#like for me I'm not triggered by much things like blood or guns

[c00kietin]

hiya!! Just wanted to say again, like I said on my pinned, to correct me if I made a mistake. If I spell something wrong (mainly as in non-english words), say or make something that might be insensitive/offensive that isn't tagged properly (e.g. humour that mentions drugs/guns), if I interact with proshippers or war/genocide supporters or racists or bigots or homophobics or people who have harmed other people et cetera.

Other people probably also feel this way but I constantly worry that I'll say or do something wrong/problematic- or that I already have- without knowing.

In the past I've liked proship art without realising (mindless scrolling and not being very familiar with the characters) and I was very lucky that people kindly pointed it out to me so I could stop. I panicked a LOT because of worry but people were understanding and now I don't worry about it as much and dont like proship art of them.

again, please, PLEASE tell me when I make mistakes. thank you. Sorry if I sound like a broken record. If I'm wrong/incorrect about something, tell me. thank you.

[lady-djarin]

on my radar

joel miller x f!reader (one shot)

warnings/tags: edited very little so sorry! dual pov, jackson era dark!joel, SMUT (oral fem receiving, p in v), stalker behavior from mr miller, age gap (50s/20s), joel is kind of a creep but reader is kinda into it, murder off screen, cannon typical violence, men harassing women (a guy is gross with reader/unwanted touching etc) NO R*PE, possessive talk and nicknames (mine, love, my girl, good girl etc), reader can be lifted by mr big man joel but otherwise no really specific details about readers body other than the usual fem. 18+ minors be gone!,

word count: 5.8k

* ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

YOU

You almost dropped it twice, your gloved fingers slipped around the smooth metal of the gun as you fumbled to pull the trigger. The clicker was quickly stumbling toward you even on its one and a half limbs. You and your patrol partner got separated when a small swarm of the dead caught you both off guard in a densely wooded area . As you were trapped in a corner of a hunting shed by the crawling thing, you felt your heart rate begin to rise and the feeling of dread set in that this might be your last moment.

You saw the blood hit your gloves before you even heard the blade hack into its head. Then the body hit the floor.

You looked up to find your patrol partner standing there with a machete clutched in his hand. He was looming over you with a look very close to anger creasing his brows and his chest heaving in exhaustion. He grabbed the gun out of your hand and grabbed your arm to pull you away from the writhing body. He hacked the large blade into the neck to fully decapitate the head then stabbed into the ear to finally kill it.

“Do you even know how to use this thing?” His voice had an edge to it, like he was mad, or scared as he held up the gun in your face.

You looked at him with tears brimming your lash line, the cold was seeming to freeze them before they tried to fall down your cheek. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Have you ever been on patrol?” His eyes narrowed as they scanned your face, then your body.

“No.” Your mouth was so dry.

“Who sent you on patrol!? What the hell…,” he grumbled as he turned away. “I asked you a question.” He shot another nasty glare your way when you didn’t answer.

His statement kind of shocked you, not a lot of people are blunt like that.

“Uhm, I asked Tommy, I wanted to help.”

“Fucking Tommy, sticking me with a kid.”

“Hey I might be new to this but I'm not a kid,” you chased after him and that didn't help your defense.

“Jesus…,” he was grumbling again and marching away, toward where you hid the horses. The two of you set out on patrol a couple hours before, your first time outside the gates in Jackson. You had heard rumors about Joel, people said he was ‘rough around the edges but good people’. You had seen him around the community and wondered if he was someone you could get along with. He seemed like he was an outsider, kind of like you. When you learned you were partnered with him you figured it was going to be difficult, but this was a little much.

You were on your way through the state trying to get to where your dad lived in Sundance when you ran into some trouble near their camp and they took you in until you recovered. They stitched you up after they found a nasty gash on your ribs when you were discovered fighting off a pack of stalkers. After arriving at the Jackson community, you learned that Sundance was completely overrun. The sparse community there hunkered down in their homes after the outbreak but with the large swarms that came through the area, pretty much everyone fled and went their own ways. You could barely stand the thought that your dad was caught in the middle but he was strong, he could find his way out.

He had to.

So you remained in Jackson, becoming a part of the community, and everyone in the community had to help out somehow. You felt indebted to Tommy and the community for helping you and making you feel at home here after your recovery. That's why you wanted to go on patrol, you felt like you could help. Joel clearly didn't agree.

That last fucking thing he wanted to do was teach some rookie how to handle themselves on patrol. He was pissed and you could see it in the tense bunching of his shoulders as he rode on in front of you. You felt kind of bad for having Joel take care of you back there but he didn't have to be such an ass about it.

“Hey,” you rode up next to him. “Look I know I'm not who you wanted to be on patrol with but just give me a chance ok? I'm just trying to do a job here.”

He barely looked your way, he just kind of grunted before urging his horse over the final path into Jackson.

Alright then.

You didn't see those broad hunching shoulders for a couple days after, though he clearly had been talking about you. Tommy took you off patrol so Joel obviously made his concerns clear to his brother. When you did see him it was from across a room or passing in the street, but even in brief passes it felt like a tension was always present. His brows would bunch in the middle as he scanned you. It always felt like a judgment maybe, or some kind of disgust the way he would observe you. You quite honestly thought he hated you.

JOEL

You looked cute when you were mad, actually to Joel you always looked cute. Your cheeks were pink with the morning cold, your breath steamed in the air as you huffed through your nose. You were mad because he was ignoring you, and he was ignoring you because he was scared shitless when he came into that hunting hide and found you cornered by one of the dead. It scared the living shit out of him to think about how you were almost torn apart.

He doesn't remember the exact day that he started to care a little too much about you, it was a slow thing. It took over his life, watching you as you became integrated into the fabric of the town. The people of Jackson welcomed you and you welcomed them right back. People loved you and you got along with pretty much everyone. He started to notice you when he saw you and Ellie chatting about something girl related in the mess hall. He noticed how you seemed to genuinely invested in your conversation with Ellie, hanging on to her every word. Next thing he knows he's thinking about you every waking hour, and you haunt most of his dreams. It feels like you are a presence in his chest that he can't carve out and he has tried.

Joel had tried to occupy himself by relieving the tension himself, trying to dissolve the desire he had for you. It didn't work, of course, but he couldn't help himself.

He refused to actually make any kind of relationship with you, he felt like it would look inappropriate. He was a grumpy gray haired man and you were young and bright, he felt like he would be too rough for you anyway. He was a broken man, his hands were dirty with death and guilt and blood. He could see the innocence in your eyes, the way you smiled with your whole heart when talking to people, especially someone he cares for.

Maybe those were the moments he truly started to have real feelings for you, seeing the way you cared for Ellie. Everytime he would see you it made his heart skip a beat, it almost confused him at first, like his heart was waking up from a decades long nap. His chest hurt with how intensely he was starting to ache without you near, it only ever stopped when he saw you or felt you close or smelled your shampoo as you walked by. It was the same as everyone else as there was a lady in Jackson who made everyone soap but still when it lingered after you it smelled like heaven to Joel.

All that to say, Joel still felt like it was wrong to pursue you. You were and always will be the one that got away.

He needed to stay away.

YOU

It had been a couple weeks or so, maybe longer since you saw those grumpy brown eyes. You had started to miss him, as painful as it was to admit. Even though he was barely a colleague, definitely not a friend, you were missing the way… he was mean to you? No, that can’t be right. Why would you miss a man that is anything but nice around you?

Tommy had found you another job working at the local watering hole/dining hall, as the patrol thing clearly wasn’t going to work. He was walking you around the hall, introducing you to the people you would be working with when you heard a familiar voice.

“Hey Tommy, you here?”

“Yea Joel, in here.”

Shit.

“Oh hey Joel…” You wanted to keel over and die.

”H-hey.” He seemed… odd.

They chatted about something security related and you were introduced to the hall supervisor. As you talked on one end of the room, Joel and Tommy were on the other and it felt like neither of you could look away from the other. Your eyes kept finding each other, each time it felt longer and longer, like the world was falling away. It felt much different than the last time you spoke, like he might not actually hate you. It was an odd feeling, having his eyes on you, he was almost predatory.

Even as he looked over what felt like every couple seconds, he still had this pinched, angry look on his face.

But it was hard to look away. Joel was mesmerizing but you knew deep down he could never be interested the way you would want him to be. He was a grumpy older man that wanted nothing to do with the new young girl in town.

You didn’t see him for a while after that.

JOEL

Joel Miller was by no means a good man. A good man wouldn’t be watching you like this, following an unsuspecting woman around town. A good man wouldn’t watch you as you walked around the Jackson streets, minding your business, talking to your new found friends.

Ever since seeing you again at the dining hall he couldn’t rid his mind of you, as hard as he tried. He knew he would ruin you if you let him, if he even got one taste he would be addicted. Not like he wasn’t now, leering at you talking to patrons at your job. He felt dirty in a way, like he wasn’t allowed to look, not allowed to have the urge to bash in the head of any man who looks at you wrong. Like the guy you were helping now, Mike, every time you turned away to get him what he asked for, he could see his slimy gaze caressing your curves.

He felt like he was going crazy, not being able to be near you like he truly wants. He wasn’t sleeping well, barely eating enough to keep him upright and almost missed patrol on more than one occasion. His mind was playing tricks on him, he would find you in dreams, wake up to find you cooking breakfast in his kitchen or walking hand in hand down the streets of Jackson. The cruel reality that he would never have that always hit him hard in the morning when the sunlight came streaming over his bedspread.

He often found himself turning over, searching for you.

Sometimes they were nightmares, visions of you being attacked by the dead or one of Jackson’s very own.

That’s why he was here, making sure you were safe from the dangers of this world. It was his job.

He was there until you got off work, gathering your belongings and heading out the door when Mike popped around the corner. Joel was immediately on high alert, watching the man’s every move as he advanced on an unsuspecting you. He stalked after the two of you, staying just out of sight. His blood boiled when he saw Mike call after you.

She’s mine, he thought.

He stayed across the street, just in case things went sideways. In case he put his hands on what didn’t belong to him.

“Hey! Saw ya leaving work, how was your night?” Ok, nice enough but Joel knew he was clearly waiting for you to leave work.

“It was ok, just tired and ready to go home.” You were being polite but clearly trying to convey that you were going home, alone. That’s my girl.

“I’d like to talk to ya though, ya know i’ve seen ya ‘round and think you’re real cute. Come on, please? One chance?” He’s persistent, that's for sure. Walking the line there, Mike.

“That’s sweet but I’m not really looking for anyone right now, I just got here a few months ago…” You kept walking and you kept your eye contact away from him, smart girl.

“If you give me a chance I’ll show ya I’m worth it. I promise baby.” You were not his baby.

“I’m not your baby, Mike. Please, I just want to go home.” You turned towards him now with determination in your tired eyes.

Mike clearly wasn’t hearing you, or just not caring because as you tried to turn away he grabbed your arm and pinned your back against a wall.

He’s dead.

YOU

I’m dead. This stupid asshole is going to kill me. Your mind was racing as you looked for ways out. Mike’s front was almost completely pushed against yours now as he trapped you against the brick wall. You could now smell the alcohol on his breath now that he was on top of you. You tried to break free, maybe he was drunk enough where you could shake him off. You could tell that wasn’t the case when he groaned in delight.

“Mhmm, keep doing that baby. I like feeling ya move that pretty body.” You wanted to puke, his greasy beard and sour breath was assaulting your space. You froze your body in an attempt to get him off you but he leaned in, trying to capture your lips. You whipped your head to the side and squeezed your eyes shut trying to block out whatever he might do next. Only, when you expected his lips or something on you, there was nothing. His entire weight was gone and you almost slumped to the floor in relief. When you opened your eyes, there was nothing, no one in sight, not even a sound. Mike was nowhere to be seen, nor was anyone else. If you weren’t so relieved that the creep was gone, you’d be freaked out. It felt like one of those eerie horror movies you watched before the word turned into one itself.

You weren’t really sure what else to do other than go home. You walked the quiet streets towards your small house and barricaded your door that night, just to be safe.

…..

“Have you heard?! I can’t believe it!” Angela’s voice shook you out of your tired daze. No matter how you tried to occupy your mind or sleep last night you couldn’t shake what Mike did to you. “It was Mike! That’s who it was that was found behind the dinner hall.”

Mike? Did you hear her right?

“Wait, Mike, like creepy Mike?”

“Yes!” Angela never learned how to not raise her voice.

Mike was dead. He was dead behind where you worked after he assaulted you. That seemed… convenient. Did that make you a bad person?

“They are calling everyone to the town hall for an announcement.” This was the only time they have done this in the short time you’ve been here.

Everyone walked over and filled the hall wall to wall. Tommy, Maria and a few other members in charge of running Jackson stood on the stage of the building that looked to once be a school auditorium, including Joel. Your eyes caught him up there as soon as you walked in, recognizing his brown curls anywhere. Tommy walked up to the top of the stage and everyone immediately quieted down, they clearly respected him.

“Hey ya’ll… Uh, unfortunately it's not good news that calls us together today.” He was clearly nervous. “One of our own is gone, Mike Walton. Now I know in this world losing someone happens more often than we would expect but this one is different. It happened in our walls and we think, committed by one of our own.”

Murder. He was killed. Fuck.

The crowd was starting to murmur and quietly panic. You felt responsible somehow, like you being the last one to see him, you think, meant… something. You had to tell them what happened last night, if only to make sure they know now instead of finding out some other way. So they know you're not hiding anything.

You stayed after the crowd cleared, listened to Tommy assure everyone that they are safe and he is putting security measures in place. You went up to the stage and caught Maria’s attention, you felt comfortable with her and maybe she would be more understanding. She really helped you assimilate when you recovered and felt kind of like a sister in a way.

“Hey sweetie, how ya doing?”

“I need… I need to tell you something.”

She took you to a more private area and you told her what happened the night before. She listened dutifully as you recounted your story and it really made it strangely better to talk about it. It was by no means easy to forget but knowing someone was listening helped. After you finished and she gave you a reassuring hug, she brought you back to Tommy… and Joel.

“Ok hon, I will need to tell Tommy about this, I’ll only include the necessary things.” You nodded knowing you could trust both of them with the news. “Joel, would you be able to walk her home? I don’t want to take any chances here.” Maria did say to you privately that she was going to treat this as if you were in danger in some way, in case this turned out to be about you.

He only nodded in your direction, extending his arm, signaling you to lead the way. You walked the streets, the silent tall man trailing behind you. You stopped so abruptly that Joel backed up in surprise.

“I don’t need you walking behind me like a bodyguard.”

“Where should I walk?” His voice dripped with something dark.

“W-well…I don’t know, next to me like a normal person?”

All he does is silently walk up to you and nod forward urging you on. You kept walking, feeling Joel’s arm brush up against yours and the tension was building before either of you said anything. You arrived at your building in silence and he walked you up the steps, more than you were expecting from the distant man. You paused as you opened the door and realized something, if Maria is right and someone is after you, they could be in your house.

“Y’ok?” His voice was low and rough.

“Uh… actually, no. Joel, would you be able to come in… and uh, check it out? Just to make sure, I don’t know…someone’s not— not in there?”

You swore his eyes softened at your nervous request, maybe he felt bad. He followed you inside and had you wait by the door as he surveyed the rest of the house. He came back within only a few minutes and you were relieved it was quiet in the house.

“You’re all good here darlin’,” he stood by the kitchen counter almost like he was avoiding leaving.

But you didn’t want him to leave.

JOEL

He knew no one would be in your house, there was no one after you. Except him. He saw Mike put his hands and other parts on you and something flipped in his brain. He went feral and had been looking for an opportunity to take this guy out. He was a menace to the community but Tommy said there was no legitimate reason. Usually he wanted a blatant offense to take action or even exile someone. Mike was sneaky, that was the problem, he was good at hiding his deplorable behavior towards women behind being friendly with most of the male Jackson population.

Joel was so sick of it, and he likes to pretend that’s why he was there that night, not that he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. For weeks now he had been everywhere you were, coincidence of course. He needed to make sure that you were safe, that someone would be there for you. Even if he couldn’t have you, he needed to watch over you. You had completely consumed his life, every waking and sleeping hour he had his mind on you.

The worst of it he thinks was a few weeks into his obsession, he found himself across the street from your house, crouched in the bushes like a maniac. He watched your silhouette as you turned about the room, picking things up, gathering our belongings and just generally going about your home life. It was so magical to him to see you living your life unencumbered by the burden of how cruel people can be. He had to make sure no one took that from you.

He was pulled from his thoughts by your sweet voice. “Joel? You ok?”

“Y-ya sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted a drink.”

“Oh, uh- sure sweetheart.”

He watched you go over to a cabinet and pull out a dwindling bottle of something dark that made his mouth water. You had good taste.

That's my girl.

You slid over the glass with a small amount of whiskey and you each sipped it slowly.

“Thanks for walking me home, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem darlin’, but I'm sure you’re safe. No one’s gonna hurt ya.”

“Sure doesn’t feel that way.”

YOU

“I promise you, no one will ever…ever hurt you again.” The way Joel said it, it was like he had murder in his eyes. He was so intense that you believed him, like he would protect you. You felt a thrill pass down your spine from his gruff voice. He was always a rugged man with his height, his broad shoulders and intimidating dark eyes but now, he looked downright deadly.

For a minute you worried that Joel could be responsible— no he would never. Even if he did, could you really be upset at him making this community safer? Did that make you a bad person?

He was looking at you like prey he wanted to devour. It made your pulse race, it made your core throb. The tension had been growing since the walk back and it was evident to both of you. Joel circled the kitchen counter to come right in front of you. Both your glasses forgotten, he caged you in with his hands on the counter bracketing your hips. Without a word he brought a hand up to cup your cheek, his calloused skin caressed your skin much lighter than you were expecting. The only sound in the house was your heavy breathing as he stared down at you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about Joel. Not necessarily bad but just something sharp and scary, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as he slowly leaned down to hover his lips over yours, asking for more.

Even if Joel was a bad man, fuck it.

You leaned up slightly to meet his lips and all self control went out the window. His hands were all over you in a second, hips pressed into yours as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Your head spun as he licked into you and nipped at your bottom lip causing a whimper to escape your lungs. It all became very frantic as he lifted you up onto the counter and bit and kissed his way down your neck. You knew there would be evidence of it the next morning and it kind of excited you to know you’d have Joel’s marks on you. His greedy hands were groping and squeezing every inch of you and you couldn’t get enough. With your own shaky hands you tried to unbutton his shirt but Joel stopped you.

“R’ya sure baby girl?” You swore you felt slick dripping down your inner thighs. “Jus’ gotta tell me and I’ll stop, ’k?”

All you could do was nod.

“I need words.”

“Y-yes,” you practically moaned.

“Good girl.” Fuck, his voice. Your hips rolled forward on the counter, trying to gain any friction. Your clit was pulsing with need and both of you were getting impatient. “Thank god, otherwise I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.” He mumbled it almost to himself.

You gasped as he pulled off the counter and led you up the stairs in silence. Any other person would think he was angry but you knew, he was anything but. He led you to your bedroom and it briefly dawned on you that he was leading you there, he knew where your bedroom was. There was always something intense about Joel, you knew that from the start, it's one of the reasons you were drawn to him. But due to recent events you were starting to question just how depraved he might be. You hated to assume anything but you somehow knew deep down that he was the one who… saved you from Mike. That’s what it was, he saved you from being killed, or worse.

