#i really should make a tag for i come with knives

[leighsartworks216]

"I really love how slow this slow burn is!"

My aroace ass with no idea how to write a developing relationship, only relationships that already exist at the start of a story:

[pencil-n-pen]

TONGUES AND TEETH

₊˚ʚ 🌲₊˚✧ . °🍂 ೃ࿔*

jackson! joel miller x fem! loner! reader

masterlist | ko-fi

summary: Joel refuses to acknowledge the part of him that aches to be a protector. That is, until you come crashing into his life.

cw: canon-typical violence, reader had a rough go of things before Joel, nightmares, medical inaccuracies (oh the horror!) uhhh reader has a broken nose and it gets set, unspecified age gap, daddy issues but we all saw that coming and it’s vague, as an ellie lover and defender until the day i die, it pains me to say no ellie-au IM SORRY I COULDN’T MAKE IT WORK bella ramsey as ellie they could never make me hate you

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort as always, age gap, nightmare comfort, honestly just two messed up people loving each other

a/n: proof that i will find a way to write an eldest daughter fic for any fandom/universe

not officially writing for him !! just had this idea

another long(ish) fic. if you're here from my masterlist, now would be a good time to go pee, get some water, and maybe a snack or two :) same things for those of you scrolling. i see u

title taken from tongues and teeth by the crane wives (GO LISTEN TO THE CRANE WIVES !!)

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚🦴⋆｡°✩

Jackson living isn’t all Joel thought it would be cracked up to be.

Don’t get him wrong- objectively, it’s great. Running water, electricity, a clinic- three hallmarks Joel was sure he’d never see again. Not since the outbreak.

So by all means, he should be content. He goes out for hunting parties and patrols. Has his own house. Has a permanent place to keep his boots and his knives and guns and a bookshelf to make his way through. He has a bed. He has his brother.

But he’s restless.

Joel spent a long time walking. Searching. Surviving. You don’t quite slip back into easy civilian life just like that, no matter how perfect the conditions are.

At first, he solves this problem but going on more hunting parties, more patrols. He stays up late doing guard rotations and helps out his brother with projects when he can.

It doesn’t solve the itch, though. That sharp little thrumming, just beneath his skin: the need to protect. To have a job. To have something or someone to look after.

He denies this part of himself as much as he can, because he’s not that man anymore. Not after Sarah. He’s not. You don’t stay somebody dying to help and protect when you kill people. Because they’re still people, under the fungus. Under the parasite. Their brain’s still work. They still feel pain and anguish and fear.

He’s heard them cry before. Hunched over a corpse, body acting with somebody else at the reins, faces covered in blood and gore crying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

So Joel isn’t a protective guy anymore. Had to take out those parts. Replace them with solitary and meanness and a distinct lack of sympathy.

It’s turned him into an angry thing. Like a gaurd dog; snarling, circling an empty pedestal it refuses to acknowledge is there.

He knows Tommy see’s it. Try’s to involve him in things whenever he can, invites him over to dinner. Hangs out at his house. Makes sure Joel isn’t alone-alone.

So Joel really, really should’ve seen it coming when he and the scouting party find you in the woods.

You’re just as surprised to see them as they are to see you. They thought they were tracking a deer— although some of the tracks and patterns of disturbance in the underbrush didn’t add up.

They’d entered a clearing, guns poised, just to see you, handgun leveled at them, perched in a tree. Way higher up than Joel would’ve dared.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” You’d hissed, voice carrying on the wind and rattling just like the leaves on the tree you’re in. How you managed to scale a tree that high in a busted pair of Doc Martens and lugging a backpack clearly full of supplies is beyond him.

But he doesn’t need medical credentials to know you’ve clearly had a rough go of things.

You’re young. Not young-young, but young. Dressed in clothes clearly pilfered, you’re wearing a thick brown jacket that probably would’ve belonged to a construction worker or something like that. It’s a few sizes too big, and the cuffs are frayed and there’s a hastily sewn patch on the elbow he can see. Your face and hair is littered with tree and other plant debris- though if this is a new addition from your tree climbing escapade, he’s not sure. Your nose has dried blood crusted under it, your lip is split, and there’s a cut above your eyebrow. Your knuckles and hands are equally torn and split, old and new scars and scrapes littering your skin.

In short: you look rough. And feral, in that way that cats that live outside a little too long and a little too far away from people end up looking.

“I said stay back!”

He remembers, abruptly, that you’re probably scared out of your mind and the rest of the scouting team is still pointing their weapons at you.

He makes the motion for them to lower their weapons, and he lowers his own, raising both hands in the universal “we come in peace” gesture.

You don’t lower yours, but your grip on it is looser.

“We’re from the Jackson settlement,” He shouts, hoping you don’t hear the gruff anger in his voice that Tommy always complains he needs to work on. “There’s running water and electricity.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Your hands have begun to shake on the gun, ever so slightly. “So what’s your guys prerogative, huh? Cannablism? Religion? You planning on burning me at the stake? Or did you have something else in mind? I am a woman.”

Joel takes a step forward but stops when a bullet hits the ground right where his foot was about to be.

“If you take one more step you’re gonna find out exactly why I’ve survived alone this long.”

“Look,” He says, dropping his hands to his hips. “You can shoot us, and one of us will shoot you, and it’ll all be fine and dandy—“

There’s a chorus of whispers behind him.

“Or you can stay in that tree and not shoot us, and we won’t shoot you, and that’ll also be fine and dandy.”

He turns, jamming a finger in the direction of the settlement. “Jackson’s that way. Go or don’t go. I don’t really give a shit, but you look like you could use a bandaid.”

He jerks his head, and the rest of the party follows his lead, leaving the clearing —and you— behind.

—

A few hours after he returns, somewhere in the late evening when twilight is starting to set in and the crickets are chirping, Tommy knocks on his door.

“There’s a girl here for you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Someone asked for me?”

“Well, not so much as for you. Her words exactly were “that gruff, mean looking asshole,” but I got the picture.”

He sighs, deep in his bones. A small part of him —the part that’s still connected to that dog, still circling— had hoped you would show up. However, it’s hopelessly overshadowed by the sheer exasperation of it all.

He’s silent save for non-committal grunts and hmm’s the way over to the front gates where the evening rotation’s guards have you standing between them.

You’re slightly worse for wear since the last time he saw you in that tree. Your jacket as a new rip in it, and your nose is sluggishly bleeding again. Up close, he notices it’s a bit crooked.

Gonna hurt like a bitch to set, He thinks absentmindedly.

He slows as he approaches you, hands in his pockets and shoulders back.

“See?” He huffs, gesturing with one hand behind him. “Not cannibals. Or whatever else you’re worried about.”

Your face is hard set as you look around. “That remains to be seen.”

“Hello!”

Joel looks back to see a pregnant Maria waddling over, a concerned Tommy at her side.

“I told you I’d handle it—“

“And I told you I’m fine. Now,” She props her hands on her hips. “Who’s this young lady now?”

You (hesitantly) stick out a hand to shake and introduce yourself.

She shakes your hand with a smile. Leave it to Maria to be able to read people with such ease. “I’m Maria Miller. I’m one of the settlement councilors. The golden retriever fussing next to me is my husband, Tommy, and the angry looking bear next to him is his brother, Joel. I understand a scouting party found you?”

You nod, eyes flicking this way and that, cataloguing the area.

“I’ve been on my own for… awhile. I don’t have any supplies to offer, but I’m smart and strong. I’m willing to work in exchange for a place to stay.”

Maria hums, assessing. “I’m sure we can work something out. You’ll need to come with me to speak to the rest of the council, for our safety and yours.”

You tighten your grip on your backpack but follow Maria and Tommy, only sparing one backward glance at Joel.

He spends the rest of the evening trying to forget the look in your eyes.

—

He fails spectacularly.

This doesn’t mean, however, that he’s anywhere near pleased when his nightly reading-as-a-poor-attempt-at-normalcy routine is interrupted by a knock on the door. One that sounds suspiciously like Tommy’s type of knock.

Only he hears two voices as he walks up to the door, and the other one isn’t Maria.

Joel opens the door with a glare already fixed on his face.

“There have to be other places.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “It’s only temporary. The council agreed to let her stay so long as she’s watched by a trusted Jackson member, and well. You vouched for her.”

“And when exactly did I do that?”

“In the woods, when you met. You told her where you were from and how to get there. Honestly, Joel, you’re getting off light here. Some of the council members were not happy you told a random loner —no offense— where to find us. Kind of defeats the whole point.”

You huff a quiet “None taken.”

He can’t help the way his body tenses. “So this is a punishment?”

“Yes and no.”

“I don’t—“

“Look,” you interject, clearly fed up with the conversation. “It’s not the end of the world. I’m not going to murder you in your sleep and I don’t leave dirty clothes lying around. It’s only for three weeks. Get over it.”

Another sigh threatens to release itself, but he stamps it down, figuring he’s hit his sigh quota for the day.

“Fine. But take her down to medical first. I don’t want her blood all over my house.”

Tommy shrugs. “No-can-do. Maria needs me back at the house. You know where medical is. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

And with that, Tommy leaves, abandoning Joel and you at the doorstep.

Joel scrubs a hand down his face. “Wait there. I’ll grab a jacket.”

The walk to the clinic is awkward and silent, and just when Joel thinks it can’t get any worse, one of the staff tells him that since he’s your assigned supervisor/watcher/whatever, he has to accompany you. To everything.

To your credit, you don’t look very happy about the arrangement either.

Still, you bear through all the exams, a grimace fixed firmly on your face. Apparently (and not surprisingly) you’re malnourished, dehydrated, running a small fever, deficient in several vitamins, have two cracked ribs (most likely, no x-ray machine) and some run of the mill scraps and bruises.

You’re cagey enough on the details of the cracked ribs and nose that the doctor eventually moves on to the fixing you stage of things.

It takes awhile. There are a lot of injuries to cover.

When it comes to resetting your nose, the second the woman pulls out a needle and syringe, you go rigid.

“No.”

The doctor blinks. “This is just lidocaine, it’ll numb the area so—“

“No.”

“You wanna feel all that?” Joel asks, the first time he’s spoken during your entire exam, “It ain’t gonna feel great. Crooked nose like that won’t set with one go.”

“No needles. No numbing.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “What, you got a pain thing or something?”

Your hands go white-knuckled on the exam table. “Fuck. Off.”

You’re shaking, he notes.

Ah, He says to himself. Not a pain thing.

Fear.

The doctor shrugs. “Not like I won’t take the chance to save what we have. You’ll want something to bite down on. Or squeeze.”

You wrap your fingers around your own hand, a pathetic attempt at self-soothing.

He decides annoyance is the emotion he feels at your small movement. Nothing else.

He rolls his eyes as he grabs your hand, maneuvering it in place of your own.

“Good luck breaking it.”

You don’t respond. He wasn’t really expecting you to.

He knows without looking the exact moment the doctor starts resetting things because your grip on his hand quickly turns from barely there to crushing. You make no sound.

The doctor, to her credit, works fairly quickly, though by the time she’s finished a single tear has carved a path through the blood and grime on your face.

He thinks about how someone learns to cry without sound.

The doctor moves on quickly, cleaning and bandaging the wounds that need it and telling you detailed instructions for how to take care of your nose and cracked ribs and what things you should be eating to avoid staying vitamin deficient. It’s all a lot of words Joel is glad he doesn’t have to memorize.

They stick in his head anyway.

You don’t let go of his hand. You’re no longer squeezing the life out of it, but you’re not holding its gently either. When you do finally let go (after the doctor’s left and you can leave) you practically tear your hand away, as if burned. Like you’d left your hand on a stove as it was heating up only you just now noticed it was hot.

He doesn't say anything about it. He figures you're liable to literally bite his head off, or some other violent action close to that.

Besides. This is all awkward enough.

The walk back to the house is just as silent and strained as the walk to the clinic. Only now your breath is just a little more labored. Steps a little shakier. Your hand's twitch at your sides like they're reaching for something, and you don't quite manage to hide the way you look around every now and then, a restless, nervous action.

He knows what you're doing. He was you, back when he first got to Jackson. Granted, he wasn't as twitchy as you are. He kept his distance, stayed mean and scary (as possible.)

He holds the door open for you when you arrive back to the house, because his mom raised him to be a gentleman no matter the circumstances.

You toss him a look of confusion and annoyance but step into the house, looking around the modest living room with something almost like wonder.

He toes off his shoes, sets them by the door, and takes off his jacket, hanging it on the hook. "Shower before you touch anything. You're filthy. And don't think I'm giving up my bed."

"I wouldn't have taken it even if you had," You sneer. "Where's the--"

"Down the hall on the left. You got clean clothes?"

"...I have less dirty ones."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Wait here."

He grumbles all the way upstairs, all the way through picking out clothes that'll fit you well enough until you either wash what you have or find something else.

He silently glowers as he comes down the stairs, thrusting the clothes out to you and turning on his heel when you take them.

"I'm going to bed. Don't wake me up."

When he lies in bed that night, he can't even pretend he's not thinking about you. In his defense, it's less about you and more about the new, strange, stand-offish person he's just supposed to live with for the foreseeable future. All because he had the bad luck of feeling bad for the battered, flighty, loner girl sitting in a tree.

He stares at his ceiling, internal clock (yes, he's old, he has an internal clock. Sue him) letting him know it is decidedly an hour he should be asleep. He refuses to go downstairs, on principle alone. He could get up and go find one of his books, but he knows that if you're anything like him, coming off of however long you spent alone, you're a light sleeper. You're probably awake now, listening to him toss and turn and being unnerved by the unusual silence of Jackson and the particular brand of night-noise it produces. That's what the first two weeks of Joel's life in Jackson consisted of, before he moved in here.

Maria had decided that Joel would stay with the two of them until he integrated in Jackson society. Perks of your brother marrying a council member, he guesses.

So he's not going downstairs. Not going to walk down there just to see a person, an entire person in his house looking like, looking like--

Fuck.

He throws his blankets off and angrily (but not loudly) marches downstairs to get himself a glass of water and the book he knows he left on the table by the couch when he was so rudely interrupted by you. This is his house, dammit, he refuses to be put out by a random girl.

Woman, his brain corrects.

The living room is completely dark when he makes his way down the stairs and he truly, honestly wishes he was surprised when there's a whoosh of air to his right and a knife embeds itself in the wall about a half inch away from the side of his face.

The living room is still and silent.

"I thought they took your weapons when you got here."

"I lied about what I had."

He scrubs a hand down his face, yanks the knife out of the wall, and tosses it back. If you can throw it, you can dodge it.

He doesn't hear any screams, yelps, or grunts of pain, so he assumes you caught it fine. Or at least dodged it.

He makes his way over to the kitchen, grabs the teapot, and takes down two mugs.

"You know they can kick you out for harboring weapons during your probationary stay."

He hears a rustle of blankets behind him. The sound of you stashing your knife, no doubt.

"Are you going to tell them?"

He snorts, filling up the teapot. "No. There's been a knife in my boot since the day I got here."

He hears more rustling, and decides against turning around. He's not quite sure what you've been doing down here all night since it's clear that you weren't sleeping.

He doesn't hear any footsteps, but when does turn around to set the mugs on the table, you're sitting at it, knees pulled up and head resting atop them, your cheek smushed. Now that his eye's have adjusted to the darkness of the living room, he can almost make out your features. They're easier to discern, now that you're not covered in blood and grime. You look... softer. Haloed in the glow of moonlight shining through the gaps in the curtains.

Your face isn't the only thing glowing. The tell-tale glint of a knife --a different, smaller knife than the one you'd thrown at him-- shines from it's spot, resting oh-so innocently on the table.

Joel just huffs.

"No weapons on the table."

He blinks, and it's gone.

He doesn't ask why you're still awake or what you've been doing instead of sleeping. You don't ask why he's down in the kitchen at all.

"What are you making?"

"Tea."

He gently places a teabag in each mug. He isn't really sure why he's doing this for you. You've done nothing but hiss and spit since he's met you.

But tonight, right now, blanketed in the not-quite calm of the night and the apparent unease you both drown in--

It's tolerable. You're tolerable.

So he takes the kettle off the stove and pours the water and places the steaming mug on the table in front of you.

To which you ignore, and snatch the mug out of his hands instead.

"Did you think I put that one," He points to the mug in front of you, "There for giggles?"

You cradle the mug in your hands, seemingly entranced with the warmth and steam. "You might've poisoned mine."

"Maybe I poisoned both."

You take a sip, then grimace when the too-hot liquid hits your tongue.

"You don't look like the kind of person to have built an immunity to poison."

"You also watched me make both beverages."

"So? It's dark. You could've slipped something in. Or maybe it was already in the teabags."

"What use would I even have for you dead?"

You shrug. "I don't know. You tell me."

“You’re a deeply mistrusting person.”

“And you’re not?”

Touché.

Joel remains in the kitchen, leaned against a cabinet sipping your tea, while you stay hunched at the table, sipping yours.

If he removes the irritability and the uncomfortable-ness of everything that involves you living with him, the moment is almost… companionable. Pleasant, even.

It… soothes that nervous part of him. Not the sad nervous. The angry nervous. That built up crack of anger.

There’s another person in his home that is neither attempting to perceive his problems nor actively attempting to kill him. Your belief that he might poison you aside, you still accepted the tea.

He firmly believes that Tommy isn’t right about the loneliness thing though. His brother being right is just a world Joel can’t live in.

Besides. It’s too early to tell anything anyway.

—

Unfortunately, the following few days do not go… terribly.

That isn’t to say they go well, though. Since he’s looking after you (read: making sure you’re not an axe-murderer or something) he’s not allowed to go out on scouting or hunting trips. Or solo guard rotations he’s come to covet.

It’s boring, and having you around is strange.

It’s interesting, when he gets bored enough, because if he focuses hard enough he can guess what events happened to you based on your reactions to certain things. He’s pretty sure you were drugged at some point based on your reaction to the doctor with the lidocaine. You’re general skittish and flighty nature can be easily attributed to the conditions in which everyone in the world is living in, but your particular brand of distrust and aggression says that humans, not the infected, have been the ones to hurt you the most. Your general unease in open areas or areas with not easily accessible exits leads him to believe that there have been several extremely close calls in several points of your survival.

He knows you’ve been shot before, but that one was an accident. He’d come downstairs, rubbing bleary sleep from his eyes and accidentally stumbled across you changing. Well, finishing changing. He’d quickly closed his eyes and turned around, and thankfully you hadn’t startled, but he had caught a glimpse of the stretch of skin not covered by the long sleeve undershirt you favored. On the left side, just above your hip and a few inches towards your bellybutton, there’s a jagged, raised, circular scar. Still pink.

He knows you have a very slight, very subtle limp. He’s not sure what causes it, but he knows you have one. It tends to act up when you do a lot of strenuous exercise for an extended period of time. Some days you wake up and it’s worse. On those days, you’re a little more mean, and a little more skittish.

He’s yet to see you actually, legitimately sleep.

He’s starting to think you haven’t, since arriving.

Which is insane, because it’s been four days.

The bags under your eyes are horrific, even to him. You’ve gotten clumsier and clumsier, your attention span and memory are terrible, and he thinks you might’ve started hallucinating, if the times he’s seen you staring off into space with concerned, fearful, or twisted expressions on your face and mumbled rambles he can’t make out are anything to go by.

