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hauntedhowlett-writes · 1 year ago

Text

pairing: cult leader!joel miller x virgin!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 8.6k

summary:

You think you’re as good as dead when a band of raiders find you. In what you think are your final moments, an angel appears.

His name is Joel Miller, and he is here to deliver you from evil.

author's note: a huge thank you to my fellow cultist @atinylittlepain for listening to me scream about this. without them, we'd probably be on version 5 of this story. and to everyone who has been excited about this, i hope you enjoy!

warnings: DARK CONTENT - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dub-con: power dynamics, dub-con: cult mentality, age difference - 60M and 27F, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, post-outbreak, canon divergence, canon typical violence (knife wounds, gun shot wounds, numerous mentions of blood), minor character death(s), blood cult ceremonies, religious themes, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, loss of virginity, oral sex - f receiving, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, cum play, dirty talk, pet names, praise, joel really has a loose screw ok? if there are any tags missing, please let me know!

“I don’t think you should go out there by yourself,” you say, watching as your dad inspects his gun. He looks up at you with a pained expression.

“I gotta see where we should head next. I don’t want to lead you out in the wrong direction, accidentally get you in a bad spot,” he says. “I’ll be fine, buttercup.”

There’s a heaviness that settles in your stomach at his words. He sounds confident enough, but his eyes tell a different story, expose his fear. He stands with a sigh, a wince of pain washing over his face.

“Maybe I should—“

“No,” he interrupts. “I’m going. I won’t be gone long, okay? We can’t stay here forever. Who knows what’s out there in the forest.”

That’s exactly what you’re afraid of. At least inside the rotted cabin you stumbled across you could pretend you were safe. The forest is alive in a way you’ve never experienced growing up in a QZ surrounded with barbed wire and steel. You hear the snap of twigs and the howl of wolves, or the flutter of wings and the call of birds, and sometimes you think you feel the weight of eyes watching you if you venture out too far in your exploration.

“We’ve made it this far. We got out of Denver and that was half the battle,” your dad says. “You got your knife, right? And enough rations.”

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. He kisses your forehead, dry lips lingering on your skin. You have an aching feeling this is a goodbye, some sinking intuition that he’s making a mistake that you can’t correct.

“Be back soon. I love you.”

Joel’s been keeping an eye on the people in the woods for the last three days. There was chatter on one of the radio stations that the Denver QZ was facing an uprising and he knows that once those walls come down, the survivors that venture out are bound to stumble across his town.

The cabin door opens and the man steps out, venturing into the forest. Joel waits to see if his female companion follows, but the door remains shut. He longs to see you, the girl who’s image has been burned into his brain since his first glimpse, but he has a duty to fulfill first.

He walks quickly and quietly through the forest, sure feet catching up with the man less than a mile from where he’d started. Joel clears his throat.

The man turns, fumbling with a gun that he clearly has no experience using, pointing it at Joel with shaking hands and shouting, “Move and I’ll shoot!”

“You lost?” Joel asks, holding his hands up and keeping his face trained in a mask of concern. “Lookin’ for somethin’?”

After a pause, the man seeming to have concluded that Joel isn't a threat, he says, “My daughter and I…we escaped the Denver QZ."

"That must've been difficult."

"We....we're running out of food," he continues, dropping his arms, limbs hanging heavy at his sides. "I-I don't know what else to do, man."

Gun no longer pointed at his face, Joel approaches the man, stopping when he's within arms reach. Up close, he can see the dismal state the guy is in -- sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes, tattered clothing hanging on a thin frame. Joel places a hand on his bony shoulder.

"I can help you," he says. The man looks up, a brief glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes. Joel watches the slow realization, the way his brain catches up to what's just happened, a choked noise spilling from his dry lips.

Joel tugs his knife from the man's gut and steps back, watching as he collapses to the ground. Desperate hands smear the blooming red stain across his abdomen. Joel circles the man, positioning himself at his back, and pulls him close with a hand slapped over his mouth.

"I'll take good care of her," he whispers before dragging his knife across his neck in one clean slice. The man twitches once before growing limp and Joel releases him, body hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. Not one to waste, Joel gathers anything of use from his person.

Something catches the light against his neck. Curious, Joel tugs the bloodstained neck of his t-shirt to the side, finding a silver chain. He pulls, revealing the length of it.

A cross.

