we are. I never want to be five minutes late to helping you because you didn't call for me, Onewa. I want to be your brother. I'm asking that you fall in line at my side – and all of our sides – and start accepting what we are now stepping into.”

“Well.” Onewa looks down at his pitons again, touching the cold metal for a second. “Maybe I don't know how to do that.”

Vakama hums at him. “I think you do.”

Say what you want about Vakama, but truthfully, this is that Fire Toa bravery they always talk about coming out to play, because in that moment, he has the nerves to put his stupid fucking hand on Onewa's shoulder.

“By the way,” Vakama adds, as he claps his armor and then starts to rise. “You're more gold than brown in the sun, too. Think I know where you got that from. I can't be Lhikan, but I'd be happy to check on you instead. Whatever happens, you won't be alone. We all want to be in this with you, no matter what comes next. Believe it or not, brother, but... we have your back.”

Onewa covers his mask for a second, sucking in a deep breath.

“This is real, huh? This... I'm really stuck with all five of you forever. Lhikan's really dead. It's the five of us. Mata Nui. You lot are stuck with me!”

He can grasp that Vakama's trying to be a cool and collected leader who came to give him words of wisdom, but really, when he breaks and start cracking up... Onewa thinks it's a good sound. Been a long fucking time since he heard Vakama laugh like that, bent over himself and covering his mouth. Or maybe never. Maybe he never knew Vakama when he was full of laughter. He shakes his head and turns away from his brother.

“I have your back too,” Onewa says. “At the end of the day, at least.”

“Yes,” Vakama says, smiling at him. “I know that. I'll see you later, Onewa.”

Then he's gone. Self-righteous forger.

Onewa looks back at the other ship again, the spheres that hold his people gleaming just a few bio away, and he's no tower-loving Ko-Matoran with a penchant for star-gazing of any kind, but in that moment, well... when he closes his eyes and lets himself imagine, he thinks he sees the future.

Yeah, Nuju's going to kick his ass. But there will be good things too. And bad things. And mistakes. And triumphs. The six of them will navigate it together.

He knows what Vakama means to do before he does it.

Maybe Onewa always knew it would be the price. He doesn't know how any part of him was ready for this, but somehow, he is. He sees Vakama reaching out his hand, and he doesn't feel scared. He isn't surprised. He's ready.

Vakama touches the Matoran sphere. A light begins to change him. When it's done, he's not Toa Vakama anymore, and Onewa feels the others staring at him and the spheres in silence. Onewa steps up beside him. He puts his hand on the next sphere over.

thanks for reading <3

#bionicle #onewa #vakama #white light writes #oh yeah and i ignored Nuju's clicking because the retcon is DUMB there i said it

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rolling-storm-writing · 2 years ago

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Dating Graves (MW2 Headcanons)

Authors note: Hey yall! this is gonna be a Graves/Top!Male!Reader I also tried to keep the reader as gender-neutral as possible so lemme know what yall think. I’ve never written for this guy so take it with a grain of salt but regardless please enjoy!

Phillip Graves was not an easy man to befriend, and if you didn’t work with him in the forces it might be even harder. He’s a tough nut to crack even with all shit the two of you have been through together.

Eventually, he would warm up to you, and he’d get used to seeing your face and hearing your voice on coms. But it’s a very slow burn that’s for sure, that man is very dedicated to his job and would certainly put it over you 7/10 times.

Your joking banter would become almost routine with his rolling eyes rolling even further with each new joke you managed to write up. Soon enough he’d slowly start to see you as a friend he could depend on, when giving instructions his eyes would always find yours in the group. Your slow nodding of understanding never failed to make him more confident with whatever he was planning.

Out of the two of you, you would definitely fall in love with him first. He would fall much harder as time went on and your friendship only grew stronger. Acts of service and words of approval were his love language.

Every morning he made sure to get himself a coffee and your (beverage of choice) every time without fail. Would watch you clean your guns or sharpen your knives with a few “looks good” or “you’re good at that” from time to time.

He’s still a hard head and often times you two but heads on certain issues especially some opinions or ideas. It stems from his own deep-buried issues or bad experience but no matter what you two always come back together.

Around the four-year mark of knowing each other, he would start seeing you in a different light. I see him having trouble with his sexuality and dealing with the idea he might be gay or at least bisexual.