Once in your bedroom Joel turned and pushed you against the wall, attaching his lips to your neck.

He hummed deep in his throat, almost a moan. “Mhmm, darlin’ you are so sweet. Y’smell so good.” He was mumbling into your throat, half kissing, half biting. You were each pulling clothes off the other, desperate to feel skin. When Joel had you completely bare for him, you tried to cover yourself, mostly out of habit.

“You… you are perfect baby.” His eyes dark with desire as he pulled your hands up his mouth and kissed your knuckles. “Don’t cover up, I wanna see ya.” He pulled your hands away as he backed you up to the bed and gently pushed you back onto the soft quilt. You stared up at him, taking in his form, he was still in his jeans but bare from the waist up. You admired his graying hair that led below his belt, mouth watering at the bulge underneath. Before you could reach for his belt, he looped his strong arms under your knees and pulled your butt toward the end of the bed. With cracking knees he knelt in front of the bed and his face became level with your dripping core. His eyes were locked on you, his lips almost matching the way you drooled between your legs.

“Joel—,” you were unable to form words, the breath perpetually caught in your throat.

“Shhh, I know hon, I gotcha,” his voice was lower than you ever heard it, something dangerous simmering below the surface.

“Joel, wait—,” he moved up your body at your request. “I just… I’m confused,” you were shaking and out of breath but you needed to ask him. “I thought you didn’t like me… it’s just every time we would see each other you seemed to avoid me at all costs and now…”

“The only reason I was acting like that was because I liked you… too much.” His eyes hovered directly over yours, deep pools of obsidian overtaken with the desire. “I thought I was protecting you, from myself. But I… I,” he almost seemed nervous in a way, but there was still the underlying grumble of anger in his chest.

“What?”

“I see now that I have to protect you from everyone else.” He said it with such a darkness settled over his face, and it took you a minute to register what he was admitting.

He killed Mike. Holy shit.

Your whole body froze and you felt your eyes widen and breath pick up. But you also had this deep feeling in your gut, was that arousal? Were you attracted to this? That dropping feeling in your stomach told you that you were. Jesus, did that make you a bad person? Fuck it.

You grasped your fingers through his hair, pulling him down to you as you attached your lips to his.

JOEL

You were a vision, puffy lips wet from kissing, eyes blown wide as your chest heaved. “You protected me?”

Oh, fuck me.

“Of course baby girl,” he needed you to know this was all for you. He was yours and you were his. “No one will take you from me.”

He worked his way down your body, kissing and nipping his way to your center again. He spread your legs and stared into your dripping folds as he got onto his knees again. You whimpered and moaned his name and he relished the sounds, he loved hearing and seeing you react to his touch. He wanted nothing more than to hear you scream his name.

“I wanna feel ya’ cum on my tongue darlin’,” he loved the way your pussy drooled for him. Joel felt like a man starved, like he was finally seeing water after a year in the desert. He licked a broad stripe up your folds then sealing his lips around your clit and sucking. You screamed and he felt your thighs wrap around his head only spurring him on further. He pulled your legs in front of him and pushed to the mattress, opening you up further for his enjoyment. When he worked two fingers into you, he knew you were close based on your shaking and whimpering.

“I-I’m so close baby,” you sounded so cute, so desperate. “I need— please Joel.”

He wanted you to fall apart, speeding up his movements he knew it wouldn’t be long now. He curled his fingers while lapping at your clit, he felt your walls flutter and tighten around his fingers.

“Cum for me angel.”

You broke. Joel’s fingers were covered in your juices and you screamed his name as you came. He kept up his movements to prolong your pleasure, he reveled in the way your legs shook with overstimulation.

“Oh… my god,” you sighed as Joel crawled his way back up to your face, slotting himself between your legs.

YOU

He entered you slowly. You could feel every vein and edge of him and you were thankful he readied you with his fingers because Joel was not a small man. He started slow, presumably for your benefit, but soon his pace picked up and the crown of his dick was hitting a spot inside of you that made you see stars.

“Fuck— You feel so good,” he puncuate each word with with his hips, each time driving you up the bed. You grabbed onto his shoulders, trying to gain leverage but you were unable to do anything except take his brutal pace. He was past holding himself back now, you swore you felt him in places you never thought possible. You recognized somewhere in the back of your mind that letting the man who… murdered someone for you fuck you into your mattress might be a bad move. Too bad he was too good at it for you to care. You felt the coil of your orgasm tightening in your lower stomach as Joel leaned back, looming over you like a dark angel.

“I want you to touch yourself,” he pulled one of your hands towards your clit. “Cum for me baby.”

You pressed and circled your fingertips into the bundle of nerves, your pleasure just seconds from cresting. Joel must have felt it because he gripped your hips and pulled you into his lap, picking up his pace and punching into your g-spot.

“Oh fuck!— I’m gonna cum baby…plea—,” you couldn’t even get the rest of the word out as your orgasm crashed into you. You think you might have blacked out as your vision went blank for a moment and you think you heard yourself screaming. Joel kept up his pace and rode you through it all.

“Mmm that’s it, that’s my good girl…,” his voice was low and gravely in your ear when he leaned over, pushing almost all his weight on top of you while he chased his high.

“P-please Joel, cum inside m-me,” his harsh movements made it hard to talk, hard to breathe. You didn’t care though, you were desperate to feel him finish inside you.

“Inside you baby? Ngh, tha—that’s my good gi—,” he didn’t finish his sentence either as he almost collapsed on top of you. You wrapped your legs around his hips and held him there as he filled you up. He grunted and groaned in your ear as he came down, he pulled out slowly making sure you were comfortable and kissed his way down your neck and chest. “Stay here baby.” You laid there unable to move and watched his naked form as he found your bathroom with ease and came back with a warm washcloth. As he cleaned you, you recalled his words, ‘my good girl’. His.

“Joel?” He didn’t respond with words, only hummed at you to continue while he cleaned your inner thighs. “Did you mean it? I’m…,” you were hesitant to speak it, what if you were wrong? What if it was something he said in the heat of the moment. You felt the bed dip and he settled beside you, towel discarded.

“Use your words honey, what’s on your mind?” He moved a bit of hair out of your face and waited patiently for you to continue.

“I’m yours? Not just tonight.” You met his gaze with timid eyes.

“Yes, of course. Y’have been since I first saw you.” He kissed you deep, lips prying yours apart. “I protected you, remember? I wasn’t gonna let anyone hurt you, especially not him.”

He looked at you with nothing but truth in his eyes. He really did kill Mike, holy shit. He did it for you. In this world maybe you could rest easier knowing you had someone to protect you like that. Joel may be a scary man, but you had nothing to fear for yourself with him around. You slept that night more soundly than you had in ten years. wrapped in the strong arms of a man who chased your nightmares away.

[micahwrites16]

Not Even the Force - Anakin Skywalker

TW: smut!

3.3k words

One thing about Anakin Skywalker is that he is possibly the most protective person you will ever meet.

If there were even the slightest bit of danger, he would lock you up if he could.

It's not necessarily out of possessiveness or over-protectiveness, but more fear of losing someone he loves. After his mother died, a part of him broke and no matter how hard you can try to love it better, you can't, and that's something you have had to come to terms with for a while now.

Just like his unwavering defensiveness, the wish that you could take all his worries away doesn't leave. All you can do is love him, and hope that it is enough.

Although you are just about as good with a gun as Anakin is with a lightsaber, you somehow end up stuck inside his ship every time he goes off on a mission. And of course that isn't enough, he has to leave Artoo with you just in case. So, you spend hours on end rambling to Artoo and listening to his sassy robotic replies, trying not to think about what Anakin is doing.

If either of you have one thing in common, it's worrying about the other.

As the only person out of you, Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka who knows the slightest bit about medicine, you're pretty much always dragged along. You really wouldn't mind if they would allow you to do something, anything, but no. You're not a Jedi, so apparently the only thing you can do is wrap injuries and check bruises.

Even if you couldn't fight or use the force like them, you were still part of their team and they treated you like it.

Currently, you're on Hoth, a planet of complete coldness and ice. You don't know the complete specifics of the mission yet, you just came to be with Anakin like always. It made you feel better that if he were to ever be hurt you could help him, even if you had to go through up to hours of boredom to do it.

You spin around as you hear the ship's door open, Artoo beeping and moving in front of you. You slowly back up and pull out your gun. Your finger moves to the trigger, ready to fire at whatever creature or droid or sith that might pop out. The door to the cockpit opens and right as you are about to fire, the gun is propelled out of your hands, hitting the wall of the ship with a loud clunk.

"Just me, my love," a deep voice calls, a shaky breath finally leaving your lips as you realize who it is. You relax as you see familiar waves of dark honey and the Jedi robe that you have stripped him of countless times before.

"Maker, Anakin!" Your breaths come out as soft pants as your heart calms down. "You can't just scare Artoo like that! Look at him, practically shaking." Both of you look at Artoo, and if a droid could roll its eyes that's what he would be doing right now. He beeps quietly, the sound almost annoyed as he rolls away from us. Anakin chuckles, closing the distance between you and cupping your face in his hands as he kisses you softly.

"I'm sorry for scaring Artoo, that was very inconsiderate of me."

"Yes, very," you mumble quietly as you melt against his lips. Damn him and his perfectness. He brushes hair behind your ear as you pull away, the soft gesture warming your heart. As you finally get a clear view of his face, you gasp when you see a large gash stretch from his hairline to the middle of his cheek, mirroring the scar on the other side of his face. The skin around the cut is irritated and red, blood dripping from the laceration.

Anakin sees the intense worry in your eyes and quickly says, "It's okay, just a small cut. I can clean it up after we get off this dreadful planet." He kisses your forehead as he sits down in the pilot seat, turning the ship on.

"Wait- Anakin, it might need stitches," you follow him, him brushing off your concern as he lifts the ship off the ground. You let out a noise of protest, but quickly sit in the seat next to him, not wanting to be standing as he takes off.

"It can wait a few minutes, y/n."

You roll your eyes at his negligence, Anakin buckling you in with the force and blasting into space.

Once he sets the ship into autopilot you unbuckle and grab supplies to clean his wound, along with bandages and a needle and thread. You walk back to Anakin and straddle his hips, facing him so you can get a good look at his injury. He automatically rests his hands on your hips, shifting you closer to his chest.

"What happened?" You ask as you start cleaning the blood with a damp towel, being cautious not to hurt him further.

"Wampa. It got lucky. I was distracted," His eyebrows furrow slightly and you smile softly, the expression on his face almost looking like a pout. Sometimes you have no idea how this man is the most powerful Jedi in existence.

"Hm, okay. Well, it doesn't look like you'll need stitches, but it might leave a scar for a little while." He nods slightly and you grab something to clean his cut, pouring it on the cloth. "This might sting a bit," you warn as you press along his cheek. The only signs of his pain are his hands squeezing just the slightest bit harder on your hips.

As you continue cleaning his gash, you feel his eyes burn into your skin. His hard gaze used to make you uncomfortable, the intensity of it making you itch and want to crawl inside yourself. It was always like he was staring into your soul, taking every mark on your face to memory. Over time you got used to it, though, and learned to let him do what he wanted. You used to always hide from him, digging your face into the crook of his neck so he couldn't see. He would always pull you back and kiss your jaw, reassuring you with whispers of how beautiful you were. How he would stare at you all day if you would let him, just because he was so mesmerized by you. Then he would make love to you, once again taking every inch of your skin to memory and showing how much he appreciated you with every kiss and caress of his fingers.

Through your concentration, you don’t notice the sudden shift in Anakin, how his eyes gloss over and his hands tighten on your hips even further. You don’t notice how he seemed to have gotten lost in his mind, something in his head swirling darkly.

You finish and bandage his cut, giving it a soft kiss and putting your supplies back in your med kit. "All better," you smile and move to get off his lap, but instead you get pulled back into his chest, Anakin's face digging into the crook of your neck and his arms wrapping around your waist.

His hold is tight, almost desperate. A different kind of worry and surprise hits you at his sudden movement, your arms wrapping around his neck. "Ani?" Your eyebrows furrow, your fingers holding onto the ends of his hair. "Hey, talk to me," you say softly, his arms securing you tighter against him. You feel a shaky breath hit your shoulder, dread curling in your gut as the possibilities of what could've happened swirl in your mind.

"Y/n..." Anakin murmurs against you, his eyelashes fluttering softly against your skin and his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. You can practically see dark swirls twisting around his body, emanating the emotion pouring through him. You always felt like you could understand and feel him on a level that's deeper than you should, especially in times when something is bothering him. And when something's truly bothering Anakin, it's deep and dark and it's almost as if you can feel it infecting his mind and blood. You have absolutely no idea what happened or what changed in the past five minutes, but you can almost feel him sinking into darkness.

It's so unbelievably scary.

"Anakin. Look at me, please," you plead in the gentlest voice you can manage. You tilt his head up, your eyes finding his.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me," Anakin murmurs, avoiding your gaze.

"Nothing's wrong with you." You search for words that could get him to open up to you, but you come up empty. Instead, you kiss his jaw and keep your gaze locked on him. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I..." His eyebrows furrow again, a look of genuine confusion crossing his face. He shakes his head like he's forcing something out of it. "I felt something."

"Felt what?"

"I don't know," Anakin murmurs, almost like he's lost in his head. "It felt so real. It felt like a memory, but I didn't see anything. I just... you..." You notice his eyes start shimmering and you rub your thumb back and forth on his cheek, waiting patiently for him to continue talking. "It was like grief. Like I was feeling grief for something that hadn't happened yet. Like the nightmares I had of my mother, except a feeling."

"Grief?"

"Yes. I just knew not to let you leave. Not... not now," Anakin mumbles, his face falling back into the crook of your neck. You feel a wetness hit your skin, a piece of your heart cracking for him. If Anakin's really getting a premonition like what he got with his mother, then it's definitely not good.

"I'm not leaving. I never will," you whisper, hugging him even tighter than before. "I'm right here." You feel him sigh and his lips against your shoulder, his teeth nipping and sucking softly at the sensitive skin as his tears continue to drop onto you.

"Need... need to feel you," Anakin pleads quietly, his hands roaming up and down your back, along your hips, and up to cup your neck as he places kisses on your throat. "Need to know you're here."

"Ani..." You sigh as his lips find the sensitive spot under your ear. And although you want him just as he wants you right now, you're not sure this is the best idea. You can tell something serious just bothered him, and brushing it off with sex might not be the right thing.

"Please, y/n." His hips roll up to yours gently, a small gasp leaving your lips as you feel his growing hardness against your softness. "Need to feel all of you."

You can feel the lust radiating off of him with every brush of his lips and dominating grab of his hands, but more than that you feel his yearning and desperation for not specifically intimacy, but closeness. You decide you'd do whatever it takes to make him feel better.

You try not to dwell on the fact that it seems like it was you who he was grieving.

You pull his lips to yours, rolling your hips against his and pulling moans out of both of you. His lips are conquering and the swipe of his tongue against yours is needy, begging silently for something that you would give him over and over again if that's what he needed. His hips rut up into yours, causing your fingers in his hair to tighten and the boiling lava in your stomach to burn brighter.

Anakin's hands pull up the fabric of your shirt, his metal hand causing you to gasp at the coldness as it roams across your uncovered skin. "Now. Need to fuck you now, y/n," he begs against your lips, his fingers hooking on your pants, quickly lifting you up and pulling them down.

His dirty words stopped surprising you long ago. Now, all they do is fill you with an indescribable heat.

You quickly find the belt on his Jedi robe and take it off, throwing it on the floor beside where he carelessly threw your pants. His flesh hand presses against your clit through your panties, causing you to moan and buck your hips into his hand.

"Already so wet for me, baby. So fucking perfect," he mumbles as he sucks on your jaw and pulls his boxers down, his aching cock springing up and hitting his abdomen. You slam your lips against his again, him grunting sharply as you swipe your thumb over his tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum leaking desperately from him.

"So pretty," you murmur absentmindedly as you take in the sight of his rock-solid cock standing proudly, the tip slightly flushed and begging to be touched. You watch as his cheeks bloom into a dark red, his head falling onto your shoulder once again.

"Baby..." He sighs as his dick twitches, desire and the need to be connected to you overwhelming every one of his thoughts. He presses his thumb against your clit again, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your veins. He hooks his fingers in your panties, pulling them down and brushing his cock against your naked core, causing both of you to shudder. "Are you going to ride me, my love? Going to take me like the good girl I know you are?"

"Mhm," you whimper, your voice filled with lust as you position yourself above his cock, sinking down just so his tip is inside of you. Anakin grunts, his head head falling back against the seat. You slowly slide down, taking him in inch by inch until he's buried all the way inside of you, your walls stretching pleasurably at the intrusion.

"Oh fuck," he groans loudly, holding on to your hips tightly, no doubt leaving marks. "Your pussy was made for me, y/n. Taking me so well."

You moan, rocking your hips against his and reuniting your lips. Your walls clench at his words, causing another grumble to fall from his lips and in turn make your arousal grow at the sound. He guides you up and down his cock slowly, your pussy squeezing around him like a vice as he fucks into you, hitting that spot that only he knows.

Even after the many, many times before that you have been connected like this, you never get used to the size of him. Of being absolutely full, almost feeling like you could explode because of pleasure and completeness. And even though lust is overwhelming both of you, the thing both of you are enjoying the most is being so close to each other. Loving someone so deeply sometimes isn't enough, you have to be one with the other to achieve the level of intimacy you both long for.

"Anakin," you cry out, your fingers desperately gripping onto the ends of his hair as he fucks abandonedly into you.

"I know, I know, y/n. Doing so- so well for me," he praises softly, placing encouraging and loving kisses on any part of your skin he can reach. Your forehead, cheeks, nose, lips, neck. He would devour you whole if he could. Sweat glistens on his forehead as he puts all his energy into making you feel good, wanting nothing more than to replace every one of your senses with pleasure. With him.

You latch your mouth onto his throat, feeling his Adam's apple bob beneath your lips. Fire burns beneath your skin, every pulse of your heart meeting his. His groans and your whimpers bounce off the walls of the cockpit, the dirty, wet sound of you connecting causing a deeper flush to paint your skin.

"Look at you, so unbelievably beautiful on top of me," Anakin mumbles as his cock slams into that deliciously pleasurable spot inside of you over and over again. He reaches his thumb in between you, rubbing in small circles over your clit and making you cry out sharply. Your insides tighten and tighten, your toes beginning to curl as the stars are no longer just in space but behind your eyelids. He speeds up to a bruising pace, your legs faltering as you no longer have the strength to continue rocking your hips. Sweat makes your hair stick to your forehead, your throat going raw with the amount of strangled noises that he's pulling out of you.

Anakin could get drunk off the sound of you lost in pleasure. Every noise and slap of his skin against yours causes his heart to beat frantically and desire to flare inside of him painfully. You could stab him in the heart and he would thank you just for even touching him at all, and the fact that he gets to have you in this way never fully seems real. The way your perfect pussy sucks him in like it's trying to swallow him whole, how it seems like you burn for him just as much as he burns for you, makes everything in him roar with love and lust and every feeling you could ever feel for someone. Every thrust of his hips into yours makes him feel alive, almost like he's finally whole after a lifetime of missing something. Of missing you.

Your head falls forward onto Anakin's shoulder, his hand cradling your head and rubbing your scalp soothingly, holding you through the intense waves of pleasure the both of you are experiencing. His hips stutter as you whimper, your release coming closer and closer.