The clasp snaps with a sharp tug and Joel stuffs it in his pocket. Standing and shouldering his bag once more, he begins his walk back towards the cabin.

You're running as fast as your legs will carry you, lungs and limbs burning with the effort. You made the mistake of not listening to your dad when he'd told you stay where you were, to stay hidden, that he'd come back. Your nerves had gotten the best of you and you decided that you would catch up with him, but you didn't know which direction he'd gone. You figured you would travel a little ways and see if you could find him and if you didn't do so quickly, you'd rush back to the cabin and wait, just as he told you.

That's when the men saw you, two large figures with rifles that reminded you of FEDRA soldiers slung across their backs.

You duck behind a thick tree to catch your breath. You can hear voices calling out through the forest above the rush of blood in your ears, taunting tones carrying through the air.

"C'mon out, pretty girl!"

You chance a peek out from your hiding spot, only catching a brief glimpse of one man through the trees.

"Where ya hidin', sweet thing?"

His voice sounds far away and that gives you the courage to move forward, a tentative dash for another tree.

“I might be nicer to ya if you just come on out, but if I have to hunt ya down…well…you know what a hunter does to its prey, don’tcha?”

You press your hand over your mouth, muffling the cry that claws its way up your throat. You start to run again, faster, not caring if he can hear you so long as you're able to maintain that distance, hoping that if you can outrun them for long enough, he'll just give up and then maybe you can find your--

You crash into something, the world sliding out from under you and the breath rushing from your lungs as you land on your back with a pained shout. A hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you across the rough ground before you have the chance to recover.

"Gotcha," a man says, the voice different from the one that had been taunting you before. A figure stands over you, a foot on either side of your hips, looking down at you with a sinister smile. "Pretty little prize, huh?"

You twist your body, scrambling away from him. He laughs, following after you with unhurried strides.

“Now, don’t play hard to get,” he admonishes. A hand wraps around your ankle and he drags you toward him, kicking and screaming. Your foot connects with some fleshy part of him and he curses.

“You little fuckin’ cunt,” he hisses, dropping your foot. He kicks you, heavy boot colliding with soft flesh and bone, a sharp pain blossoming in your side, shooting down to your very marrow. You curl in on yourself, wounded prey trying to protect its most vulnerable parts.

A shot rings out, the sound startling in the relative quiet of the forest. You sit up, sudden movement making you light headed, and it takes you a long moment to register the scene before you.

The man that had been chasing you, the one that had caught you, the one that had hurt you on the surface but planned to do far worse, lies on the ground, eyes wide open but unseeing. Above him stands your savior, an older man with gray streaked dark curls and tan skin, broad shoulders and hard brown eyes. He reminds you of a painting you saw once in a book your dad owned, long before the outbreak.

“Death On A Pale Horse,” he explained when you showed him the painting that caught your eye. “Based on the Book of Revelations. You remember that one, right?”

“Yeah.”

“This one,” — he pointed to the central figure, a dark creature on a white horse — “is Death. And this one” — he pointed to a figure on the right that rides a dark brown horse, the dark colors making him blend among the horrors breaking from the sky behind him — “would be famine. You can see the emaciated man below him.”

“What about the other two?” You asked.

“The one of the red horse would be war.”

You pointed to the remaining figure, a man with dark curls and a determined expression. “And the white horse?”

Your dad paused. “Conquest. Pestilence. The Antichrist. The first horseman of the apocalypse.”

The man before you today looks like that figure on the white horse and despite his choice to rescue you from one horror, you fear he may be something far worse.

The man kneels and you flinch away from him. He sighs and says, “I ain’t goin’ to hurt you.”

“Who are you?” You ask, voice weak, throat on fire.

“My name is Joel,” he says. “I want to help you.”

“How do I know you weren’t with those other guys?” Your eyes grow wide and you rush to stand on shaky legs. “Wait, there’s another—“

“He won’t be an issue,” Joel assures you, wrapping a steadying arm around your waist. “C’mon.”

“I can’t—“

“Men like those two ain’t the only things in the forest to worry about, and I’m afraid we can’t sit around and find out. That gun shot could send a horde runnin’.”

“Wait!” You snap, pulling out of his grasp. He holds his hands up, as if in surrender, or maybe like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not sure which. “My dad is out there. H-he went to figure out where to go from here. We were in a cabin…” Your voice trails off. “I told him I would wait for him.”