On day five, when Joel comes downstairs in the morning and the knife you throw at him bounces harmlessly off the wall and clatters to the ground and you just stare at it, eyes foggy and unseeing, he decides to talk to Maria.

“I don’t really care,” He says, because he has a reputation to uphold dammit, “But I’m not sure how much longer she’s gonna last, and what she’s gonna do when she wakes up.”

“Mmm,” Maria hums, hands clasped on the table and staring at Joel with her best ‘I don’t believe you don’t care’ look. She’s really perfected it, “Well the truth is, she can’t go forever. It’s fear keeping her up now. Happens a lot with the loners that come in. Especially the women. She’s afraid that no one’s there to watch her back and terrified she won’t be strong enough to fend off any attackers.”

Maria looks at her hands. “The fear is exacerbated by the fact that the council took most of her weapons.”

“You knew—“

“She was lying? Of course I did. So did several of the other members, I’m sure. But she’s not a threat. She’s scared.”

He thumbs the thin scar on his cheek from the knife came just a little too close to hitting the mark when he sneezed in the kitchen. “She’s got a funny way of being scared.”

“Fight or flight, Joel. She knows flight isn’t an option.”

“Why are you lobbying so hard in her defense?”

“I’m not. I’m explaining her actions. Also,” She gives a knowing smile, “You’ve started to care. Otherwise you wouldn’t be coming to me about this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He grouses. “So what am I supposed to do? Just wait for her to pass out?”

“You could. It’ll happen eventually. She very clearly doesn’t have that many hours left in her. That’s probably freaking her out more. Or, you could subtly show her that she can sleep around you. She needs to know that she’s safe from whatever it is she’s running from.”

Joel keeps his eyes locked on the kitchen table, tracing the grain in the wood with an absent-minded finger.

“I know you pushed for her to stay with me.”

“The council wanted a punishment that fit the crime.”

“Look, I appreciate the thought—“

Maria’s expression flattens. “Joel. Do not sit at my table and lie about how you don’t need anyone and you’re fine on your own. You need this.“

“I don’t need this,” He scoffs, “She’s practically half-feral. No one needs that.”

Maria stands, shrugging. “Then I guess you’ll have to file for a name change, No-One Miller. Until then, make sure she’s not alone when she wakes up.”

—

He did leave you alone for the duration of his conversation with Maria, because fuck if he was bringing you to that, and he figured you both could use some time away from each other. He knows he can.

He’s not very surprised to hear the familar whoosh of a small, sharp object sailing through the air that tends to accompany his arrival into rooms you’re occupying (he’s pretty sure it stopped being a fear response after the first two times and now you’re just messing with him) but he is suprised to see that this time, the knife doesn’t even make it head height. Or to the wall.

It clatters uselessly to the ground near his feet. He stares at the metal between his boots and then up at you—

“Why are you sitting on the kitchen counter?”

“I don’t remember.”

He leaves the knife on the ground and makes his way over to you, watching with mock disinterest at the several-seconds-delayed flinch you make when he stands in front of you.

You look up at him, eyes glassy and unfocused and you just look so, so tired.

There’s a curl of protectiveness in his chest that keeps trying to spread, keeps trying to grow. Here, in the kitchen, your legs dangling over the edge of the counter, bathed in the glow of the mid-day sun, it takes root. Right in the center.

He looks down at your feet. “What happened to your other shoe?”

You scrunch up your face. “I don’t… I was getting in bed, I think. But it wasn’t my bed. I forgot that things aren’t—“

That things aren’t the same anymore.

He crouches down, untying the laces of your boot and shucking it aside somewhere.

“Alright, come on.”

You slide off the counter, clumsy and uncoordinated. He takes your hand in his, leads you up to the bedroom.

The stairs are difficult for your tired, barely working brain. He has to stop multiple times to physically lift your legs or stop you from falling over and cracking your head open.

You finally make it up there, though, and he realizes that you probably won’t want to sleep in your everyday clothes.

“One last step.”

He can’t help but notice how intimate the moment is. Not intimate-intimate, but. He instructs you softly to lift your arms so he can tug your shirt over your head and replaces it with a soft shirt of his own.

Staring into your eyes is too charged and allowing his eyes to wander is bad for obvious reasons, so he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the junction of where your neck meets your shoulder.

He keeps his eyes there as he helps you out of your pants and into a pair of flannel pajama pants. The same ones he’d given you the first night you came. You’ve never slept and he’s never seen you go to any of the places he knows have extra clothes, so he’s almost positive you don’t have any pajamas at all.

His fingers work quickly to tie the drawstring on the pants, and even then, they hang low on your hips.

He doesn’t let his eyes linger.

“Come on,” He says taking your arm and tugging you toward the bed. “Time for sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” You mumble, standing in place. “And I can’t, what if they—“

“I’ll be here the whole time. I’ll keep watch.”

You mull his words over in your head for a few moments before stumbling the final few steps into the bed. You practically collapse into it, shuffling for a just few seconds before your breath evens out.

You’re asleep.

He reaches over, adjusting the blankets a bit, before grabbing the book he’d left on the bedside table and settling down in the chair by the bed.

The hours tick by quietly, accompanied only by the quiet rustling of pages turning and your soft snores.

For the first time in awhile, he doesn’t feel restless.

—

You sleep for a full eighteen hours straight before you stir.

He’s a good portion of the way through his book before he see’s your body tense in the corner of his eye. Your breathes are still even and deep, so if he couldn’t see you, he probably wouldn’t notice you’re awake.

“You’ve been asleep for eighteen hours,” He says, voice rough and scratchy with disuse, “You got in bed voluntarily.”

“You changed my clothes.”

“You didn’t seem all that capable of doing so yourself and I didn’t think you wanted to sleep in jeans. You mind?”

“…No.”

“Good. Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t just—“

“You didn’t sleep for five days. If we’re going by the eight hours a night average needed or whatever, that’s forty hours. You’ve still got twenty-two left to catch up on.”

You roll over to face him with a grumble. “I don’t like how good you are at mental math.”

“Get better, then.”

You shimmy out from under the blankets, tossing him an “I have to pee,” as you make your way out of the room.

It’s early morning now, weak sunlight behind to strain its way through the curtains. He figures it’s a good enough time to make some food (and coffee) if you’re going to be going to back sleep, so he meanders down to the kitchen and throws together a small breakfast.

“Did you make us breakfast?”

He never really gets used to how quietly you move through rooms.

“Jesus— yes. Here.”

He hands you a bowl with oatmeal and a small plate with a slice of toast— toasted in a pan, because electricity aside, he doesn’t own a toaster. Why waste time scavenging for an appliance when something else works just as fine?

He sets a jar of jam on the counter that he’d picked up awhile ago in exchange for fixing the hinge on somebody’s door.

“You got any allergies?”

“None that matter.”

He nods to the table. “Go eat. Then get back in bed.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“And you’re annoying. Eat.”

You eat quickly and quietly, then wordlessly follow him back upstairs, climbing back into bed.

“Joel?” You whisper.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

He tucks the blanket up over your shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

You obey easily.

—

Things between the two of you… soften after that. He slowly sees more pieces of your personality than the wild thing he met that day in the woods.

He learns that you love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but miss peanut butter and nutella sandwiches more than anything. He learns that on good days, you like drinking coffee straight black, but on bad days, you like it with milk and sugar.

He learns that your limp is the result of one careless mistake you’d made when you first surviving on your own.

“I thought the house was abandoned. It wasn’t,” You’d rolled up your pant leg to show horrific, deep, jagged scars circling your ankle, “Guy had set out a bear trap to slow down some of the clickers in the area. It was dark. Didn’t notice it until too late.”

He learns that you, despite your snide remarks and sarcastic comments, like having him around. He feels a bit like earning the trust of a stray cat.

You begin to grow more comfortable with life in Jackson, though not by much. He’s sure you weren’t a people person before the outbreak, much less so now that he knows some of the horrors you’ve been through before you got here.

He’s even started getting used to how quietly you move.

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm, from there.

He wakes up, goes downstairs. Sometime’s there’s a knife thrown at him, sometimes there isn’t. You’re usually sprawled on the couch, drool coming out of your mouth and grumbling incoherently about “old men and their stupid early mornings.”

It’s almost endearing.

Since Joel spends a lot of time helping Maria and Tommy get ready for their baby, you, in turn, get to know the both of them by being stuck with Joel. Maria set you on edge at first, Tommy slightly less so, but through continuous interactions your prickly nature smoothed.

One night, you were all seated on their couch after enjoying a dinner together —not the first and definitely not the last— having quiet conversation. You’re totally passed out on Joel’s shoulder, dead-asleep and quite content to use him as a human teddy bear.

Maria smiles over her mug of tea. “She’s grown on you.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. She’s not all bad.”

“High praise coming from Joel Miller.”

You have grown on him. And in turn, your relationship has started to grow into… something else. Sometimes his eyes linger just a little too long, and the looks you share feel just a little too charged.

Tommy sends him a look full of words only true siblings can understand.

“No, Tommy.”

“Oh come on Joel! You both clearly—“

“We are not having this conversation right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because—“

You fling an arm out wildly, smacking him in the side of his face and grasping around until your pointer finger finally finds his lips.

“Shhhh. M’ sleeping.”

He wraps his hand around your wrist, prying your fingers off his face. “You know that’s what bed’s are for. Or couches. Or any number of surfaces I’ve found you sleeping on.”

“You’re a surface I’m sleeping on.”

“I shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a bed. Come on, up and at em’.”

You whine at the loss of warmth when he stands, scowling as you haul yourself to your feet. As he’s putting on his boots by the door, he hears you thanking Maria and Tommy for their hospitality, and he can’t help the little smile that twitches on his face. Seems like his parents weren’t the only ones who made sure he had manners.

You meet him at the door, hopping in place to put your boots on and getting frustrated when they don’t slide on immediately.

“You know, it would help if you untied the laces—“

“Fuck off.”

He blinks. That seems a little more mean than you usually say nowadays.

So Joel takes a step back. Watch’s your legs and your shoes and your hands—

There.

Your hands shake as you fumble with the laces, unable to get a good grip on the thin cords to untie and re-tie your shoes.

He shoos your hands away from the singular boot you haven’t managed to get on.

“Sit.”

He’s thankful that he built the shoe bench for Maria a few weeks after he got to Jackson. It serves Maria well for not having to stand while she attempts to put her shoes on while heavily pregnant, a feat she bemoaned a few times, and now it’s serving you.

You plop down on the bench with a huff, crossing your arms as Joel crouches, undoing the laces of your boot and sliding it on.

“I can do it.”

“I know you can.”

“Why’re you doing it?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He secures the tie on one boot and moves on to the next. “It is tonight.”

Once both shoes are on, you both bid Tommy and Maria good night, and make your way home.

If your hand find’s Joel’s, then that’s not anyone’s business.

—

He notices things after that.

You’ve started snapping at him more often. You’re not sleeping as much. You’ve started flat out refusing to go with him on daily chores as tasks, which either leads to an argument or the both of you staying at home all day.

It all comes to a head when you wake up screaming.

He thunders down the stairs, ducking on instinct for a knife that doesn’t come. You’re not on the couch. He whips his head around, the screaming stopped he can’t find you—

A thud. A panicked gasp.

He moves on slow, apprehensive feet towards the kitchen, crouching down to see you huddled under the table, knife clenched in your hand and pointed toward him.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

Your eyes are wide and shining with tears.

“You died.”

��I didn’t. I’m right here.”

You shake your head, breaths coming short and shallow.

He settles on the floor, crossing his legs. “Here, take my hand. Come on.”

He extends his hand into the space between you two. Achingly slowly, you put down the knife, and take his hand in yours.

“See? I’m still here.”

Eventually, your breathing slows, and the fear begins to leave your eyes. You drop his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“No, no it’s just—“ You break off with a strangled noise.

He waits. Lets a few minutes tick by.

“Does this have anything to do with the fact you’ve been avoidin’ me?”

You look down. “You noticed?”

“I do have eyes, sweetheart.”

You grab the knife again, twisting it this way and that in your hands.

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

He tilts his head. “How come?”

You’re silent for a little while again.

“I feel… okay with you.”

“And that’s scary?”

“Yes,” You breathe, “You could leave, or die, and it scares me that I’m already attached to you. That having nightmare’s of you dying affects me so much. That they happen at all.”

He hums. “Seem’s were at an impasse.”

He taps a finger on his knee.

“It’s not all bad. To care.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Joel Miller?”

He huffs, shaking his head. “You know, against my better judgment, I’ve come to tolerate having you around.”

“Tolerate?”

“Mhm.”

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

“So you’ve never thought about kissing me?”

Heat rushes to his face. “Is that really a question you want to be asking right now?”

“Yes.”

“Mm,” He stands, “Well I don’t answer that kind of question at this hour. Come on.”

He reaches under the table and pulls you out.

You clamber to your feet, still a little shaky after your nightmare.

You turn to go back to the couch, but stops when he tugs on your arm.

“Mm-mm. No couch tonight.”

You look up at him, a question in your eyes he doesn’t know how to answer with words.

He steps forward, rough hands coming up to your face, thumb swiping the crest of your cheek.

“Tell me to stop.”

“I won’t.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss, soft and slow.

He pulls away after a few moments, searching your face for any sign of negativity or displeasure or disgust or, or—

You surge up, kissing him again, all the same fiery passion he saw the day you met.

“I suppose that answers my question.”

He chuckles. “You think?”

“I hope so.”

His hands slide down to your waist. and he can’t resist the little squeeze he gives the skin there.

“Alright. Back to bed, let’s go.”

“I forgot how tired old men get.”

“Please don’t call me an old man right after we kiss.”

He can hear your quiet snorting laughter as you climb the stairs, socked feet silent as always.

You climb into bed first, shoving yourself into the side by the wall and then making grabby motions for Joel.

“Am I just a pillow to you?”

“Yes. Come be a pillow.”

He rolls his eyes but slips into bed next to you and quietly relishes in the pleased hum you let out as you wrap your arms around his waist, practically smashing your face into his chest.

“You comfortable there?”

“Mhm.”

He curls one arm around you, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. This close, he feels the shudder run through your body at the motion, and curious, he gives your nape a little squeeze.

Your reaction is instantaneous. You go limp- completely boneless.

“I got you, I got you. Go to sleep, now.”

It doesn’t take you long. And with you asleep so soundly in his arms, he follows right behind you.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

[nayeliq1]

There's a knife in his hand, blood on his fingers, an all-encompassing dread in his chest, and fear fear fear and then- nothing.

Martin's eyes open to a sunny morning.

He's in a bed he sleeps in every night, in a flat he's lived in for a long time, even if none of it really feels familiar to him.

He works at the library, of course he does. He goes to work, knows his way there, is greeted by coworkers he knows he's been with for years, knows their names and recalls conversations they had, even if he doesn't feel close to them.

The name tag reads Martin Blackwood. The books he shelves are comfortable in his hands, and he knows exactly where they belong, even if the library feels like he's never been there before.

But he has. Of course, he has.

This is his life, he knows it is, even if it feels like a weird dream most of the time.

Months pass. The sun shines, the world feels peaceful. He goes to work, he talks to people his mind tells him he knows, people who know him. He goes back to a flat he knows must be his.

Everything is as it should be.

He dreams of dark eyes, flashing with green. Of sharp knives and sticky blood.

"I love you", his voice says, clutching a blade.

He can't remember ever saying those words.

He's never been in love, has he? No one had ever loved him, not like that.

Martin goes to work, forgets the hollow thing in his chest that nothing fills but dreams of nightmarish terrors and words he's never spoken.

This is his life.

Everything is as it should be.

"Martin?"

Martin turns his head down the row of library shelves, startled from the pleasant haze of his monotonous work, pushing books back into their designated places, neat and safe where they belong.

"Martin!"

There's a man coming towards him, thin with dark eyes and grey streaks in his hair, his steps too quick and voice entirely too loud for the propriety a library setting demands. Martin is about to tell him as much, but something about this stranger has him frozen where he stands, tearing at the hollow space he pretends isn't there.

"Martin", he says again like his name is some sort of revelation to him. It makes something at the back of Martin's mind itch in a strange way. "Is that- You're here- Oh, God, Martin, I-"

"I'm sorry", Martin says, trying to mask his confusion with a smile of friendly professionalism. "Do I know you?"

The man's face falls, that beaming relief slipping away into something Martin would almost call heartbreak before it reels itself back in, settling on a polite smile that's just a little too tense around the corners to be genuine.

"O-Oh", the man says, clearing his throat. "No, I- I suppose you don't, uhm-"

His hands worry at the seam of his sweater before he opts for shoving them into the pockets of the coat hanging open around his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, I thought-" He looks hopeful for a moment, then lightly shakes his head. "Sorry", he says again, "I've been looking for you, I-I was told you're the person to ask about works of poetry around here?"

"Yeah", Martin says slowly, assessing the man who's now smiling cautiously at him. "That'd be me. Anything specific you're looking for?"

"Yes", the man says, huffing out a little laugh. "Quite. But I've finally found it."

"Excuse me?"

"Nevermind."

The man is staring at him- staring, not just looking, and it should be disconcerting, but it's not, it's- familiar, in a weird way, even though it can't be.

"I'm rather trying to broaden my horizons", the man says, voice soft. "As far as the poetry goes. None of the classics, I'd like something...more susceptible? Something that makes one reminisce, recall what's been lost. Do you have something like that to recommend?"

Martin blinks, taken a little aback by the request, by something in that voice, but-

"One moment."

He grabs the book, knows just where it stands, one of his favourites that doesn't get to leave the library shelf as much as it deserves.

"Here."

Martin passes him the book, and for a second their fingers brush as the man takes it, sending a feeling like an electric current through Martin's hand and up his arm.

"Thank you so much", the man says, smiling gently. "I'm Jon, by the way."

He looks at Martin like he's waiting for something, shining dark eyes- an image of eyes like that flashes through Martin's mind, a ring of green glowing around the irises-

"Hi", Martin says, his mouth suddenly dry. "Nice to meet you."

[mullermilkshake]

He's watching

Part 1 <- -> Part 2

Kento gets to know his neighbour a little better.

Kento Nanami x Neighbour!reader Tags - spying, Stalking, Solo male masturbation ,Ejaculation, Implied murder, knives

<<< For more Nanami content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

“Oh my god, thank you so much, Nanami.” You rubbed the back of your neck like your embarrassment was subtle for Kento to miss. “I honestly thought I’d have to fight the thing to get it to work.”

He did not miss it. In fact, it was cute, possibly the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. “That’s alright. It’s all wired up to your television in the bedroom now, so you should get cable in there from the main router in the living room… It can be quite confusing, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

It wasn’t confusing at all to say the least. Though he wouldn’t ever make that known to anyone in your presence.

“Well, like I said, thanks again- oh, can I offer you another lemonade? Or something to eat? You must be starving. Shit, I’m not the best host yet, am I?”

You had only moved in a few months prior, Kento did his best to make you feel welcome enough should you need anything, he could be of assistance if the request wasn’t entirely unreasonable. This little cable box was the first time you ever came knocking at his door.

Being your next door neighbour, Kento took initiative to introduce himself when you first appeared from the little moving truck, cute moving outfit with your arms full of pointless items and no one to help you move them. Since then, he noticed you getting friendlier and more social with him.