He can be pretty insecure at times and these kinds of insecurities would start to cause tension between you and him. He would start to push you away and start to hate how great you’d make him feel.

Your banter would stop, he wouldn’t get your drinks anymore, and overall it would just boil over into a big fight. You’d confront him about it and this would just push you both too hard limits.

I could see him admitting his feelings in that heated argument and it would be the biggest weight on him. The surprise on his face when you pulled him into the biggest and strongest hug.

From then on it would be a slow but beautiful romance with you slowly pulling him out of his shell. Road trips, fancy dinners, traveling, and lots of DIY date nights.

I can also see him being a very loyal guy who’s pretty possessive and kind of clingy. Always thinking you might leave him for someone else but you always reassure him otherwise.

It takes him a bit to get used to being the more submissive partner too, especially if you’re taller than him. He’s very much a power-bottom who just loves to be handled like one. Not a big fan of PDA but loves the way you hold him and kiss him in private.

Adores the way your hands hold his waist and just melts whenever you kiss his neck. You make him feel safe and this man just turns to putty in your strong hands…

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Ending Note: I hope you guys liked this and if you have any suggestions for more let me know! I was thinking of doing one for Price and Ghost as well! Thanks for reading!

#mw2 #cod x male reader #graves x male reader #male reader #headcanon #imagines #top male reader #gender nuetral reader #phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #cod x reader #phillip graves x male reader

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deadbydangit · 1 year ago

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howdy 🤠

i wanted to please request ghostface, frank, spirit, trickster, and huntress when they’re desperate for affection

ive seen your little tidbits saying how they’d (usually huntress) play up certain injuries for some love and thought that was hilarious, so i wanted to know if you’d expand on that in this request

thank you!!! 💕✨

Thank you! I'm glad you're liking these. Also, thank you for saying please and thank you. I hope you enjoy it.

When they want your attention. Killers

Ghostface, Legion (Frank), Spirit, Trickster, Huntress

Ghostface

This sneaky little shit goes through different levels when he wants your attention.

Level one: jumping out and scaring you, maybe some pranks.

"Ha! Gotcha!"

If that doesn't work. Level two: obnoxious flirting.

"Hey babe, wanna head back to my cabin and spend a little time together."

And he won't be subtle about it.

Sometimes even a little gross.

And if that doesn't work. Level three: clinging onto you and whining, even some guilt tripping.

"You never pay attention to me! Why? Don't you love me!?"

And all the fake crying.

He's super overdramatic.

You won't have a choice at that point.

He's holding onto you like his life depended on it.

Good luck trying to get away.

If you're with someone else, he'll make subtle yet menacing threats to the other person that you won't see or hear.

They'll end up leaving.

"Oh well, guess it's just you and me huh baby?"

Legion (Frank)

Impatient and needy.

It really depends on the situation.

Are you with someone else?

Pouting and snappy remarks.

Ask Frank what's wrong in private.

And he will admittedly state it's nothing.

"I'm fine."

But it isn't and it's obvious.

How dare you give attention to someone else.

If you're alone, he's just going to lean on you.

And it's going to be all his weight.

If you topple over? That's even better.

Because now you can't get away!

Make sure you praise and tell him how much you mean to him.

Otherwise he's just going to keep crushing you.

Spirit

She's a lot more subtle.

She'll drop little hints.

A hand on your shoulder.

Leaning in just a tad closer than usual.

A little extra excitement in her voice.

It's a cultural thing for her.

So you're going to have to get used to picking up cues.

Don't worry about it too much in the beginning. She understands.

If she's being really needy, she's going to shower you in gifts.

Probably makes you a nice meal or find something in the realm she'll think you'll like.

Make sure to give her lots of love. Her confidence will grow with time.

Trickster

Oh you'll know.

He's so obvious about it.

He won't outright tell you, but he's going to make it very clear he needs attention.

If you're with someone else, he'll start glaring at the other person.

Maybe even flashing his knives to scare them off.

If you're alone, cue the showing off.

Flexing, singing, all the things he knows he can do to impress you.

If none of that works, expect him to get real pouty and whiny.

He might just pick you up from whatever you're doing and hold you in his lap.

Drowning in snuggles and kisses.

"You need to pay more attention to me."

Might even start fake crying or making up things that didn't happen to get sympathy.

And he isn't letting you go.

You're going to be there for a while.