"Gonna come for me, sweetheart? Gonna let me feel you?"

"Yes," you whine, your eyes squeezing shut. His head rolls back again, his mouth opening and letting out the most beautiful groan as his cock swells inside of you. His hips twitch again, letting you know he's exactly where you are. "Wanna- wanna come with you, Ani."

"I know, baby. I'm right- right there with you," Anakin gasps, bucking upwards into you, his breathing ragged and his face flushed as he staggers towards blissful oblivion. You cry out Anakin's name loudly, your walls fluttering around him as your core throbs painfully.

And all it takes is one more unsteady, forceful thrust of Anakin's hips for both of you to fly off the edge.

Both of your bodies tremble and quiver with the intense force of your release, your noises mixing into a song of ecstasy and desire. Anakin spills himself inside of you, filling you to the point where thinking is no longer possible. The only thing you can feel is Anakin. Pleasure floods through your veins, every limb in your body going still as you ride out your release.

"F-fuck, y/n. There you go baby," he praises encouragingly as you continue to cry out. You hold onto Anakin tightly until your senses start returning and the white light fades from behind your eyes. You press your lips to his again, this time softly and as an act of complete love. He murmurs gentle "I love you's," into your ear as you both come down, both of your hearts swelling as you clutch onto each other for dear life.

"Thank you," he whispers as he kisses your forehead, rubbing his thumbs on the tops of your thighs.

"For what?

"I just... needed to have you. To know you're here, with me." Anakin's eyes fall shut like he's trying to rid something from his mind, and you press your puffy lips against his again, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Don't think about it, okay?" You search his eyes as they open again, pulling his hand to rest over your heart. "Do you feel that? I'm here. Right here, with you. I'm not leaving. I won't let anything take me from you, Anakin. You know that, right?"

His eyes lock on to where his hand is feeling your heartbeat, his eyebrows pulling together softly. His eyes meet yours again, the worry in his face fading.

And at that moment Anakin knew that nothing could take you from him, not fate, not force. You wouldn't let it, and Anakin would die a thousand deaths before he let it. You were his, and he was yours, and if the force was going to take you from him, they would rip it from his cold, dead, "chosen” hands.

"I know."

[st4rbe0m]

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ DANGEROUSLY YOURS - SJY

✺ now playing - cigarettes out the window by tv girl

✺ pairing - spy!jake x president's daughter!reader

✺ contents - angst, themes of betrayal, political talk, guns, use of feminine terms

✺ wc - 0.8K

✺ a/n - i'm ngl i was really really disappointed with how much my yeonjun fic flopped considering it was 12k words T-T

masterlist

"If I betray you, I betray myself. If I betray him, I betray my country."

The barrel of the gun is staring straight down Jake’s head. There’s sweat beading on his forehead as he looks where you’re standing, and the slight tremor in your careful hand doesn’t go unnoticed by him. He’s gulping in fear - not for his life, but your own. There was no telling who could’ve called the cops by now, with all the shouting and yelling that had ensued upon your revelation. 

You look absolutely wonderful tonight. Of course you did, is there any event where the President’s daughter didn’t look gorgeous. Floor length black gown with gold detailing on the trimming, and a pearlescent silver chain delicately balanced across your collarbones, with the view Jake was facing currently, he was going to die a happy man it seemed. The only thing he wanted to change, if he could, was the heavy tears pooling in your eyes, and the absolute look of betrayal on your face. If his superiors were to see him right now, they'd reprimand him straight. The best spy of his country, the best of his team and the best agent the law enforcement could procure. The best of his best was on his knees in front of you currently, with no weapons to defend him. Only the raw, unforgiving truth. 

“Explain yourself then.” Your voice is shaky, and what was supposed to sound more ironclad sounded like a broken, hopeful curiosity.  Your hands are still shaking and the finger delicately perched atop the trigger is lingering like a broken echo stuck in a limbo. 

“Y/N, I offer you three things right now. My heart, my country, and my life.”

“Stop! Stop with your lies! God, even now you’re cruel? You know how I fell for you, yet you couldn’t find the honor in you to remove yourself from charting these dangerous waters with me, for this mission? Where’s your compassion, Jake? Your dignity?”

“I love you, Y/N. I do. Deeper than the betrayal that I was raised on, and stronger than my traitorous blood.” He’s holding a steely determination in his eyes, more focused than he’s ever been on any other mission before. This wasn’t simply just a classified case on a document anymore. This was about the thin line between life and death. 

“You don’t get it, do you Jake? From the first hour that I’ve met you, I’ve been irrevocably yours. And how am I to ever return to a point before that? How can I trust you?”

“Because I love you!”, he finally explodes in a single, shallow breath of exclamation. The last wish of a dying man.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t take your life right now!”, you explode in anger. Screaming like a madwoman, your heart hurts as you absorb in the vision of the man you love on his knees before you, pleading guilty for his betrayal.

“You may as well take my heart, Y/N. It’s already full of you.” He’s breathing heavily as you clutch your gun tighter. Your guards were to appear at any moment. It’s a starry night outside, twinkling lights littered across an inky black sky. The marble is cold beneath his knees. You’re sobbing even harder now. The lights from the chandelier behind his head reflect the glistening moisture on your cheeks. 

“I love you, Y/N. And I know you love me. I could disappear right now, but I’ll always find moonlit nights strangely empty, because when I’ll call your name, Y/N, I’ll receive no answer.” 

The breaking of the mahogany doors, loudly clattering open, made you both shake violently in surprise. There stood your guards, armed and ready to save you. Badges of honor laid across their lapels, the honor of the country that represented everything Jake stood against. “Don’t be afraid madam! We’re here now!”, one of them calls out to you as they swiftly make their way across the lavish ballroom to where the pair of you stood. You were still shaking, but this time Jake noticed a maniacal look in your eyes, searching and scattering around.

It was almost like the scene was slowed down. The tremble in your hands stilled as you raised your arms up, pointing with excellent marksmanship to the where the glass connected the chandelier behind his head to the ceiling. The chandelier, which with the loud bang of the bullet, made a cacophonous, crystal crashing noise against the marble floor, just a few paces ahead of your guards. Jake’s understanding of the situation makes him bolt up to his feet, and with almost automatic movement, he’s grabbing your wrist and running away towards the exit with you. 

“My country is very dear to me.”

“Dearer than I?”

“No, not dearer than you.”

[yanfeiimain]

Aventurine NSFW headcanons

c/w: NSFW ! gun play, riding, praise, degradation, genderneutral, nn: angel (reader); sweet thing (aventurine), choking, i think thats it ?

words: ~400

a/n: Aventurine nsfw headcanons bc what did 2.2 do to me! I am normal about him (I swear). No I'm not projecting onto him in the slightest.

Receiving praise / degradation "Aventurine, my sweet thing... Do you even hear yourself? Moaning and begging like a whore. It's truly pathetic. But you make me feel so good, so full. That's right, you fuck me so well, slut." Your words drive him crazy as you bounce on his twitching cock. He's so close, one more word and he would come inside you!

Kink: gunplay (we all saw the final victor light cone) Oh how much it turns him on when you sit on his lap, grinding against him and pressing the cold tip of the gun against his neck. Aventurine's breath hitches as you click the trigger once. You could swear his clothed cock twitched at that moment. Another click and he moans. The danger of this situation turns his desperate brain completely off.

Aventurine is a switch He loves being topped, but nothing is stopping him from topping you either. He likes being in control and making you submit to him as much as giving it to you, he trusts you fully after all! He is, however, a real brat sometimes, just to egg you on.

Kink: voice He just loves your voice- so much that you could make him come untouched by just talking him through it, praising or degrading him. And the way you say his name! So utterly sweet, yet condescending at the same time. It sends him reeling. That's why you two have phone sex almost every time Aventurine is away on a mission for the IPC.

Aventurine is vocal as fuck He's talking the entire time, shamelessly moaning and whimpering into your ear. "ah~ you're so tight around me, feels so good! mh, fuck! just like that!" And when he comes, he lets out a stream of incoherent words and sentences and little 'ah ah ah's. "ah so close ah, ah, ah, please! more I- ah more!"

Kink: choking There's just something about you wrapping your delicate hands around Aventurine's neck that feels so perfect. When you press your fingers against his blood flow, making his brain cloudy and let him forget the world around him for a minute.

Kink: begging Aventurine loves to beg and loves to hear you beg. "Please, angel, let me come! Please I'll be so good, I'll- I'll do anything, please, please, please!" And he would do absolutely anything to come. "Aventurine...! Let- Let me have your cock, please! Fill me up and let me feel you inside! please!" How could he resist your sweet pleas?

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Something Rotten

Pairing: Dark!QZ Joel x afab!reader x Dark!QZ Tess

Words count: 4300 (more or less)

Rating: + 18, absolutely NSFW. This shit is triggering, read the tags carefully and please if your a minor don’t interact.

Warnings/Tags: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, smut, heavy degradation, kidnapping, reader is tied to the bed with a rope, mention of strong painkillers, depressing thoughts, both Joel and Tess are EVIL, mention of offering sex in exchange for protection, Dub-con/non-con (well, she’s into that and I made sure to say that she’s deeply aroused but still), no kindness whatsoever, face slapping, being threatened with a gun and knife, blood, wound (Tess writes a word on Reader's body with a knife), pussy slapping, tits slapping, oral (m receiving), deep throating, scissoring, slurs (whore, slut), pet names (honey, baby, pet, kitten), mention of Robert (you know that prick at the beginning of the series who makes Tess get beaten up? That's him. but anyway he is the least of the problems in this thing), ripped panties, orgasm denial, cum eating, hair pulling, reader has hair that can be pulled, no other description of her is given, I think it’s all but I will be sure to add anything I may have forgotten as soon as I can.

A/N: Happy Halloween! This is indeed a nightmare of a fic LOL

Ok, enough, I'm getting serious again. I know it’s a lot, please don't read if you don't feel comfortable with those kind of things. I've never written anything like this before, it was a test for me because those who read me know, I'm usually very soft. I've started writing the second part if anyone wants to read it, I preferred to publish this first because it was getting pretty long (And I honestly want to see how this one goes before I continue lol). Sorry if you find any errors, I hope there aren't too many. I don't have a beta, I reread it but my eyes are exhausted at this point 💀 (English is not my first language, you know that, right? lol)

Again, no one is obligated to read but I wanted to thank those who provided me with the songs I listened to while writing this: @magneticecstasy @hoelaris @lovely-vamp-princess @baronessvonglitter @whocaresstillthelouvre and @almostempty for having called together her trusted connoisseurs 😎, you all are truly amazing ♥️ (Something Rotten is a Placebo song I added between your amazing music advices).

Playlist can be found here.

(While we're at it, if anyone would like to be tagged on my fics in the future, let me know, thank you very much!)

Thanks to anyone who reads this!

“Now what should we do with you?” Tess’s voice is sharp, with a smug undertone.

“Maybe we should get rid of her.” Joel is just as blunt, smiling wickedly as he watches you shake like a leaf.

There’s obvious disappointment painted on your face, as well as fear of what these two might do to you.

——————————————————-

You know Joel and Tess, everyone in the QZ knows them, at least everyone trying to make ends meet like you.

They’re the most skilled smugglers and also the most ruthless.

No one would want to have them as enemies, but you, due to circumstances beyond your control, just tried to steal some of their supplies. You heard they had just left the Qz to stock up, apparently they know someone outside.

You thought you were safe. Turned out you were wrong, they came back sooner than you expected.

You wouldn’t have made such a bold move if it weren’t for the fact that Robert died, killed by Tess, as far as you know.

You and Robert had a relationship, if you could call it that, he gave you protection in exchange for sex. You didn't like Robert, to be honest, guy was a piece of shit himself, but he was the lesser evil. He was generally stupid and driven by his dick rather than his brain so it was pretty easy for you to please him and make sure he kept you safe from the unrestrained FEDRA soldiers, who are anything but devoted to rules and discipline, and you never lacked food while you were with him, much more than some people in this seedy Qz had.

Batting your eyelashes and giving him head every now and then was enough to have what you needed.

Robert was a gun runner, people feared him, everyone except Joel and Tess who thought he was an incompetent and arrogant moron.

They weren't entirely wrong but everyone in this shithole of a place survives as best they can.

You should have relied on your own strength from the beginning but when you arrived here you were so tired, hurt, heartbroken from having lost all the people you cared about that leaning on someone seemed like an acceptable compromise.

You were desperate again after losing Robert, so hungry you barely remembered how food really tastes.

You snuck into their room, cursing your stomach that was growling loudly. You held your breath as the door creaked open to reveal a rather bare, makeshift mini-apartment. No one was there, so you tiptoed around looking for something edible. You noticed a floorboard that was a bit off. Bingo.

You lifted it up and found a stash of dried meat, along with several bags of pills and a gun.

You took some pills that you recognized as strong painkillers, just in case you might need them.

Your hand shook as you pulled out the plastic bag full of dried meat, your stomach giving you no respite.

And just as you were about to take a bite, you heard some noises.

Shit.

You looked around nervously for a place to hide but to no avail. The bed was resting on bricks and barely rose from the floor, too little room to slide under. There were no closets, no dressers or anything.

Shit.

You were screwed.

The footsteps you heard were getting closer and closer and in a total panic, not knowing what else to do, you cowered behind a couch, the dried meat still in your hand while the pills danced in your bra.

You were certain that you would be discovered in no time.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, a cold sweat was breaking out on your forehead. You squeezed your eyes shut in prayer even though you’ve never been a religious person.

Tess saw you first. “What do we have here?” she hissed. Joel caught sight of you next, your head awkwardly poking out from behind the couch.

Stupid stupid stupid.

“A thief,” he stated coldly, as he tugged at your jacket and pulled you out of your hiding place. Tess looked you up and down as you stared at the floor, terrified.

——————————————————-

“What the hell were you trying to do?” she asks you ironically, as if it makes her laugh. In fact, you feel ridiculous for even thinking you could get away with them, it would have been wiser to stay hungry while waiting to earn some cards.

Now you’re in troubles.

Big troubles.

You wanted to get the gun, but you couldn't and now you're standing in front of them, unarmed and scared as the barrel of Joel's gun is grazing at your cheek.

“I asked you a question,” Tess points out, “you better answer it.”

Joel hands the gun to Tess, tears the dried meat out of your hand and shove your arms behind your back, holding you tightly by your wrists, while Tess glares at you.

The gun is now before your eyes, shiny and threatening.

“I… was hungry” and then quickly add a “I’m sorry” that barely escapes your lips.

“So you’ve been working out this brilliant plan?” Joel teases, his deep voice giving you goosebumps.

After Joel suggests taking you out, Tess remains silent for a while, looking at you like a piece of meat “She’s pretty though,” and an even more chilling smile spread across her face, “fuck, you’re too pretty for being a rat”

“Yeah” Joel agrees “here’s a tip for you, honey, if you wanna screw someone try not to let your stupid ass show”

They exchange another knowing glance that doesn't bode well and Tess finally speaks “we could have some fun.”

Guided by self-preservation and fear, you widen your eyes and exclaim, “Oh no, please no!”

Tess places her hand under your chin, manipulating your face like a puppet, turning it left and right to inspect it. “You’re not sick, are you?”

You remain silent and after a few seconds you feel her open hand land on your cheek and an unbearable burning sensation spread across your skin.

What you feel immediately after is the cold steel of the gun under your chin.

“See, she doesn’t like it when people don’t answer her,” Joel whispers in your ear, adding more shivers to the ones already shaking your body.

You open your mouth, struggling to get out some sound. “No” is all you can say.

“Good,” Tess hisses. Joel’s grip on your wrists shows no sign of loosening and your cheek hurts like hell.

There’s no way out.

“Since you were stupid enough to try to sneak in, from now on you will stay here.” Tess announces to you, with a voice that does not allow protests “And you will be our little toy”

She runs a hand over your neck, goes down to your breast and squeezes it hard over your shirt “Do you understand?”

“Yes” you whisper immediately, fearing another blow.

You don’t have enough strength to rebel, you are weak while they are incredibly strong, your head is spinning and you are one against two.

To make sure you don’t get any weird ideas, Joel ties you to the bed. He runs a rope between one of the bricks and the frame of the bed, chuckling evilly, “I’m sorry honey, but I have to, your little head is too imaginative to let you loose in here.” The way he looks at you it’s disturbing, licking his lips in anticipation of what he’ll do to you that night.

He’s not sorry at all.

He can't wait to use you as he wants.

His gaze is intense and dark and you feel like he can get under your skin and read your every thought.

Tess controls Joel's moves, gun still in her hand and when you are completely at their mercy, lying on the bed, with the rope that at most allows you to turn on your back, she bends down to look at you, running the cold steel of gun on your face. You feel tears stinging your eyes as you look at her "oh come on don't do that, after all it's always better than breaking your delicate back with those shitty jobs, right?"

Her mellifluous voice makes you furious, does she think she did you a favor? You would like to spit in her face, on that cold and evil face of hers but you don't.

You can’t.

There's no point in trying to fight back, they'd kill you.

You know that.

They both go off to who knows where and you stay there, waiting, unable to do anything else.

________________________________

It’s the dead of night when the door creaks again and they come back in. Your wrists hurt, you feel stiff, exhausted even though you’ve done nothing but lie there, consumed by fear.

Tess is the first to approach “so kitten, have you been good today?” she coos wickedly and pats your head just like you’re her pet.

You feel a blind rage fill you as she calmly sits on the bed and takes off her boots.

Joel sits on the other side, takes off the dark blue denim shirt he is wearing and unlaces his combat boots.

You are lying on your back now and you crane your neck to watch them.

It’s incredibly frustrating for you to realize that both of your kidnappers are gorgeous.

Tess has a cold beauty, long dark blonde hair framing her face, her lean body reveals itself before your eyes as she takes off her clothes.

She has several scars scattered across her back and arms that make her look even more dangerous, adorning her skin like battle wounds. Battles that somehow she has always won. She’s feral as a lioness and as wicked as a demon.

You never knew you were into women but looking at her right now you can’t deny to find her attractive.

Joel on the other side is tense and nervous as a violin string, rippling muscles and large calloused hands, messy hair and a scruffy beard covering his cheeks.

Your eyes are drinking in his figure, glaring on his broad shoulders, strong neck and plush lips.

He’s definitely the most handsome man in the QZ.

He too has several wounds that blend into his olive skin, giving him the aspect of someone who cannot be argued with in the slightest.

In the little time you have already spent together, however, you have noticed how he bends to Tess's will, as if he were a guard dog always on alert to protect her.

Tess is the brains, Joel is the arm.

He's placed a large switchblade on his pillow, there to remind you that you have no escape.

They are both in their underwear, their clothes lying on the floor. Tess orders Joel to untie you, the rope slowly loose on your wrists as Joel warns you “you better not make a single move or you will regret it, slut”. His voice in your ear is terrifying, bouncing around in your head like a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

“Good girl” Tess praises you briefly while you remain still, before ordering “undress her”

Joel unceremoniously removes your jacket and shirt, throwing everything on the floor. He unhooks your bra, brushing his fingertips along your back, and you shiver imperceptibly.