Joel’s eyes are soft as he says, “We need to get ourselves to safety. I can send someone out to look for your dad first thing in the mornin’.”

“Send someone?”

“There’s a group of us, down in the valley. Survivors, like you.”

“Really?” Relief washes over you, eclipsing even the ache in your belly and the burn in your throat and the pain in your muscles. “How far?”

“With the state you’re in, probably about a two hour hike.”

You don’t have much choice but to go with him, do you?

“Okay.”

“Where’re you comin’ from?” Joel asks, glancing over his shoulder at you. You’ve been following quietly behind him, head down and eyes fixed on the ground.

“Denver,” is all you offer in response. He knew that much already. He wants to know more.

Maybe he has to give more first.

“‘M from Texas, originally. Was in a QZ in Boston for a while before makin’ my way out here.”

“Why’d you come out here?” You ask.

“Had a friend once tell me, ‘Save who you can save’,” he says.

“What does that mean?” You ask.

“You’ll see.”

Joel had mentioned survivors, but you're shocked to discover that just past a wooden sign proclaiming WELCOME TO CRESTONE in chipped yellow paint, a whole town is tucked away, surrounded by a wooden gate that opens for you as you approach. You feel the weight of curious eyes as you walk through a town square, Joel's palm between your shoulder blades steering you towards a more residential area until you reach a two story adobe home.

Once inside, you’re led upstairs to a sparsely decorated bedroom, a large bed in the center with a faded quilt tucked around the mattress with precision and a dresser against one wall covered in yellowed wallpaper. Joel gestures for you to sit, kneeling on the wood floor in front of you to work on the laces of your sneakers.

“What—“

“You need rest,” he says, removing your shoes. He looks up at you, brown eyes full of concern. Your stomach flips.

“But—“

“No,” he says sternly. He stands and walks to the side of the bed, tugging the quilt free and folding it down. “I have duties to return to, but you’ll be safe here.”

You don’t have it in you to continue arguing. You haven’t seen a comfortable bed in more than two days and the exhaustion catches up to you in one fell swoop, eyes halfway to shut as you crawl into the space Joel’s made for you between the sheets. He pulls the covers over you, the warmth of a hand smoothing across your cheek the last thing you feel before falling asleep.

You wake to the sun high in the sky, streaming through the open window of a room that you don't recognize. You push yourself to sitting, your ribs protesting the movement and your head pulsing just behind your eyes. Your mouth is unbearably dry, so much so that you start coughing, further aggravating your bruised ribs.

"There's water on the nightstand," a voice says, startling you.

You look to your left, finding a young girl sitting in a wooden chair by your bed. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, wayward pieces falling across pale skin. Her sharp brown eyes watch you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl.

“I’m Ellie,” she says. You mumble your own name.

“Did Joel save you?” Ellie asks.

“Uh—“

“He must have. That’s what he does,” she continues, cutting you off.

“Ellie!” A familiar deep voice calls out. Her eyes go wide and she scrambles from her seat, rushing for the door. Heavy footsteps climb the stairs, Joel appearing in the open doorway. He looks at her with a stern expression, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Thought I told you not to come up here.”

The look on her face isn’t fear, like her reaction would have led you to believe. No, she looks up at Joel with reverence as she says, “Sorry. Wanted to see her.”

Joel nods. “Head to the mess hall. I’ll bring her down shortly.”

Ellie casts a lingering look in your direction before disappearing through the doorway.

“Sorry about her,” Joel says. He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Could be better,” you say honestly. “How long was I asleep for?”

“A little more than a day.”

Your eyes go wide. “My dad—“

“We’ve sent out a search party. No luck yet, I’m afraid,” he says. You curl into yourself a bit at the news, shoulders tight with worry. He reaches forward and places a hand on top of your own where it rests on the sheets. “You should get some food. I brought you some new clothes, too. I’ll let you get dressed and we can go down to the mess hall.“

He leaves the room before you respond and you drag the pile of clothes closer to you, finding a neatly folded t-shirt, jeans, underwear, and socks. It takes you a long moment to work your way out of your dirty clothes, your movements slow to not aggravate your injuries. You keep your bra on, pulling the clean shirt over your head, followed by the jeans. You're thrilled to be wearing something that's not caked with dirt and sweat.