Huntress

She is not subtle at all.

She wants attention, she's going to grab you and walk away.

Are you with someone else?

Too bad. Anna's taking you.

Alone? Working on something?

Tough, you're going with her.

If she can get your attention by faking an injury or pretending to be sad, she will.

And if she gets you, you aren't getting away.

She holds you so tightly you might as well consider yourself restrained.

She loves you, that's all.

If you want to get out, make sure you cuddle and kiss her lots.

Otherwise she'll get really sad and pout.

Don't make her sad.

#dbd imagines #dbd x reader #dbd killer #dbd ghostface #dbd frank #dbd huntress #dbd trickster #dbd spirit

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thetriumphantpanda · 2 years ago

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The Way You Miss Me | Joel Miller (Chapter Six)

You take Joel and Ellie to the lake so she can finally learn how to swim. It's domestic and fun, but all good things have to come to an end and how can Joel ever thank you for what you did for him when everything goes wrong on the walk back to Jackson?

Pairing | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Word Count | 4.5K (I got carried away, I can't help it with these two)

Warnings | Canon-typical violence, mentions of knives and guns, mentions of blood, alcohol consumption, smoking, some allusions to body dysmorphia and changing with age act, and finally SOME FLUFF. SOME FLUFF FOR THESE TWO.

Authors Note | I'm honestly obsessed with these two. This chapter flew out of my fingers and I really hope you like it! Please let me know what you think, either through comments, asks or reblogs, and if you like what you read here, consider following - I'd love to have you along for the ride.

Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

It had been a few weeks since Joel and Ellie’s arrival back in Jackson. Since the night at the bar, you’d tried to keep your distance from Joel, realizing that if anything was ever to happen between you again it would have to be on his terms, you couldn’t force his hand like you had been planning to before. He’d become a little more relaxed, not quite like the feral cat on high alert all the time, and the two of them had taken to sitting with you and your father at the Tipsy Bison when they dropped in, usually with Tommy in tow. It had been nice, you could almost convince yourself you were right back in Austin, apart from the fact that Joel’s eyes didn’t trail up and down your body like they used to, begging to get you somewhere private.

Part of you wondered if it was to do with the fact that you weren’t the bright eyed 25-year-old anymore. You had fine lines and the beginning of wrinkles on your forehead and some of your hair was greying. After years of scavenging for food and getting by on the bare minimum, the abundance of food in Jackson, the freshly made stews and fresh bread, was filling your figure out – you’d even had to trade for a bigger pair of jeans a few days ago. Maybe it was simply that he didn’t find you attractive anymore and had nothing to do with whatever had happened before he found his way here.

“It’s getting warmer,” Tommy had commented one evening, “Won’t be long until we can take trips to the lake for swimming.”

“Swimming?” Ellie had perked up, taking her eyes off the glass of juice she was drinking, “Joel you have to teach me!”

He smiled then and it was something you’d realized you’d missed, his face always so dark and brooding, “I will kiddo, I promise.”

“But we have to do it before everyone starts going,” She said, “I need to be able to swim with everyone else.”

“It’s probably not so cold anymore,” You offered, “I went out on the trail a week ago and it was warm enough to dip my feet into.”

Joel looked to you and then back at Ellie, “I don’t have patrol tomorrow, maybe I can take you out.”

“Make sure you take someone with you,” Tommy insisted, “We haven’t had a chance to properly scope it out for infected or raiders yet.”

“I’ll go,” You offered, “Like I said I went last week so I can keep an eye out and maybe take a dip myself.”

“That’s awful nice of you but you…” Joel started but Tommy interrupted.

“This’ll be good for you Sunshine,” He smiled, clearly referencing that you’d struggled to find your role here so far, “Maybe get a taste of patrols and we can get you on the rota.”

You smiled back, not wanting to give away that if you never held another gun in your life, it wouldn’t be too soon, but you really did feel the need to start pulling your weight, “How about you both meet me at the front gate tomorrow morning after breakfast and we’ll get going?” You smiled at Ellie mostly, “It’ll take a few hours hike so by lunchtime the water might have warmed up a bit more.”

With an agreement to meet at the front gates once the breakfast service was over, you all bid each other goodnight, Ellie and Joel disappearing first as you said goodnight to Tommy, him telling you to come to him in the morning so he could make sure you had the right weapons and then you helping your father to walk home.