As your bra comes off, the pills you’ve hidden inside fall onto the bed, rolling onto the blanket. Tess shakes her head, squinting “What are those? Didn’t you say you were hungry? Do you need pills to feed yourself, you little whore?” her voice is like ice and the blade of the knife abandoned on the bed is suddenly at your throat, held by Joel.

Your voice breaks into tears as you try to justify yourself. You try to say that they are only for you, just painkillers, you’re not a drug addict, you won’t sell them, you won’t try to ruin their business.

“Pfff and we should believe you?” Joel scoff, laughing from behind your back, tugging violently on your arm and sliding the blade on your skin.

“I-please”

You don't even know what to say anymore.

"Stop whining, it gets on my nerves” Joel warns you as he slightly dig the blade into your cheek, scratching you just a little, just to let you taste the flavor of iron.

“You'll be a very good pet for us, won't you?” Tess whispers leaning close to your ear and running her fingers along your arm.

Tears now roll freely down your cheeks. She wipes away a tear and licks its salty taste from her thumb, pleased.

“Yes, I’ll be good I - I promise” you sigh.

“You certainly will be, if you don't want to taste Joel's knife.” He grins behind you and leave the switchblade on the sheets.

Your bra joins the other clothes on the floor as Tess squeezes one of your nipples between her fingers. She isn't gentle, she isn't delicate, her hand is firm, demanding, her fingers calloused.

After all, she isn't one to back down from a fight and everything about her shows it.

She pulls, pinches and twists, treating your nipple as if it belongs to her and she can do whatever she wants with it, looking you straight in the eye, intimidatingly, without even flinching.

Joel is still behind your back, sitting on the bed and he reaches for your hips, his large hands enveloping them and his fingers pressing hard into your flesh. He leans down and runs his tongue all the way up your spine, going up your shoulder and biting hard where it joins your neck. You cry out. You know it will leave a mark on you, his teeth tattooed on your skin.

Tess slaps your tit when a moan slips through your lips at the sensation of having Joel sucking hard on your skin, leaving more marks on your neck, his beard scratching you.

“You fucking like it, don’t you, pet?” She teases.

You can’t say anything, a stinging pain spread across your chest and you wonder how strong she really is despite her slim figure.

Joel detaches from you and Tess makes you lying on the bed again, unbuttoning and tugging down at your jeans, leaving you in nothing more than your ridiculously worn panties, they’re so old they’re basically see through but it’s not like you can have something fancy in the QZ.

She spots a wet stain right in the front and she smiles fake sweetly, you can still see the evil in her ice cold eyes.

She takes the hem and just rip them off, exposing your bare cunt.

You gasp and try to gather your hands in front of you for covering your privates but you can’t, Joel is still holding your wrists in a dangerous grip.

She laughs at your clumsy attempt “darling, rebelling won't do you any good, I thought I was clear before”

“Please,” you whisper, “please let me go. I didn’t steal anything in the end, I’m never coming back.”

“No,” she says firmly, “no. Do you know why? You don’t mess with us, you don’t even try. You have a lesson to learn.”

Her fingers run over your leg cold. You don't have time to beg again as another slap hits you. "Poor little girl, didn't your mother teach you manners? We'll have to think about it ourselves." She says, pursing her lips.

She slaps your cunt.

You throb.

And you’re wet.

You hate every cell in your body that is getting sexually aroused by them.

Your brain says no, but your body isn't following suit and you can't really explain it.

What was once pain is turning into a creeping, crawling tingle that runs under your skin.

Back in the days you had a boyfriend that used to fuck you roughly and you liked that but you certainly never thought to be aroused by people holding you captive.

It’s insane.

She lifts one of your legs up high, holding it tightly by the ankle as Joel brings your arms above your head on the bed and his grip continues to secure your wrists.

“Um, look at you. What a delicious wet pussy.” Tess coos.

Joel grunts at the sight “such a needy slut”

Tess positions herself between your legs and begins to rub herself on your pussy.

She doesn’t care a bit about treating you like a person, making your joints ache for the unnatural position, one leg impossibly strained with her grip and the other one straight on the bed with your thigh hurting under her weight.

You’re their muppet now.

The friction between your pussies makes you feel ashamed at first, you've never done it before. With each thrust of Tess on you, however, you begin to feel a heat enveloping your lower abdomen, going straight down to your clit making it sensitive and swollen.

You’re excited, as much as you hate to admit it.

Tess is wild, she’s claiming your body like a predator does with its prey, her small and perfectly shaped tits are bouncing in the air, nipples pink and hard.

You're biting your lip hard, holding back the moans that try to escape from the back of your throat.

You don’t know what came over you but wouldn't mind sucking on them .

You look up at Joel who towers over you, his gaze glassy, ​​fixed on your pussies slamming together making the most obscene sounds you've ever heard, like a squish on loop, wet and slippery.

Tess looks at you, her face twisted into an evil grimace as she groans and curse.

You're trying to control yourself in every way but your body responds, you feel a rush of pleasure flooding you. Fuck. It's like your brain is leaking out of your cunt.

You’re gasping under Tess.

Your hips move trying to seek more friction.

Hot tears stream down your face as you moan. You can’t believe how fucked up this is.

“Oh yeah, baby, go ahead and cry, be a pathetic whining mess, we don't give a shit. Your whore pussy is ours now.” Joel growls.

He moves in front of your face, his large hand covers your cheek completely and squeezes it hard, pinching your skin mercilessly before giving you a slap. You feel an unbearable heat radiating on your skin, you haven't even moved your arms even though he has let go of his grip.

“You’re just a plaything,” Tess echoes, “and you’re enjoying it, aren’t you, little scammer?”

Tess grinds against you relentlessly, she reaches down and twists your clit with two fingers and a wail of pain breaks from your lips.

You feel delirious under her ministration, her body takes what it wants from you and there's nothing you can do to stop it, on the contrary. Your nipples are so pebbled they look like little rocks on your chest, your cunt so sloppy and wet that your cream is lasciviously trickling on your inner thighs, you don’t recognize yourself anymore.

Tess comes above you, callin names and stuttering angrily.

You whine again and Joel barks “it’s time for you to shut up, slut”

He pulls down his boxers with a dark look and an incredibly devious smile plastered on his face. His cock is right in front of your eyes, semi hard, he spits in his palm and starts fisting it, up and down his length. It’s thick and swollen, more big than you expected.

His angry red tip almost touches your lips, he reaches for your jaw and pulls it “open wide, slut” he orders. Your lips are pressed together, you try to resist, but Joel takes a handful of your hair, pulling hard.“I. Said. Open. Wide.” punctuating each word with a stronger tug.

You can’t help but doing it, he’s basically tearing off your hair while Tess is still having no mercy of your cunt. She moves on the sheets and she stick two of her fingers in your cunt, up to the knuckles “Jesus, you’re fucking soaked baby, such a good slut”

Joel forces his cock into your mouth and begins to push inside you until he reaches the back of your throat, not letting you get used to it, your cry is muffled by your lips tightening around his shaft. His taste spread across your tongue as he moves abruptly into you, in and out of your lips. Your mind is fuzzy, you try to breathe from your nose but all you can feel right now is the aching of your jaw and the way Tess is scissoring her fingers inside your hole. They have no mercy and you’re madly aroused with it.

It’s not like you’re expecting something good from life at this point. Life isn’t gentle anymore, you lost everything a long time ago, you’re just trying to stay afloat biting off what you can and expecting nothing but bites back until the day fate or destiny decides it's over for you.

You don't know if there's a hint of what they call Stockholm Syndrome in all this but here you are, willing to be free use, for them to ruin, right on the verge of losing your mind. You’re pliant and hungry now, sucking on Joel cock like a good meal after a whole month of starvation, you’re reaching his balls with your hand, massaging and squeezing it lightly. Tess is watching you and she doesn't seem happy with the way you're trying to be, her hand lands again on your pussy, heavy and cruel, right on your clit.

“Oh don’t be too much of an ass kisser, I never liked them. And don’t do anything until we tell you to”

Joel grunts deeply as you let go of his ball “fuck I liked that though” and he grabs your hand back “since you like it, touch it, you dirty whore”

Tess rolls her eyes and slaps your pussy again and again until you feel your skin burning and you know you're about to come, your muscles are tense and your legs start to tingle as well as the bottom of your belly.

Tess understands and stops. “Oh, one more thing, you come if and when we decide.” A moan rises from deep in your chest and vibrates on Joel’s cock.

“Keep sucking” Joel urges you groping and squeezing your tits.

You move painfully up and down his length, him holding the back of your skull. Tess watches you, studying your reactions, a hint of jealousy in her eyes as Joel continues to thrust into your mouth, urging you “like this, little bitch, keep going - OH FUCK”

You can feel your cunt throbbing, screaming for a release.

Tess is giving you occasional kitten lick, so soft and so evil at the same time ‘cause you’re right on the edge. It’s a torture, an unbearable struggle that you can take anymore. Your cunt is clenching around nothing, your clit swollen and sore, you’re feeling delirious and you’re not allowed to come.

Tess picks up the knife again and you feel it slide across your inner thigh, it’s cold on your sweat-beaded skin and it makes you shiver. It rises dangerously close to your center, her evil eyes obsessively following the path of the blade. A sharp smile spreads across her face as she begins to sink the tip into your flesh, just enough to scratch your skin. You’re choking your whines on Joel’s cock as you smell blood in the air. It feels like she’s writing something, her trajectory is meticulous and careful, she pulls the blade out smiling again, satisfied with her work.

“Here you go, now everyone will know what kind of whore you are. If you ever get out of here”

She runs her tongue over what she just branded into your skin, your body shakes, your back arches insanely seeking for that delicious line between pain and pleasure, it’s stinging and soothing at the same time.

Joel is spilling inside you, his cum invading your mouth, painting your tongue and sliding warm down your throat. His face is red and sweaty, he's gritting his teeth, his neck is tense, his merciless hand holds you still clinging to your neck, he looks like a wild animal ready to devour you.

“Swallow it all, bitch” And you do it, you have no other choice. And you like it. You like the feel of his vein pulsing against the roof of your mouth, the heat and weight of him on your tongue, his musky flavor. It distracts you from the pain spreading across your thigh.

Joel only pulls out of your mouth when you've licked it clean.

It’s softening but it’s still the biggest cock you’re ever had.

He whispers in a hoarse voice that you are a very good little pet, smiling at you nastily, his big hands filling with your breasts, calloused and heavy, your nipples still hard under his palms.

Tess chuckles “yeah, she’s not that bad. And she’s a real fucking slut, aren’t you, honey? Your pussy is hungrier than your stomach”

You don't answer her, you are enraptured by Joel's dark and lascivious eyes, naked and helpless on the bed, branded like a cow, stupid and drunk on sex.

Your mind is no longer thinking clearly.

They both lie down on the bed to catch their breath, leaving you naked and sore at the foot of it, like a rag doll.

You never imagined this would happen to you when you came in here. And then, when they found you, the first thing you thought was that they were going to kill you. You're still here. Exhausted, in pain as you stare at the ceiling, sweat cooling on your skin.

You wonder how long it will last, where they will dump you when they get tired.

You're still alive anyway, that's enough.

There is definitely something rotten in you. You want to get up and see the word Tess wrote on your thigh but you are not brave enough. You trace it with a finger, shivering with pain, feeling your skin pull and pinch where it is starting to heal. If your touch is right it says “pet”.

[howlett-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

1. TEXAS RED

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: if you're seeing this for the first time, welcome! If not, and you were following my other blog, welcome back! Either way, I hope you enjoy this dumpster fire brought to you by my imagination ✨️

Summary: In the town of Agua Fria lived a shooter called Texas Red. Many men had tried to take him, and that many men were dead. A duelist and potential outlaw, with a secret no one knows. The perfect recruit for Dutch Van Der Linde to sweet talk into joining up.

Warnings: game typical violence, gun violence, dueling, old fashioned ways of thinking (no racism depicted in this chapter, but misogyny is mentioned) mild language, Arthur is a grump but also a sweetheart.

WC: 6.5k

“The infamous Texas Red,” he finished for you, but every time you hear that nickname it somehow gets worse. Why on earth did the good Lord above curse you with something so nasty as ginger hair? “Infamous? Don't know about that,” you lean back against the bar for another drink of water when your hands drop to your sides. “I'm just a kid. Name's Charlie Brooks.” 

The light from the outside window is what wakes you first, the brightness pooling over your closed eyelids before they even open. You’re still in Agua Fria, the place you've made a name for yourself. Charlie Brooks, but that's not the one that comes to mind. 

Texas Red. The unkillable. Nothing more than a duelist to many, and even less so to those who don't care for that sort of thing. But to those who dare challenge the big iron on your hip, you are not anything short of a quick handed master. Only eighteen years old, or so they say - it’s what you’ve told them, but like your name, it isn’t true. Whichever way you spell it out, your reputation is the reason people know you; You have the fastest draw on this side of anywhere. 

For someone who's known near and far as the kid who never lost a match, the nickname is a little less than favorable. Texas Red isn't for the blood on your hands, it's for the ginger of your hair. It's factual, not demeaning… but still unfavorable. You do not care much what they call you anymore, just as long as they know what comes with it. Too many men have underestimated your ability, one and nineteen more. 

Here in Agua Fria there's folks that will come from far and wide, just to test your trigger finger. Today is no different. You've spent the night in a hotel above the saloon, so by the time you reach the bottom of the stairs, you know there ought to be a man there, ready and willing to die. 

“That's him.” 

You hear from under the breath of the bartender. He served you only last night, one drink of silky whiskey before bed, nothing more. You told him your name, but not the one people know. Word gets around, you suppose. Your pistol has twenty notches on the handle, folks can tell enough from that alone. One of the outlaws that hangs around here does the same thing… except he takes pride in those marks, as opposed to you. You make those marks to remember the weight of your pistol, heavier every time a notch is made.

The man before you is tall and strong, likely a farmer that does heavy work. He has a sly look about him, but you don't feel bothered too much. You think his hands, worn by the sun and weathered by his work - whatever it may be - will not draw fast enough to even graze you. They are too stiff where they hang by his side, probably from pushing a plow, or milling a field. 

He hasn't spoken a word to you yet, but that's what you assume. He's here to challenge me, they always are. No one asks after you otherwise… except for maybe some working women, but that never ends well.

“You're the kid?” He looks you over, a furrowed brow and a smirk brush his features, but it doesn't last. Yes, you think. I'm the kid, and this is my gun.

“Yes sir,” your voice is a little lower, the early morning is stuck in the pitch of it. 

His question was so vague, but having been asked about eight times out of twenty ‘are you the kid?’ makes you a pretty damn good guesser of what your answer ought to be.

He takes another once over after a step forward, and now you can see that he stands about a head taller than you. He's not quite intimidating, but you can admit, the anxiousness of a man initiating a duel is always a thing that prickles your skin, warms your very fingertips. Maybe that's why you shoot so fast. 

“You don't look like a killer,” he looks down, but his nose is somehow still in the air. He wants to prove something, to someone or to himself you can't be sure, but only the most foolish of men dare your gun this way. 

“I'm not one.” 

And he laughs. You don't even think to look up at him, you keep my face forward. I don't have anything to prove, but of course you know you’ll have to.

“You shoot folks, got a name for it,” he settled his hands on his belt. It's a gun belt, sure, but the rounds don't even match the gun at his hip. They look bigger, as for a rifle. This farmer likely shoots ducks. Sitting or flying, that’s not the relevant point. 

He has experience, and that's what clouds his mind. He thinks you’re a sitting duck. 

“I do, but I ain't no killer,” you paused, rounding the man, stepping up to the bar and pointing for a glass of water. This early in the morning, any form of alcohol shouldn't be legal. You reckon it's the very thing that made this gentleman bold and eager enough to try what he's about to. At least you’re pretty darn sure that he's about to, otherwise he’s just an adoring spectator. “I shoot folks as need shootin’, but they always ask for it. I ain't malicious or nothin’.” 

“Maybe you's the one that needs shootin’.”

Atta boy, getting to the point. You have to smile. He looks confused by it and he very well should be… people don’t normally crack a grin when being threatened.

“S’pose you wanna be the one that does it,” You take a drink of the water you’re handed, but it does little to wash away the tickle in your throat, trying to climb its way up in the form of the chuckle. 

“If I gotta be.” 

You’ve never seen this man around town. Being here in this area almost two months, you’ve seen more of the traveling recluses than any of the farmers. Seen more of the local outlaws, too. They never stay long, they cause a little trouble here and there… but never the farmers. They come into town maybe once, twice a month. They harbor most of their own supplies on their land. No need for the town. 

“And you think you'll hit me?” 

“I've never missed.” 

And then that chuckle finally does escape you. 

“I knew twenty men who hadn't, either,” but the other's words were a bit more out of ignorance. They wanted to show off, thought they had nothing to lose. You were just a skinny kid with red hair and a heavy gun that you could barely stand to carry. 

“I like my odds.” 

So you turn to the bartender. He watched this same charade last month. A different man, not quite as tall, but just as confident. He stops wiping down an empty glass, and looks to you with a look of annoyance. What did you do to deserve it? You haven't the slightest clue. When he looks at the challenger with sincerity and condolences, you know what he thinks behind those eyes.

This is a fine young man, he may have a wife and some children. He doesn't know what he's doing, he had a strong drink. He only heard one story, it isn't fair. 

But of course, you can't back out. You’ve never backed out. Never having anything to lose, and like today, no one has ever tried to convince you otherwise. If you die now, you can go out a hero of sorts, the gunslinger of Agua Fria. If you live, then you'll someday die a legend. Texas Red, the unkillable.

You will have to step outside, and you will have to shoot this man, but for the first time, you feel you oughta know his name. You stepped to meet him and offered your hand. It's smaller compared to his. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Robert Sims.” 

He shakes your hand tightly, he wants to show how strong he is… as if that somehow makes him shoot faster.

“Glad to meet ya. I'm-” 

“The infamous Texas Red,” he finished for you, but every time you hear that nickname it somehow gets worse. Why on earth did the good Lord above curse you with something so nasty as ginger hair?

“Infamous? Don't know about that,” you lean back against the bar for another drink of water when your hands drop to your sides. “I'm just a kid. Name's Charlie Brooks.” 

He scoffs, his eyes falling to the floor. Maybe he doesn't wanna do this. He seems to be rolling it over in his head. If he wins he kills you, a scrawny kid with an ugly hat, and not a friend in the world. If he loses, well… he dies. 

But as if foolishness ruled his mind, he settles on his thoughts, and you can see it clear as day when he decides. 

“Are you ready to step outside?” 

And you smile again. He could've been your friend. He seems like a kind enough man, a little arrogant, but a man of honor in himself. He even struck you with a slanted smile of his own, but for no reason other than your reputation alone, he wants to kill you. Always a shame. 

“S'pose so.”

And he doesn't say another word… Ever. 

Thirty paces apart on the dirt road outside, the poor man never even cleared leather, but a bullet rests between his collarbones, and he himself rests on the ground. He’s got a pouch on his hip you noticed earlier, so while everyone around is frozen in place, you carefully go up to his body, stripping the valuables from him before moving on your way. To the winner go the spoils.

You holster your weapon, turn around and face the folks that stopped their journeys to watch. Some had seen the last one, they expected the outcome. Others were a bit surprised. David beat Goliath. The bigger opponent fell. 

You took a walk around the block to settle down, find a nail to notch your pistol yet again. You’ve never forgotten your earlier opponents, but something about this one makes you sadder than the rest. One and Twenty more, and whoever else is stupid enough to have the same idea.