You're working on putting your socks on when there's a knock at the door, Joel entering when you call out for him to come in. He smiles at you.

"There, that's better," he says. "C'mon. Let's get down to dinner."

You follow him out of the room and down the stairs. The first floor of the home has a kitchen that opens up to a living and dining area, the space filled with worn mismatched furniture. The walls are wood paneled and there's a massive stone fireplace with elk antlers mounted above it.

The sun is setting as you step outside and get your first real look at the town as its bathed in gold. Narrow residential streets give way to wider roads once you reach the town center, where commercial buildings are pressed together advertising long forgotten businesses, their windows dark.

"That's the butcher up there," Joel says, pointing to one of the wooden buildings. "He gets the meat from the traps prepped for us." He points to another building with a sign that says RESTAURANT. "That's the bakery."

"A butcher and a bakery?" You ask. "Do you have electricity here?"

"Sure do. Solar panels, just outside the gate."

You continue walking through the town until you come up on a large white building, people entering and exiting through a set of thick double doors. The shadow of a cross remains above the door, perhaps scorched by the sun where a crucifix once sat. People welcome Joel as he enters, heads turning in their curiosity. You press a little closer to Joel's side.

The large room is bursting with noise and activity -- a flurry of conversations, the clink of cutlery, and laughter. You've not seen anything like it before, the mentality in the QZ not conducive to camaraderie. You can count on one hand the number of people you would have considered friends within those walls, and even that was a stretch. You and Joel join a line of people retrieving plates of food from a single window.

"How long has all of this been here?" You ask, gesturing to the room. He looks around proudly.

"Ellie and I came across this town on accident after we went through hell leavin' Boston. The folks here set up their own quarantine zone and with bigger fish to fry, FEDRA sort of left ‘em alone. They were kind enough to take us in," he says. "After that, more people started showin' up lookin' for safety. Lots of people who escaped the QZs or had been on their own for a while and were tired of runnin'."

"Ellie says you save people," you comment, taking a step forward as the line moves. "What's that mean?"

"Every flock needs a shepherd."

You’re at the front of the line now, standing in front of the window. A woman appears, her face lighting up when she sees Joel.

“Joel! How are you?” She asks, leaning onto the ledge. Behind her you can see people moving quickly and efficiently around a stainless steel kitchen, large pots of food simmering on the stovetop.

“Well enough,” he says. He places a hand on your shoulder. “We have a new guest. Make her plate nice and full for me?”

“Of course.”

She gathers a plate from a precarious stack, loading it with a heaping pile of food ranging from mashed potatoes and stew to colorful vegetables that you haven’t seen in ages, not since before the outbreak when you were seven and your dad would make dinner rather than pass you a ration package. You’re speechless as she hands you the plate with a kind smile, a mumbled thank you the best you can manage to show your gratitude.

Joel is handed a plate as well and you follow him to a table where Ellie sits next to a man with white hair, her plate already empty in front of her. The man looks up at Joel as you approach, his expression closed off and wary.

“Michael,” Joel says in greeting, jaw ticking. You take a seat beside Ellie, who to your surprise moves closer to you, arm brushing yours. “You botherin’ Ellie?”

The man, Michael, shakes his head. “No, sir. We were just having a little talk.”

“What about?” Joel sits on the opposite side of the table. He rips his bread roll in half.

“Just some concerns I was having.”

“You bring your concerns to me. Not to her.”

The two men stare at each other, the tension thick and impossible to ignore. Finally, Michael gets up, leaving the table without another word. Ellie’s shoulder’s lose their tension and Joel catches her eye, the two of them seeming to have an entire conversation in just a look.

The moment passes and Joel’s features relax, a smile tilting the corners of his lips as he returns his attention to you and gestures to your plate.

“Dig in,” he says.

Joel walks you back to his home after dinner, the sky now dark. Ellie’s already closed herself in her room by the time the two of you return, having left the mess hall before you had finished eating.

“Tired again?” Joel asks when you yawn, mouth open wide as you stretch your arms above your head.

Your expression is sheepish as you say, “A little bit.”

“That’s to be expected,” he assures you. “You fought a hard fight. It’s okay to relax now. I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.” Your fingers tangle in the hem of the t-shirt he’d given you earlier. “I don’t know if I’ve said that already.”

“You’re welcome. Come on, let’s get you back upstairs. You can use the shower and get to bed.”