The trail was relatively calm, the sun was shaded through the trees which made the heat manageable, and it was always a small joy for you to be able to hear the birds through the silence. Ellie and Joel were a few steps ahead of you, his arms were moving as he was speaking to her although you couldn’t quite make out what they were talking about. It was the most animated you’d seen him since… before.

You were trying to keep your distance, realizing you were only there as an extra pair of hands, not wanting to disturb what was obviously precious bonding time. Joel had always loved hikes like this, you’d been on a few with him and Sarah on the odd weekend when your dad had been tied up with work, it had been nice, but now, with a rifle strapped to your back and your handgun at your thigh, there was no denying this was different.

You hung back as much as possible as Joel and Ellie headed down the hill to the lake. It was a beautiful area and you smiled as you watched Ellie see if for the first time and lose her mind, Joel letting out a little chuckle at her excitement.

“This place is fucking awesome!” She exclaimed as you joined them at the bottom of the hill.

“Ellie, what’d I tell you about your language.” Joel chastised, looking in your direction.

“You don’t gotta worry about me,” You shrugged, “You know every other word outta my mouth used to be a curse word.”

You set your pack and your rifle against one of the larger stones along the shore, unstrapping your handgun from your thigh, and then resting against the stone, “You guys hop in, it’s shallow right here but gets deeper the further out you go,” You advised, “I’ll keep an eye here.”

You sat on the shore for a few hours, letting the sun warm your face as you watched Joel take Ellie through the basics of swimming. She was a fast learner form the glances you were taking, first came the lesson in letting yourself float, then he taught her to tread water. Once you were sure the sounds of her laughter and the splashing weren’t attracting any infected or people to the shore and you were confident she wasn’t going to drown, you stood and shucked off your clothes behind the rock. Maria had handed you the one-piece in an old box a few months back, laughing that one day you might be able to make use of it.

Peering out from behind the rock, Joel’s back was turned, focusing on teaching Ellie the beginnings of a breaststroke. You dashed as quickly as you could into the water, trying to keep the slight shriek of surprise at the cold water against your skin to yourself and then fully submerged yourself in the water. You came up and slicked the hair back from your face, letting yourself float on the top of the water for a moment before settling your feet back down to the bottom.

When you stood, with just the top of your shoulders out of the water, you could see Ellie taking little breaststrokes away from Joel and then around back to him. The look on his face was full on proud dad and you couldn’t help but let the swell of happiness in your tummy for him. You hate to imagine what those years were like after Sarah, from the information you’d gleaned from Tommy it had been messy and dark, but looking at these two in their little found family made your emotions tighten in your chest.

“Why don’t you try swimming over there?” Joel asked, pointing towards you.

You smiled and reached your hands out towards her, you weren’t far away, just enough to challenge her. Ellie looked to Joel, who simply nodded his head towards you. You kept your eyes on her the whole time she swam towards you, shouting words of encouragement as she went and before you know it, she was clasping onto your outstretched hands, laughing in delight as you pulled her upwards. She turned around and kept her hands on yours to keep her head up out of the water, legs kicking, sometimes against your own, to continue treading water.

“Holy shit, Joel did you see?!” She called back, “I fucking swam!”

“Well done kiddo,” He called, “Proud of you.”

If anyone was looking in on this, you would swear they’d thought you were family and, in this moment, you felt something blooming in your chest. The little girl in front of you was obviously Joel’s world, pulling him out from the darkness that had taken hold of him in the years previous and he’d actively invited you into this moment with them, whether he knew it or not. You realized then, without knowing her all that well, that you would protect this little girl with your life if it meant keeping Joel as happy as he was in this moment.

“You wanna swim back?” You asked quietly to her, giving a reassuring squeeze to both hands.

“I’m kinda cold,” She replied, “But I’ll swim to shore?”

“Off you go then.” You smiled, letting her hands go as she did her slow swim back to dry land.

Once you’d made sure she was out of the water and drying herself off, you dunked yourself under the water again, emerging to Joel who had swum over. Popping up from the water you almost crashed into his chest he was so close. Realising how close you both were to each other, you both stepped back, like you’d been burned by each other.

“Sorry,” He spoke sheepishly, “I couldn’t see where you were.”

“It’s alright,” You smiled, “My own fault for closing my eyes.