Whether it be a quick brush of your hand on his arm whenever you laughed or the best box of cookies to start his week off right. The best lemon butter cookies he had ever tasted.

Come to think of it, I’ll have one when I get back. 

He still had a few left in that little box in his pantry, which was strange because he could never stop at just one. They were that addictive.

“You host just fine, but I really must be going. I have a meeting in-” He studied his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Oh… Okay- god and here I am chatting your ear off, thanks again for sorting that out I swear I was losing my mind.” You rambled and chuckled at the same time, flapping your hand about before slipping it into your pant pocket.

“It’s alright, enjoy the cable. I’ll see myself out.”

As he turned, he noticed the silence momentarily before you came shooting up behind him. “Sorry! I completely forgot, I’m finally having a housewarming-slash- evening party on friday, I’d love it if you would come?”

“A housewarming?"

“Mhm.”

He stopped to think it over, did he have plans? No, his dinner with his parents wasn’t until next friday, he was house sitting for Shoko throughout next week and he knew he’d have to go grocery shopping because all she had in her cupboards was booze and ramen noodles.

For a doctor, she sure eats poorly. 

But the shopping trip wouldn’t happen until next thursday. So, logistically, he could make it. He knew most people in the street and it was a great way to socialise all in one day and make up for the time he’d spent cooped up through the day.

“I’d be delighted to come on Friday.”

You beamed and laced your fingers together. “That’s great! Seven o’clock, and it's just casual. I’m so excited that I’ll finally get to give that barbeque a go.”

“It sounds like fun, if there’s anything you need a hand with, just let me know- you have my number right?”

“Uh…” Why did you look so vacant? “No, I don’t think I do- hold on.”

Pulling your phone out, you gave it to him on the contact page. He took it promptly and typed the number he’d had since leaving college. He typed his name and hesitated saving it, he wrote Kento, but you always called him Nanami. Was that too forward? Too familiar? Would you even start calling him that or grow confused by the name that looked nothing like ‘Nanami’ ?

He left it as it was and handed it back to you. “There, if you need anything, just message me on that number. It’ll be quicker in case I’m not at home.”

“Kento, huh? It’s almost odd to say- I mean, I didn’t mean it like that- well I'm just so used to calling you Nanami that I- y'know… I’ll just stop talking.”

Kento fought hard not to chuckle at your cheeks reddening. “I don’t mind you calling me either, but Kento is my first name, you can call me that whenever you’re comfortable.”

“Thanks, Kento.” He could see the puzzled gaze like learning a new word for the first time, totally intent on using it correctly.

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you friday.”

“See ya!”

Kento let himself out and trudged on over to his own door just metres away from your own, stepping over the property line and climbing up the freshly varnished porch steps to unlock his door. He pulled at his tie and slipped it off as soon as the door closed behind him and sighed heavily into his fingers whilst he rubbed the ache away from his eyes.

Were you ever going to notice him in the way he hoped?

You were pretty. Undeniably beautiful and you didn’t even know it. You had the kindest personality he’d ever known and you were just next door, existing. Kento needed courage to ask you out, to push the boundaries of his neighbourly kindness and anticipate one hundred percent success and no failure. Otherwise it would make any interaction awkward enough for Kento to bury his head in sand for the remainder of his time on earth.

But in order to understand you, he needed to know your interests. So that way, you’d have to say yes to an interesting date and come back for more. Kento was confident in his way of reading people and knowing what they wanted, what sort of person they were.

Though to be safe for an extra countermeasure, he placed hidden cameras in your house for a good gauge of the things you liked.

Kento wandered through to the pantry to collect the remaining lemon butter cookies, climbed the stairs to his computer and fired it up, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt and logging into the security program.

Leaning back in his chair, he tucked into a cookie and located which camera you were on. He managed to sneak a few remote cameras for the time being, four in total in the hallway, living room, kitchen and your bedroom. He was tempted to place one in the bathroom, though there was no suitable place to keep the little black disk hidden.

He ordered more discreet cameras in the mail with better quality video and those came with sound. They would replace the ones he had on Friday during the dinner party. A perfect way to get back into your house.

And there you were, dancing off in the kitchen to music he couldn’t hear with your hair thrown up now that you had no visitors present unbeknownst to you that Kento was watching.

Kento was committing a crime doing this. To watch you whenever he wanted and he was certain that he could never leave his house seeing you sway the way you did. You thought he had a meeting, but in truth, he just wanted to see how you acted when no one was looking and touch himself every once in a while until he mustered up the courage to ask you out.

Because like your lemon butter cookies, you were that addictive.

He stroked himself over you doing daily tasks, washing a few loose dishes in the sink and sharpening a knife on the stone block. Simple yet effective. An instrument you would use at the barbeque and he got to watch the way your breasts bounced ever so slightly when you drew the knife back.

Taking a bite of the cookie, he placed it down and slipped his hand down his pants to meet his erection and give it a slight squeeze to make it twitch. His eyes never came off of that screen, watching you place the knife down and wander off towards the hallway.

Kento’s cock was hard enough already, the excitement that he could get caught proved the perfect catalyst for his arousal. He pulled it out and ran his hand down the length of it, breathing heavily as though he’d never been touched before.

He wanted you to touch him inappropriately, only it wouldn’t be inappropriate to him. Kento hoped in time that you would agree to a date and eventually invite him inside under the guise of ‘coffee’ and allow him to fuck you silly over the sofa and any hard surface in that house.

Who knew? His house too. He had many places perfect to fuck you against over and over again until you couldn’t speak. Were you nasty, filthy and sexually confident enough for Kento to do whatever he wanted to you? He had a whole list of things, a sexual bucket list.

Like fucking you down in the basement sprawled out across a lone sofa and let you scream as loud as you wanted whilst he choked you a little, because no one could hear you down there- fuck, why didn’t he put a camera down in the basement?

You walked down there with a laundry basket, closing the door behind you. Damn, why hadn’t he thought of that? It did not stop him from playing with himself, eagerly awaiting your reemergence from the closed door.

His tip oozed with excitement, the pre-ejaculate wanting to be sucked of fucked into you and just for you. His cock twitched as if to say ‘hurry up’, so achingly hard he was set to burst.

Kento never wanted to ejaculate all over himself for the first time when you weren’t on camera, but if he waited any longer, he was sure to miss out on an aching orgasm. As if like a magic prayer was answered, you emerged back into view and traipsed right over to the kitchen, picking up the knife to slip back into the block.

Just once, Kento looked down at his cock and imagined you sitting on it, hips gyrating in a sensual fashion until it was too much and made his fill you up until he begged you to stop.

Yes, he could see himself begging you, and that was something Kento never conceded to yet he was perfectly okay to do it with you.

When he looked back up, you were wandering back over to the basement and opened the door once again. In a fit of desperation, Kento jerked himself off recklessly and hoped you’d stop for just a second so that he could cover himself in semen like he’d cover your breasts if you showed them to him.

It was as though you had heard his thoughts and stopped right at the top of the stairs. Granted, you were half covered with the door and Kento would have to take what he was given, but it was enough.

“That’s it, wait right there for me… " Kento tugged at himself double time, his breathing so erratic. If he didn’t come now, it would be the end of the world, figuratively speaking.

"Good girl.” 

Right there. 

Yes. 

Kento got the familial tingle in the base of his cock and the pressure emptied all over his hand and exposed chest. His toes curled and calf muscles tighten to the point they threatened to cramp, the minute squeaks in his computer chair did not mask his erratic breaths.

“Fuck- fuck.” 

He looked away for just a second, and you were gone again. Back down in the basement for what seemed like ages, he managed to clean himself up and change his shirt before you came back out of the basement.

What were you doing down there?

Kento should not have asked himself that question. Even though he had placed the camera, there was a reason why it was illegal. He sat there in the office chair and stared dumbfounded at your body to which he'd just masturbated to, all covered in red when you came back. Your tank top, little tight pants and exposed cleavage. All covered in red splotches.

No one painted like that, not even someone for fun, they would certainly not have an eerie grin on them like that either. Kento clicked over to the kitchen camera and watched you strip off your clothes for the washer and run the knife under a stream of water in the kitchen sink.

Check mate.

Whether you knew he was watching or not, there was no way Kento could ever tell the authorities and hand over this footage. He’d face the law and you’d probably get away with it. Video footage alone could be spelled away as a misunderstanding. But placing cameras in someone else's house without their knowledge couldn’t be explained away so easily.

For the first time in his life, Kento was unsure of what to do. But one thing he was certain of, which turned his stomach, was that he had just masturbated to someone covered in what he believed to be blood. 

It begged one major question.

Whose blood did it belong to?

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[hellfirenacht]

Anomaly Chapter 5

Fic Summary: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who’s not named Eddie Munson.

Chapter Summary: You and Eddie make some calls and get to know each other a little more.

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, one-sided enemies to lovers, one-sided pining, miscommunication trope, anxious-ish!Reader, fem!Reader, Reader is not described, no use of y/n

Word Count: 2.4k

Master List

No beta, you all should know better by now.

“You’re old enough to buy your own now, you know. I’m only gonna up-charge you.” 

“What? Can’t a girl just buy some smokes from her friend?” 

“Right. Friends.”

“Fine, then I’m supporting a local business.” 

“What do you actually want, Stacy?”

“I’m just making sure that you two are going to play nice.”

“What the Hell? Shouldn’t you be telling her that?”

“She’s always nice.”

“Right, and I’m the queen of Sheba.”

“Well then, your majesty, just give me my smokes and I’ll be on my way.”

Bev wasn’t too happy that Eddie was going to be coming in an hour and a half later than expected on his Wednesday shift but she waved it off. The Hideout survived without him for god knows how long, the small dive could handle losing a busboy for a few hours on a weekday night. 

He sauntered into Ms. Benson’s classroom a fashionable ten minutes late, and a few dollars richer. You were already sitting at a desk chatting with Ms. Benson about who-knows-what before taking his own seat on top of the desk. 

If Eddie had to be here, he might as well rebel in his own way. He really would rather be bussing tables and trying to convince Bev to give him extra time on stage than do school services with someone who hated him. 

“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Munson.” Ms. Benson said, ignoring the fact that he was on his desk. She pulled out a thick binder and a rolodex that looked like it would fall apart if she didn’t hold it just so. “In here, you’ll find the budget for Spring Day and all of the different vendors and events that we’ve used over the past ten years.” 

Being the smart woman that she was, she placed the rolodex in front of you and dropped the binder on Eddie’s lap. He raised an eyebrow and flipped through it casually, as if looking through the Spring Day binder would provide him with secrets to the school that he could use to force Higgins to let him graduate this year. 

“There’s a phone in the teachers lounge you can use.” She continued, grabbing her own purse. “Let me know what you come up with on Monday.” 

“Wait- are you leaving?” You asked, jaw dropped as Ms. Benson started out of the room. “You’re not gonna help?”

“There’s only one phone. Just get some quotes for vendors. All of the information is in the binder. Just close the door tight when you leave.”  

Your mouth was still agape as Ms. Benson left, which was very amusing to Eddie. It was dead silent before Eddie burst out in a maniacal cackle that echoed through the classroom and made you jump. That also amused Eddie. 

“Well well, it looks like it’s just us in charge of Spring Day.” He got off the desk and dropped the binder down where he had just been sitting. Eddie leaned over the binder and flipped through it. “I’m thinking evil clowns, adding balloon popping back but with knives, and a petting zoo with snakes and goats.” Eddie turned and grinned wide at you. 

“What, no fortune teller to tell you how you’re gonna die a gruesome death?” Your voice was flat, but Eddie could pick up the hint of amusement in your voice which made his grin widen. 

“I’m sure we can dress you up in something covered in stars. I’ll sit under the table and shake it. We’ll make a killing!” Eddie laughed. 

“A killing? Really?” You shook your head at the terrible joke and flipped through the rolodex with a sour look on your face. Eddie hadn’t meant to make a pun, but if it annoyed you he’d keep it up. 

Play nice.

As if Stacy had any say over what happened between the two of you. He barely knew either of you.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to charge for anything, anyway.” you continued, flipping through the cards almost as fast as Doug flipped through long boxes at the comic shop. 

“What doesn’t kill Higgens won’t hurt us.” Eddie pressed, not even fully invested in the idea himself. Something about his talk with Stacy just got under his skin, and the only way he could shake it was by getting under yours now. 

“I don’t think half of these businesses even exist anymore.” you said to yourself as you kept flipping through the rolodex with your good hand. Eddie sighed and figured you were ignoring him until you continued. “This laundromat shut down last year. I heard it was a front for some mafia and there was a shootout.”

Eddie perked up a little, had that been an attempt at playing along? It wasn’t completely in line, but everyone in town knew that the laundromat had just been flooded from the inside when a pipe burst. 

“There’s no mafia in Hawkins.” Eddie said, looking over your shoulder at the rolodex. “Only cults that sacrifice people to the dark forces.” 

You stopped messing with the rolodex, and Eddie wasn’t sure if he’d said something wrong. You had apologized before, maybe it was too soon to joke about it? 

Eddie was usually good at reading people, but you were harder to understand. 

“So, what’s the budget that we’re supposed to be working with?” You asked, changing the subject. 

“Three pennies and an expired coupon for Benny’s.” Eddie replied, flipping back to the first page. 

“Yeah, that sounds right. I guess there’s no room in the budget when the basketball team needs new jerseys or the cheerleaders need pom-poms.” you rolled your eyes, done messing with the rolodex. 

Eddie was a little surprised at the dig towards the cheerleaders, considering your best friend was one. Had been one. Why the hell had she wanted to buy smokes from him today?

The two of you finally got up and made your way to the teacher’s lounge. Ms. Teedee, the art teacher, gave him a half hearted wave as she finished washing her coffee cup. Eddie liked Ms. Teedee, she didn’t give a shit about his reputation. Art and shop were the only classes he had ever done consistently well in, so when he was saddled with a third senior year he decided to re-take art as an easy A. 

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon calling places and taking down numbers. You did most of the talking, but Eddie took charge when you got up to use the bathroom. 

Eddie was surprised when you came back, well that you came back. He wouldn’t have been surprised if you had run for the hills and left him alone. But you did come back, two bags of chips in hand. One of them was offered to him. 

“Thanks...?” Eddie didn’t mean for that to come out as a question, but it did anyway. How was it that one minute you hated him, but another you were apologizing? You were scandalized to be left alone with him to work on this, and yet came back with food. 

He shouldn’t trust it, but he also wasn’t too good for free snacks. 

“So, what’s your deal?” Eddie asked, timing his question with you shoving a few large chips in your mouth. 

“Huh?” was your graceful reply as you covered your mouth with your hand. He could see that his timing was not appreciated, which made him feel better. 

“Your deal. Which of these fine cliques here at Hawkins Hell do you belong to?” Eddie elaborated, spreading his arms as if gesturing to a crowd when in reality he was gesturing to the table the phone was sitting on. 

You took a moment to finish chewing, giving him a glare as you finally got the chips down. Okay, maybe Eddie felt a little bad for that, as you had been nice enough to get him a snack. 

Play nice.

He was a dungeon master, he wasn’t known for playing nice. He could at least play fair though. 

“I don’t belong to anyone.” you said finally, flipping through the binder and not looking at him. “I got in late, made friends with Stacy and... I don’t know. This late in the game, cliques aren’t exactly taking new applicants. Not this close to graduation when everyone has known each other since elementary school.” 

Eddie looked at your broken wrist again, looking at all the different signatures. For someone who didn’t belong to any group, you sure were on everyone’s good side. 

Everyone had some group they belonged to. That’s how high school worked. The Freaks sat with him, the Jocks sat with their teams, the Science Nerds sat with the science nerds... that’s how high school- no, that’s how the world worked, according to Eddie. 

Your response would normally have you tucked away as “new kid” or “freshman” but neither of those fit you. You knew too many people. You hung out with an ex-cheerleader, but you weren’t exactly jumping around with excitement at the last pep-rally. Stacy still dressed like a cheerleader, and was just as nosy as one but you didn’t look popular. 

Not that there was anything wrong with the way you looked to Eddie, you just didn’t look or dress like the popular crowd. He could tell you apart from the near identical wave of perms and ponytails. 

What was your deal?

When Eddie didn’t respond in an appropriate amount of time for you, you responded with the same question. 

“What’s your deal, Eddie?” His name sounded foreign coming from your mouth. 

“Huh?” he asked, shoving a chip into his own mouth, mimicking you. You rubbed your face and let out a laugh, to his surprise. 

“What’s your deal? Or, I guess what’s Hellfire’s deal?” You clarified. 

“Well, you see, it’s a fantasy game-” 

“Not a cult?” 

“I can neither confirm nor deny that.” 

“Go on.”

You didn’t interrupt him again as he started explaining the bare basics of the game, figuring that you were just looking for an excuse to stop calling people for a moment. That was fine with Eddie, he’d happily sit here and rant about his favorite game in the teachers lounge, tainting the warden’s space with the game that they tried to hide away from the rest of the inmates. 

What he didn’t expect was for you to be listening so intently. You were looking at him, really really looking at him. If Eddie didn’t know any better, and he liked to think that he did, you seemed to be actually interested in the world he was opening up up to you. 

His eyes glanced down at your cast, and the curly signature of Chrissy Cunningham shimmered slightly on the underside of your cast. Eddie could barely make out her last name, but he could assume that the glitter gel pen signature belonged to the cheerleader. 

That reminded Eddie that, popular or not, you were still in a completely different world than him. One where people actually liked you and didn’t sneer at you for bullshit reasons. 

But then why were you looking at him so intensely? 

“So you’re playing make believe with dice and if you roll high you can do things and if you roll low you eat shit.” You said, crumpling up your bag of chips. 

It was a grossly simplified explanation of the game that Eddie had poured hundreds of hours into. 

“Yeah, basically.” At least that had killed a good fifteen minutes. 

“And you’re god.” You added, which Eddie did appreciate. 

“No, I’m Satan, remember?” He flashed you his most charming smile and you just laughed again. 

“You aren’t that bad.” You sounded like you meant that. 

“Tell that to my players, they say I’m worse than Satan.” He said with pride. 

Your conversation was interrupted by the bell, announcing that any clubs needed to pack up and leave. Eddie took that as your cue that you were done. 

You closed the binder and the notes that you two had taken over the past hour and took a deep breath. 

“Wait, shit, Mrs. Benson left. What do we do with this?” You asked, motioning to the binder and rolodex. “Do we just leave it here?”

Eddie wouldn’t have thought twice about just dumping it on one of the tables and leaving. He still had his shift to get to, but... 

“Come on, we’ll drop it on her desk.” he said, and walked out of the lounge before you could protest. 

You caught up to him a moment later, glaring at him for ditching you and leaving you to scramble with your things. Eddie wasn’t sure if he liked you more when you looked like you were hanging on his every word or looking at him with annoyance. Maybe Eddie just wasn’t sure if he liked you. He sure couldn’t tell if you like him at all. 

“It’s locked.” you said. 

“Barely. Make sure no one’s coming.” Eddie squatted down and pulled out a thin strip of plastic from his coat. He could feel his eyes on him and he looked up at you as you gaped. “Not me, look out for anyone else.” he clarified. 