“Oh my god, a shower sounds amazing.”

He shows you the bathroom and helps you get the water running. Once he shows you where to find a towel, you smile gratefully before shutting the door on him.

Dismissed, Joel makes his way to Ellie’s room, knocking on the door. She answers quickly, opening up only enough for him to see her face.

“Yeah?” She asks.

“Can I come in?”

She rolls her eyes but opens the door further, allowing him inside. Her room is smaller than his but far more decorated, pages ripped out of old magazines and comic books tacked to the wall. She takes a seat on her single bed, folding her legs beneath her.

“What did Michael talk to you about?” He asks. She shrugs her shoulders. Joel bites back a sigh. Sometimes he forgets what it was like to reason with a teenage girl. “Ellie.”

“He said” — she pauses, scratching at her wrist in the way that she will when she’s anxious — “he said that you were full of shit. That your fucked up ceremony isn’t helping any of them.”

Joel’s teeth grind together. “That all?”

“Called me a stupid kid for following what you say,” she mumbles. “Said everyone in town was stupid for believing you.”

“Thank you for tellin’ me,” he says. Rage burns in his veins as he turns to leave.

“What are you gonna do?” Ellie asks as he reaches the door.

“I’m goin’ to teach him a lesson.”

He pulls the door shut behind him, tilting his head against the wood with a sigh. The click of a latch down the hall precedes your quiet, “Joel?”

Joel turns to face you, surprised to find you standing just outside the bathroom door with a towel tucked around your body. Water glistens on your skin in the low light, drawing his eyes down your neck and across your chest. He clears his throat.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks.

“Yeah, everything is fine,” you murmur. “I…could I get some new clothes?”

“Of course, should’a given you some before you showered. Sorry about that.”

Joel walks past you, entering his bedroom and approaching the dresser. He tugs the top drawer open, full of clothing he’d gathered while you’d been asleep for more than a day. He piles together another t-shirt, sleep pants, and underwear, setting them on the bed for you.

You’re standing in the doorway when he finishes and he fights the urge to go to you, to pull you close, to run his wretched hands over your body like he’s wanted to since he first saw you in the forest.

He doesn’t, though. Not yet. You still have much to learn.

“Here you go,” he says. “Some more stuff in the drawers for you if you need it.”

Joel leaves you to get ready for bed, shutting the door behind him. He heads downstairs to grab what he’ll need, essentials shoved in a bag thrown over his shoulder before venturing off into the night.

Only a few lights continue to illuminate windows as Joel walks through the residential area. The house he approaches at the end of a street is already dark, quiet beyond the wood door that he knocks on three times. The door opens slowly, Michael appearing in the small space.

“What?” He grunts.

“Come take a walk,” Joel says. Michael rolls his eyes, moving to shut the door but Joel’s boot blocks his effort. “I ain’t askin’, Michael.”

“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do?” He challenges. Joel throws his weight against the door, catching Michael by surprise enough for him to step into the house.

Joel throws an elbow into the man’s gut, making him double over with a groan. He circles behind him, kicking the back of his knee to send him to the ground. He pulls a length of chain from his pocket, looping it around Michael’s neck and pulling the ends.

Michael struggles, clawing at the garotte and thrashing wildly, but Joel holds strong. He tightens his grip further until Michael’s fight becomes sluggish, lack of oxygen finally causing him to go limp.

Joel releases the chain and Michael’s body slumps to the ground. He removes his backpack, digging through the contents until he finds a rusted pair of handcuffs that he uses to bind Michael’s arms behind his back. Next, he places a strip of duct tape over his mouth.

When he wakes, Joel will lead him out past the gate. He will find an unassuming home that rests outside the boundary of Crestone. He will open the hidden doors of the cellar, the ones covered in a layer of leaves and grass. From the darkness he will hear the echo of desperate groans and the rattle of chains and the angry attempts to break free from bindings. He will lead Michael down the dirt steps, the smell of rot and fear and death clawing at his olfactory nerves.

He will place a burlap bag over a struggling Michael’s head and the man will beg and plead in words muffled by tape. Then, Joel will offer him for judgment.

A hand on you shoulder shakes you awake, the room still mostly dark when you manage to open your eyes. You groan, pulling the quilt up over your head.

“C’mon, we gotta get to breakfast,” Ellie says. The cover gets yanked down and she gives you a mischievous grin.