Once you feel at rest you land back in the saloon, but it's not as empty as before, your single friend Robert Sims being the occupant. Now there are three men. There is a tall dark haired man with a mustache and a bowler hat, a darker skinned man beside him against the bar, and a young man that looked all too similar to yourself in complexion and hair color. It was nice to know that you weren’t the only one God would curse that way. 

You don't plan on letting yourself be bothered, so you sit down one stool over, beckoning a whiskey you can shoot to chase the adrenaline. You thought you had calmed down, but sitting here it feels as though you’re in the middle of a footrace, with the speed accelerating instead of decreasing. 

“Charlie Brooks?” The tall man with the mustache was the first to speak, and directly to you. 

These men have guns on their hips, and you hope they are not thinking what the last man thought. You’ve barely calmed down enough from Robert Sims, and your head would hurt having to shoot twice in one day. 

“Yes,” your confusion forced through. 

“I'd like to talk with you. This man here tells me you're quite the gunslinger,” he gestures to the bartender and you give him a glance, seemingly just doing his job minding his business when he's not running his mouth about you. 

“He told ya? Or were you outside?” 

The man had a laugh that seemed comforting almost. It was hearty and full of actual joy. He pat you on the back and you had half a mind to turn away from it for a moment, unsure of why he was so friendly or if you appreciated it yet. It’s been a while since you felt the comforting or friendly touch of someone who didn’t later try and shoot you.

“I did in fact see your show of skill, but I wasn't sure if approaching you after a fiasco like that would end up poorly for me.” 

And so you smile, because his sense of humor is alike yours, and he looks to be unphased by your violent acts of earlier. You technically didn’t break any laws. Didn’t do anything wrong, even by killing a man. He had threatened to shoot your first, if no one claims they saw the duel, you can write it off as self defense… but this man doesn’t seem too deterred. In fact, he looks all too happy having witnessed your properly provoked quick draw.

“I ain't jumpy, if that's what you're worried about.” 

But he had a different point on his mind, so the subject was changed in an instant. 

“Look, son. I'm gonna cut to the chase,” he pointed at your pistol, the newest twenty-one mark shining where it peaked out of your holster. “You have a gift for using that. I could use some talent like yours.” 

And suddenly you’re confused again. Who is this guy? What does he want? 

“I ain't a bounty hunter, sir.” 

“I can very well see that. I'm not looking for a temporary gun, kid. I need someone long term.” 

And suddenly your interest is piqued. The other men haven't said a word, and yet they seem to be a part of this offer, whatever it is. They are fully invested in your answer, on the edge of their seat - metaphorically, since they’ve been standing - while waiting. It’s strange, as if it’s all been plotted.

“Not sure I quite understand,” You slide the empty glass back after taking the second shot of whiskey, but hold your hand over the top, keeping the bartender from refilling a third. 

“If you'd be so kind as to follow me and my friends, I would be happy to explain in further detail,” he steps away from the bar, his hand outstretched to the door. This situation reads danger in every which way, but you don't stray from it. You can’t believe you’re doing it, but you follow along, an open mind. 

Nothing to lose.

-

Your horse was in the stables, an older stallion that was probably bred from war. His coat was full and black, like a starless night sky. Fury, you called him. These other men had put their horses up in the stables as well, but they were quite a bit stranger when it came to interacting with the horse hand. They paid him off so he’d forget any of you had been here. 

These men must be outlaws. Dutch, Javier, and Sean… From the time of their introductions, you were watching them with vigilance. You had started to gather that much from the way people ran inside when they passed, but the other behaviors lead you to believe that they weren’t the typical type. They weren’t just bad men looking for trouble and fun. They had reasoning, and they had qualms about who they spoke to about what. They were careful, if that word can even describe an outlaw. 

You followed them out of town, and down a road a bit. Agua Fria was a bit drier than other parts of Texas, but it had some nice trees here and there, with ponds and hills to break up the dusty roads. When you came to a clearing, a full on campsite set up, you immediately looked around, taking in who you thought would be the most imminent threats. 

“Right over here,” Dutch said, dismounting his horse and leading it to a hitching post. You followed him and the others, and the redhead, Sean, took your horse off your hands. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled. 

“This is the camp, ain’t much to look at but we’re all very tight knit, here.” 

You followed behind Dutch, he was the ringleader of all of this, as far as you could tell. He gave the orders, and the others followed. You couldn’t say you didn’t see why. He had all the capabilities of a natural born leader. His presence, his personable way with words, and even his ability to convince a random stranger to follow him. 

“S’cozy,” you said, nodding to each person you passed. He didn’t bother introducing you to them yet, and you figure it’s because he wants to see how well you fit first. No point in getting anyone attached. 

“It is indeed. I’ll have you wait here for just a moment, you can mingle, if you’d like. I’m gonna talk to a few friends of mine,” he told you before ducking into a tent, the flaps falling behind him. 

You huffed a breath, turning to the first face you saw and tipping your hat. 

“Howdy, Ma’am.”

The young woman looked up to you, a sweet smile on her face. She had lovely dark hair and beautiful blue eyes that reflected a clear sky. 

From within the tent, tensions were a bit higher. 

“First Mack and Davey, now this… kid? You can’t keep picking up people like they’re stray dogs, Dutch…” Hosea Matthews, Dutch’s right hand man was the one to speak first. He’d just heard quite a story - which to be fair, Dutch liked telling grand stories - that seemed to be impossible. 

“I know, I know… but you wouldn’t believe it even if you saw it. Hell, even I don’t.” 

“Let me get this straight,” another voice piped up from the corner, standing to make his presence more known. “This eighteen year old kid, who can barely hold up a gun… is the fastest draw you’ve ever seen?” 

“I blinked and the man was dead,” Dutch furthered his point, hearing a low whistle from the youngest man in the tent. They began to peak through the open tent flaps, not letting anyone else see them. 

“Abigail seems to like him.”

“Abigail likes everyone except John these days,” Hosea joked around, sitting himself back down when he’d taken his look at the kid. He was a spry little thing, but looked like a boy still in adolescence.

“Listen,” Dutch began, his hands raised to calm the air. “This kid could mean the difference between life or death in some of our upcoming jobs.”

The younger man looked to Dutch, then to Hosea, and then to the ground, shaking his head. Dutch was like his father, but these fantasies he conjured up sometimes to justify his antics could be wild. 

“He can shoot faster than me?” 

“My boy, I’d let you challenge him yourself if I wasn’t sure he’d drop you where you stand.” Dutch clapped a hand on his shoulder before turning to Hosea. 

“If he’s really as fast as you say, we should keep him. He can’t be of any harm otherwise.”

-

A moment lasted longer than you thought it would, but you’d garnered the attention of not one but two ladies whilst sitting in the shade of the trees. 

Abigail, the heavily pregnant young woman you’d started conversation with, and Tilly, a young lady who seemed to be swooning with every word you said. You didn’t have the heart to say nothing to her, you weren’t even sure you’d be sticking around. 

“And then what happened?” Tilly asked, scooting closer. 

“Well, I guess I shot him. S’how most these stories end, sadly.”

You suddenly felt a bit sorrowful. You’d shot a man down only today and here you’d moved on so quickly. The time of self recovery was getting shorter and shorter. Maybe you ought to stop shooting folks, then you could make some ground on a normal life… but that’s never really been your way, not since you left home. If you stay with this gang, though… the shooting gets worse, and you know that for a fact. 

“But you’re a good shot, probably why Dutch wants ya,” Abigail lifted a brow, nodding towards the tent. You were sure he’d liked you well enough, and you liked this whole tight knit unit well enough. If you shoot enough folk, you reckon you get to stay. 

“Speak of the Devil,” Tilly smiled behind where you were standing, and you took it as a queue to turn around yourself. 

“We sure as hell want him,” Dutch said, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “I have some people I want you to meet. This is my partner, Hosea Matthews.”

And the man - Hosea - smiled and waved. He seemed nice, and gentlemanly. He had a kind face, like that of a dedicated father. 

“And this,” Dutch stood aside, revealing another man stood behind him… “Is Arthur Morgan. My enforcer, and right hand man.”

You froze when he lifted his head, hat tipping upward enough to see his face. Your breath hitched in your throat as you scanned his features, falling to the stretch of his body and then roaming back up to the brim of his hat. You weren’t sure if it was from fear or from awe, but the tenseness in your body was thick and unwavering. He had all the toughness of a rugged outlaw, but his eyes were calm, serene. Like pools of oasis water against a dry and scorching desert. A beautiful man by anyone’s standard, but completely unaware of himself. 

Standing before you now, he nodded in greeting, and you had to snap out of the haze that even now surrounded you, clouding your mind and blocking out anything that wasn’t him. 

Sweet Lord above, help me look away… and finally you did, begrudgingly. 

“He’s gonna show you around, give you the rundown of how things are here,” 

“Sounds-” you coughed once, trying to play off your strange behavior as you cleared your throat. “Sounds just fine.”

“Alright then,” Dutch leaned in towards Arthur at the last second, nudging his arm as he did. “Don’t test ‘im before he’s had a chance to settle. I don’t feel like losing two fast guns on the same day.”

You heard the tail end of the conversation, but pretended it passed over your head. You were standing quietly, still halfway in awe of the man. Sandy strands of hair that fell over the corners of his eyes, his strong jawline stubbled in the same lovely color. He let his hat fall over his eyes again, but you were certain if you’d been able to see them again, you’d not be able to look away.

He fell into a slow walk beside you, beginning to lead through the campsite.

“What’s your name, kid?” 

Kid, as if you were actually one… 

“Charlie Brooks, sir,” You replied, holding a firm hand out. This was reflectant of a similar introduction you’d made earlier this morning. Didn’t matter what happened though, you wouldn’t be shooting the man before you. Not even if he begged. 

“Dutch says they call you Red.”

You dropped your pleasant expression, huffing a fast breath to match the new look on your face.

“Texas Red… But I ain’t even from Texas, so,” and it was true. You’d only earned that nickname here. 

“The red part still fits,” Arthur was teasing you. Perhaps this is what Dutch meant by ‘don’t test him.’

You sighed, realizing that you’d found the downside to this ruggedly handsome stranger… “My name is Charlie Brooks.”

Arthur laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t get upset, boy… I’m only poking fun.”

You drop the tension in your shoulders… you didn’t like being teased, but perhaps it wasn’t as bad coming from this Arthur character. 

“Men learn fast not to poke fun at me,” you told him, partially as a threat, but followed it up quickly. “I s’pose I’d better compose myself around here.”

Arthur laughed, genuinely. He seemed to find you amusing, or maybe he found you to be annoying. Either way, you earned these hearty chuckles to enjoy for yourself. 

“You may be quick with a gun, kid… but just know, that pistol on your hip couldn’t save you from me,” his voice was in a lower register when he said it, and you didn’t know whether you should be intimidated or completely and totally enamored. He wasn’t completely serious, unwilling to scare you away for Dutch’s sake. But he did want you to understand where you stood with him, and you did. 

You only nodded, and kept walking. 

He had shown you the laundry areas, where the girls nearly strip the boys down just so they have something to do in the daytime. He showed you to Mr. Pearson’s ‘kitchen,’ if you could even call it that. He showed you where the weapons are kept, but not where to refill them. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to yet. You take in every word he says, committing it to memory, not only so you can fit in around here, but also so you can recall the sound of his voice on a whim. 

He shows you down to the sloped rim of the pond, where usually one at the time, members of the camp come to bathe in their spare hours. You wondered how far down the way you would have to bathe, just on the off chance someone might come and see. 

“Bill takes care of the horses, mostly. I’m sure he’ll add yours to his rounds if you ask ‘im,” he mentioned, walking back past the horse rails and troughs. Your horse was standing happily in the sunshine, enjoying the blue skies and grass compared to the dusty and dark stables you always put him up in.

“I’ll remember that,” you say, as if you’ll forget anything else. So far you remember everyone’s name - everyone you passed by, at least - and every individual location of the camp. 

“Miss Grimshaw and the others should have a tent for ya by sundown… if not, just bunk with me until tomorrow,” he offered, hands sat steadily on his gun belt. Your face flushed, but lucky for you, he was much taller and couldn’t see under the brim of your hat when you tilted your head. 

“That’s kind of you,” you nodded in reply, saying nothing more. 

He began to back away, needing to attend to something else, but he stopped short. 

“You’re alright, kid,” he complimented, as best as he could give one, anyway. “See you ‘round.”

And you stood still, watching him walk away with your hands at your sides. 

“I’m in deep shit…”

-

Early to bed, early to rise, yatta yatta yatta. You still hate mornings. The camp wakes at the crack of dawn, and you stir just as some folks are leaving, mounting their horses and setting off for the adventures ahead. You’re fairly certain it’s Dutch, Bill, and that other man Hosea, the one with the kind face.

You did end up taking Arthur up on his offer to bunk for the night. He was kind enough to set up one of the spare cots for you, unwilling to argue about sleeping on the ground and all that. He pegged you for the arguing type and wanted to leave well enough alone. 

He was gone from the tent-like structure by the wagon, away somewhere probably having a cup of that coffee you smelled. They must have had a pot brewing somewhere, because it was the only thing willing you to leave the shaded area you were resting. The sun wasn’t high in the sky, but you could already feel the effects of the heat swirling in around the camp. 

It was strange, going about your morning routine with others present. Washing up your face in one of the water barrels, raking your hair back over your head with your wet fingers to let the hair sit flat before you crushed it down with your hat. You’d been nearly presentable, good enough for the morning, anyway. 

It wasn’t long before you were sitting close to the congregated group, a cup of coffee in your own hands. It wasn’t the best you’ve had, but hey, it helped you keep your eyes open. You didn’t dare interject into the conversation, unknowing of it they would accept it. Not that it mattered, because you liked hearing them interact as is. They were a rowdy bunch, but they had some wit here and there.

After a while, you zoned out during talks of events you hadn’t been to, people you hadn’t met, things you didn’t get to see before coming here. You watched a bunny that leapt across the camp, running into the wilderness ahead only to disappear behind some rocks. You realized by then you were at the end of your coffee cup. You stood up to take it back to Mr. Pearson, but were interrupted by one of the others in the circle. You remember his name is John. 

“How about you, Brooks?” He asked, catching you off guard, for you had absolutely no clue what the conversation was. 

“How about me?” you replied, a furrowed brow as you stopped in your tracks and waited. 

“Are you really as fast as people say?”

You scoffed, a slanted eyebrow to the man when he seemed in disbelief. You don’t blame him, he’s never seen you shoot. 

“Faster.”

“Boy’s got some pride on ‘im. Shouldn’t be too hard to break it down,” the only other redhead in the gang reared his accented voice. “Ay, Arthur?” 

You turned to the man, stoic and quiet, his hat covering most of his face so you couldn’t see what his features were saying. 

“If Dutch says he’s faster than me, I won’t push my luck.”

Except for he wanted to. He really wanted to, and you were curious to see his skill as well. Maybe not against you, because hell… you ain’t never lost before but there’s a first time for everything, and you like it here too much to throw it away. 

“I don’t buy it. That’s just Dutch telling tales like he does,” John stood up and clapped his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Never in my life have I seen someone with Arthur’s shootin’ speed.”

“Never?” 

You knew it was probably not in your best interest to boast your ability on the first day, but shit, it was the only thing you had going for you. You had to make way in this group somehow. 

“Never.” 

“Alright,” you nodded. “I propose a game. Two bullets, our names carved in. We set up a can to shoot and whoever’s bullet gets trapped inside s’the one that got there first.”

Arthur lifted his head, and for the first time this morning, you saw his eyes. Your face instantly got red, but no one seemed to notice, too caught up in the heat of the exchange. 

He nodded once, a slow and decisive nod. He was thinking it over. 

“Sure,” he said, his thick accent coating the word. “Guess I’ll play along.”

And the group dispersed, grabbing everything needed. Arthur took it upon himself to carve the bullets, and strangely, you trusted him not to tamper with yours. He didn’t seem like the type to play dirty. He didn’t look like he needed to be. 

Sean set up the can on a log, a crudely drawn X out of charcoal on the rusty front of it. There were words being exchanged as you both stepped up, opening your guns to drop out all the bullets before Arthur handed yours over. His etching wasn’t too bad, but you dropped the smug look on your face when you saw what he actually put on it. 

“I told you my name’s not Red,” you huffed, taking it anyway and dropping it into the cylinder, giving it a quick spin to line it up. 

“Doesn’t matter, no one’s gonna see it but you,” he teased, loading his own gun and standing beside you, about five yards away from the can. 

“Need me to count?” you joked back, hopefully not in vain. You wouldn’t be pridefully wounded if you lost in all honesty. You’d been waiting for your talent to fail you for a long time now, and without any stakes on the table, you suppose today could be the day. 

Both guns now strapped to your hips, you waited in silence, and so did everyone else. It wasn’t something that needed cheering on, but it was definitely something to be on the edge of your seat for. 

You saw Arthur drop his hand out of the corner of your eye, so you cleared leather as fast as you could in hopes that your shot would land, and it did… or at least, you thought it did. The can went flying and both guns had been fired. 

“Who won?” John yelled over in question to Sean, who went to kneel down by the log, picking up the can. 

“Uh…” He held up the can, showing two bullet holes, before dumping out both bullets from the inside. “Both of em’.” 

And for the first time in any shoot out you’d ever participated in, you were too stunned to speak. You never doubted this man’s abilities as a talented gunslinger, but given you’d never seen him shoot, and knowing your own track record… it was surprising to see. 

“Well,” Arthur turned to you, as the others continued to chat amongst themselves, not sure how to split the bets they had made beforehand. “You beat me.” 

He offered his hand to you to shake, but you shook you head, you didn’t understand. 

“It’s a draw, both bullets hit,” you tried to reason, but he was set on his own explanation. 

“You hit first. Mine went through the top as it was fallin’.”

You shook his hand anyway, but froze in place when he spoke. Could he really tell? Was he that detail oriented when shooting? You’d never known much of your craft, just that you could do it, just that you’d practiced a bunch and got pretty damn good… but you didn’t even think to make that observation. 

“That don’t count,” you tried to absolve him, still feeling as though from what he said alone, he was the better gunslinger. “I’ve never said this before… but I would not duel you, Arthur Morgan. You’ve scared me somethin’ awful with that gun.”

He had a chuckle in his exhale as he let it fall from his lips, a nod and the drop of your handshake. “Guess we both met our match today.”

“I’d say so.”

-

The day was slow. When Dutch and Hosea and Bill returned in the evening, there was some wind of a job coming up, the first one you’d inevitably be invited to. It was discussed quickly and not in great detail, and the heads of the camp still had some ideas churning about it. Hopefully you’d be able to keep up in the heat of the moment, as you’d never done anything like this before. Never robbed folk - alive folk, at least - or taken something as a means to survive. You’ve lived off of bets and fools you shot dead. It was a lousy way to live but it had never gotten as low as stealing or cold blooded murder. 

The thoughts turned over in your head and for some reason you couldn’t seem to lose them, but at the end of the night they were momentarily stalled when Arthur helped you carry the already assembled cot into your new tent. It was simple, just a double sided narrow-pitched tent, no room inside for anything but a cot and a single human. You could just kick your boots under the cot when you slept, that would be the extent of your storage space. At least it had the privacy of the two flaps at the front, current parted like curtains to allow entrance. 