Once you had looked away and down the hall, it didn’t take more than a few seconds for Eddie to jimmy the lock open. He grabbed the rolodex and the binder from you before you knew what was happening. 

Eddie had broken into the classroom, dropped the items off the desk, and slipped back out into the hallway in less than a minute. 

“How’d you learn to do that?” you asked, following him out towards the parking lot. 

Eddie just shrugged. “I’m a man of many talents.”

It was cool outside, the winter weather seemed to finally be on its way out. A small beep signaled you to the sleek car that Stacy drove and you waved at her. Being the good friend that she was, Stacy had offered to drive you home that night. 

“I guess, I’ll see you next week.” you said to Eddie. 

“Same bullshit time, same bullshit place.” he agreed, watching you hop into the car before heading off towards his own van and drive off. 

“Sooooo, how was your date?”

“It wasn’t a date, it was school.”

“Did you make out in the teachers lounge?” 

“No, I gave him a hand job in the janitor's closet.”

“The one by the gym, or the one by the science lab.”

“The gym. Smelled worse but at least there weren’t any dangerous chemicals.” 

“No, really, tell me what happened.”

“We called different places to get quotes for Spring Day. He also talked about Dungeons and Dragons for fifteen minutes.”

“And then you made out?”

“No.”

“But you wanted to.” 

“....Stacy, I’ve never wanted to blow someone more in my entire life.”

Author Notes: Sorry this took so long, I got so brain dead writing this. I really need to visit more of the source material. I love Eddie, but he just hasn't been talking to me much lately. Hopefully when Rise of Hellfire comes out it'll help lol

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@amieinghigh @hazydespair @princesssunderworld

[frickyeahfanfic]

〉the enemy of my enemy

chapter 2 - interrogation.

ethan hunt x f!reader 》 read chapter 1 here summary: You’re alone. Prague is the first real lead you’ve had on VANTAGE since everything went haywire—and you’re not about to let some fancy IMF agent ruin your shot. But when Ethan Hunt intercepts you mid-mission, everything spirals. word count: 1919 tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn warnings: none. a/n: sorry there's lots of dialogue. action is coming soon hehe

PRAGUE. UNKNOWN IMF SAFE HOUSE, 03:25 HOURS.

He takes a step forward, gun now flush against your chest. “Who are you?”

You look down at the pistol pressing into your sternum. “You’re not gonna shoot me.” 

Agent Ethan Hunt squints, his green eyes cutting into yours under the dim hotel room light. “Says who?”

“Says the fact that you won’t be able to decrypt that key. It’s impossible.”

His grip on the gun doesn’t flinch.

“Who are you?” he repeats.

“Why should I tell you?”

He shakes his head in frustration. “How could you possibly know what that chip has on it? Are you in it for money?” 

“Oh. You don’t know what’s on that chip, do you?” 

You can see the muscles tense in his jaw. That’s all the answer you need.

“Trust me,” you say softly, “there’s a reason you don’t know.”

“And how do you?” 

You look down at the pistol. “Okay, can we lose the gun now?” 

His eyes trail down your body. “Not until you can get rid of this.” 

Your heart stammers, but your face doesn’t flinch. Right, he meant the knives.

With a small sigh, you reach down slowly and let the blade strapped to your thigh clatter to the ground.

“Happy?” 

For the first time, a smile tugs at the corner of Hunt’s lips. 

“You’re not finished.”

He’s not an idiot. He’s actually a genius, a highly trained spy, assassin, asset, agent, mystery, whatever you want to call him. You reach into the side of your bra, and retrieve another knife, and then toss it aside. Only then does Hunt flick the safety and lower the weapon. 

“Finally.” You exhale, relaxing your shoulders slightly. “But if you were going to shoot me, you would’ve already.” 

He doesn't argue.  

“Who do you work for?” 

“No one.”

His brow lifts. “You’re alone? I don’t buy it.”

You shrug. “Wish I wasn’t, I’d have the chip in my possession if I had backup, like you do.” You nod your head to his left where you can see a thin wire hanging behind his ear. 

“Well it’s not yours to take.” He says.

“It’s not yours either. What does the IMF want with it, anyways?” 

Now that gets his attention. You read the flicker of surprise on his face and you lean in. 

“Yeah. I know who you are. I’ve done my research. But I guess I missed the part where you planned to show up tonight and ruin my op.” 

Hunt’s grip on the pistol tightens slightly.

“Don’t you have nukes to stop or something? The chip is… tiny, for someone like you.” 

He takes a step closer, his presence cold and quiet and utterly in control. “I’ll ask one more time, who are you? I don’t have time for games.” His voice is low now.

“No point in telling you my name. It won't show up in any database you got and I’m sure your comms team has already tried looking me up. I’m on my own. It’s been this way for a while now. And honestly, you’re making it a lot harder than it needs to be.”

A second of silence.  

“I don’t need your IMF protocols getting in my way. You’re just slowing me down.”

Hunt’s hand reaches up and loosens the tie on his neck. “What’s your goal?”

You daringly take a half step closer to him. “VANTAGE erased me. So I’m planning to erase them.” 

He sighs. Actually sighs. 

“And you’re really planning to do this, alone?” 

You wave a hand in the air. “Do you think I had a choice?”

Your eyes flick back up to his. “Besides, when I say I’m the only one who can decrypt that chip, it’s because I wrote the encryption.”

That lands. You can practically see the gears turning in his head. 

“You wrote the code?” It’s not disbelief, it’s reevaluation. 

A sweet fake-innocent smile spreads across your face. “Surpriiise,” you sing. “I’m not just some freelancer agent in a dress” 

“How do I know you’re not lying?” 

“Well I guess there’s only one way to find out,” you turn your head, looking over at the computer sitting on the coffee table. You noticed it when you first walked in. 

You can hear a vibrating noise coming from Hunt’s pocket, and he quickly grabs a phone out, answering it immediately. 

“Yeah. She’s with me here, not yet, but -” he stops talking for a brief moment, and you barely make out the words on the other line. 

“Ethan, I don’t think we’re going to be able to decrypt the files, there’s a safety feature attached to everything that will instantly delete it all if someone tries and is unsuccessful. I’ve done all we can, but, wow, I’ve never seen anything like this before.” 

“I think I might have figured out a way, actually,” Hunt looks back to you, and you pretend to not be paying attention, looking around the room at the bed, the furniture, the walls -

“Oh. Okay. Wait a minute, is it the girl you kidnapped?” 

You turn around in surprise, giving away that you could hear the conversation the whole time.

“Kidnapped?” You mouth to Hunt. Maybe in a way, you were his hostage, but also you weren’t leaving Prague without the chip. You were following him… in a way. Not the other way around. 

He rolls his eyes. “I’ll let you know soon. Just, hang tight.” 

A short beep cuts off the call and Hunt slips the phone back in his pocket. 

“You’ve got an assignment to do.” 

A clock on the nightstand glows the time. 04:15 AM.

“Can this wait till tomorrow?” You whine. You weren’t that tired, just wrung out from all this… emotional tension, and having your night totally ruined by some IMF agent in a shiny suit. 

Hunt shakes his head. “No. Now. At least get us in. Prove that you can decrypt it, and then we do the rest in the morning.” 

It’s no use fighting with him. You’ve already lost the chip to him. Might as well win back some points by getting into the drive and figuring out the coordinates, for yourself at least. 

He looks over your shoulder and nods his head towards the computer in the sitting area behind you. You shuffle your feet over to it and plop down on the couch. Agent Hunt puts his pistol on the small table by the door and takes off his tie, following you. 

You reach for the computer. 

“Ah -” Hunt lunges forward and grabs it before you can. 

You fold your arms and sit back on the couch, pouting. “Can you just maybe not treat me like a threat for like five seconds?” 

“Are you not?” He says haughtily, but slides the computer over to you once it’s unlocked. 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a black thumb drive, the vessel for the chip that has the information that we both so desperately want. The second he plugs it into the computer, a black terminal window pops up on the screen and a little white line in the top left corner blinks. 

He moves behind the couch to watch. And maybe to stop you from going anywhere. It was easier if he was already on his feet. 

You ignore his intimidating presence behind you and type a few lines of code. 

cd /mnt/drive

ls -a

A list of oddly named files flashes across the screen, numbers and letters combined in gibberish to the untrained eye, but not to you. 

The encryption interface loads after a few taps. It’s sleek, custom, multi-layered and definitely not something the IMF has seen before.

You lean in closer to the computer, fingers clicking rapidly across the keyboard. 

./decode --override-lock --key="Vale.008"

The screen stalls for a moment. Then - 

ACCESS GRANTED. 

WELCOME, AGENT Y/L/N. 

Hunt says your last name under his breath. 

You almost swear under your breath, dying a little inside from embarrassment. You were trying to stay under his radar, but it was inevitable that he would eventually figure out your name.  

A file tree displays underneath the welcome message. One of the files says 

/relay_nodes

With two keyboard clicks, you open it, and five coordinates display on the screen. 

39.0438° N, 77.4874° W

50.1109° N, 8.6821° E

1.3521° N, 103.8198° E

43.2965° N, 5.3698° E

64.1466° N, 21.9426° W

You hear a sharp inhale behind you. Hunt’s crossed arms drop. 

“Well?” he asks. 

Glancing back at him, you smirk. “Glad you didn’t shoot me?”

Although he’s serious, you can see that he’s impressed. Maybe more relieved that you’re in the mix and could break into the files so easily. 

“Since I wrote the code, I wrote a backdoor. They had no idea, of course.”

“And you wrote a welcome message to yourself?”

Wait. Yeah, that’s odd. 

“Not sure what that’s about. I don’t remember putting that into the program, but since a lot of the code is artificial intelligence, it might have just happened randomly,” you lie. 

There’s a pit in your stomach. Part of you fears that they now know you got into the drive. 

Before Hunt can ask any more questions, you yawn. Not overly dramatic, but enough to sell your next line. “So are you gonna tie me to the chair until the morning?” 

He circles around the couch and heads to a cabinet on the other side of the room. “No. But you’re not going anywhere. Get some rest and we’ll continue in the morning.” 

He grabs a t-shirt and sweats out of one of the drawers and tosses it to you. You catch it, noticing the smell of clean laundry and cologne on it. They’re his. 

“Make do. You can use the bathroom now if you want.” 

You take out the drive, placing it on the table and shut the laptop, slightly paranoid now that someone could track your location on it. You can feel Hunt’s eyes on you as you make your way to the bathroom, and now you’re painfully aware of how sweaty, tired, and uncomfortable you’ve been in the dress all night. 

He turns away now and you shut the door. Your shower only lasts a few minutes, thankfully there were some basic toiletries on top of the toilet, and you quickly change into Hunt’s borrowed clothes. 

Wow. IMF agents are spoiled. 

As you walk out, you see Hunt back over by the computer, typing something away. He's discarded his navy suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves to his white shirt, revealing his muscular forearms.

He glances up at you, does a double take, but says nothing. Something about you, undone, hair wet, and in his clothes makes him feel something unfamiliar in his chest. Dangerous. 

You walk over to him and fold your arms. 

“I can take the couch,” you say before he can argue with you. “I don’t need IMF thinking I tried to seduce you in your sleep.” 

He doesn’t look up from the laptop. “You’d fail,” he says. But his tone is lighter. “Take the bed. I got some more things to take care of here.” 

You sigh and walk over to the bed, not even bothering to get under the covers. You could sleep on a cobblestone road right now. 

"I’m shocked you’re not handcuffing me to the bed. You’re getting soft, Agent Hunt," you say loud enough for him to hear your final words for the night.  

He doesn’t laugh. But his mouth twitches like he wants to. 

》 chapter 3

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~ % TAGLIST: @sarahskywalker-amidala @mirrorballbb

[phenixa]

Something Bittersweet

Yup. I wrote an "x reader" (if you know me, you should know why i say that) but uh... Lilia Vanrouge has me in a chokehold and my back hurts like hell. This was born from that and probably a dissociation induced hallucination. And uh... It was longer than expected. I thought it would be like, less than 1,000 words. It's 1,873 words long. Oopsie doopsie

tags : GN!reader (2nd person pronouns used), fluff, reader is Yuu, reader is a legal adult (choose whatever age you prefer), reader has a crush on Lilia. Happens after Malleus’s OB. Bittersweet ? In which your friend helps you relieve back pain. It... Evolves into something more "intimate". GenFic or can be considered a rating T. Not beta read, English is not my first language, so sorry if there's any mistakes.

Seven, the pain was killing  you softly. Professor Crewel had been observant enough to see you wince and groan from the pain with each movements you made, and kind enough to send you back to Ramshackle to rest, after asking Grim and Deuce to accompany you to the nurse’s office. Said nurse had declared that she could do nothing for your chronic pain other than giving you painkillers and send you back to your dorm to rest.

Somehow, it was still better than any school staff at your old school, in your old world.

So here you were, laying on your bed, shirtless because everything was too overwhelming and painful, trying to sleep the pain away.

You hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, the idea of moving - even just your jaw to masticate food - making you wince from the pain.

Truly, chronic pain was an ass.

You had smiled at Grim and Deuce, reassuring them that it was nothing too bad, and that you only needed to rest a bit. That with the nurse’s painkillers, you’d be back on your feet in no time ; prompting your friends to go back to class.

How far from the truth that was.

The nurse had given you a look when she heard your words. Because she had seen you often enough to know that it wasn’t nothing, and that, used to the pain as you were, you only went to her when the pain was unbearable.

So, here you were, writhing in pain on your bed, laying on your stomach, shirtless, trying to not cry because your back was burning and being stabbed by thousands of red hot knives everytime you breathed too hard. The potion the nurse had given you had been downed a few hours ago, allowing you to walk from the infirmary to your bedroom in Ramshackle without your legs giving up. Now ? It didn’t do anything, really.

And that’s how he found you. You had felt his presence before he could even announce himself - mostly because he had appeared just over you, floating upside down. The heat radiating from your body had somewhat shifted - you really couldn’t explain it one bit - when he had appeared. For a short while, he didn’t say anything, only floating over you in silence.

Until he moved.

You felt him sit on your lower back - basically on your ass, but let’s not talk about that - his hands hovering over the burning concrete that was supposed to be your back.

"Lilia ?"

It was the only thing you could say before a small gasp escaped your mouth, just as Lilia’s hands came to rest on your burning back. The older Fae chuckled, his recognisable laugh echoing in the otherwise silent room.

"What are you doing ?" You croaked, trying to not let out embarassing noises as Lilia’s hands started to move on your burning skin. His touch was cold - probably the effect of a spell, or maybe your skin was burning so much that any touch would be cold - and reassuring, somehow.

"A little birdie told me my little bat was hurting." He answered you, his hands massaging your skin, undoing most of the knots that composed your back. While you knew perfectly well that the knots would come back the second Lilia’s hands would leave this portion of your back, you still appreciated the action, and the intentions behind.

As Lilia was working his wonders on your back, he started to ramble about his day, about Silver and Malleus and Sebek, about the other boys in Diasomnia, about Kalim and Cater... His deep voice was comforting, and if your body wasn’t so keen on making you suffer, you’d be falling asleep. But right now, your body was probably trying to kill you ; Lilia’s massage, while truly comforting andpleasant, was trying to get some... rather embarassing noises out of your mouth.

Your face was burning. From the pain and everything related to your discomfort, yes. But also from Lilia’s actions and pressence. He came for you. Because someone - definetely Grim talking loudly in the hallways - had mentioned that you were in pain. And while a part of you didn’t really care of the fact that you were shirtless - what did you have to hide anyway ? - the fact that Lilia was sitting on you, massaging your painful back while rambling as usual... It made your heart flutter. And as much as you’d like to let that be, you knew you couldn’t really let those feelings be. He was so much older than you were. And while yes, technically you both were two legal adults, it still could - and would - pause some problems.

And you were sure he treated you in the same manner as he treated Silver. Probably Malleus and Sebek too.

He treated you as a child.

Someone that couldn’t possibly feel all giddy when your eyes met. Someone who wouldn’t want to kiss him when he - litteraly - woke from the dead.

You were sure - no, you knew - that in his eyes, you were only another funny child to raise, even if you were technically older than Malleus’s mental age.

The fact that you seemed to miss the stolen glances, the special attentions Lilia kept for you, the way he always seemed to light up when you were around. Seven, he even showed up today, when you were writhing from the pain your body forced you to deal with while he was supposed to have classes.

Because to Lilia, you were more important than that. And he wouldn’t want the ray of sunshine that you were to wither from the pain that made your body suffer like that.

To him, who had lived through oceans rising and empires falling, who had to say one of the hardest goodbyes in his life to people he loved dearly ; you were more than sunshine.

You were the first rays of dawn. You were the light that slowly creeps out, lighting the surroundings, casting out the darkness.

Yes, Silver had been that light. Yes his arrival into Lilia’s life had been a ray of sunshine. But it had been more like a breath of fresh air, Silver had been - and still was - the proof that Lilia was able to live, and love despite everything he went through. And Malleus and Sebek were also proof of that fact.

But you ? A light. A testimony that this old man, these old bones could still love - not in a familial way, but in that way. And you were not scared of loving Lilia with or without magic - especially seeing how you yourself didn’t have an ounce of magic.

Yes, Lilia had seen the way you sometimes looked at him, how you had reserved him that special smile that could light up a room from how bright it was. But even he could be the oblivious type.

And just like you, he was overthinking this.

He was too old, decrepit even. You deserved someone your age, someone who could care for you.

Someone who would be able to grow old with you.

A small moan escaped your mouth, bringing you both back to the present moment. Lilia had pressed just a little bit too hard on one specific spot, and in an attempt to remove his hands from you, said hands had fallent on your sides. For you had not only winced from the pain, but also jerked from the cold hands of the man that made your heart beat like a crazed drummer placing themselves - no, carressing idly - your sides.

"Sorry for that, little bat." His deep voice echoed once more as you were burning from embarrasment. While there was nothing sexual in your moan, the sound, your body reacting to his touch accompanied by Lilia’s own reaction made you reconsider accepting - when did you even accept that ? - his help.

"It’s nothing... Sorry ‘bout that." You managed to croak again. His hands, sure, were doing wonders on your back, losening slowly the knots that were causing part of your pain. But you hadn’t planned on moaning. Hell, even when you ended in front of masseurs you never made that kind of sounds. It was mainly because it was Lilia.

Seems like your body knew who it wanted to care for you.

Lilia continued to massage your back for a while after that, not mentioning your embarassing sounds. And it somehow enabled you to let - not moans. Please no - but satisfied sighs of relief. And everything was fine. You nearly lost your sense of time and started to fall asleep.

Until you felt it. Lips against your shoulderblade. Lilia’s whole body was resting over yours, draping you in a conforting weight.

"What-" Another kiss was placed slightly higher on your shoulderblade. It still was purely innocent, and probably not what you were thinking it was. Maybe Lilia used to do that with his child - children ? Do Malleus and Sebek count as honorary children ? - when he was hurt, as some sort of "magic kiss" parents in your world used to give to children that were hurt.

"You’re doing so good, little bat. So strong." Lilia murmured against your skin, his breath hot and comforting. His praise nearly made you cry. Because who, since your arrival in this strange world, had praised you ? Certainly not Crowley. Maybe your friends, but their praises sounded more like something you throw to people who just survived seven overblots. Maybe the teachers, but these weren’t real praises, just words that any teacher would say to one of their struggling students.