“Where’s Joel?” You ask, sitting up slowly. She shrugs.

“Probably there already.”

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, stretching your arms up. You grab the same jeans and socks from the day before, changing into them quickly and sitting down on the floor to pull your sneakers on. Ellie watches you, her foot tapping impatiently.

“You can go without me if you’re in a rush,” you offer. She shakes her head.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. “You ready?”

“Sure.”

You follow her out of the house, her clipped pace difficult to keep up with due to your lingering pain. As the sun starts to rise and you pass by more of the houses, you notice something peculiar about some of them.

“What’s that?” You ask, pausing in front of one the houses. There’s a streak of what looks like dark red paint across the top of the door. Ellie doubles back and stands beside you.

“Protection,” she says.

“From what?”

She shifts her weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable with your line of questioning. Rather than answer, she walks away, leaving you to catch up to her or be left behind.

As the two of you start to walk through the square, there’s a rush of people around you. Shouting can be heard up ahead as a crowd comes into view, gathered around the front of the mess hall building. People press in close together, craning their necks to see over each other and catch a glimpse of whatever spectacle has their attention.

Ellie pushes through the crowd and you follow close on her heels until she manages to break through the other side of the wall of people. You catch glimpses of something writhing on the ground, something animal but not quite, something failed and fetid and foul. Another peek affords you a view of an arm littered with bite marks shaped by blunt teeth, deep gouges into their skin that shine red with blood and fester with disease.

Joel appears, stepping around the side of the building. The whispers cease, the crunch of Joel’s boots and pained groans the only noise to be heard in the stale air.

His dark eyes scan the crowd. People shrink back from his gaze, pressing closer to each other for relief. He reaches down, curling his fingers into the burlap material and yanking it off to reveal a man, familiar and yet not recognizable. Unseeing eyes, ashen skin, and dark red veins now the hallmark characteristics of the man you now remember as the one who had been talking to Ellie in the dining hall.

Joel draws a gun from his back, aiming it at Michael’s head. “Let this be a lesson,” he says, pulling the trigger.

The shot rings out, making you jump. The agonized sounds come to abrupt halt and his body goes limp, eyes still open as blood blooms on the ground around him.

“No blood spilled. No blood saved,” Joel says. You look up from the horrible scene and meet his hard gaze. You step back, turning and shoving your way through the crowd.

Then, you run.

You’re frantically shoving clothing into your bag when a door slams downstairs and heavy footsteps climb the stairs at a quick pace. You can feel the burn of Joel's eyes on your back, his presence in the room thick and cloying as you refuse to turn around, even when he murmurs your name.

He moves closer, a hand on your shoulder prompting you to turn to break the connection. He holds his hands up in surrender, taking a step back as he says, "Let me explain."

"Explain? Explain?! How the fuck do you explain that?!" You snap.

"If you'll just listen--"

"There's nothing you could possibly say that will--"

"Ellie is immune!" He shouts. Your words die on the tip of your tongue, lost to ether as you stare at Joel.

"W-what do you mean? Immune?" You ask.

He takes a deep breath. "I told you what my friend said. 'Save who you can save'. The first person I saved was Ellie."

"I helped her out of Boston, kept her safe, nearly lost my life if it meant keepin' her alive," He continues. "That's what I offer here."

"So you think you're....what? Some kind of god? That you can grant immunity?"

He huffs a laugh, the noise devoid of any humor. "God abandoned his worst experiment in their time of need. There is no god anymore, just the poor creatures he left behind. Someone had to take up the mantle."

"But how?"

"The ceremony," he says.

"That’s not a fucking answer, Joel!” You shout. “What fucking ceremony?!”

“Blood spilled for blood saved. You can’t make it in this world without givin’ your everythin’ first.” He lifts the bottom of his shirt, just enough to reveal a jagged scar to the right of his belly button, shiny scar tissue disrupting smooth tan skin. “I did this for Ellie. Now everyone else has to do it for themselves.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” You take a small step closer to inspect the wound, raising your hand and reaching out with a tentative touch. Joel inhales sharply as you run your fingers across the puckered flesh.

His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your hand up and holding it against his chest. “It’ll be easier to show you, okay? There’s a ceremony in a couple days.”