“Thanks for that,” He offered, “It’s was real nice of you, it’s still takin’ some time for her to settle so thank you for always bein’ so nice to her.”

You shrugged, “It’s alright Joel, I can see how much she means to you, I’m just glad she’s finally getting a chance at some kind of normal life.”

“Are you two coming?” Ellie shouted from the shore, already dried and dressed.

You shot Joel a quick smile before swimming back to shore. The air was cold on your wet skin as you dashed behind the rock, fishing your towel out of your pack to wrap it around your body. Once you were dry, dressed and had your weapons strapped back where they needed to be, you came out from behind the rock to find Joel and Ellie in a similar state. You pushed down the flood of arousal that pooled in your stomach at Joel’s slicked back wet hair and the sight of his forearms which were on show from his pushed-up shirt sleeves.

“There’s a shortcut back to Jackson if we go this way,” You pointed down the shore in the opposite direction that you’d arrived in, “Less hills for my old knees, if that’s okay?”

“Between your knees and his back I’m starting to wonder if I’m in good hands or not.” Ellie chuckled, but

The walk back was pleasant. The breeze was picking up and every time it touched the wet hair on your head you would shiver, goosebumps appearing over your arms. Ellie had taken to walking next to you, Joel just a beat behind.

“What did you do before all this?” She asked.

“I was at school, I’d just started studying for my master’s degree in history when this all went down,” You smiled at her, “All seems pretty useless now, all that money on an education that’s no use to anyone.”

“At least you got to choose what you wanted to learn, FEDRA school was the worst,” She moaned, “So go on, best historical nugget of information you got?”

You chuckled, thinking for a moment, “My favourite is probably Wojtek the bear,” You smirked, looking down at her, “He was bought as a cub by Polish soldiers in Iran during World War Two and they made him an army Corporal in order for him to get rations so they could feed him, apparently he liked to drink beer and walk on his hind legs just like the soldiers did.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Ellie laughed.

“I’m being dead serious,” You matched her laugh, noticing Joel was chuckling a little behind you, “I’m going to trawl the books in the library to prove it to you.”

You all continued the trail in silence for a while. You were soaking up the feeling of the sun on your face when a branch snapping off to the side of you stopped you dead in your tracks. Ellie continued walking as did Joel, passing you, but turned around when he realized you weren’t following.

He went to open his mouth to ask something, but you pressed a finger to your lips to hush him, listening out for any other sounds. You were just about to carry on down the trail when the telltale clicking hit your ears.

It was almost like everything happened in slow motion. A single clicker emerged from the forest, ambling aimlessly until Joel moved and snapped another twig under his boot. The clicker turned and let out the horrible screeching sound before he was rushing towards Joel. The screech it let out then revealed two more who came running and clicking from the trees. Thankfully Joel was quick enough to stick a knife into the clickers neck, throwing it to the ground where it let out a pathetic sound as it died.

The other two were rushing towards you. You whipped your handgun from its strap on your thigh, firing two shots into the one closer to you, buying you enough time to grab the knife from your boot to give the second one a similar end to Joel’s. You almost relaxed until a scream hit your ears.

You whipped your head around. Ellie was on the ground, fighting a clicker of her own. It had her pinned the floor and she was struggling with her hands around its neck to keep it from tearing the flesh of her face or neck, whichever it reached first.

“Ellie no!” You screamed, rushing forward without thinking.

You managed to kick the clicker off her, booting it with so much force it almost flew before landing on its back. You didn’t give it enough time to get back up. Without thinking, you were straddling it, shoving your knife right into the center of its face repeatedly until you were sure it was dead.

Once it had stopped moving and making sounds you pulled your knife out, wiping it on your shirt before standing from its body. You sheathed the knife back to where it lived and put your hands on your knees to catch your breath.

When you stood up and turned around, you saw Ellie, pushed up on her elbows looking at you with wild eyes, “Are you okay?” You asked her, putting out your hand for her to take so you could drag her to her feet.

“I’m fine.” Was all she managed to get out.

“No bites?” You asked.

“No bites.” She confirmed.

Then you turned to Joel. He was still stood by the body of the first click, hand trained on the gun like he’d be poised to shoot at the one that had pinned Ellie to the ground. His eyes matched Ellie’s but there was an added depth to them that you’d seen before in various people who had joined you and your father on your journey to get to where you were. Failure.