Lilia was praising you for what ? Why was he praising you when he was the one doing all the work and you were just lying on your stomach trying to not fall asleep ?

"Look at you, still going strong, still fighting. You can rest now, little bat." He continued to pepper kisses on your shoulderblades, sometimes going up to kiss your shoulders, sometimes kissing your spine. He never went lower of higher. And he kept praising you, again and again.

A few tears fell from your eyes. Because your heart was pounding with hope, yet your mind screamed at you that it didn’t mean anything. Because you were so lonely that the first person who treated you like an actual person and not the "magicless human" that you fell in love with that first person. Because you were so tired of being everyone’s therapist.

Always the saviour, never the saved.

As if sensing your pain, Lilia moved slightly, starting to hum a lullaby. And soon you fell asleep. Lilia then move the both of you to lie on your side, Lilia spooning you, still humming the lullaby, low and deep, soothing.

Now asleep, you didn’t hear him whisper against your skin, his voice as low and deep as when he was lulling you to sleep. "And as you sleep my love, know that I’ll be by your side. Always."

But maybe that was only the last line of the lullaby.

[starberry-cupcake]

Thank you to everyone who was encouraging in my last recap, it's nice to know there's still interest out there ♥ we're doing 1 chapter only today because a) I read it days ago and hadn't had time to recap until now and 2) A LOT happened in this one

previously, in nona del 9:

this happened

this is the general tag, as usual

CHAPTER 12 (we got an apple tree again!)

last we've seen of the scooby gang

(nona is both scooby and shaggy in one, both because it fits and because she's 2 in 1)

(pyrrha is fred)

(palmolive is both daphne AND velma, I know velma is the obvious but he does have a lot of daphne vibes)

(camilla is the mystery machine, because she's the most reliable one)

they got their breakfast interrupted by guns

they pat them for weapons but camilla always has a hidden knife and a very hidden knife

as someone who takes a swiss army knife with my keys everywhere, I'm very appreciative of secret knives

the BOE folks who are invading breakfast have masks on and take their temperature

that's not really sci fi now that we've gone through what we've gone through as a society huh

they take them in a car to an undisclosed location but don't put hoods on them because nona gets car sick

GIRL, I RELATE

if I don't sleep during long car travel, the interior of the car gets acquainted with the interior of my stomach

when they reach the undisclosed location, camilla and nona are separated from pyrrha and made to wait

if you're taking them there, you should be freakin' prepared and not making people wait

what is this, revolution or a dentist appointment

get it together, people

(rip dame maggie ♥)

anyway, in comes señorita perfecta coronabeer

remember her? she's rambo barbie now, like we had established

yandere twin is dr reverend emperor john assface knows where being a lyctor and coronabeer twin is rambo barbie

what if they end up having to battle each other to the death? then what?

will they be able to do that, if it comes to it?

who are you betting on?

coronabeer rambo barbie twin frees nona from the tape holding her arms

when she turns to free camilla, camilla is already free

of course she is, as if tape could stop her

coronabeer seems to be suspicious about pyrrha

and is keeping the sword, which camilla is rather mad about

coronabeer is like "I didn't take you for a traditionalist" but like, all ownership of the sword aside, I kinda get being mad at her displaying it

coronabeer acted like a necro without being one and taking all the credit for it and now she's acting like she had been a cav, which she wasn't

I know she wanted to be one and had the chops for it, but still, she wasn't

and she says it's for "aesthetic", which doesn't help things

coronabeer says camilla sounds like judith and camilla asks if they've killed her yet

they proceed to describe ways in which judith could be killed

coronabeer is acting like she doesn't have a big crush on judith, though, as if I wasn't remembering that fact every single second

you can act as high and mighty as you want, coronabeer, but you have a crush on judith, so

what does that say about you

good for judith, though, don't know how she did it, but she did it

camilla tells coronabeer she sounds like her sister and coronabeer thanks her and thinks she needs more of yandere twin's gravitas

as if people were listening to yandere twin at any given point

she was notorious for being overlooked

which was a mistake, clearly

coronabeer and camilla keep disagreeing on whether or not what BOE wants is really what will benefit them (and the sixth, I assume)

I got too distracted about nona's description of palmolive telling camilla never to try to stop the dudebros who are harassing them on the street

to notice the first time around that camilla put on dark glasses, probably to obscure (literally and metaphorically) whose eyes she has when talking

or, at least, that's what I think, it isn't established

when they enter the room in which the meeting is taking place, there are portraits of different people and a photo of commander wake with flowers and offerings to her

as someone from a country with a lot of santos populares (people's saints), I'm picturing a commander wake candle to light when you're angry af

patron saint of being pissed off

aside from we suffer, there's a guy with two machetes

he's very dramatic

so, coronabeer presents herself with a long ass BOE name and crown is the first part of it

I thought it was a code name because of corona but I guess she just adopted one of the long ass names

maybe it was also on purpose because of corona

our scooby gang is referred to as 'troia group' which idk if it's a troy reference or what

trying to kill the emperor from the inside didn't work last time, but we can keep trying

pyrrha had totally identified which building they were in so the whole waiting and car and guns and tape theater stuff was totally unnecessary, aside from overly dramatic

like el machetes over there

he shouts too much

el machetes gets into an argument with camilla about all the murdering that's going on

he's ok with killing people, basically

he calls three of them "zombie loyalists" which I guess are people who are in favor of the houses?

coronabeer gets mad on behalf of camilla and challenges el machetes to throw hands right then and there

remember when camilla annihilated martita because the second thought they were tough shit? good times

camilla would use this guy's body like a mop and leave the undisclosed but obviously located building sparkling clean

we suffer is totally tired of her people being idiots and tells them to quit it

she says that "the negotiator" is in orbit and that has made the whole group a mess of opinions

camilla is taking notes, which I assume are for palmolive, or the other way around if they're switching

nona can see three squiggles and a heart

(belle is palmolive's favorite princess)

nona also notes that coronabeer's biceps are visible through her shirt

which means I have to bury here my headcanon of coronabeer described as "big" to mean "fat" in the way I was picturing her, because I think the biceps description is made to mean more muscular than what I had in mind

sorry me, it was nice while it lasted

coronabeer also knows about shuttles because she had a crush on a boy who was a shuttle otaku

"Loved shuttles...didn't look at me twice, so I fell head over heels. Story of my life"

JUDITH LIKES YOU TOO, YOU BOLUDITA*

(*more rioplatense slang, don't worry about it)

coronabeer and el machetes start arguing about that too and we suffer is so tired of them

she says "Yes. Good. The intel, I mean, not anybody's romantic history, which I abhor"

another one for my apparel collection

el machetes and we suffer argue on what to discuss with the antinegotiation faction about all this and about "Varun the Eater"

nona's bestie from the sky

they quote commander wake and pyrrha is all like

camilla says "either this shuttle's derelict or—it dropped through the River"

el machetes doesn't know what the river is

we suffer says that the factions are starting to think dr reverend emperor john buttface might be taking them seriously

to which camilla responds "of course, bitch, you're selling him back the sixth"

not in those exact words

pyrrha says that emperor asshat has always taken them seriously

which is true but also not, at the same time

it is, because he cares about them and what they do

it isn't, because the only person he truly takes seriously is himself

one of the factions, the hopers, are asking about nona progress

they're starting to lose faith in nona

I assume specifically in her going back to who she was

and they start talking about lyctors who served them in the past

she calls them by different names

"joyeuse" and "piotra" got them fleet schematics, the location of the emperor's bolthole and an attempt on his life

so I assume this is agustine and mercygirl? I thought cassiopeia was their contact first, but I don't know timelines anymore

they call not!dulcinea "chrysaor" and talk highly of her mess at canaan house

WHICH, HOLD ON A DAMN MINUTE

WE'RE CALLING THAT ALTRUISTIC NOW??

(rip viv ♥)

pyrrha and camilla are upset at this, pyrrha doesn't think she was doing it for them and camilla says "anyone who would describe two fourteen year olds as high ranking House personnel isn't interested in Nona as a person"

I should draw a heart in my notes too

we suffer explains that, from their pov, not!dulcinea was stopping the problem from the root, not allowing baby lyctors to be born and destroying what would create them

honestly, though, canaan house was hanging by two threads and used bubble gum

it wasn't a super well oiled machine, the emperor is a clown

anyway, everyone sees an enemy from where they're standing when there is so much that isn't understood and a few people are trying to gain power from other's ignorance and fear

camilla says that not!dulcinea was the only one who got what she wanted in canaan house and that if they're intending to use lyctors as weapons, what will they do with them?

which is a very valid question

I think yandere twin also got what she wanted, tbh

it cost her an arm and a chad

coronabeer and el machetes start fighting again and he says she's just "boobs, hair, and talk"

coronabeer says she's "boobs and hair and talk and a hell of a sword hand"

camilla asks for sixth house proof of life and gets a recording from archivist zeta, who I think was palmolive's mom

I didn't catch that on my first read of the story but you guys pointed that out

I really like her, she's cool, glad that she's still with us

anyway, protect my house

camolive demands for further confirmation by asking "how many pages in my Scholar's thesis?"

(at this point idk if it's camilla or palmolive at any given time, though nona never said it was palmolive, and maybe she would have mentioned it, because she always does, but sometimes I wonder anyway)

(also, there's never enough pages in a thesis for me, I'm always not even halfway through all I want to say and I'm already over the limit)

so, yeah, further proof is asked and also nona isn't doing great with the part about her remembering who she is

and there's a negotiator potentially in the sky

and varun

and idk where judith is

not making out with coronabeer, apparently

they're being boobies about it still

I'm unexpectedly very invested in them getting together idk I have a thing for their dynamic

that short story really changed my whole perception of judith lol she's just really pathetic and I respect that

she's like a wet mouse, I can't be angry at her for long

and, as for the nona progress, I don't think she's anywhere near close

she's more concerned with the school stuff and sriracha girlie than with any of this

which is a bit annoying BUT

it does help to have someone involved in this who gets actually close to the people suffering, you know?

not the BOE or anyone in the know, just the common man, the people, the ones trying to survive all this

and nona being totally not biased over the conflict because she is in a cumple all the time also helps her be present with the people in their day to day

she has that awareness of the present moment, the observation skills, the communication skills, and pays attention to who she is with at each time

she focuses on people and listens to them and gets to know them

I think that can be very meaningful here

presence and listening are everything in conflicts

so yeah, it's a bit annoying that she acts how she acts, but I don't think it's a bad thing, actually

I think nona is doing good work, as she is

even if I'd like to sometimes put her behind a baby gate

ANYWAY, WHAT A CHAPTER HUH? we met new friends, we saw old friends, we heard gossip about everyone. Always a party with BOE. See you in the next one!

[phyllisamaryllis]

Have you noticed how both Percy Jackson and Cardan are often characterised as dumb and Cardan weak because they love their significant others? I think this is some weird sort of misogyny because 'only weak men will love these women' when that's simply not true!

Tell me if I'm crazy lol

You're not crazy. This is a real phenomenon that needs to stop.

The PJO fandom tends to dumb down Percy a lot and hype up Annabeth, when in reality it is Percy who comes up with brilliant strategies and fights very well. It seems to me that people think Percy is foolish and/or impulsive because he doesn't communicate his plans very well.

It's frustrating to read canon PJO and then go to the fandom PJO and see how much Percy is dumbed down. Even canonically, Percy is put down a lot-unfortunately, I think this is because Rick is influenced by the fandom, which he should stop.

In fact, Annabeth would have died without Percy. LOTS of people would have died without Percy.

Thankfully, there are many people who DON'T dumb Percy down, like @cynthiav06, @hermesmyplatonicbeloved and other people-I forgot the blogs, tell me if you want to be tagged.

Check out the blogs I mentioned above if you want Real Percy, not dumb Percy who's not even real.

And this happens with Cardan too.

All right-I will say it again and again.

REAL CARDAN IS NOT A DUMB, HELPLESS UWU POOKIE!

HE IS POWERFUL. HE IS SMART. HE IS CUNNING AND CAN RUN AN ENTIRE KINGDOM WITHOUT JUDE OR MADOC.

I think most of the TFOTA fandom forget that Cardan did, in fact, run the kingdom without Jude or Madoc between and at the beginning of The Queen of Nothing!

And he's no helpless pookie. Does ANYONE remember the scene in TWK where the sea mermaids and their retinue come and read the poem that's a threat in disguise?

Does anyone remember how Cardan reacted? I DON'T THINK THEY DO!

He did NOT whimper or look to Jude for help. Jude DID NOT step up and deal with things directly.

Cardan dealt with it. He gave a clever response and effectively dealt with it while remaining powerful in the eyes of his subjects. Jude herself notes how powerful he looks in that scene.

And his meeting with Orlagh? He looks and feels regal and intimidating, like a true ruler. He saves his kingdom from war, literally threatens to encase Nicasia in a tree to keep Orlagh in check like a true boss, is prepared to fulfil his theat and calls up AN ENTIRE ISLAND. AN ENTIRE NEW ISLAND, LIKE THE THREE ISLES, EXCEPT NOW IT'S THE FOUR ISLES.

And he also comes up with a smart plan for Jude's safety, thus ensuring that she can come back when she wants to. It's not his fault that she interpreted it differently and chose to ignore the real meaning when she finally found it.

And in The Prisoner's Throne when he saves Jude from the knives? 100 percent amazing scene. He really has a heavy regal ruler aura there. My favorite scene of Cardan.

Yet fandoms need must girlbossify the females and woobify the males to make us see that the females are oh so powerful and the males need them for everything apparently.

The fandoms make the males characters that are entirely dependent on the females and don't exist without them. And I can't emphasize how frustrated this makes some of us.

Annabeth is smart on her own without Percy and vice versa.

Same goes for Jude and Cardan. They deal with threats in their own effective ways, though said ways are different-but those ways still work for both of them.

This is a reverse form of misogyny that is still sexism to both males and females and this really needs to stop. Whenever a couple get together, people tend to not see them as equals-either the male or the female is dominant, and if it's the female, she has to be oh so strong and muscular and dark and serious while the male has to be soft and submissive to her at all times, oh noooooooooo.

Not to say that muscular and masculine women CAN'T be dominant, but please remember that this is not always the case. Submissive partners are not always soft and feminine, and dominant partners don't always need to be commanding and aggressive.

Being equals in a relationship is a big charm, and that's why Percabeth worked so well for a lot of people. That's a huge part of their charm. To take that away would be to push what made Percabeth good into an abyss and watch it disintegrate.

TFOTA fandom members, please remember that Cardan is a person on his own without Jude. Same goes for Percy and Annabeth, PJO fandom members.

[space-mango-company]

Stranger | Chapter 3

← CHAPTER 2 | ✦ | CHAPTER 4 →

TW: none for this one, I think

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon What Canon

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Unedited for now! Holy moly, sorry for taking so long on this one. I was kinda drowning in uni work the past week. The next chapter should come sooner, I hope. Also just wanted to say thank you so much to those who take the time to comment!! I really really appreciate the kind words. You guys are super sweet. Mwa mwa.

The inky black fireworks exploded in the distance as you were led back into the underground chambers of the arena. Your eyes are relieved to escape the infrared sun. Heavy doors open for you once more. The na-Baron stands, chest exposed, skin slick with sweat under the artificial light. His dilated pupils hone in on you as you enter. He makes his way to you holding the blood-stained handkerchief.

"Did you enjoy the show, my lady?" His chest heaves and you feel his heavy breaths as he leans into your ear, voice even more raspy, "Aren't you something, little hawk."

He holds the cloth up as if giving it to you but when you reach for the handkerchief he snatches it away.

You sigh and lift your veil, a sweet smile plastered on your face, "A most impressive demonstration, na-Baron. You are as formidable as they say."

Feyd-Rautha takes a moment to scan your face. He doesn't know what your game is but he wants to play.

His breathing has settled. He raises a hand to reach for your cheek but you move past him. You walk towards a table displaying knives laid over a cloth. You pick one up to examine. The blades remain uncleaned, the blood from earlier in the day already beginning to dry. You sense they will be kept that way.

"You have good form. Clean, precise," you say, holding the dagger in a reverse grip, edge out. "You enjoy it, don't you?"

From behind, you feel Feyd-Rautha close the distance between you once again.

"Perhaps you enjoy it a little too much," you turn to him, "I'm sure you let him disarm you on purpose. For the show."

Feyd-Rautha tilts his head and allows himself a small smile. "You should return to the fortress, my lady. I have duties to attend to," he touches your armed hand and gently takes the knife from you, "and my uncle would like to see you."

Despite being shielded from the black sun, you elect to keep your veil for your lunch with the Baron. You excuse the chill running down your spine as the coldness of the high, stony walls of Fortress Harko as Iassa escorts you to the dining hall. Iassa kept her head bowed, you noticed, hands folded in front of her. She didn't need to look ahead to know the way.

When you arrive, large doors open to the sight of the Baron floating at the head of the table. There was only one other seat at the side of the table a few feet from him. Despite that, there was a full spread of food which his servants were already feeding him.

You had done your best to avoid the Baron in your short time here, but it seems this meeting was inevitable.

"Lady Atreides," his eyes turn toward you lazily. "Come. Eat."

"Good afternoon, Baron," you curtsy as you enter. Iassa bows to you and waits outside. You take your seat, "will it only be us, my lord? This seems a lavish spread for only two people."

"Are you calling me a glutton, girl?" he spats.

Your heart takes a beat as you try not to stare at his grotesquely large body.

"We are Harkonnen," his husky laugh rings through the room. "We may lavish as much as we please."

You exhale the breath you were holding and let out a small laugh. Of course. They were the richest house in the Landsraad. The Harkonnens must be accustomed to excess.

"Soon, child, you will be Harkonnen as well," he says in that gravelly voice that is so uncomfortably similar to Feyd-Rautha's. "Is that what you want?"

The question takes you aback. No one has ever asked you this question before. This betrothal has been decided for so long, you've never even thought to ask the question yourself. It was all you'd known. Your duty. You had never bothered to imagine what your life would have been if you weren't destined to marry the Harkonnen heir.

You regain your composure, "Baron, it is my honor to unite our Great-"

"Drop the act, child!" he barks. "Perhaps you fear me, but if you are to become 'family', I will not have the patience for charades. Speak plainly. Do you want to marry my nephew?"

This has been a most unusual exchange. At least compared to what you're used to. Always taught to be sweet and pleasant. You suppose you had nothing to lose, considering the Baron killing you would start an all-out war. You take a moment to think, and then a deep breath.

"I am a woman, dear Baron. There is not much for me in this life. Indeed, tales of your house's savagery are well-known throughout the systems, and in Caladan more than most. But had I not been betrothed to your nephew, I would only be married off to some other lord or count or whatever, gentler than Feyd-Rautha they may be," you swallow. "Perhaps, I could have been trained a Bene Gesserit sister. However, to become the wife of the heir to one of the most powerful houses in the known universe—there are worse fates."

The Baron stares, seemingly satisfied with your answer. He waves his servants away. "Eat, child. Waste not the food of one of the most powerful houses in the known universe."

He begins to glide towards the doors on his side of the hall and his servants scurry to lay down their forks and follow after him.