“I don’t—“

“You’re just afraid because this is somethin’ new, but I promise you that you got nothin’ to be scared of. I’ll take care of you.” He lifts a hand to your face, tilting your chin with his thumb. “I just need you to trust me.”

His eyes are honest, earnest, pleading with you to believe him and the longer you search them, the more truth you seem to find. He will take care of you. You just know it.

“Okay.”

Dinner is served early on the day of the ceremony, the room buzzing with excited conversation. You haven’t seen Joel much the last few days, just passing glimpses, and Ellie says it’s because he has a lot to prepare for. Tonight there’s a woman at his side wearing a white dress that flows to the floor, black hair braided down her back. She smiles at Joel, hanging on every word you can’t hear. It makes your stomach clench in a weird way when her hand curls around his bicep and her head leans against his shoulder.

“That’s Marcy. She’s volunteered for the ceremony,” Ellie says. She’s sitting across from you, a smirk on her lips. “S’why she’s been hanging around Joel the last few days. Joel’s gotta prepare her.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to reply, picking at the vegetables on your plate. “What does…what does he do? To prepare her.”

She shrugs. “Dunno.”

You glance at the pair. Joel leans in close to the woman, whispering into her ear. Your fingernails dig into the meat of your palm, your hands curled into tight fists beneath the table. He stands, a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he calls the people to attention, voices fading until silence envelops the room.

“Tonight,” Joel says, “another is to be saved. And we will all bear witness to the gift of deliverance that only self-sacrifice can grant.”

It’s only a few words, but the power in them is palpable as you glance around the room at the entire town watching him with rapt attention. His eyes meet yours.

“Save who you can save,” he intones. A chill runs down your spine.

“Save who you can save,” the town echoes back.

The sun is already low on the horizon, twilight casting a soft glow on the scene. You stand at the back of the crowd, watching as Joel leads Marcy onto a raised wooden platform. Another man joins them, passing something wrapped in cloth into Joel’s outstretched hands.

“The thing about the world today,” Joel says, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a large knife, “is that there ain’t a single guarantee.” He looks out over the crowd. “Except here, within these walls. Why? Because here you’ll make the greatest sacrifice and earn the greatest reward.”

He begins to pace the length of the platform, knife in hand. “Givin’ your blood in exchange for your safety? That doesn’t sound so bad, right?” The people around you nod their heads in agreement. “You’ve seen what that sacrifice can do. I did it for Ellie. I did it for myself. And tonight—“ he places a hand on Marcy’s shoulder “—another has made the choice to earn that gift of protection.”

A cheer erupts, spreading through the crowd through shouts and applause. You find yourself joining them, clapping your hands together as you continue to watch Joel.

“Marcy,” Joel says. “What brings you here today?”

“No blood spilled, no blood saved,” she recites dutifully.

“Are you afraid?” He asks.

“No,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because I trust in your protection.”

Joel smiles at her, beaming with pride, and that knot in your stomach from earlier returns with a vengeance. You want him to look at you like that.

He stands in front of her, blocking her from view with his body. A hush falls over the crowd and from the silence erupts an anguished scream. You flinch, the sound piercing and painful and petrifying, though it seems to have taken nobody else by surprise.

Another scream as he jerks his arm back, the knife in his hand now stained with red that slides down the blade, dripping to the wood beneath his feet. He steps to the side and you can see the woman now, her hands pressed to her belly. Crimson blooms beneath her hands, marring her pretty white dress and leaching the color and vitality from her face. She drops to her knees and so does Joel, who wraps an arm around her shoulders and gently guides her until she’s lying on her back. He holds her hand and smooths her hair from her face as she just repeats, “Thank you.”

Slowly, the strength in her voice fades. Her arm goes limp in his grasp, dropping to the floor with a dull thud as her eyes flutter shut. Joel whistles sharply, three men rushing up the platform and lifting the girl into their arms, careful not to jostle her too much. Joel remains kneeling, his head turning to scan the crowd.

“We are born covered in blood,” he says. “It gives you protection from the outside world when you’re wrenched from the womb. And it will protect you now as it is wrenched from you.”

He steps off the platform and walks past the crowd, heading for the residential street. Everyone shuffles forward, moving en masse like sheep following their shepherd or cattle to the slaughter. You’re led to one of the smaller homes and you watch as Joel smooths the flat of the blade across his hand, gathering blood in his palm.