“We need to get a move on,” You spoke simply, “Shouldn’t have fired the fucking gun, any others out there won’t be fair behind.”

The three of you practically sprinted back to Jackson. You could feel blood drying on your face and the smell of whatever those things smelt like was seeping into you. You needed a fucking shower and a drink. That had been too close for you.

Tommy was working the gate that afternoon and signaled for them to open the gate as he saw you coming. He could obviously sense something was wrong at the way you were all barreling towards the gate and rushed down to meet you as you crossed the threshold to safety.

“What is God’s name happened to you?!” Tommy exclaimed, pointing towards your blood-soaked clothes.

“Fucking clickers.” You replied simple, “Bunch of them jumped us on the way down from the lake.”

“Jesus Christ, is everyone okay?” He looked to Joel and Ellie who both nodded.

“I need a fucking drink and a shower.” You spat, thrusting the rifle into Tommy’s hands before turning on your heel.

The water was scalding. You almost cried with relief as the water flowed over you. You watched as the blood washed down the plughole and felt as your hands shook as you raked them through your hair to wash the soap suds from your head. Panic was rising in your chest as your mind replayed the image of Ellie on the floor and the look in Joel’s eyes. If you’d been a few seconds slower things could be much different, Joel had already lost one daughter and although Ellie wasn’t blood you knew that losing her would be the same pain for him. You couldn’t stand to let him go through that again.

Despite the slightly warmer climate, you dressed yourself in the biggest jumper you owned, hoping it would act as a comfort to stop your body from shivering.

“I’m going to head to the Bison,” You father stated when you walked back down the stairs, he hadn’t asked questions when you’d barreled through the door covered in blood and guts, just pulled you into a hug and told you everything would be okay, “Would you like to join me?”

You shook your head, “I think I’d like to be alone for a while.”

He nodded in understanding, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he shuffled out of the door, leaving you alone once more, with nothing but a bottle of the good whiskey Tommy had given you as a moving in gift. Your poured yourself a generous double and lit a cigarette in the house, something you’d never normally do.

The light had faded fast, darkness now enveloping your home, but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn on the light, it would illuminate too much. The rage you’d felt as you plunged the knife into that clickers face was the same rage you’d felt when you’d stabbed the girl who had tried to steal your supplies three years ago. You’d pushed her up against a wall and she’d begged for forgiveness, she didn’t see the light of the fire or hear the slow chatter between you and your father and thought the box had been abandoned. You’d sunk the knife into her stomach and watched as the life drained from her eyes. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, but what did that matter anymore?

The fear you’d felt was the same as the fear you’d felt when you’d come back from hunting, rabbits strung to your backpack and found your father tied up in the house and a group of raiders beating him. You couldn’t lose him; you couldn’t face this world on your own. What would be the point of carrying on if the one man who had stayed constant in your life was gone? You’d shot one point blank in the head, the other two received a similar end. Once he was untied and you knew his injuries would heal, you’d cried in his lap from fear of the person you’d become.

There was a knock at your door as you shot back your fourth glass. Maybe if you sat still for long enough whoever it was on the other side would get the hint, but they knocked again. Standing up on shaky legs, you walked to the door and tore it open, about to give whoever it was a piece of your mind. It was Joel. All thought of telling him off was gone and immediately you felt the tension drop a notch from your body.

“Are you okay?” Was the first thing he asked.

“I’m fine Joel,” You stated, “Are you okay?”

He shook his head to say no, and you could already see the glassy overlay in his eyes, “I don’t know how to thank you.” He choked out.

You tried to find the words in your mind to comfort him, but nothing came to you. Instead, you stepped over the threshold and put your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. It was the closest you’d been to him since before and all of a sudden, when you closed your eyes and breathed in his scent, you could almost convince yourself you were 25 and back in Austin. You felt his own arms wrap around your back and squeeze you to him, silencing your mind from asking him whether this was okay. You stayed wrapped up together for what felt like hours before his arms dropped and he was pulling away from you.

“That girl,” He started, “Means more to me than anyone will ever know, after everything she’s been through, everything I’ve done to keep her safe, to lose her like that would have killed me,” You’d never heard Joel speak so honestly before, “I could see it, in my head, the way it was going to tear her neck open and the way she would’a looked at me as she bled out,” He was crying now, “I was too slow, I had that gun ready and pointed but it was all too slow.”