You look to the remaining servants in the dining hall, then to the mounds of food on the table. Your first dinner on Giedi Prime had felt suffocating with all the nobles around and Feyd-Rautha smugly breathing down your neck. You pile your plate high.

In your quarters, Iassa helps you out of your clothes and into a warm bath. You don't wait for her and begin scrubbing your skin with a rag yourself. Between the heat from the morning gladiator fights and your tense conversation with the Baron, you were happy to wash the sweat off your body.

"Is this alright, my lady?" Iassa is trying to wash your hair with the lightest touch, "Does it hurt you?"

"No, no. It's quite alright." You take over and she moves to begin scrubbing your legs.

You're grateful you brought bottles of your own hair soaps. You notice Iassa is intently observing how you washed your hair and you appreciate her wanting to learn. Although, you surmise she might not have a choice. Her black choker seems to stand out even more against her pale skin.

"How was your day, Iassa?" you say as you lather your hair.

She pauses in confusion. "It was quite alright, my lady," her voice is soft and polite.

"Do they treat you well?" you knew it was a futile question.

"I am property of House Harkonnen, my lady," she says as she pours more water into the grey stone bath, "I am treated appropriately."

"Yes, but do you mean appropriately as in well or appropriately as in—" your desperate attempt to make a friend seems to be slipping through your fingers. You let out an exasperated sigh, "I know it's only been a few days but, do I treat you well, Iassa?"

She takes a moment and smiles up at you, "My lady has been most gracious." You see in her eyes she means it.

"You were right about the na-Baron," you say, "he is formidable indeed."

"I'm pleased my lady was impressed," she wraps a robe around you as you rise from the bath.

"Well, I don't know about impressed," you say as you step out, "he is a decent fighter, certainly. Perhaps it is a difference in the fighting styles of our worlds."

After helping you dress, Iassa bows and leaves you to retire. Her grey robes flowing behind her.

Once alone, you find your father's dagger in your belongings. The Baron's earlier question comes back to you. Is that what you want? To marry Fayd-Rautha? That night, you sleep clutching the knife close to your heart.

When you awake the following morning, you are greeted by a servant girl bringing you breakfast.

"Where is Iassa?" you ask.

"She has been relieved, my lady," the girl looks even younger than Iassa, "I am Zora."

Your brow furrows, "What does that mean, 'relieved'?"

When Zora remains silent, you get up from the bed.

On the dark grey of your vanity, you notice a black strip of leather. A choker identical to your new servant's but it was unmistakable who it belonged to. Your mind ran through the whys and your blood began to boil.

← CHAPTER 2 | ✦ | CHAPTER 4 →

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore @bornslippys @vexis-world @aoi-targaryen @alexandrainlove

[fairy-writes]

Hi, can i please ask for prompt 19 with Jouno? Thank youu<3<3

THE SCENT OF IRON

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Prompt: “It’s funny. Nowadays, people always expect a gun, but never a knife.”

Fandom(s): Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairing(s): Jouno Saigiku x Reader

Word Count: 0.3k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Blood, Injuries, Knives

Notes: Yes I’m stealing my own title from a BSD/Tokyo Ghoul story I wrote. Don’t come for me. 

(I’m also getting conflicting answers about what Jouno’s first name is. So lmk if I got it wrong, and I’ll edit this.)

YES, I KNOW IT’S SHORT. DON’T COME FOR ME

__________________________________________________________________________

It was hard to hide things from Jouno Saigiku. 

Especially something like the overpowering scent of iron.

So it’s no wonder he picks up on it immediately when walking back to the Hunting Dogs headquarters. Typically, yes, he would take a cab or just call a car from the base to come and pick him up. But he had this nagging feeling that he wanted—no, needed to walk home from his mission today.

So he did. It wasn’t that far. In fact he could make the walk in about thirty minutes. 

And all was well and good until he caught the scent of iron and the sharp odor of pain. 

Saigiku paused, fingertips brushing against the stone and concrete of an alleyway entrance. He really should keep walking… He shouldn’t care about whoever was in pain down there.

At least, he didn’t care until he heard a gasp and realized it was you.

His feet carry him faster and faster until he almost trips over your extended feet and crouches at your side. He can feel the sticky, oozing blood soaking into his boots and realizes just how bad the situation is. 

“Sai? What are you doing here?” You wheeze, and he feels his lips tug down into a frown. 

“What happened?” He asked sternly, and you hissed out a stuttering laugh. 

“Heh… It’s funny. Nowadays, people always expect a gun, but never a knife.” You whimper, and he hears your hand squish in the torn flesh of your side. 

He probes your side, and you cry out. The wound is deep, and he can’t quite tell if there’s more than one stab wound or not. Knowing your luck, there likely were. But he presses on, removing his gloves to get a better idea of what’s going on. 

All the while, he’s overpowered by the scent of the iron. It’s cloying and nauseating, making his stomach twist and turn in his abdomen. Usually, he’s fine. After all, he’s a Hunting Dog. But something about it being your blood makes it worse. 

He ignores your cries and scoops you up into his arms. Your clothes are already soaked through, and he can hear the “pitter-patter” of the drops of blood falling onto the concrete. 

You needed medical help. 

Now.

He only hoped he could get you the help in time. 

[miscfandomwrites]

A/N: Little Drabble I've been working on that I figured was good enough to post. And yes, Konig will be in here because I say so and also because I have a huge little crush on him. Easiest way to describe sunshine is that while she doesn't do active field work (unless absolutely necessary) she is still very scary and cute at the same time.

Pairing: Poly! Shifter! Tf141 + Konig x Rabbit Shifter! F Reader

Warnings: Language, dude being a creep, r being a little creepy.

Words: 507

Tagging: @tyler-t0t

Located: Under MW2 -> Sunshine Series

~

“Oh really? That’d be really cool! I bet Gaz would love to come too! He’s been wanting to see that movie for ages!” I told Gavin as he slowly stalked towards me, something akin to a dark smile on his face. 

I held my hand to the side carefully and made my palm flat, the sign for stop as I could hear the boys slowly getting up and walking towards me. Perks of being a rabbit, I guess. 

I smiled at him as I turned my body a bit and opened one of the kitchen drawers, sliding out the chef knife I loved so dearly. 

One of the many things I learned from culinary school: Keep your knives sharp, and your enemies unaware. 

I was forced against the counter as he stood in front of me, licking his lips as if he was a wolf eyeing a delicious meal. 

“Oh bunny, I don’t think you understand, I’m telling you that I want to-”

Before he could finish the sentence, I held up the knife to his neck, starting to force him backwards.

I put on my cheerful voice and the bright face that I used when typically dealing with animals or small children, and smiled at him.

“Oh, I understand completely! Y’know, right this is your windpipe, “ I said as I lightly traced the knife down and up his throat, using small enough pressure to leave slices but not enough to make him react more “And here is your esophagus, Oh! And right beside them are your main arteries that lead to your brain! If they were to get a small slice in them, You could die within two minutes! Isn’t that pretty neat?” I grinned at him, successfully backing him out of the kitchen as I dug the knife a little harder into his neck. 

“Y-You fucking bitch-” he stammered, I tsked and drug the knife across to the other artery, and did the same to it. 

“You really should know better than to mess with a girl in her own kitchen.” I told him. 

“Let alone in front of her pack.” a deep, german-accented voice spoke from behind me, and without having to look I knew it was Konig. 

At that point, I saw Gavin cower, his ears flattening against his head as he quite literally turned tail and ran. 

“Great, now I have to wash the blood off of this.” I sighed, heading towards the sink. 

“That was fucking creepy, lass.” Soap spoke up, arms crossed his chest as he tried to calm himself down from fully shifting. 

I shrugged. “Hey, he asked for it. There’s a reason I’m called Sunshine after all!” I told him with a smile. 

As soon as the adrenaline wore off my temper dropped, still with a smile on my face I carefully hand washed and dried off the knife before sliding it back into its drawer. 

Straightening out my apron, I turned back to the boys with my hands clasped in front of me. 

“Now, who wants dinner?”

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

The Jealous One pt 9

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader

Words: 3,196

The third time's a charm. 

Tags: fem!reader, silly, ambiguous timeline, Snotlout Jorgenson, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, Jealous!Hiccup, Post RoB/DoB, Pre-RTTE, unedited

<Previous - Next>

“Woah… Didn’t know you were cool.” Tuffnut scoffed and laughed, his shoulders bouncing as he laughed from his throat.

“Shut up,” You grumbled. You hadn’t wanted them to follow you down in the first place.

You were under a dark niche, an overhang on the opposite end of the spire to the one that faced the village, on the side where Mildew lived but this bit was much closer to the base.

The air underneath was moist and heavy.

You’d come down with Hiccup, once. You’d spent the time loitering and listening to him rant, his neutral greens and warm browns looking out of place against the dark rock, while you did your own thing, leaning against the side of a dripping rock wall. 

You’d thought this place used to be something that belonged to both of you, but now it was more just a you thing… or maybe not.

You’d been feeling confused since you’d woken up in Hiccup’s hut in a spare set of your own sleepwear -when did he have the time to go get your sleep wear? 

You hadn’t even known he’d had it in him to care for anyone like that, in such an intimate fashion. You remembered a point in your teenhood in which he would have insisted you hand yourself off to Gothi- Really, the whole event had woken up a large number of twisty curly things and mixed with the slightly sour feeling in your gut- you were almost sure you’d never recovered from your violent illness.

You could still feel it tickling at your periphery, the sickness- It really would suck if you’d gotten sick again.

It had been a cold night last night and so some of the mud below crunch beneath your feet, thawing frost coating some patches and melting snow wetting others so thoroughly that you’d been up to your ankles in the sludge.

Your boots had a thick wadding of it even now, standing in the sanctity of your own secret cave- you own cave secret no longer.

You had your hands on your elbows and your shoulders hunched, and although it was true that you were mad, you were also incredibly cold.

“Don’t be lame,” Snotlout scoffed.

“Those who live in twig houses should not be swinging axes,” You grumbled, “And so I’d rather you keep all your stones to yourself.”

“What? What does that even mean?” Snotlout puffed up his chest from where he stood in front of you- he was closest to the exit of your little overhang, the one you now wanted very much to leave, though you loathed the idea of stepping out into the mud, much more liquid than it had been earlier, when you had stepped down into your crevasse and it had been still too dark out to cause any real melting.

“I called you dumb, dipstick,” You grumbled, knowing he would never take the time to pull that sentence apart on his own. 

He was stubborn and talking to him sometimes was like throwing knives at an impenetrable wall -the harder to work at it, the more likely you were going to hurt yourself- and you cursed him for it.

You also cursed his father for being such a dud- Snotlout would really be better off if he just thought, but wishful thinking could never be anything but wishful thinking and Snotlout was an old hunting dog- no new tricks for him.

“Downer,” Tuffnut scoffed as he hobbled outside for reasons unknown to you though not unwelcome.

“You know what would solve all your problems?” Snotlout asked. He responded right after, without waiting for you to ask, “Get pretty. Pretty ugly.”

You felt immediately more sour, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

You were even more sour as you felt something smack against the side of your leg.

You looked down just to be greeted by a thick wad of wet ground staining already dark grays darker- and at his squealing, you realized that the trajectory and force of Tuffnut’s throw meant that Snotlout had gotten splashed too.

“Yeesh,” You snapped, “You couldn’t have chosen a better time for a mud fight, could you?”

Mud against your skirt, you followed after Snotlout as he fled, shouting something squirrlish and manly about ‘stuff’ on his coat and yak dung.

He stopped right at the entrance of the cave and you ran straight into his back, rushing out after him, which had the unintended effect of shoving him roughly into the mud in front of him.

You nearly burst a lung with your laughter, half doubling over before whipping your head back as a large glob of mud slammed into your face with all the force inertia allowed.

You gawped, using both hands to pull the mud away from your eyes and wipe it off your face, flinging small spatters of it  against the rock walls and floor.

“That one was meant for Snotlout, but ‘eh,” Ruffnut, the obvious culprit, shrugged, her hands muddied, “I guess you’re good too.”

“Oh, Hel! Chief’s kid! Run!” Snotlout shouted. In the way they did when you were all kids and they’d been mocking you and Hiccup in different ways.

At the word ‘Chief,’ the Twins startled suddenly like bucking sheep, tripping over their feet to sprint away and make for the forest as fast as they could, jumping down ledges and bolting.

You gaped and watched as they all ran off, staying standing where you were, then you began to laugh nearly hysterically as Tuffnut tripped over a long slip of mud before falling violently on his face. 

He only just barely made it back into a scramble a moment longer.

Hiccup stood straight just before the clearly-made-worse field of mud, clearly caught off guard.

“Hi,” You said, with what must have been a dopey grin on your face and mud all over your being.

The others- you were slightly annoyed by how they’d run at the sight of the Chief’s son despite being his almost good friends.

From the chilly walk up the Chief’s hill and into his dwelling, which was dark and slightly cold, which must have meant that the Chief himself was still blessedly absent, off on some overseas trip or other.

“I should… Probably go.” You said, turning. You weren’t sure why you’d come up in the first place, the walk you took spent in silence- you’d need to hurry back to bathe so that your waning cold didn’t spike once more.

“You don’t have to.” Hiccup said then, “I was- I mean, I was- You can, then me? Or I can, then you- No- I had Toothless heat up the bathwater, earlier, and I-”

You tilted your head to the side, looking at him, greasy brown hair and all- Toothless’s fire always ran hot and so, ah, he must have gone for some herbs, then- Gothi planted a few at the base of the mountain, and for those with scarring and the right knowledge of plants, they made for an okay blams, which was the point. The old healer had probably gotten tired of the rabble crawling up to her hut over nothing and making their irritations worse.

“We can... Split the water,” You suggested weakly, shrugging crusting shoulders, tilting your head to a large wooden bucket of water off to your side- nearly large enough to hold a person.

You stayed huddled by the fire, your hands to a mug, your lips teasing the edge of it.

You wore a tunic that wasn’t yours, that hadn’t fit Hiccup by multiple sizes but still smelt like Hiccup anyways flopping over your hands- he’d probably used it to stuff his pillow or the like, because it smelt a lot like residual smoke and him.

You borrowed from him a pair of undershorts, too, and they remained the only thing keeping your bottom half from the grained wood floor- besides the soles of your feet, your knees being pushed up nearly to your chin.

The bath bucket, Hiccup had placed up in his room, probably intending to enjoy the luxury of being able to bathe up in the loft. Unfortunately, he’d conceded the right to bathe up there to you, settling for a bucket and washcloth.

The water, Hiccup was too lazy to bring it down as he’d brought it up.

You figured you would figure it out later as you dried, but by the sounds of it Hiccup had probably just ended up tilting the whole bath out his window, dumping the water that way- There was a stain on the side of his house from when he’d done it before and a gouge where he’d cut out some suspicious looking rot, probably a consequence of the undue moisture and fading waterproofing. 

You wanted to puff at it, but you knew you were much too lazy to pail up any water for yourself.

You looked to the side but remained no less stationary as you heard him come down the stairs and settle, standing an appropriate distance away. He was nearly looking at you but his eyes were angled in a way which said ‘not quite.’ 

You couldn’t fathom why, however, unless he was being shy about your dress, though you couldn’t see why he would be concerned or avoidant- he’d put you in his things, after all.

By the light of the fireplace flickering warmly at the fronts of your legs, his hair was more than auburn in the light, looking lighter and fluffier than normal now that he’d washed out the grime, probably with a slight bit more fervor than usual, though you were slightly aghast by it and confused as to why.

You’d definitely felt softer about him since he’d cared for you, sick as you were, though you were surely unsure of where the two of you stood.

“Hello,” You said, breaking the silence which felt heady and warm.

“...Would now be a good time to apologize?” Hiccup started, his prosthetic and the floorboards squeaking as he shuffled.

You blinked your eyes open, staring at Hiccup for a moment. He looked almost earnest. “...I guess so.”

“I’m sorry.” Hiccup started, “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

You shrugged.

“Are you free? I mean, I could start… I could start bringing you on trips with the Riders?”

You startled slightly, the peaceful atmosphere between the two of your disrupted slightly- and suddenly you could feel again where spots of Hiccup’s tunic were damp, mostly in parts you’d done a poor job of drying, you could feel the few bits of grain that dug into your rump through its fabric and you could feel how the room was still a smidge too cold against your back, except it wasn’t anything you thought of fondly, more something that sent uncomfortably shivers running up your spine.

That was the exact opposite of what you wanted- it would be a  reminder of all the ways you didn’t belong between them, bearing witness to exactly how you always would mess up their rhythm. 

You didn’t like the idea at all. You struggled to come up with a way to explain it to him.

“I don’t… I would just be dragging you guys down. It’s not like I have a dragon, or anything, and you guys have… years,” You said self consciously. You tried to keep your voice from cracking at this part, though you couldn’t really tell if you minded, “-Of experience, together. I think I’ve only been there for a few, you know, before everything.”

Hiccup started and he opened his mouth to speak before closing it.

“That’s my fault.” Hiccup said guiltily, “I should’ve… I trained dragons for the others.”

You knew that especially then as you turned further to the side, the meat of your leg coming to rest against the Haddock’s wooden floor. You could feel all the grooves in it against fresh, just recently damp skin.

“And I… I left you.”

“Yeah,” You said, curling your knees up and refusing to look at him, “You did. But that was in dragon training and I wasn’t there. I didn’t make the cut, I guess.”

 Admittedly, you were a little upset, but as it always went, you hadn’t done much to let it show until now.

They didn’t hide it or anything, but still. Even if the others didn’t hang out much outside of Dragon Riding, they still had tons of experience together. 

You hated being together with everyone at once even in the Great Hall. being there had been a hard reminder, one you’d shake off soon enough.

“It’s different now.” Hiccup protested, taking a step forward.

You wondered if his stump hurt, still. You felt bad about distracting him- you hoped he hadn’t caused himself pain, foregoing the nice bath and hauling all the water out of his window anyways.

“Is it? I mean,” You demurred, slightly out of it, “I still don’t… I don’t have a dragon, so. I can’t fly with you or anything and I know that’s really important. Isn’t that why…?”

“What? No, no, even if it was, we can work on that.” Hiccup smiled awkwardly, “I can- Toothless and I can do all the heavy lifting- not that you’re heavy, I mean… If- if you’re not sure, then-”

“I don’t know.” You started, looking down, “Maybe. But… Why? Seriously, Why now? I don’t understand…”

And you refused to look, not deeply. You didn’t want to, knowing that it usually hurt. Instead you chose to believe that he was either deathly ill or mad- two likely culprits, the last one foremostly. 

You settled your mug to the floor, standing and moving close up to him, one hand grasping his arm as you pressed yourself closer, your other hand coming up to feel at his forehead.

It was wonderful- to feel, to hold, to touch- but you didn’t focus on that, on the uneven feeling of his skin in one parts and the lumps under others and you didn’t focus nearly enough as you probably should have on the light, damp sheen over his forehead, or how nice the burning under his skin was against your palm, nearly oppressive despite the fact that you were the one to make the first move.

You couldn’t tell if it was burning or not to an unreasonable extent -not just by touch- and any redness that must have shown itself, clutched against peach skin, was obscured by the red light of fire and the darkness of shadow.

“You’re not sick now, are you?” You mumbled with some vague concern.

“Ah- N-no.” Hiccup said, his hovering, twitchy hand coming to rest along your waist.