Once everything was set up, Arthur took a step back, but didn’t leave yet. 

“Thank you, Arthur. I’ll owe you one,” you promised, trying to be as casual about his genuine help and concern over you the past day. No one had ever shown this much attentiveness to you, and though you know he’s only acting on orders from Dutch, it feels like he really cares. He’s kind and he’s gentle, despite his rugged appearance and reputation. 

“S’no problem,” he scratched the back of his neck, looking from side to side to make sure everyone had either retired for the night or was too occupied to listen in. “I wanted to tell you something.”

You furrowed your brow, crossing your arms. 

He sighed and met your eyes again, debating his words in his head. Out with it already…

“I know you’re a lady,” he tried to speak evenly, but the tail end of his sentence got caught. 

Your eyes widened before he even finished his sentence. You looked around as well before shoving him inside your tent, too small for one person let alone two. 

“You don’t know anything,” you assured him, suddenly self conscious of how he perceived you. What was it? Your voice? The way you walked? Your body? Was anybody else going to notice? 

“I wasn’t pryin’, I swear,” he said, reaching into his satchel, still on his hip after a long day. “Bill left early this morning, I took care of your horse. These fell out of your saddlebag…”

He held out to you the most damning piece of evidence there could possibly be. Long cotton wraps and a sanitary apron, the brand new woolen padding you’d gotten was pressed inside and ready. 

Shit. You didn’t even think twice about hiding the contents of your saddle bag when arriving here. No one had ever been kind enough to care for your horse, so you didn’t worry. 

You looked into his eyes, firm but not judgemental. When you looked at him just a second too long they turned to a silent fear. Like he was a child getting caught stealing sweets. 

“Don’t tell Dutch,” you begged, and he huffed a sigh, unsure of what to do. 

“I can’t lie to im’,” he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. You were new, this wasn’t just about loyalty, it was about hierarchy. You, the new soldier, could not dare ask the second in command to deprive his leader of the truth. 

“I’m not asking you to. Just don’t tell him, yet. I’ll think of a way to let him know…”

You knew it was a stretch, but he was wonderful with the women of the camp, a man of high honor among the ladies. Surely he would help you, just until you were ready to share your secret. 

“We’re different, y’know? If you’ve been hidin’ all this time out there, that’s one thing… but you ain’t gotta do that here.”

“I don’t want them to look at me differently…” you trailed, silently pleading with him. 

He nodded, the look in your eyes nearly breaking his heart. There’s a story within you, but he’ll wait to hear it. For now, he just complies, hearing your voice at it’s softest point, the feminine silkiness flowing through. You only ever spoke to yourself like that anymore.

“Okay,” he placed a warm hand on your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze, before maneuvering out of your small tent. “Just until you tell ‘im yourself, ya hear?” 

You nodded in understanding, a thankful and sweet smile dining your features. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“G’night, Red…”

TAGS: @sheepdogchick3

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Part 2 - let the world know

“I wish I could let the world know that it’s okay to let the pain show and even though times seem bad, it always rains before the rainbow.” -A Little More by Machine Gun Kelly

Dp x DC: Regent!Jazz AU Vigilante!Jazz AU

Prompt Masterlist

In traditional Fenton luck, shit goes sideways when Jazz wasn’t looking.

The Joker breaks out of Arkham.

Now, Jazz is fully aware of the Clown’s evil-ness and Danny’s trauma with all things Circus thanks to Freakshow has her hackles raised when the spirits of Gotham start screeching in her ear mid-patrol that “Joker is free!”

Like hell the guy would stay that way.

Lady Gotham is anxiously watching the Regent stomp towards Arkham, where the Mad Clown had yet to fully leave the premises into Gotham proper.

Would Jazz kill the Clown?

Many of the Unquiet Dead of Gotham are the staunchest supporters of kill, kill, kill on a good day, but with the Clown?

They seethed, they writhed, they thirsted for their vengeance and with every life taken by the Joker, the number grew.

Jazz hated the thought of death, ironically.

It’s one thing to rule the Dead and Never-born, but to add to the Realms' population by her own hand?

(It wouldn't be the first time.)

Well, Jasmine Nightingale would have to check her morals at the door, because when Lady Gotham begins to hesitantly (then vivaciously) root for you to “please end him, dear” one has to reconsider a few things about themselves.

For instance, how would she avoid becoming the next Joker? It was a hushed confession of the Lady that made Jazz hesitate at the border between Gotham and Arkham-

A dead man's switch would trigger a Joker Venom bomb, infecting those nearby.

Would the gas affect a Liminal?

True, Jazz was very much a living being (she often woke up in a cold sweat with a hand at her neck, heart beating against her fingers), but she was Death-claimed.

Was this how Danny felt as a Halfa? Weighing the living half vs the dead to see which would win out in a fight?

Not for the first time, Jazz found herself thankful that she was only Liminal.

Heart in her throat, Jazz considered her options.

It would be easy to just run him through with her ecto-sword, a gift from her once-mentor Pandora, but she would likely have to fight her way through bats and birds to both get to and away from the Clown.

Jazz could also just ask for aid from Lady Gotham and/or the Unquiet Dead to enshroud her from vigilant eyes as she absconds with Joker to Crime Alley.

(Jazz was sure Red Hood wouldn’t mind if she dropped a dead clown at his feet. He seemed the type to appreciate a job well done.)

(If her heart raced slightly in response to that thought, no it didn’t.)

Despite all her reservations about murder, killing the clown felt like an honor for the Regent.

(Blood had long since been on her hands.)

The morning would bring chaos as the people learned of the Joker's fate, Batman's failure to return him to Arkham, and how someone finally had enough of the black furry's inaction to stop the clown.

Sometimes, inaction is just as bad as action.

(A Fenton who learned that well.)

Jazz, in full Regent armor, mounted the Joker's head at the mouth of her alleyway, the same one that she used as a checkpoint between her apartment and the Park Row graveyard. A grotesque trophy that would be used as a symbol of the Regent's authority to avenge, of her willingness to cross the line of morality.

The Unquiet Dead who owed their demise to the Joker could now pass on and Jazz could call it a night.

That was, until whatever tomorrow brought around to spite the younger Fentons.

Typical.

=============================

[This was more of a short fic rather than the prompt I first started with, but it just came to me. I want to explore some things with events leading up to Danny and Jazz in Gotham, but I'm not sure. I need help to describe Jazz's armor because I have a general idea, but I'm not sure about the details. Ideas?]

[Hopefully I'll be able to put more Regent!Jazz than Vigilante!Jazz, but I also really like Jazz as one. Bet you can't guess the name I use for her as a vigilante!]

[forestshadow-wolf]

Cw: intrusive thoughts, semi-vague suicidal ideation and attempt

"You're real." Ghost spoke in a way that legt no room to deny it. "I know it doesn't feel like it. And it feels like the those thoughts are the only thing about you that's real. But they're not. You are." Ghost spoke slowly, steadily. Like he wasn't talking to some feral, rabid creature. Like soap wasn't a deranged man. Just held his shaking hand, and gripped it tightly.

"How do you know?"

"Because I get them too. I think maggots and dirt. And I think about peeling the skin from my bones. And I think about hurting you. And Price. And Gaz. And-.. And I think about getting a revolver from the weapons cache." Ghost's hold turned bruising, and soap relished in it. "But there are no maggots. And the dirt can be scrubbed. And my skin's not coming off. And I haven't broken John's neck. Or stabbed Kyle in the neck. And I haven't ripped your throat out with my teeth." There was a slight tremble in Ghost's hand now, but his grip only got tighter.

"And you've never..."

"Oh I have. More times than I want to count. " Ghost said bluntly. "I checked that thing out unloaded. They wouldn't let me load my own gun. Like they knew. It's like they knew. And I went way out to the far far corner of the base. Up on a lovely little hill. And I took that gun. And I sat and watched the sunset. I thought that if I should die that it should be to something nice this time. And I pulled the hammer. And I closed my eyes. And held the barrel to my head." Ghost finally looked at him now. And Soap hadn't been able look away from sunce the beginning. "And I pulled the trigger." Ghost forced their eyes to meet. "And it didn't feel real when I pulled it away from my skull and I wasn't dead. But I wasn't. And I was real. And I'm here. With you." Soap let out a shakey breath.

"..h-how do you know if it's real?"

"How much do you want it to be real? Sometimes you don't know. Sometimes I see you bleeding from your throat, and I taste blood im my mouth. But it's my blood, because I look at you, and you're smiling and laughing instead of bleeding and dying."

[riotwritesthings]

An Agony We Deserve (Throwing Off Sparks)

WinterIron - M, 3k, WIP - reluctant soulmates, thriller/horror?, canon-typical violence, loss of control, panic attacks

There are legends. Soulmate bonds have started and ended wars, they used to reshape the world without any warning. People would change in an instant, abandon and betray everything, become completely unrecognizable, but those are just legends-

It can’t be-

But they are.

See what happened was. I thought about this post so hard that it broke my writer's block. I have no plan for this, I'm just following vibes and vague ideas and hoping the muse doesn't abandon me. If you're feeling brave, let's see where we end up!

Happy spooky month, here's my interpretation on soulmates as a horror concept.

---

Chapter 1: we locked eyes

Tony manages to slap his hand over the barrel of the handgun just as it levels with his face.

Barnes pulls the trigger.

The sound of it is deafening, hitting Tony like a physical blow, but the bullet stops abruptly when it hits his gauntlet-covered palm. It still stings like hell, but his face and brain remain intact.

Even as he fits his thumb over the slide lock, preparing to pull the whole thing away from the rest of the gun, Tony feels a smirk tug at his lips. He flicks his gaze up to direct his smug look at the rampaging soldier-

The entire world falls away.

Except that’s not strong enough. The entire world shatters in an explosion of razor-sharp pieces that slice through Tony’s mind, through his entire being.

The large open lobby is still in chaos around him, but all of the noise of shouting and approaching footsteps and even the ringing in his ears is suddenly so far away. Like it’s coming from the end of a tunnel, or the top of a well, and he’s falling.

There’s no ground beneath his feet. There’s no air around him, his lungs are collapsing. His heart lodges somewhere around his throat and he can’t breathe-

Barnes has such blue eyes. Cold and fierce but bright, wide, and Tony is lost.

He can’t tear himself away. Why would he?

There is nothing else.

Just the sparks dancing along his nerves and the pull in his chest and the realigning of the entire fucking universe around him.

Tony can’t tell if his head is spinning or if it’s everything.

Where-

What was he doing here? It was important, he knows that, but everything is gone-

All he knows is-

Barnes blinks and the world snaps back into place.

Except it snaps back wrong.

Like the center of gravity suddenly isn’t where it’s supposed to be. All of the colors are wrong, too bright and too rich. The air tastes electric.

Tony drags in a shuddering breath and he has no idea how much time has passed. A second. A lifetime.

Barnes is blinking rapidly now, like he’s trying to wake up.

At least Tony remembers why he’s here. He remembers all of his goals so clearly.

Stop this mess from becoming any more of an international disaster. Help Steve, if he can. Find out the truth.

He still needs to do all of that, it’s important.

His thumb falls away from the slide lock as Barnes lowers the gun. Barnes doesn’t actually pull out of his hold.

They’re still just staring at each other.

Tony needs to- to figure out what the hell happened here and how to fix it-

They need to-

The sound of footsteps are right behind him now, two sets of them, and he doesn’t think.

He spins on his heel, hand raised, and sends off a repulsor blast.

His blood runs cold as Natasha skids back across the polished floor and collides hard with one of the countless scattered tables. Sharon freezes a couple of feet away, staring at him with wide eyes.

He can’t breathe.

Natasha is still standing but she winces as she steps away from the table at her lower back. She hesitates, clearly confused, eyes darting between Tony and Barnes.

Tony doesn’t have any answers for her, even if he could speak. Why did he do that?

He still can’t fucking breathe.

Sharon lunges forward and Barnes’ hand wraps around the bend of Tony’s elbow, pulling him out of the way. Barnes puts himself between Tony and the attacking agent like a solid wall and it feels-

Tony shoves that incomplete thought away with the same vicious force that Barnes shoves Sharon down through another table.

He still feels so off balance. Like he’s waking up from a life-long dream. He’s relieved when Sharon curls around herself with a groan and doesn’t try to get up.

This isn’t right. Tony is supposed to be helping stop Barnes from breaking out of here, not- not looking for the exits-

Natasha is moving towards them again and Tony needs to help-

He needs to help her, he should- he should grab Barnes again, hold him so Natasha can-

Tony can’t even finish the thought. He’s still frozen in place.

None of this is right.

Barnes catches Natasha’s fists just as easily. Tony is all too familiar with the way Natasha swings herself up around Barnes’ shoulders, ready to strike, and he- he can’t-

He needs to-

They need to-

No, fuck. Tony can’t get it together, he can’t think. Everything is still sideways, it's all too bright.

Natasha brings her elbow down hard onto Barnes’ head, and Tony-

Reality finishes shattering around him.

He finally moves and things start to happen so damn fast. He sends out so many pulses of disorienting energy that the heat of the repulsor starts to burn his palm. Natasha hits the far wall and crumbles, and guilt twists Tony’s gut. He doesn’t stop to think.

Barnes' hand wraps around his arm again and Tony follows. More counter-terror agents approach them as they cross the room. Tony repulsors them. Barres takes care of any that get too close. They keep moving.

They have to get out of here.

It’s not until they’re approaching a staircase that Tony stops and says, “No.”

The helicopter is too exposed, too obvious. But Tony doesn’t need to explain.

Barnes goes tense for just a second. His fingers twitch against Tony’s skin. His eyes are fever-bright as he looks at Tony and nods.

So blue. Tony is still falling.

They turn down a hallway. Tony knows the way to the secret service tunnels. Barnes is following him now, hand still wrapped around Tony’s forearm. The contact feels like touching a live wire and Tony’s heart keeps stuttering in his chest. The strong grip feels like a brand, like a shackle-

Unbreakable-

T 'Challa steps into the hallway, blocking their path. Tony’s hand comes up again without thought, palm out and fingers spread in clear threat. He can’t stop himself.

“Stark,” T’Challa says, his eyebrows furrowed, “why are you doing this?”

Tony opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He doesn’t have an answer. He can’t say it.

Barnes’ hand tightens on his arm the second T’Challa moves, and the chaos resumes. Tony's body moves faster than he can keep track of, than he wants to keep track of. He doesn’t want to think about what he’s- why he’s-

T‘Challa is clearly aiming to subdue Barnes and Tony can’t- he can’t let that- The repulsed burns his palm again, but the prince is quick. T’Challa’s hand swings at his face and Tony can’t dodge it.

He doesn’t have to.

Barnes is there. He grabs T’Challa’s arm with both hands and an audible snap echoes through the empty hallway.

Tony wants to throw up, he wants to stop. Instead he puts his palm to the side of T’Challa’s head and activates the repulsor.

It embeds the man halfway into the wall where he stills with a groan and Tony wavers on his feet. His hand is going numb and every fiber of him is screaming.

He’s still off balance, he still can’t breathe.

But he grabs Barnes by the wrist and they keep moving. Down the hall and then they’re practically tumbling down the dimly lit stairwell. They make it to the service tunnels. The tunnels lead to a parking garage, but the doors are locked.

Somehow Barnes’ gun found its way into his free hand, and Tony lifts it while Barnes works on the lock. When the doors swing open there’s a guard standing in their way, his hands shaking around his own gun.

Tony pulls the trigger first.

The man crumbles, bleeding, and bile rises in Tony’s throat.

Oh fuck, why can’t he stop?

Barnes pulls him along and Tony doesn’t protest when he picks their getaway car. Barnes smashes in the window and Tony hotwires it as easy as breathing. Tony drives.

Within minutes they’re blending into traffic in a nondescript sedan. When his phone starts to ring Tony passes it over, and Barnes crushes it in his metal hand without instruction.

They keep driving.

---

They don’t stop running for thirteen hours.

The entire time, they don’t speak. They don’t need to.

Tony’s stomach is still rolling.

He doesn’t sleep, even when Barnes takes over driving near the end. He’s too tired to consider questioning the rundown farmhouse that Barnes finds near the northern border of Lithuania.

It’s not like he’s been thinking through a fucking thing since-

Barnes leads the way into the one-room shack, and Tony doesn’t let himself think. He watches Barnes drop stiffly onto the worn couch.

Tony is trying so hard not to think.

Everything is still wrong. He’s exhausted but energy is still buzzing beneath his skin. Electric and terrifying. He can taste static on the air and his heart rate is still- He doesn’t-

"What the fuck?" Tony finally bursts, his voice hoarse, “why- what the fuck just happened?”

Barnes doesn’t look up from staring at his own palms. “You know,” he says heavily, “you’re too smart t’ pretend you don’ know what this is.”

“No,” Tony snaps. He spins on his heel and starts to pace. He doesn’t make it more than three steps towards the door before his head starts to pound, his chest pulling tight. So he paces the other direction, not looking over at Barnes as he repeats, "No, there’s no fucking way."

“You got another explanation?” Barnes demands. His breathing sounds ragged, too-quick.

Tony refuses to look over.

"I don’t- how about a mental breakdown?" Tony replies. His own breathing is shallow and shaky. "Why else would I- unless your Hydra brainworm is fucking contagious-"

"Wh- no," Barnes says around a harsh bark of laughter.

“- Then I don’t- something else must have-”

“No,” Barnes says again, "you know what this is."

Tony whirls on him, glaring, but Barnes is still hunched over himself. They’re both breathing too hard, too fast, Tony can hear the air wheezing in and out of his lungs.

It can’t be-

“You helped a fugitive escape custody,” Barnes says flatly, not looking up from his hands. “I was- you broke my orders with a word. Why else-”

“Shut up,” Tony snaps, "I am not your- we are not soulmates." His voice is too loud is his own ears, ringing oddly. “That’s- this shit doesn’t happen anymore.”

There are legends. Soulmate bonds have started and ended wars, they used to reshape the world without any warning. People would change in an instant, abandon and betray everything, become completely unrecognizable, but those are just legends-

It can’t be-

But they are.

Tony makes a strangled sound as the truth that he’s known all along starts to really sink in. He’s not even trying to breathe anymore.

Barnes mutters something under his breath, too low for Tony to catch. Then he repeats it, over and over as he drops his face into his palms, and eventually Tony can make out the words.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-”

The wave of guilt that crashes over Tony is unexpected and infuriating.

He doesn’t want an apology, not from Barnes- Not when-

Neither of them chose this, but that’s kind of the fucking point, isn’t it? Tony wants an apology from the goddamn universe, not from the man hyperventilating on the shitty couch.

And the worse Barnes’ breathing gets, fast and too deep until his entire body heaves with it, the more Tony wants to- he doesn’t even know, but he can’t-

He can’t stop himself.

Tony marches across the room, his body once again moving without any input from his brain. Like a puppet on strings. Without the adrenaline of a fight it's even more obvious how completely out of control he is.

All that fucking time and effort trying to take back control of his life and his legacy, even if he has been regularly fucking it up, and now this-

By the time he’s standing in front of Barnes his own chest is rising and falling nearly as quickly and Tony hesitates, trailing to a stop. Now that he’s here he doesn’t actually know what to do, he has no plan, all he knows is that it’s physically impossible to do nothing.

Every breath Tony takes burns through his lungs and Barnes is starting to hiccup on every inhale, what Tony can see of his face going ghostly pale.