“Joel,” You cooed at him, placing a reassuring hand on his arm, “She’s fine. She’ll be okay.”

“But she wasn’t!” He exclaimed, “If you hadn’t been there, we’d both be dead.”

“You don’t know that,” You tried to comfort him, “You don’t know what would have happened if I wasn’t there, things could have been different, maybe they wouldn’t have appeared, you just can’t put the blame on yourself like that.”

There was silence between you for a while, “This place is safe Joel, sure the world outside of it is fucked beyond all recognition, but this place is safe and this community has your back, it was dumb of us to go without a full scouting party, but they’ll find the rest of the infected and they’ll get rid of them,” You gave his arm another squeeze, “You have to stop surviving and start living.”

“I’m sorry I put you in that position.” He speaks softly, looking at you through the haze in his eyes.

“That’s the whole reason I went with you Joel, to keep an eye out and keep you safe, it was a close call I’ll admit but I managed it,” You reassured him, “I’ve done much worse than stab a clicker in the face a few times.”

“And I hate that,” He admits, “I hate that this world has done that to you, made you do things you didn’t want to, you of all people have never deserved that.”

“I hate it too,” You shrug, leaning against the doorframe, “But there’s something about this that makes it all worth it, sure I’ve killed my fair share of people but the fact that I can sit on an actual couch, take a warm shower and wait out my days with the people I’ve loved the most in life, the death and the blood and the hatred has all been worth it.”

You didn’t really register what was happening next. Joel took a step forward, cupping your face in his palms, you looked up into his brown eyes, still bloodshot from his tears, as his face inched closer to yours. His lips pressed against yours softly and it was like your whole world had ignited in flames. You’d waiting twenty years to kiss him again, to feel his hands on your face and have his scent overwhelming you. It was over far too quickly for your liking.

“I thought you said we couldn’t do this?” You murmured softly.

“That was before you saved my girl,” He breathed back, “Now I wanna give you the world darlin’ girl.”

Tears threatened to fall from your eyes at his words. It was all so overwhelming. The man who you’d loved all those years ago, the man that you knew you loved now. A kiss that you thought would never happen and that damned fucking nickname that had arousal pooling in your stomach.

You pushed yourself up on your toes to press your lips back to his, wrapping your arms around his neck as his tongue ran over your lower lip. You opened your mouth for him and then your tongues were tangled, the memories of the last time you’d been like this causing a quiet moan to erupt from your throat.

A cough from behind Joel had him tearing away from you and stepping back to reveal your father, stood at the bottom of the steps to the porch.

“If you could let my daughter go long enough for me to get into the house, I’d be very grateful.” There was cheeky smirk on his face that made the words a joke, but you couldn’t help the burn of the blush on your cheeks as you stepped out of the doorway to help him into the house, closing the door behind him.

“I should really get back,” Joel spoke softly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Ellie was takin’ a nap and I don’t want her to wake up on her own.”

You smiled, “Of course, I better go in and get a telling off.”

“At least he’s not likely to kill me now.”

“I wouldn’t let him,” You laughed, stepping forward to press a kiss to his cheek, “Goodnight Joel.”

“Goodnight, darlin’ girl.”

You watched as he walked away, a smile creeping across your face like a teenager who just got asked to prom by their crush. You softly closed the door behind you, leaning against the door with the smile permanently plastered to your mouth.

“I knew the whole time, you know?” Your eyes shot to your father, stood in the middle of the room.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” He chuckled, “I saw the way you looked at him, all those times where it would take you forever to come out to the car after babysitting, not to mention the fact that you were hopeless at closing the front door quietly.”

“I thought you’d kill us if you knew.”

Another chuckle, “He was a good man, he is a good man, after all the idiots you’d dated he brought out the best in you, even if you didn’t realise it, I wasn’t going to get in the way of that, I was waiting for the awkward conversation with the two of you, was gonna make it real uncomfortable for both of you, kinda sad I can’t do that now.”

“Well, I mean you still could?” You offered.

“Honey, you are forty-five years old now, we’re far beyond that,” He shuffled slowly over to you, pulling you into a hug, “If he makes you happy then I’m happy.”

You sat down on the sofa, pouring one last glass of the good whiskey, “I’m heading to bed, don’t stay up too late.” Your father called as he started to walk up the stairs.

“I’m forty-five years old dad, we’re far beyond that.”

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