With his eyes reflecting the flickering light of the fire, contrasting against brighter greens and baby colors, you thought that this moment that you’d found yourself in- It was like something out of a dream you’d had when you were younger.

You’d wandered into it unintentionally, and past your musings you’d nearly expected to wake up in your bed at fifteen years of age once again, sleep interrupted by the furious screaming of a bloodthirsty dragon. It would be nice if you did.

This moment, you knew, was not as kind or as dream-like as it seemed, for if it was, there would be more than a broken friendship and hesitant camaraderie between the two of you- a great deal more.

You kept your face blank as you slipped away slightly, ready for the warm, solid grip of Hiccup’s palm on your waist to become something colder and more absent. However, you paused- You hadn’t so much as tugged yourself away from his palm as you’d let it lay there, coming quickly to notice the sureness by which he held it against you, not at all giving as it should naturally be when someone was pulling away, nearly unwilling to let go.

“You’re not trying to win me over anymore,” You asked suddenly, “Not in the typical sense?”

“I-” Hiccup started before his eyes flickered away, his other hand sliding against your waist. “No.”

You did your best not to think of how he might have held Astrid- how you were sure you’d seen him touch Astrid in the same way, which sent twinges up and down your spine and touched your bruising ego, covered in irritating, old, slightly raw burn marks.

None of that mattered, though, because this wasn’t what that was- of course it wasn’t because he’d never treated you that way, and wasn’t that nearly a problem? It wasn’t that you couldn’t look beyond yourself to know, but to treat it in that way- to find it, to know it to be fake or even real or to entertain the fantasy would also hurt- it might sting and rage at your softer parts in a way that made you want to cower, and so you pushed all yearnings and musings and other sad things farther away.

“What are you doing?” You leaned in slightly closer, eyes searching, feeling more serious than not, even as your bare knee brushed lightly against his clothed one.

Hiccup sighed breathily. You could almost call what he did a wheeze.

“...I’m sorry.” Hiccup said, and in an action that surprised you and had your neck straightening and your eyes opening wider by a slight margin, he placed his face securely into your shoulder.

You could nearly feel his lips against your neck, in the place where collar bone met shoulder, and you resisted your own urge to shudder and sigh, all your shaky breaths held deeply inwards.

You mumbled softly, leaning back into him and resting your head against his neck, “I forgive you. I really- really forgive you. And… And I’m sorry too.”

Sorry for dumping water on his head, for being so crass, even if he deserved it- and sorry for everything you’d lost, too, along the way and before the journey.

You tightened your arms slightly, your eyelids shutting tighter as you took in the shape of him, how he felt, ever so warm against you, his hands moving from your waist to your back, his arms pushing and wrapping against your sides, constraining and nice made nicer as the heat of the hearth in the floor beat and flickered steadily on.

Hiccup smelt fresh, like river-washed clothes and a bit like mildew all mixed in with something that was surely Hiccup, something heavy growing finer, much different to the scent you were sure had belongs to him, noted down when you were nothing but young teens tussling and chittering around in forests and along village pathways. 

You hummed into his neck, your eyelashes grazing gently against the skin and baby hairs there and sighed, your voice thick and catching, raspy and muffled by the parts of his skin pressing into your cheek and the seam of fabric warm and almost scratchy against one side of your nose.

You knew  on some level that this might never happen again. So, you desired to enjoy it before you couldn’t- before, once again, you became bitter, before you felt rupturing-ly petty and frustrated and sad.

[mullermilkshake]

Just a drive away.

Part 2 <- Part 3 -> ?

Suguru tries his luck again.

Doctor!Suguru Geto x Fem! reader Tags - Blood/ violence/ injury,Knives,Non-con reference(s), implied stalking

<<< For more Suguru content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

Keeping tabs was something Suguru Geto did far too well.

Suddenly, Satoru knew more about you than ever, all because doctor Geto was updating him on every little thing he could under the guise of being a ‘good neighbour’.

He caught you in the hallways in the morning before work, and when you got home, claiming he was popping out for groceries or something random you didn’t bother to really listen to. After ignoring his invites to go with him, casual requests for little things like sugar and other stupid, dumbs thing at your door, enough was enough. You were already looking for somewhere else to move to, but you had unfortunately signed a year long lease.

So, you did your best to adapt, to change your routine and make it as erratic as possible just to throw him off.

For a while, you were able to leave two hours before work and walk there without Geto so much as noticing you had left. Provided you snuck out in stealth mode, it often worked. Getting home was harder as you tried to leave early, or again, much later after you clocked out to avoid him. But if he came home before you, it was as though he could sense you a mile away like a anxious dog waiting for its owner.

And then when your routine grew too monotonous and he figured it out, then you would need to change it all up again. Like today.

The car horns quick double toot should have been the first give away, a car in the dark of early morning winter beeping you and driving alongside you like it was crawling with desperation.

“Hey there, I didn’t recognise you. Do you want a lift?”

Seeing Geto there in a dark car was as unnerving as it could ever be. His interior light wasn’t on, he leant out of the open car window so that the orange street light lit his face up instead. His arm hung out the window too to match his blaze attitude. He was crazy to be approaching a woman this early in the morning and in the pitch dark too. You were running the risk already bumping into less than savoury people this time of day, and he just added to the emphasised grasp on your miniature deodorant can in your coat pocket.

If called for, you had no qualms spraying him in the face. Well, scrap that, you hoped you could.

“No thank you. I think walking is good for me.” You were past being cordial with him.

“Come on, it’s freezing. You don’t know what kind of bad people are out this time of morning, it’s safer in the car. I can drive you each morning, the offer is still there, y'know?” He kept the car rolling slowly to match your pace.

You had declined the offer back when he first offered and you would do so now out of pride and the fact that you never wanted to be alone in a car with him again.

“I’m good, thanks.” You made a faster pace and opted to turn down a little side alley to get to the hospital quicker. “This is my turn, I'll see you when I see you.”

“Wait a sec-” You ignored him and heard the car drive off rather aggressively.

Then, you stopped and waited to see if he’d pull back round, but he didn’t, he turned off in the direction of the other side of the alley way as though he’d cut you off.

Idiot. Like you were stupid enough to walk down a dark alleyway with no external lighting to get to work. You’d happily go the long way round and take the extra twenty minute journey than endanger yourself like that. Even if it added an extra hour, you’d still choose the long way.

After the car disappeared, you turned back the original way and took one step- “Hey beautiful, where you goin’?”

At first, you were going to ignore the disembodied voice emerging from the alleyway like an eel from its submerged cave. But with your deodorant can clutched tight, you turned and saw it was one man. At least that’s what the dark showed you for now, for all you knew, it could have been thirty of them in there.

That thought did not comfort you in the slightest, even if it was just one man.

“Nowhere that concerns you. I have to go.” Turning to leave got you three extra paces from the alleyway before the man caught up and got in front of you.

“Hold on there, Doll. I’ve seen yer pretty lil face walking around here, how come y'never said hi, hm?” He was a little taller than you, maybe a few inches and far too close to accurately assess his stature.

But he also had his hands in his pockets too. “I’ve never seen you before, but I really need to go.”

“Woah- it’s rude to walk away when someone’s talkin’ to ya, baby. I just wanna have a lil fun, why don’t you wanna have fun with me?”

You were starting to lose your patience. He was probably on drugs or something. “I’m leaving now.”

"wait a sec-" He grabbed you and didn’t see the little deodorant can you pulled from your pocket. “Ah! Fuck! You fucking bitch!”

It got him to let go, you moved to the side and bolted. A harsh grab on your arm pulled you back and slammed you against the wall with bare gritted teeth and flushed red eyes under the streetlamp. Maybe you shouldn’t have bitten your nose off to spite your face, but getting in the car with Geto seriously didn’t seem all that much safer.

“I wanted to play nice and get to know ya, but then yer fuckin' assault me?” He pulled out a knife from his pocket.

Okay, you were really contemplating your own actions now. You couldn’t move and kept your eyes on the knife hoping it wasn’t going through your sternum, but a plus side was that the hospital wasn’t that far away. Could you make it there before you bled out? Would this psycho do more than grab you before the steel in his hand even made contact-

“Ouch!” You hissed as he dragged the knife across your arm which sliced right through the material of your coat.

Your arm started numbing cold as with the warmth of the blood trickling over your fingers. It must have been pretty deep by the miniature pool of red collecting at your feet. Shit, was this it? Your name on tomorrow’s front page of the newspaper, your death and how it happened. 

Would Geto have guilt for the rest of his life? In honesty, you didn’t care about that, you already knew you should have just gotten into the car with him regardless of what your gut was telling you. Still, it didn’t matter now, your choice was made. 

Now you would live with it. Well… die with it.

His alcohol drenched breath got got close, you screwed your eyes shut and prayed he’d get some divine intervention. Maybe the streetlamp would fall on him and miss you entirely so you could get this wound cleaned from whatever the hell he had on his unclean blade. 

“The next ones goin’ in your throat when I fuck-” he moved away, or he jumped back. 

You did not open your eyes, you could no longer hear him for a second until gasps for air replaced it. The pressure of his body against yours was no longer present and you could breath a little. But where did he go?

“There you are.” Geto’s voice put you on edge, his breathing erratic as though he'd ran a marathon. “Hey- you’re safe now.”

You tensed at his touch on your shoulders, squeezing them and ultimately making your arm throb even more. “Ouch- ouch!”

He pulled back and you could breathe, but you did not want to open your eyes. He took your hand though you wanted to pull it away and shout at him. What the hell was he even doing here anyway- where did that other guy go?

“Your arm, he did this to you.”

“It’s fine, I’ll get it stitched up at the hospital.”

Why were you still just standing there? Geto didn’t let go and it prompted you to pull away but he didn’t let go. “I’ll be fine, I just need to get to the hospital.”

When you opened your eyes, you saw Geto closer than you realised, and the man on the ground was not moving, the knife that was in his hand wasn’t there after. In fact, you don’t remember even hearing a clatter of the metal during the scuffle.

You weren’t quite sure who you were more afraid of now.

“Please- please just let me go to the hospital. Thank you for helping me, but I just need a bit of space. Can I have that, please?”

“Get in my car, I’ll take you. It’s the other end of the alleyway.” So he was waiting for you there.

He stood there open mouthed when you ripped your hand from his and shuffled against the wall to get on your way to the hospital. “What part of space do you not understand? Thank you for the help, but I need a moment.”

You started walking off, nausea washing over you from a traumatic experience. It was the weight of not only this morning, but the whole ordeal with Suguru Geto grew too heavy to bear anymore. You needed space away from him- of course it was Suguru Geto that came to your rescue because he had some weird sort of obsession over you that was entirely unrequited.

“If you don’t get your arm cleaned soon, you’ll be at risk of a lot of things. I have a kit in my car until you get there-”

“I know how infection works, Doctor Geto. I work in a hospital!” You stomped off and surprisingly he didn’t follow you. 

It gave you plenty of time to cry a little and curse a few times until you made it to the hospital where Geto was waiting out the front in his lab coat with his arms folded like a strict headmaster in all of those period dramas you watched. 

Of course he’s fucking waiting for me here, I’m a fool to think he’d just go about his day. 

He just stood there, nothing like his usually warm and sweet exterior smile. This expression was the same one you had seen through your peephole the first night you spent in your new apartment.

Unimpressed and ominous. “Go to my office and I’ll patch you up. Now.” 

His dominance was something you had never experienced and never saw it directed at anyone else either. But for some reason, like a scolded child, you did as you were told and marched on up to the door with Geto’s name and title on it.

“How could you be so reckless?” You barely got your coat off before he ripped into you, slamming his door shut and anxiously running his hand through his hair. “I offered you a lift for this specific reason, I don’t know why you would go down that alley-”

“I didn’t go down there! I turned away as soon as you left and went to take the long way round.”

He threw up his hands and paced towards his first aid box and supplies. “Why? I-I can’t understand why you’re so combative all the time-”

Is this fucker serious? 

“I didn’t want to get in the car with you, how hard is that to understand?! I need space from you breathing down my neck all the time and telling Satoru everything about my life that you see- you don't know me and I don’t want to be your focus all the time. I hate it!”

Geto’s back was to you, his fist gripped so tight on the wall mounted box that it was shaking, his knuckles pale. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

Taking the supplies from the box, he placed them down calmly though you saw right through it. would he throw something if he got really angry, or just shout at you to release the pressure valve on his anger?

He did neither, just placed the supplies on the table and pulled out a seat for you to sit on, which you took with reluctance. “I care about you.”

What? 

“You don’t- How- Listen, you have a funny way of showing it.”

“How?” He sat down too, pulling his gloves on. “How do you not see that yet? I just got you away from a man who was going to hurt you more than just this.”

You looked at your arm he pointed to, it was pretty deep. But that didn’t negate the fact that your gut screamed around him. “A man that looked like you beat senseless. The only reason I was in this position was because you make me nervous and so anxious all the time. If you hadn't slowed me down this morning I wouldn’t have been around that man. You’re bleeding into my life, Geto- where is that guy anyway? Has he gotten medical treatment?”

He mustn't have assumed that you noticed how red his knuckles were in your traumatic haze, or that he simply didn’t care. This was not normal behaviour from someone who claimed they cared, from someone so intelligent to practice medicine like he did.

“Don’t think about him.” He injected the anaesthetic into your arm with a precision you didn’t even feel. “You never have to worry about him again. But I was just offering you a lift- why didn't you tell me that’s how I made you feel?”

He was worried about that? You were so done with being civil for Satoru’s sake. “You fingered me on the exam table, harassed me to go on a date with you and watch me all the time coming and going from my apartment and you wonder why you make me feel uncomfortable?”

Geto put the needle down and watched you with a hardened stare, an inquisitive one. “That’s how you saw it? I was doing my job, nothing more. I can’t help it if I find you attractive, and I’m only doing what Satoru told me to.”

"There's no record of my results- don't bullshit me."

"A system error, the entire hospital was done for about an hour. That's al."

"That's all? You can't be serious."

Then his deep purple eyes darkened more than you ever thought they could have towards you. “There’s a lot of stories you probably heard about me, how I'm constantly chasing, or that I've had interactions with a lot of women here. But it's all untrue. There’s only one person on my mind and nothing that will change that... You are that person, and it won’t ever be anyone else.”

He started suturing your arm up, his aimed his focus towards your arm and not your rosy cheeks and nose. “I care a lot about you, and I won’t give up on showing you that. Not until you understand just how far I’ll go to get you to see, because you clearly don't if you think this way about me.”

What the fuck? 

“To see what, exactly?"

“That I love you.”

And now you were in a room alone with him.

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[somestorythoughts]

Phineas and Ferb Prompt Part 3 - aka the deity au? that doesn't have a proper title.

I should really figure out a title for this but then I have to figure out if I should go and change the titles on the other posts. I'm just tagging them all deity au? for now, there will probably be at least one other this needs some sort of conclusion.

Prompt. Prev.

Anyway. Onward!

........

Heinz has a few reasons for wanting to free Peter the Panda next. First, if he's right about who's trapped under the fur then he and Perry make a very effective team. The Dr. Feelbetter incident wasn't the first time they'd teamed up against him, and they'd dealt with far worse than his occasional need to cause trouble.

Second, Peter's the only other agent he can find without camping out in their nemeses' lair until they show up. But he's also much further away than the others. As far as Heinz can tell, OWCA concentrated most of his pantheon around Danville. Their agents elsewhere are human. This makes Peter a bit harder to reach and if something goes wrong, he doesn't want them spiriting Peter away because he couldn't get to him in time.

Last, well. It's not something he would have thought of before Perry had said that OWCA had made hostages out of families, but family is Peter's area. If needed, he'll keep them safe, and everyone in the pantheon will trust him to do so.

Heinz is currently traveling very fast through metal and wires to Seattle. Several people probably feel a bit of static from his passing.

He emerges from a transformer and hangs from the pole by one hand, surveying the zoo below him. He'd found Peter's home by accident, apparently OWCA couldn't swing a pet ownership license for a panda. A platypus sure, but not a panda. There was probably a very anxious zookeeper somewhere down there that kept miscounting them.

He'd cut out any cameras the moment he'd arrived and no one's near by though he's hardly concerned about a civilian seeing them. He takes aim - and being bound must really affect their senses because Peter is asleep and hasn't noticed him intruding on his territory - and fires the Divine-inator.

Something indescribable, black and white and wooden, fractured across the grass and snapped the bamboo stems. He can hear crackling and clanging and the chop-chop of knives, the air grows hot and furious as the ground warps and the other pandas in the enclosure get as far away from the clawed mass in front of them as they can.

"Careful. You're scaring your tenants."

Perry was content to remain almost entirely formless, had dissolved back into color and sound before Heinz left like a human pulling on a comfortable hoodie. Peter seems to prefer a little form to his formlessness, as aside from the claws (sharp and silver with no limbs to hold them) there are suddenly seven jeweled eyes staring straight at Heinz.

It's the second time that day, the second time in decades, that Heinz has heard his name. He leans on the railing and pretends it's not because the sound of it makes his soul sigh.

"What did you do?"

"I made an inator!" He grins and waves his masterpiece as the seven jewels blink at him. "You're second, I got Perry first. Want to come back to my place so we can make a proper plan?"

Peter the Panda laughs, wild and unrestrained and burning. Heinz had been right about who was under the fur, and he's not surprised at Peter's reaction to working with Perry again.

Because while Perry had been a guardian and threshold deity linked with homes, Peter was the home. God of the hearth, abundance, and family. Their proximity had not made them conventional friends, and they spent much of their time at each other's throat. But target a home under their watch, and their alliance was immediate and effective.

The first time Heinz had seen them calmly talking to each other, no threat in sight, had been surreal. He doesn't know why he's reminded of it as Peter rushes like fire on oil across the enclosure and up the wall to land in front of Heinz. He shapes himself into something like a large human man with gold for eyes.

"Going to give me a ride back?" He grins. "I have a score to settle."

"You might need to let Perry settle that score, there's a complication." When the gold of his eyes turns to fire Heinz nods at the quivering pandas and says "Not all of them ended up in the zoo."

Peter hisses through sharp teeth. "Let's go. When we've got him we can settle the details."

Heinz sees him lay a blessing on the pandas as he drags him towards the transformer.

[wingedjellyfishflight]

Hunting Trip

"Have you even ever been hunting?" Ghost opens his mouth. "Animals, not people." His jaw snaps shut. "Yes, you can come with, but it's not like a mission. And you have to be nice. My dad and my brothers will be with us all week."

"I will play nice with your family, promise," he says, smirking down at you.

"I don't believe you when you say it like that, but I know it's the best I will get. You should be excited, though. I pulled really good tags. Moose, elk, and a black bear. I was not expecting the moose, or else I wouldn't have gone for the other two, but I can't turn down moose." He happily listens to you chatter away about the upcoming trip, your eagerness palpable.

"What will you do with the meat? And furs?" He doesn't really care, but he wants to listen to you talk.

"Oh, we have a guy that cuts it all up, and I'm old friends with a taxidermist. If I had more time, I would cut it up myself, but Captain said he can only give me one week, so butcher it is."

"Wait, wait, wait! You know how to cut up an animal? Why are you so bad at using knives in the field?"

"I hate using it against people. It's... too similar," you say with a small shudder before focusing back on the mission.