Tony can only watch numbly as his hands move, reaching out, and not knowing what he’s going to do is fucking terrifying. So he makes a decision instead.

He buries his fingers in Barnes’ wild hair and it feels like being electrocuted. Tony’s grip clenches tighter as a current of something that damn sure feels like electricity flows up his arms. They’ve both stopped breathing entirely. Tony’s chest is too full of something-

It feels-

Barnes doesn’t resist when Tony yanks on his hair with shaking hands, letting Tony pull his face up out of his palms. He lets Tony pull until his head is craned back, loose strands of hair falling out of his face as they stare at each other.

His eyes are wide and bloodshot. Still so damn blue.

"Breathe, stupid," Tony finally manages to wheeze. He has to drag in a shuddering, painful lungful of air before he can add, “I’m having the panic attack right now, and I don’t share.”

The laugh that Barnes chokes out is edged with hysteria. His gaze moves over Tony’s face, looking for something, and when Tony forces himself to take another shaking inhale Barnes follows along.

Tony takes another breath, and so does Barnes. It’s easier than Tony expected, shoving everything aside to just focus on getting air in and out of his lungs.

Maybe because they’re finally touching again.

Barnes’ hair is surprisingly soft. It's hard to ignore, even if Tony is doing his best not to notice. Barnes’ skin gives off a heat that radiates up Tony’s arms, into his chest, and it is slightly loosening the knot of panic wrapped around Tony’s heart.

They continue to stare at each other, breathing in time.

Slowly Barnes raises one shaking hand to grab blindly for Tony’s hip. He holds on like Tony is some kind of life line, wrinkling the expensive fabric. It’s hard enough to bruise and it feels-

Everything is still sideways.

Reality has been pulled inside out, too bright and harsh and messy and it's never going back.

Even the faded colors of the farmhouse are too saturated, the weak overhead lighting nearly blinding. Tony can feel every stuttering beat of his heart through his entire body.

But standing here like this- close- touching-

It feels right.

That thought has barely settled in his mind before Tony is ripping himself away, stumbling backwards. He immediately feels off-balance, untethered, and he nearly trips over his own feet as he retreats the few more steps it takes to put his back against the far wall.

This can’t be happening.

But it is.

Tony is living a legend. He’d abandoned all of his plans the second he’d looked into Barnes’ eyes, everything he’d gone to Berlin to do. He’d betrayed his teammates- attacked Natasha-

His breath catches wetly as bile rises in his throat. He really- this isn’t supposed to-

But it's happening-

All the air has vanished from the room. He can’t breathe again, lungs closing up as he tries desperately to think of any other explanation.

There’s nothing. And even if he could find another reason, he knows-

He knows it's true. He has a-

No-

Tony has to get out of here, go-

Anywhere.

His head starts to pound, throbbing in protest, and Tony groans as he lets himself slide down the wall. He squeezes his eyes shut and thumps his head back against the rough wood, breath rattling in his chest.

He can feel Barnes watching him. He keeps his eyes firmly closed. He doesn’t- he can’t deal with this.

When Barnes finally speaks, what he says is, “Lemme know when you’re done with th’ panic attack, I call next.”

His voice sounds a little better, a little more stable, and it actually sends a bolt of relief through Tony. Followed quickly by a fresh wave of irritation.

“Fuck off,” he snaps back, the words rough and wavering.

Barnes doesn’t reply, and Tony keeps his eyes shut.

He’s not sure which is more upsetting, the very thought that Barnes might leave, or the soul-deep certainty that he can't.

[heroin-vaccine]

His Favourite Person

jim moriarty x reader

Summary: You have a nightmare, but the consulting criminal is there to calm you down.

Warnings: it's angsty at the beginning, but turns into comfort/fluff at the end, death (not really though, just in a dream), gun usage

A/N Hello! It's just a small piece I wrote after not writing any fanfiction for 7 years. I hope I did our dear Jim justice. Let me know what you think! Please keep in mind that English is not my first language.

You watched as he pressed the gun against his scalp. A smirk evident on his lips, like he wasn't bothered in the slightest by what he was about to do. Your heart raced, panic was written all over your face. No. This is not happening.

"Jim!" You tried calling his name, but he didn't hear you. You tried louder and louder, but it was like you weren't even here. Like you were just a ghost.

You wanted to run to him, to do something, but some kind of invisible force was holding you back. You couldn't get closer. You couldn't stop him.

Before you could yell out his name again, it happened. He pulled the trigger, a loud noise from the gun firing hit your ears and his body fell motionless on the ground, blood pooling around his head.

"No..." A whisper fell from your lips. Your hands were trembling, your heart squeezed.

"God, please no." Sobs started to rack your body, as knees your hit the hard ground beneath. The world around you began to fade. This is not happening...

You wake with a gasp, your eyes shot open. Despite the immobilizing panic your eyes quickly scan the room you're in and you recognize it as yours and Jim's shared bedroom. It was just a nightmare. Your eyes and cheeks were wet, and it felt as if your heart was about to jump out your chest. Despite the slight relief of realization that what you saw was indeed not real, you just couldn't calm down. You needed to see him.

Just when a thought of searching for Jim crossed your mind, you felt a hand on your shoulder, making you jump a little. You looked up, your frantic gaze meeting his concerned one.

He was still dressed in his day clothes, indicating that he probably didn't even went to sleep that night, even though it must be awfully late by now. Still, it wasn't a surprise, as Jim's sleeping patterns were a complete mess. He was either going over business with his clients or conveying orders to his employees or planinng his next move. His mind almost never stopping, which resulted in the man rarely getting any sleep at all.

His brows were furrowed, dark eyes scanning your face. Assessing your state it seemed obvious that it was a nightmare that has shaken you up so much.

"Hey, it's ok. It's ok." He spoke softly, his distinguishable accent pouring from every word. He sat down on the bed beside you and took you in his arms. You pressed your face into his chest, hearing his heartbeat; a clear indicator of him being alive. Your arms came around him, and you inhaled deeply, trying to calm down. The slightly faded scent of his cologne has grounded you further.

"I'm here." He said as he left a small kiss on your head. Seeing you in such a state bothered him. The sight made him frown. Many thought that Jim Moriarty didn't feel anything, that he was heartless. And while it is true for the most part, you were the exception. The only thing that mattered in the long run. You were partners in crime, most of the time; literally.

He propped his chin on your head, his thumb rubbing your back in a calming motion. Finally all the emotions started to slowly evaporate. Your heart rate started going back to normal, as you soaked in Jim's touch, his warmth, his scent, his whole being.

You were the only person who's distress bothered Jim. You're his favourite person afterall. The only equal in this world full of ordinary people. And he will always be there for his one and only other extraordinary person.

[podiumackles]

the moments that stay (they turn out all wrong)

In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.

series masterlist

CHAPTER 3

A/N: English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.

Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of slight gore, mentions of blood, mentions of death, and possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.

Present

Getting out of your cell was easier than expected. The hard part was getting out of the facility alive; about twenty minutes into the escape, alarm bells rang out like a symphony of dread, filling the cold, sterile corridors. It wasn’t surprising, really—Vought’s security wasn’t going to let you walk out unharmed. Still, for the first time in decades, your wrists were free from the biting restraints, and adrenaline surged through your veins.

You ran alongside Butcher, who seemed to have an uncanny knack for navigating the labyrinthine facility. His movements were sharp and purposeful. It was clear he had done his homework on this place, even if Vought’s playbook was constantly evolving. Soldier Boy was ahead, his broad shoulders cutting a path through the narrow hallways like a battering ram.

“Thought you said you had this under control!” you shouted over the wail of the alarms, your voice rusty but gaining strength.

Butcher smirked, barely winded. “Oh, this? Bit of noise never hurt nobody.”

Ben shot a glance back at the two of you, his shield gripped tightly in one hand, his jaw clenched. He looked as though he was barely holding himself together—rage simmering just beneath the surface. You couldn’t blame him. Whatever memories Vought had buried inside him, they still left scars. And now, the sound of blaring alarms running through his ears, must trigger his fight or flight response. There was no doubt about it.

“We need to hit the control room,” Butcher said, his voice urgent now. “Shut down the security before they send the big guns.”

You and Soldier Boy exchanged a glance. His eyes still carried that haunting vacancy, but a flicker of something else—recognition, maybe—crossed his face. He jerked his head forward, signalling for you to keep moving. Old habits died hard. Even after everything, he still acted like a leader.

The trio turned a sharp corner just as a squad of Vought soldiers appeared at the other end of the corridor. You didn’t hesitate. Throwing yourself to the floor, you slid behind a row of metal crates, while Soldier Boy charged forward like a freight train. His shield crashed against the soldiers, sending them flying, their weapons useless against his brute force and super healing.

Butcher stayed low, pulling a gun from his coat and taking a few well-placed shots, neutralizing the ones that hadn’t already been knocked out cold by Ben. The man moved with ruthless precision, not a shred of hesitation in his actions. You wondered how many people like you and Ben he’d already dealt with, how much he’d seen. But that was a question for later. For now, survival was your only priority.

“Clear,” Butcher muttered, nodding for you to get up.

“We won’t have much time,” you said, still catching your breath. The alarms were one thing, but Vought had been keeping an eye on every single corner of the facility with the carefully hidden cameras around the building.

“Yeah, no fucking shit,” Ben muttered, shaking off some dust mixed with blood from his shield as if this were a regular Tuesday for him. “Where’s this control room?”

You pointed ahead. “Up two floors. We take the stairs—elevator’s a death trap.”

Your mind was racing with thoughts of escape. But there was another gnawing question you couldn’t shake: Why were they here, really? Why you?

As the three of you burst through the stairwell door and ascended the steps, your legs burning with the effort, you felt the weight of the years clawing at you. Your muscles were stiff, your body weak from disuse, but the rage—the fury—inside you was enough to keep you moving. You were sick of being someone else’s pawn.

Suddenly, Ben stopped at a landing, holding out his arm. You froze, instinctively falling back into soldier mode. “What is it?” you whispered.

“Listen.”

You strained your ears, and sure enough, your superhearing enhanced the heavy clank of footsteps echoing from above. A lot of footsteps.

“They’re sending the backup troops,” You muttered. “They think we’re trapped.”

Butcher grinned, something dark and predatory in his eyes. “Let ‘em come. They don’t know what’s comin’ for ‘em.”

You tightened your fists, feeling the heat of your powers surging just beneath your skin. It hurt, just the slightest. It had been so long since you had the chance to use them—so long since you’d felt anything beyond the dull ache of confinement.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Butcher asked, glancing at you with an eyebrow raised.

You looked him dead in the eye, trying to hide your hesitation. “Always am.”

The first wave of guards came pouring down the stairs, fully armed, faces masked. Without hesitation, Ben launched himself into the fray, shield gleaming as it smashed into the front line. Butcher followed, a pistol in one hand and a combat knife in the other, carving through the chaos.

You stood back for a moment, feeling the pulsing heat build in your hands, until finally, with a sharp exhale, you unleashed it. Energy—wild, untamed wind—exploded from your palms, sending the next wave of soldiers crashing back into the walls. The surge felt powerful, like shaking off the chains that had weighed you down for years.

But most of all, it was stronger than it ever had been. The most powerful you had ever felt. And you barely dared to admit that it scared you.

Ben glanced back, eyes wide for the briefest of moments when he looked at you before he returned to dispatching the remaining guards.

“Not bad,” Butcher commented, smirking through the chaos. Though an unfamiliar look crossed his eyes.

Once the stairwell was clear, the three of you sprinted up the last flight of steps and into the corridor leading to the control room. You could hear more guards closing in behind you, but the door ahead was just within reach. With a mighty kick, Soldier Boy knocked it open, and the three of you burst into the room, slamming the door shut behind you.

Two of Vought’s employees shot around in their chairs, a look of horror flashed on their innocent faces right before Soldier Boy lifted his shield, moved it at the height of their necks and-

Two heads rolled over de floor.

The air was thick with tension, punctuated by the shrill wails of the alarms still echoing through the facility. The walls were lined with glowing monitors, displaying a maze of surveillance footage, flashing red warnings, and floor plans. This was the heart of Vought’s operations.

Butcher wasted no time, moving swiftly to one of the terminals. He began typing with a speed and confidence that suggested this wasn't his first time hacking into a heavily fortified system. Meanwhile, Ben paced near the door, shield in hand, his eyes darting between you and the hallway as if expecting another wave of soldiers any second.

You, however, stood frozen for a moment, taking in the room—the remembrance of decades of torment, experimentation, and manipulation. You thought you’d feel more relief standing here, so close to freedom, but instead, an overwhelming uncertainty bubbled just beneath your skin.

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna help?” Butcher barked, not even looking up from the terminal. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he tried to override the system’s security protocols.

You snapped out of your daze and approached another terminal, feeling the heat of your powers still crackling under your skin. And it still hurt.

Before you could respond, Soldier Boy's sharp voice cut through the air. "We've got company."

The door behind him shook under the pressure of a battering ram. Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor as more of Vought’s enforcers gathered outside, their numbers growing by the second.

“Of course we bloody do,” Butcher muttered, his eyes never leaving the screen. “We’re almost through—just a bit more time.”

You clenched your fists, the air around you shimmering with energy that was so unfamiliar, it sent a shiver down your spine. "We don't have time, Butcher. I can feel them—they’re coming fast."

Ben squared his shoulders, stepping forward to brace the door. The rage that always seemed to simmer beneath his surface was now boiling over. He was done waiting, done being manipulated. “Let them come,” he growled, his shield raised, ready to take on whatever came through that door.

Butcher glanced at you, something like hesitation flickering in his eyes. It was a look you didn’t yet know he could have. “You’ve got a plan, love? ‘Cause if we don’t shut this down now, Vought’ll be all over us.”

The door rattled violently as Vought’s forces hammered against it, each thud reverberating through the control room.

"Me, a plan?" you spat ever so lightly, mild accusation in your tone. "You were the ones that needed me out!"

But Butcher didn't respond. Neither did Ben, for that matter.

Time was running out, and the tension was as thick as the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You focused, taking in the situation: Butcher was close to breaking the system, Ben was ready to stand his ground, and you—well, you weren’t the same person who had been shackled in that cell for decades. You had something new simmering inside, something dangerous. And you could feel it in every single piece of your body.

Your powers crackled just beneath the surface, stronger than you had ever remembered. The years of confinement, of being forced into silence, had built a storm within you, and you were ready to let it loose. But you knew this wasn’t you. This had never been you.

Ben stood firm by the door, his broad shoulders braced against the inevitable. His eyes flicked toward you, still cold, still distant. He was ready to fight, but this was a fight you had never been in before. A complete stranger, and a man who couldn’t even remember you, stood by you. And you had no idea if you could rely on them.

Butcher’s voice broke through your thoughts. “We’re in!” he called, finally cracking the security system. “But they’ve got some heavy-duty encryption on this place. It’ll take a few more minutes to wipe the files and shut down the alarms.”

You glanced at Ben. He was steady, but he couldn’t hold off a full squad alone. And your powers—they felt unpredictable. But you didn’t have a choice. Vought was coming, and this was your only chance.

The door shuddered again, and you could hear the muffled voices of the soldiers outside, preparing for a final push. You turned to Butcher. “You’d better hurry. We don’t have minutes.”

He looked at you, his jaw clenched, but nodded. “Just keep them off me, yeah? I don’t fancy getting me head blown off ‘cause you got distracted.”

Asshole.

With a deep breath, you stepped forward, joining Ben at the door. “You got an idea?” you asked, voice low.

Ben shot you a glance, his grip tightening on his shield. “You think I haven’t done this a thousand times? Just stay out of my fucking way.”

You didn’t respond. There was no point. Whatever bond the two of you once had was long gone, buried beneath the years of torture and manipulation. But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was getting through this.

The door burst open, and Vought’s soldiers flooded in. Ben moved like a force of nature, his shield slamming into the first soldier with a sickening crunch. He was fast, brutal, and efficient—every movement a practised execution of raw power. But there were too many.

You felt the heat rise in your palms, the energy building, and it hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. It was unlike anything you had ever felt before. It used to be a sweet touch of weather, the comforting droplets of rain. But this was different.

It neared a breaking point. Both your power and your well-being. At its maximum power, you lost control. And with a sharp exhale, you unleashed it. The energy exploded from you in a blinding wave, tearing through the room like wildfire. The soldiers were thrown back, their bodies crashing into the walls with bone-shattering force. Bolts of lightning crackled between the men, ensuring death upon impact.

Even Ben was forced to brace himself against the onslaught, his shield raised in defence. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, barely having evaded your attack from reaching him. But he didn’t say anything.

You were out of control. And there was no way you could contain this power any longer. Fuck, you weren't even sure what was going on. You weren't even sure if you were conscious.

When the dust settled, the room was eerily quiet. The soldiers lay scattered, unconscious or worse, and the air was thick with the smell of burnt metal and ozone. You fell to the floor, breathing heavily, your hands still crackling with residual power. For a moment, you didn’t feel anything—just numbness.

Then Butcher’s voice cut through the silence. “Well, that was bloody brilliant,” he muttered, stepping back from the terminal. “Shut down the whole damn system. Alarms are off, security’s locked out. We’re good to go.”

You turned to face him, your body still trembling from the power you barely remembered releasing. “It’s done?”

Butcher nodded, a grim smile on his face. “Yeah, love. It’s done. Now we get the hell out of here.”

Ben lowered his shield, his face unreadable as he looked at you. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was a glimmer of something other than cold indifference in his eyes. Maybe he remembered something. Maybe it was fear.

You didn't care.

You spoke up once more, this time directing your gaze towards Ben, who held a seemingly shocked frown. “What on earth happened?”

Soldiers scattered in the hallway, remains of them smashed against the bloodied wall.

Soldier Boy didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at Butcher, who knowingly glanced back at the supe.

All you could do was look around at the aftermath of whatever had happened to you.

And what feared you the most, was the fact you could only vaguely remember what the answer to it was.

A/N: as always, feedback is appreciated! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @demodemo909 @deangirl96 @mostlymarvelgirl @n-o-p-e-never

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.66)

(Sneek peak)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your track record with trying to survive is a checkered one. This is a red spot among the black and white.

Tags: Blood, Guns, violence, near death experiences, everyone lives nobody dies...but someone does die this chapter, horror, non-lethal injury, talks of death and dying, a bit of body horror, forced murder? Trans! tae, Tae is briefly dead named in this, implied/referenced intimate partner violence, flashbacks, brief suicidality.

W/c: 8.0k

A/N: ahhhhhh <3 we're finally ready for this part of the story <3 i wonder what your guys reactions will be, i'm really glad i decided to split this chapter into two peices! it's much cleaner this way. don't be 🥲 too mad at me.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Chapter 66: Go for the Throat

You hold your breath. Still peering around the corner, watching and waiting for the man to spot you.

But he doesn't, after a breath where his soft footsteps echo, you wait, but nothing happens. You peak back around the corner. 

You absorb and catalog the details as fast as you can; the black ski mask, covered by one of those traditional masks, wooden with red lacquer. This one is a little different than the one that Jimin had; this one is white with red splotch on the cheeks, not twisted with thick eyebrows in a snarl. Like a ghost sent down from above to rob you of your humanity.