You catch a military flight back home three weeks later. You spend the trip curled up in the webbing and trying your best to nap after the week you had. Barely had time to clean up from the mission before you ran to the tarmac. Somehow, Ghost made it there long before you. Must be excited, you think, smiling up at the big guy.

Wrapping your arms around your dad and your big brothers doesn't feel like home, you realize with a pang. Not now that you are across the pond with the team. Price's gruff hug after a mission feels more comforting. Of course, part of it may be the glares they are shooting the "strange man" who walked in the door with you.

Introducing him isn't a disaster, per say, but for some reason, they had assumed you were bringing a woman when you told them a friend was tagging along. Luckily, tags haven't sold out since they assumed a woman friend wouldn't actually want to hunt, and you are able to get an elk tag for Ghost.

Your brothers mock him for living in a country without guns. The ribbing ends when he takes the rifle he is given apart for a thorough cleaning before putting it back together in record time. You know he is showing off and you also know that you won't have to clean the guns by yourself this year, which is a relief as your brothers and dad never seem to remember to clean them.

Your oldest brother talks about the moose he is going to get and the recipes he is going to make with it. You congratulate him on drawing a moose tag, too. He stares at you for a long moment before saying that he will be filling your tag and keeping the meat since you won't be able to take it all back.

"News to me. I got special permission and certification to bring back everything. I will be filling my tags and keeping what I get." Your brother looks like he's been slapped and opens his mouth to argue, but your dad steps in.

"Enough. You were supposed to ask, not make assumptions. She will be keeping what she kills, just as we have always done in this house."

The next morning, you wake up to see Ghost sitting and waiting in the chair next to your bed in the dark. The two of you sharing a bed had been an argument and a half the night before. It had only ended when you threatened to leave and stay at a hotel. You're more than capable of platonic sleeping, and you are old enough not to need to put up with their shit. It's still another two hours before the rest of the house will wake and three before you leave for hunting camp.

"Run?" You ask Ghost sweetly.

"Run," his deep voice responds. You manage good time, clocking in several miles before heading home, showering, and making breakfast. The bacon is finishing just as your dad ambles into the kitchen, dressed to go and yawning, but a smile on his face when he sees you cooking in the kitchen.

"You're up early, dear. Didn't need you to make breakfast for everyone," he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Oh, I didn't. Bruvs are on their own. Asshats kept opening my door to look in last night. They're gonna oversleep, I'm sure," you say with a frustrated smile. Your dad chuckles and claps a hand on Ghost's shoulder in good spirits.

"Ready to put in some miles, son? Could be a long day."

"Lamb warned me. We did a short run so we wouldn't be too worn out be day's end," Ghost says politely. You shoot him a glare at the use of your nickname.

"Yeah, so we-" you try to interject.

"Lamb? Like what? Lamb to slaughter? That doesn't sound..." Your dad flounders on what to say.

Before you can salvage it, Ghost jokes, "More like a lamb sending men to slaughter. Your daughter can hold her own in the field." Your elbow to his side doesn't even slow him down.

"Field? You are consulting in the field now? It's too dangerous to be around all those amped up men, sweetie," your dad admonishes you gently as the three of you sit to eat a quick breakfast.

"Just sometimes. You know how much I love my desk, dad. If I didn't work out with Ghost, I'd get fat," you joke. You know your dad is skeptical, but he worries enough without knowing the true nature of your work. You miss the glance the two men exchange. Breakfast finished, you rope Ghost into loading the last of the gear with you, trying to keep him away from your dad.

It's only minutes before time to leave when you see your brothers stumbling out of the house to the truck. You make sure to sit between your middle sibling and Ghost. Annoyingly, your brother manspreads, squishing your legs over despite your protests. Ghost is nice enough to let you rest your legs against his, giving you a little more room. At least it's only a few hours to hunting camp. You made sure to bring your own tent and gear, so you and Ghost will be cozy the entire trip. You knew from the start that you didn't want your family to see your newly acquired scars, especially the burns on your back from last year's incident. Roasted pork had been permanently removed from your menu after that one.

"So, you two fuckin or what?" Your middle brother asks out of the blue about an hour into the trip.

"Or what," is your flat answer. No matter which is true, you're not one to kiss and tell.

"You ever hunted an elk before, boy?" You grimace at your brother's terrible mouth filter.

"Not elk, no," comes the answer from your other side.

"Oh, sheep? Antelope?" You try to intervene, but you're not fast or loud enough to drown out Ghost's answer.

"People." The rest of the ride is mercifully silent with your brothers seemingly absorbed in staring out the windows.

Reaching camp, you and Ghost work as a well-oiled machine. After so many months and especially after the time spent together in the last month in the field, you work silently and smoothly. You help your dad set up their tent, your brothers gearing up already to hunt instead. Between the three of you, camp is set in record time. Your dad begs off hunting, claiming he is going to take a nap after the early morning and long drive there.

Having pre-selected your hunting areas as a safety measure, the two of you set off into your designated zone. You let your brothers pick what they considered the prime area, hoping they would bag out early and give you time to fill your own tags. Luck is in the chilly air, though, as you see sign of a black bear not far from the trailhead. Stalking it, you realize it is stalking a herd of elk itself.

Setting up a shot can be difficult. It's even more so when you are hunting a predator. When you shoot your bear, Ghost takes down a big bull elk, too. You send him back to camp to grab your dad and get the animals ready to move. Your dad switches off with both of you to help pull the game back. You load them in the back of the truck and hug both of them excitedly, happy with the quick start to the trip. Two tags done and two to go. Your brothers have no such luck, and they are less than thrilled with your first day success.

You almost laugh when your brothers corner you later, demanding answers. "How could you bring someone like him?!" Your oldest brother is indignant.

"It's not like I work with fucking girl scouts. What did you think spec ops guys do?"

"You never said-" your brother starts.

"I said he was a coworker. The fuck do you think that means, idiot."

"All you do is push papers, course we assumed he did the same," your younger brother interjects.

"Whatever. He's here now. Deal with it and stop being rude to him," you growl out.

The next morning, you get up early and drive into the local butcher to drop off the elk and bear. You come back and set off on an all-day scout to find a moose. You find mostly older evidence of them around, but also spot another elk herd and sign of deer. Your brothers get one deer between them, and they celebrate as if it was a world record animal.

The third day, you roll out of bed antsy. "Run?" Ghost asks with a grin. "Run," you answer easily. This time, you push nearly ten miles before calling it quits. Coming back, sweaty, and flushed gets your brothers riled up. Your response is simple. "Keep your hair on, lads. We just went for walkies. Haven't been getting enough exercise in and eating too well with dad feeding us."

They both bristle at your casual use of British slang and storm off to hunt again, unwilling to even talk to you. Your dad shakes his head. "They'll never see anything crashing around like that."

"Nope. Dad, you take our section today. We are going to push further up and try to glass a moose, and we saw some good elk out our way." By the end of the day, you're tired, but you did find fresh sign, which is encouraging. Just as your dad had predicted, your brothers didn't see anything all day. Your dad, on the other hand, had opted to be picky and didn't take any shots, but saw many animals.

Day four, you decide not to go for a run. It could be a tiring day if you get a moose and have to haul it down. With that in mind, you stage extra gear partway up to be able to move a moose back to camp more easily. You finally glass the moose you've been tracking near mid-day, getting eyes on it for the first time. It's a huge bull, well over the minimum horn size. Your hands shaking slightly, you take the shot. The bull goes down after just a few steps. Processing it takes longer than any other game you've done, but with Ghost helping, you get back to camp not long after dark. Your brothers managed to shoot an elk today, and you celebrate with them, happy that they are happy.

That night, you wake up to a hand pressed to your mouth and a gentle voice shushing you in your ear. Another nightmare, you realize. Your whimpers had woken Ghost, and he covered your mouth before the screams started that would have woken up the entire camp. You thank him with a shaky voice, and he moves his sleeping bag next to yours, wrapping around you. It's what the team has done for months when in the field as a warm body next to yours staves off the screaming and whimpering. Though it doesn't help with the nightmares themselves.

You get up extra early and drop the game off at the processor before heading back to camp. Today is your last chance to fill tags if you want to bring the meat back, so you move fast tracking an elk herd. It takes most of the morning, but you manage to find them and drop a good-looking bull. Hauling it back, you are elated to have filled all of your tags in time.

When you reach camp, you see that your dad has finally gotten his deer, but your brothers were empty-handed again. They complain about not seeing anything. Unable to help yourself, you say, "Maybe if you didn't sound like a pair of trucks crashing through the woods, you'd see something." This sets them off. They think you are making shit up, again, and talking down to them.

You decide they are a lost cause at this point, but Ghost offers to show them a few tricks on moving silently through the forest. He jokes that he isn't as good as you, but he's good enough.

"That's just because she doesn't move. She just sits there waiting for someone else to do the work." Ghost just shakes his head, knowing he can't tell them any stories. Your dad watches you closely, realizing that there is something more going on here, but unable to pinpoint exactly what that something is.

The next morning, Ghost goes with your eldest brother, and you take your middle sibling into your section. You hope that separating them will help increase their chances of filling tags. Your brother pays closer attention than you'd thought he would, and his walking quiets tenfold. He keeps trying to talk to you until finally you snap at him.

"Please shut up. You can talk after you shoot something." Mercifully, he is quiet. You spot the elk herd you've been tracking and move him to set up the shot. He tries to silently argue about where to move to, but you glare until he follows your directions. He settles in and nearly spooks the herd, stepping on a stick as he shifts his body around. Thinking quickly, you almost perfectly imitate a young bull's call, which settles the cows and brings the bull closer to where the two of you are standing, looking for the challenging bull. Your brother successfully takes the shot. And he is ecstatic, whooping and hollering as the cows all take off into the surrounding forest, leaving you far behind.

You help your brother break the bull down for packing out. He looks a lot nervous at the size of one of the packs, clearly not looking forward to carrying it out, until you shoulder it easily. His surprise doesn't surprise you, though. Your brothers hadn't paid much attention to you after they moved out, and basically, none once you enlisted in the military. Upon reaching camp, you find that you are the first ones back. You help him load the elk into the back of the truck and make lunch silently. He looks like he wants to say something, but he never gets it out of his mouth. He spends the time simply standing around, thinking hard and barely interacting with you, though he is watching you closely.

When you hear heavy footsteps coming through the woods, you hurry to meet your dad, helping him drag his big elk back to camp. "Surprised you hauled it back yourself, old man," you tease.

"I've been dragging elk out of the woods for twice as long as you've been alive, girlie." The grin on his face couldn't be matched though when you load it up by yourself, waving him off. The last to return were not successful. It seems your older brother decided that he would show Ghost a thing or two and refused any advice or tips. Thus, he didn't see anything all day. You shoot a look of sympathy at Ghost. That couldn't have been easy to handle silently. He just rolls his eyes back at you, tapping his fingers on his thigh. You tap your fingers back at him and go back and forth in Morse Code. He tells you about how many deer your brother missed seeing sign of or scared off because he wouldn't shut up.

You share how your other brother did, and he smiles at the success you had with him. He tells you that you should take your older brother for one last morning hunt on the sixth day. Maybe you can make him shut the hell up.

Sighing out loud, you say, "Bro, I'll take you out tomorrow morning instead of Ghost. We will get your tag filled." Your brother agrees and mentions that he will show you how it is done, which makes everyone laugh at him.

"Bruv, we are filling your tag. I filled all of mine already. Seems I need to show you how it's done."

He sputters, and your younger brother adds, "It took us just two hours to find a herd of elk. She knows what she's doing, bro. Better hunter than me, for sure." This makes your oldest brother glower, but he finally shuts up.

In the morning, he tries to tell you what to do, and you finally tell him to knock it off after about twenty minutes. He growls, "I'm the oldest. I'm in charge."

You laugh quietly and respond, "Whatever, if you think age is all that matters, you're an idiot. Let's go, and if you want that deer, you'll listen to me. Ghost told me how many you missed or scared off by being too loud and cocky yesterday."

"He what?! Why didn't he tell me? We could have filled my tag yesterday!"

"Probably because you're being such an asshole to him." You shrug like it's the clearest thing in the world because to you it is. Grumbling, your brother follows you. Gradually, he picks up on your mannerisms and his walking quiets, but it still sounds like a moose shoving through a bush most of the time. You stop suddenly, and he nearly runs into you, not paying attention. Grabbing a bit of hair from a bush, you show him silently before walking on quieter than before. Slowly, sign becomes more frequent, and finally, you spot the deer herd. Your brother gets his deer, a big buck, and you help him break it down and load it into the packs. You add both hindquarters to one pack, and he complains that you're trying to load him too heavy. When you shoulder the heavier pack, he then jokes meanly that you're just showing off.

"Just give me that one. I don't want to have to switch off partway down because you're tired," he crows. You ignore him and set off down the trail, too annoyed to even respond to his rudeness. A grunt follows you as he shoulders his pack. At the halfway point, he is nearly wheezing with the added weight of the head on his pack.

"I need... to... stop..." he huffs. "This pack... is too... heavy..."

You wave at him to stop, and when he does, you walk around him and unhook the head from the top of his pack. Hefting it over your shoulders, you use the antlers to keep it in place at the top of your pack. "Let's go. We don't have all day," you call back to him. You can feel his stare as you hump down the mountain, moving faster now that he isn't slowing you down as much. Luckily, it's only a few miles to camp because you're exhausted after hauling so much on your back. Your dad scolds you that you should have sent someone back to get the rest of them to help, and you shrug it off.

"No sense in wasting time, dad. We got it down just fine." Happily, the three of them already have camp broken down except for the makeshift shower area. You've mostly avoided using it, just wiping down with a washcloth, but the deer head bled on your neck and down your back the whole way. "Ghost, can you help check me for ticks," you ask quietly as you strip off your gear before walking to the shower. Your brothers grumble about the two of you showering together, but you don't care as Ghost is the only one you trust to do it and the only one that knows why you won't wear tank tops very often anymore.

When you're nearly finished, Ghost convinces you to put lotion over your burn scars as they are flaring up from the lack of it in the last few days. He walks out in just a pair of shorts and shoes to dig through your pack, ignoring the suspicious stares of your brothers and their stares at his scarred torso. You manage to bite back the moan when Ghost swipes over the first scar, but not the whimper of pain when he brushes the second, which is severely inflamed. He whispers an apology and continues, knowing that you hate pausing part way when treating them, even if it hurts badly.

When you walk out fully dressed and he is still in just shorts, your brothers shoot him similar dirty looks. "Couldn't keep it in your pants a minute longer, eh?" says your younger brother angrily.

"You're disgusting! Havin sex with my sister feet away from her family," adds your older brother.

"Shut up, idiots. He was rubbing lotion on my s-back. I needed it done, and I can't reach the dry skin there easily," you growl at them.

"We know you're lying. You're disgusting. Can't believe you, seriously."

Your dad sees the stubborn set of your eyes and the hurt beneath. His sons have gone too far, he knows. "Knock it off, boys. You've been nothing but rude this entire trip, and I'm sick of it."

"But dad...!"

"Sugar, just tell them. You've been stepping around questions and hiding yourself long enough," Ghost's voice cuts through the air.

"You gay or somethin? Would make sense, but you know we don't care," your oldest brother says as he just can't help himself. It makes you mad enough to about face away from them and rip your shirt off angrily, showing them your back.

"No, bruv. He means I should show you why I couldn't make it on the trip last year. The things I hide by telling you that I consult for the Task Force rather than telling you that I am a member of the task force. I... I haven't wanted to worry you, dad." You nearly whisper the last in the complete silence that follows. Ghost rests a hand on your shoulder, watching their reactions carefully. Their eyes trace up and down the burns that mar the middle of your back and dipping down below the waist of your pants.

"You called from the hospital," your dad says finally. The pieces are clicking into place for him. "I remember hearing the beeping in the background, and you sounded... stressed."

"It was a long recovery. They had to harvest donor skin, but luckily, I got to be a guinea pig on a new treatment that sped things up," you say quietly.

"How did this happen? Why weren't we notified? You didn't let us visit or anything?!" You're surprised to hear your middle brother sounding upset. You take the time to fix your shirt, thinking about what to say.

"I was on a mission. There was a complication, and it bollocksed up the whole thing." You pause as you think back to it. "Anyway, I got caught under some burning shit and yea, this happened."

The glare Ghost gives you has you rolling your eyes at the intimidating man. "You forgot the part where you held a burning timber up to save someone and crawled out on your own, refusing to medivac until the mission objective was completed. I think that adds a few important details to the whole thing."

"And...what were you doing when this happened," your oldest brother demands.

"He was shooting anyone who tried to come near us. Saved my life, he did," you say with a grateful smile up at Ghost.

"So, you've been lying to us about your job and getting hurt, and what else? How do we know what to believe now? You only make it back here once a year, after all." Your oldest brother sounds betrayed, his tone accusing.

You just shrug and shake your head, ignoring his questions and accusations. "You gonna shower before we go, or can we break camp and head home?"

"Let's go. I want away from you as fast as possible," he sneers, turning away from you angrily.

"Fine with me," you say in a flat voice. You take down the last few tarps and drain the water with Ghost's help. The trip to the processor and back home is silent in the car, your dad and brothers thinking heavily on what they learned today while you and Ghost simply enjoy the peace and quiet. As soon as you get home, your oldest brother leaves, tires squealing as he takes off in his truck. You just shake your head, disappointed that he's still got his head so far up his ass after all this time.

You pack the meat from the butcher into coolers for the trip home to London. "You should probably call Captain and tell him to pick up another freezer or two," Ghost jokes as more and more coolers are filled and packed into the back of the truck you rented.

"I had three delivered while we were gone," you grin up at him. "Good thing I got my permission ahead of time. Captain is dying to try this stuff."

"You think they'll let you on with it all? It's more than I expected, and I thought I had a pretty good idea of what to expect," he says, a little worried.

"Oh, I grabbed bribe jerky from the butcher. They'll be excited enough not to care once I pass it around," you say with a knowing smile.

"You know the way to a man's heart, luv."

"Yes, ordnance and explosives," you quip with a loud laugh, making him grin down at you.

Telling your middle brother and dad goodbye the next morning is hard. They both hold tightly to you, and you nearly have to pry your dad off when you go to leave, his worries making him want to hold you tight and keep you safe.

"I'll be back next year, I promise. We probably will need to hunt extra, knowing how much the team will love this meat," you assure him with a smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. You drive back to the air strip, happy to have ended things on a better note.

"So, yer dad is the dog's bollocks. Brothers are shite though," Ghost says as you drive away. You laugh. It's all you can do. When you show up with a pallet of coolers, the flight crew is ready to deny you until you hand over your certificates and small box of jerky to share between them. They eagerly call over the forklift to load the pallet, and you spend the whole trip listening to hunting stories from their childhood and telling your own with Ghost listening quietly at your side.

Captain Price is there waiting on the tarmac when you land. His eyes bulge when he sees how many coolers you brought back. "I take it the hunt was successful then," he teases.

"Yeah, just a bit. Bet you thought the freezers were overkill, eh?"

He laughs, "You know I did. Set them up anyway. Welcome home, kids," he says, ruffling your hair as he wraps you in a hug and gripping Ghost's arm in a friendly squeeze. You smile up at him, happy to be home with your team.