The bulletproof vest stops at the collarbones. The gun itself is black and a generic model. The long end is extra bulbous with something that might be an attached silencer. Hands covered in black nitrile gloves, leathery at first glance. There is a knife at his waist along with a barrage of other small things. Rope and a knife, duct tape and handcuffs. His heavy boots look steel toed and reinforced.

The man (because it is a man you realize; tall, maybe taller than Namjoon) trains his gun at the landing on the top of the stairs. Pointing it in the direction of Hobi, Tae, and Jin’s hushed voices.

Hobi giggles and it sounds so bright. Echoing off the walls and filling the house.

There is a phone cord tangled in your hands, long and white. You grip it tight.

This man might be silent but you’re quieter as you slide your bare feet across the smooth floors. Your strides are so quiet, you take one step and then another until you're behind the man, mirroring him.

You remember when Yoongi redid the floors, it was one of the few things that he did right away- before the pack came to live here (to love here). It took him weeks and weeks of sanding before he got them to his liking. Days more of brown dark stain that colored his hands ruddy until the soft matte finish stuck. Every pass with the belt sander and dirty rag a movement of love, a meditation for it.

Yoongi made every inch of this house with the same loving intent; to make it a home for all of you. You won’t let it become a grave. You won’t let this person stay here and ruin it.

Most people get it wrong; In order to kill, it is not a matter of elegance or effort. There is no such thing as a perfect kill, emotionless and analytic. it being justified only gets you halfway. There is no way to do it perfectly or cleanly. People die just as they live, messy and hopeful and dirty.

Murder isn't a matter or wanting or wishing, It’s a matter of rage.

It’s always been this way. Rage has been chewing a hole through you from the moment that you pulled the trigger with Geumjae. From the moment you said ‘I do’. Rage that these violent things have been done to you, that they continue to happen, that you can’t just get away from all the hurt and trauma.

Rage has eaten you clean through to the bone. Only now you're the hungry one. Right now, only three words run through your head;

How dare she.

How dare she send this man into your house. How dare she point a gun at the upstairs, in the general direction of your nest and your packmates. The altar at which you so desperately cling to, for sweet dreams and sweet worship. How dare she even think about hurting the people you love.

There is no courage, no bravery, no thought in your head about how stupid it might be as you step closer behind the man. You are not a trained assassin. You’re just an omega.

The adrenaline rush is an old friend, you know how to use it. You grip the phone cord in your hands and take a quiet steadying breath. He doesn't see you, he doesn't hear you, he doesn't know that you're behind him.

Wolves always go for the throat, whether they’re cornered or hunting.

The assassin’s foot ascends the bottom step. You don’t let him get to the second before you’re moving, hurtling forward. Footsteps light as a butterfly’s wings. Your hands go over the man’s shoulders. The cord no more than a white flash across his vision before you draw it tight across his neck.

Coming Saturday February 3rd at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments Below)

[shaisuki]

ADDICTION

|| the second entry for the series “𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐖𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄”

content warnings ─── bonten! sanzu, murder, talks about torture, noncon, implied kidnapping, drugs , dark themes, yandere themes

ᝰ synopsis.ᐟ when colored pills doesn't give him the high he needed, sanzu finds a new addiction, it's better than ecstasies.

the gunshot seem to frighten you. i apologize for that. in line of my "business" it is my job to keep the empire mikey had built to flourish. these traitors are not the worth of the name bonten and those who are without use should perish.

it's also to serve a warning to you. never run away from me.

i have no intention of harming you, let alone scare you. it's only a reminder that you can never escape from me, even you run to the ends of the world, i will follow you.

shed the blood of those who dares to look at you. serve their head in a platter. cut every finger who dares to lay their hands on you. rip their limbs apart one by one and not even death could escape their fate from my hands.

why are you crying? you don't like that? silly girl. it's a punishment for them who can't understand that you belong to me. what? can you repeat that? you don't want me nor anything of this?

you got no choice. you've bewitched me. got me high of my feelings that i didn't know i was capable of doing so. you've made me addicted to the sensation of your skin in mine. your voice like bells in my ears. no drugs could make me feel like the way you do.

you're the most potent drug that i could take. intoxicating me with your light that flows in my veins and gives me euphoria reaching in my brain. you're the medicine in my pain.

sometimes you're also the cause of the aches in my body. you never really learn do you? what got you shaking? the body drops as i pull the trigger on his head. blood pooling at those empty head of this incompetent fool to never let you out of sight when i'm dealing with mikey.

this is a warning. don't test me. although, i vowed myself to never harm you—you need to be taught a lesson. nobody messes with me, no one.

ssh. don't cry. this is all your fault. you're going to take whatever i give to you. fuck! i might lose control of myself whenever those tiny whimpers leave your mouth as i pressed my lips to your heated skin. be a good girl. all i want for you is to submit to me.

tears won't work on me darling, i've seen plenty of it. from the men who for me to spare their useless lives with a gun in my hand. it would be no different to you. you're mine to begin with. i own you.

a blissful sigh escaping from my lips as i inhale your scent. such beautiful hair you have. such bounty you have for yourself and it's mine to exploit.

the straps of your nightgown falling down to your round shoulders the more my lips move to feel of your skin. this would be your life with me as i clothe you with the most luxurious clothes i can provide for you. money ain't a problem for me. i have lots of them.

your body trembles as i touch you. i won't harm you, i told you. think of this as a lesson while you think of escaping me again. there's no escape in my grasps. as much i hate to force you, this is your punishment for making me angry. if you weren't my precious little things—i would have killed you.

we won't like that don't we? stay still. it would be easy for me to take you or else it would hurt. never been a problem for me to put down people like you.

that's it. you weren't that stubborn when i'm putting you in your place. that's right. the sight of you sinking in the sheets with your hands gripping the sheet while you brace yourself for me to take you. your plump ass raised to serve me.

eyes rolling as i sink to your warm pussy. engulfing me in such warmth that got me hooked, wishing forever to be inside you and now we are as one. connected to fulfill our desires and to feed my addiction.

i hope you learned your lesson with this one or else i'll be doing it until it get through your thick skin. i won't get tired of it nor will i ever stop.

this is what addiction to you feels like. a neverending rush of euphoria.

[msmk11]

perhaps a tangerine x fem!reader where she's an agent they work with on 3-person jobs, and she gets severely injured (like I'm talking shot in the abdomen or severe head wound or pushed off a roof), nearly fatally and tan goes into a rage, then Angst because she's on the verge of death?

(sorry I really don't know ask etiquette)

Tangerine x fem!reader

CW: Angst, fluff, violence and blood, r almost dies

A/n: thanks for requesting, love! happy reading :)

- - - -

Things went to shit quickly.

The plan you, Tan, and Lemon had put into place should’ve been flawless. You were all supposed to bombard the target at once in hopes of overwhelming their forces. Though there were only three of you, when your individual strengths were combined, you guys were an unstoppable team. Tangerine was impeccable in hand-to-hand combat, Lemon could outshoot anyone with a gun, and you were so agile on your feet that it was already too late for the enemy by the time they noticed your presence.

But this time, they noticed. Maybe you’d taken one wrong step, or the man before you just had a bionic ear, but regardless, you were in trouble. Instead of surprising the target, he surprised you. You were creeping slowly towards him from behind, knife in hand, when he suddenly turned on you, gun pointing straight at your chest.

The cruel smirk that decorated his face made your stomach drop, and you knew this was it. This was how you’d die. You threw up your hands and dropped the knife, hoping your surrender would encourage some sort of mercy.

It seemed your luck had run out, for he pulled the trigger anyways, sending a bullet right into your abdomen.

You’d been shot before, but never so fatally. Instantly, you crumpled to the ground with a loud cry. The searing pain in your stomach was severe, and you writhed on the floor in pain.

The man stalked towards you, gun still in hand, prepared to finish you off entirely. Your life flashed before your eyes and you were overcome with so much regret and remorse. This was it, and you were so young. You hadn’t even confessed to-

Bang.

Another gunshot went off and you flinched, but the pain never came. You opened your eyes to find the man on the ground before you, blood pooling from his head and Tangerine above him, jaw tight and a severe look on his face.

Already you felt so weak, and you could barely whisper his name, “Tan…”

Tangerine rushed towards you and fell to his knees, gun cast aside with a clatter. He pulled you into his arms and you hissed in pain.

“Love? Lovely?”

You gave him no answer, only casting your hand aside to reveal the wound. There was already so much blood.

For the first time ever you saw fear flicker through Tangerine’s eyes, “no, no. Fucking shit. No, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. You’re fine. Nothing we can’t fix just gotta-“

With shaking hands, you cupped his face, “Tangerine, sweetheart. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

Without me.

He shook his head at you, unruly curls bouncing everywhere, “no, don’t say that. You’re going to be fine. You’re going to survive this. Bloody fucking he’ll I should’ve been there. I could’ve stopped it, I could’ve saved you and-“

When Tangerine got into one of these rants, there was little one could do to stop him. So you did the only thing you could think of- and also the thing you’d been dying to do for years- kiss him. His mustache tickled your lips, just like you’d imagined countless times, and he tasted of whiskey and cigarettes. You only pulled away when you felt your grip begin to weaken, “Tan, let me go.”

The tenderness in his eyes vanished, replaced by something darker and more severe, “No. Like hell I will. I finally got to kiss ya, and I won’t let anyone take that away from me. You’re gonna live, I swear it.”

“Tan-“ you protested pitifully.

Tangerine kissed you tenderly on the forehead and propped you up against the wall, “I’ll be back.”

He ran straight back into action and screamed at Lemon, “take ‘er to the car. I’ll finish this off. She needs medical help, now.”

“Bruva’-“ Lemon protested.

Tangerine only screamed at him again, a wild look in his eyes. You were starting to fade in and out of consciousness, everything around you going hazy. But you heard it all, his screams, then the gunshots, and then the screams of others. You thought there was a lot of blood on your hands, literally. But it was nothing in comparison to the blood on Tangerine’s.

“Darling, please, my love. Don’t, don’t leave me. I can’t do this without you.”

Bits and pieces of the words that tumbled from Tangerine’s mouth reached your ears as you struggled against unconsciousness.

The sharp pain in your stomach had subsided and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not- either it meant you were one step closer to death, no longer feeling the pain at all, or somehow, miraculously, you’d gotten medical help in time.

It took everything in you, but you forced your eyes open and were met with Tangerine’s piercing blue stare.

“Love, you’re awake I-“

Tangerine didn’t finish his sentence. His voice was so thick with emotion, he couldn’t manage it. Instead, he reached out, stroking away stray hairs from your face, and you could feel how much his hand was trembling.

“You- you almost died, love. I- I” a single tear rolled down his cheek and landed on your forehead.

“Tangerine, hey, look at me,” you whispered hoarsely.

He tried to look brave as he did, but his jaw shook and tears brimmed in his eyes.

“You wanna know the first thing I felt when I thought I was gonna die? Regret. I laid there thinking- god, I’m about to fucking die, and I never got to tell Tangerine that I loved him. And while the bullet in my abdomen was painful, it was nothing compared to the pain I felt when I understood that I was losing you. My chance to be with you. To be happy with you. To love you. So I’m telling you now. I love you.”

Adoration and awe decorated Tangerine’s face so prettily, and you were sure that you could look around him forever.

“My love, my beautiful girl,” he sighed, “I love you. I love you so much. And imma kiss you every day for the rest of my life, so you always know it too.”

You were surely gonna hold him to it.

[a-998h]

Welcome to Hell

Hello @bloobewy, I hope you enjoy this!

TW: reader does "die" at some point but doesn't stay dead technically Reader also gets stabbed in the hand

Clicking Keep Reading means you've read and understand the trigger warning.

I missed the bus, great, I say with as much sarcasm as possible. It was hot, and my body was already a natural heater, and school is draining. Lucky me, the house isn't to far from the school, so walking is still an option. To make the walk less unbearable, I put on my favorite playlist.

After 10 minutes of walking, I reach a crosswalk. Pushing the button, I wait for the sign to change. Once the sign goes from hand to person, I step onto the crosswalk. Having already checked left and right, I thought I would be fine.

I didn't hear it... and that damn truck didn't see me either. I didn't hear anything, but I felt everything. The music cut off, and my body was in so much pain. Why, why is everything fading? I can hear sirens, and begging, and people. Blood... I see and smell blood. I try to turn my head, but I can't. I can't move at all.

"What's happening?" I mumble.

Soon, my vision goes black and I hear a voice. It's a woman's voice, full of warmth and authority.

"Your time has come child, we cannot wait to meet you," I hear her say.

The voices of the people becomes more muffled, and the pain starts to go away. The darkness takes over my vision until I can't see anything. I don't feel the pain, or roughness of the road. I feel nothing at all, like I'm floating. There is nothing in my view but inky darkness, so... This must be how I die. This isn't an isekai, so I'm not gonna go to a fantasy world, I'm just going to die.

I was so bad, fighting, yelling, and being a jerk to people who want to help me. Now, dad is gonna lost his only when they didn't even make it to adulthood.

"I'm sorry dad... I'm so sorry," I say in my head.

It's not fair, first mom abandoned me and dad and now I'm gonna die. Why couldn't I just make it to adulthood? Whatever, I can't change things now. I just wish I had another chance. I see my tears floating in the inky darkness. I don't know why I'm crying, but it feels well deserved right now. As I cry, my eyes closed and I finally feel at peace.

I hear a whistling near my ears, and the feeling of wind? My eyes shot open and I see myself falling. The sky above me is red, and is that a clock tower with an hourglass in it?

it's clear I'm going to crash into the ground of a city, but I have no idea where the fuck I am. Things are in ruins, and I don't seem to be stopping. I scream in fear as I pulpit towards the ground, I just died and I have no idea where the fuck I am!

"Is that a blimp with a ray gun?" I ask myself as I see steampunk blimp of supervillain proportions blast at the ground.

There is a loud smack sound as I hit the ground, and I'm, surprisingly, not in pain. I look myself over, and something is wrong with my hands. They're stained red, not like gloves or splatter, but it's like an ombre.

"Well that's not normal, and where the fuck am I?" I ask myself.

Standing up I rush towards a shop window, and look at my reflection? It has my hair color and style, skin color, eye color, height, but it has a pair of white wings , my hands have the ombre of red, and there is a pair of jagged horns like a four horned ram on my head. I back away from the window and start walking in a random direction.

No one here looks normal, so look like anthropomorphic animals, full animals, of a mix of human and object. Thees people range in size and shape, like normal, but they clearly don't look normal. Walking past the werid people here, a few give me looks that range from confusion, to fear, to cruel. Trying to ignore seems to be my best hope. As I keep walking, I see a bunch of people who look like different types of sharks. They spot me, and I hear them mumbling, before getting close to me.

They introduce themselves and immediately invade my personal space. They keep talking about an extermination, which confuses and worries me. One wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer, to him. Scared, I try to get away but they won't let me. Well, I'm probably doomed. Swinging my head around, I mange to hit the two shark guys near me in the face. Using th distraction, I run for my life as I hear them yelling after me.

Looking for a place to hide, I duck into a crowd in front of a shop window. It's showing a pale skinned blond woman in a pale red suit jacket, wearing a bowtie with yellow eyes. Next to her is a second pale skinned blonde woman with a creepy smile, soulless red eyes, and shoulder pads. Creepy smile lady calls suit lady, Charlotte, to which suit lady corrects it to Charlie. As I watch, something Charlie says catches my attention.

"As princess of Hell," I hear Charlie say.

Hell, holy shit I'm in fucking Hell! I can't pull my eyes away from the screen, but I have a hard time paying attention to what Charlie is saying. She keeps singing about something called, the Happy Hotel, and how it'll be a place to rehab sinners. Sounds crazy to me, but I'm not the princess of Hell. As people laugh at her idea, I feel a bit more hopeful.

"Seems like the safest place here," I mutter to myself.

This Happy Hotel seems cool, but I have no idea where it is. I scan the screen looking for an address but I can't find one. Annoyed I do my best to avoid people. Looking up at the red sky, I see the clock tower and a large hill with a building on top. I figured the building on the hill is the Happy Hotel. I hear noises from the TV, but I dont care at this point. I just want a safe place to be, but this is Hell so safe isn't really an option. Walking towards the hill some crazy looking dog frankstein's monster woman grabs me.

"Hand over your wallet!" She demands.

I have no wallet to speak of, so I tell her I can't. I'm so close to a safe haven and now I'm being mugged, this day gets worse by the hour. She keeps demanding my non existent wallet, and I keep telling her I don't fucking have a wallet to give her! She starts foaming at the mouth, and I see her brandish a knife. Backing away, I pray she doesn't do anything. But, they go unanswered as she stabs me in the hand before stomping away.

I walk the rest of the way, my shirt covered in blood as I use my shirt to try and stop the bleeding. Reaching the hotel, the sign says Hazbin Hotel but I could care less what it's called. Knocking on the door, I'm greeted with a grayish-lavender skinned lady wearing a bright red hair bow We stare at each other for a bit.

"Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, my name is Vaggie and you are?" She asks.

"Y/N, my name is Y/N," I tell her.

I swear I see an unknown emotion flashing across her face. She opens the door wider, and I walk in and sit on the couch.

She looks at my hand and offers to bandage it up. I thank her and she tells me it's not a problem. Once she's done, I hear an excited squeal. Turning towards the noise I see Charlie, minus her jacket, looking at me with a smile. She introduces herself and asks If I'm going to stay at the hotel. I nod and say that was my plan. Her smile grows as she asks me my name and how old I am since I looked young. When I tell her I'm a teenager, her smile drops. She looks at me, then kneels down to hug me. I tell her it's ok, and she seems to get slightly better. Grabbing my uninjured hand she points to the other demons and tells me their names.

"Over there is Angel Dust, he's another guest," she says, pointing to a fluffy spider demon.

Said demon looks at me, waves and tries to flirt. Charlie scolds him and says to not flirt with me as I'm a child. He looks at me and laughs, complimenting me for, "a good fucking joke." I tell him it's not a joke and he asks how a kid ended up in Hell. I say I was hit by a truck, and that seems to satisfy him.

"Oh, and this is our bartender Husk!" Charlie exclaims as she gestures to a cat demon in suspenders and a top hat.

I wave to him and he just gives me and unamused look as he drinks from what's probably a bottle of some kind of alcohol. Charlie then gestures to a short red haired woman in an equally red poodle skirt running after a roach with a comically large sewing needle.

"That's our housekeeper Niffty," Charlie says.

I just watch Niffty try to stab the roach, not wanting to end up stabbed agian because I interrupted the werid housekeeper. I turn my head and see a tall man dressed all in red, he has deer ears and a staff the looks like an old fashioned mircophone. I nervously wave to him, and he walks over. Charlie gestures to him and say he's Alastor, the hotel's facilities manager. He gives off an aura of authority and power that sacred me. He holds his hand out, silently askign for a handshake, I follow the silent order.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, my dear. This run down hotel will surely feel more like home with your youthful energy," Alastor says, his voice sounding like it's coming from a radio.

Charlie looks back at me, still with a warm smile on her face, and grabs my shoulders. She promises me that I'll love it at the hotel, and that I'll get to Heaven in no time. I shrug and nervously say thank you, this makes her smile more, if it's even possible. Holding my hands she looks me straight in the eyes. Something feels deranged about her, but I don't know how to place it. All I know is, I'm stuck in Hell with it's princess and her friends. But, I could be worse off than here.

"You're going to love it here! Welcome to Hell, Y/N!" Charlie joyously says.