He places his palm on the door, smearing the blood across the faded blue paint. When he’s done, he turns to face the crowd.

“Marcy has earned her protection. Those of you among us that have not yet made your sacrifice, may you return home this evenin’ and realize that each passin’ day is a wasted opportunity for your salvation.” His serious expression softens as he smiles. “No blood spilled.”

“No blood saved,” the crowd says.

To your surprise, the words fall easily from your lips.

Joel shuts the door quietly behind him. He’s just finished checking on Marcy and was pleased to find that her wound has been dressed and she’s recovering well. At the kitchen sink he runs the water as hot as he can tolerate and scrubs his hands clean.

He can hear faint footsteps upstairs, the sound of your pacing back and forth in his bedroom. He’s pleased that you stayed through the entire ceremony, didn’t run away filled with fear or disgust like you had watching him make an example out of Michael.

There’s hope for you yet.

Joel dries his hands on a towel and heads upstairs. He glances at Ellie’s room out of habit, though he knows it’s empty. She likes to help out after the ceremony, usually sticking beside the town nurse, Shelly, as she monitors the person who participated in the ceremony over night.

The door to his bedroom is shut but he can see that the light is on, the glow of it seeping out from the gap beneath the door. He knocks, three sharp raps of his knuckles, and waits.

You pull the door open, and Joel is once again struck by how much he wants you, how much he’s craved you since the first time he saw you. You look up at him with wide eyes but he doesn’t sense any fear as you pull the door open further and step back to let him enter.

“You doin’ okay?” He asks, shutting the door quietly behind him. You’re standing with your arms wrapped around yourself, nodding quietly. Joel moves closer, tentatively reaching out to tilt your chin up so that he’s looking into your eyes. “Talk to me.”

“I….,” your voice trails off. You take a breath. “I want that protection.”

He was hoping you would say that. Relief floods through him.

“I can’t do that,” he says. Your brows pinch together, hurt flashing across your features. “I won’t have your blood on my hands.”

“But—“

“Listen to me—“ his hands frame your face, thumbs smoothing over the high points of your cheeks “—you’re meant for somethin’ different here.”

“Something different?” You repeat. You shake your head slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“From the moment I saw you, I knew I couldn’t let you lose a drop,” he whispers. “You don’t need to bleed, sweetheart. Not like them. I’ll protect you myself.”

Your mouth drops open the slightest bit, drawing Joel’s gaze. He slides his thumb across your bottom lip, mesmerized by the softness of it. There’s not much about his life the last twenty or so years that he would call soft.

There was his brother, Tommy, even though they couldn’t see eye to eye and had to part ways. His daughter, Sarah, before the outbreak. She took care of him, made sure he took his vitamins and packed his lunch and didn’t miss a parent-teacher conference. She was light and joy, his heart outside of his body, and she was ripped from his grasp.

There was Tess, who was not a soft person but was a soft place to land among the carnage. Bill, ornery though he was, and Frank, arguably his better half. They were a breath of normalcy, even when Bill had a gun trained on him. Ellie, once she quit being a pain in the ass and wormed her way into his heart with her promise to follow him wherever he went.

And now there was you.

“Will you let me do that?” Joel asks. “Protect you?”

You lift your hands, delicate fingers wrapping around his wrists. He wonders if you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse pounding beneath your grip. Finally, after a long moment, you whisper, “Yes.”

Joel captures your lips with his, swallowing your gasp of surprise. You’re tentative, a bit clumsy with your movements as you kiss back and he pulls away, leaning his forehead to yours.

“I-I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I’ve never—“

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

While his words don’t stop your pulse from racing, they do calm your nerves the slightest bit. It’s not that you’ve never been interested in sex, there was just never a good opportunity. Going through puberty in an apocalypse where a militant government faction monitors your every move in exchange for basic necessities wasn’t exactly conducive to forming intimate relationships.

While you’re lost in your thoughts, Joel moves you backwards until your legs hit the mattress and he urges you to sit down. He kneels in front of you, working on the laces of your sneakers, removing them and setting them to the side. He looks up at you as he removes your socks and you’re not sure if you're supposed to find the sight of him kneeling at your feet as sexy as you do, but a rush of warmth rolls through you all the same.

He runs his palms up your legs, across your thighs, until his fingertips find the waist of your jeans, popping the button of the fly and pulling the zipper down.

“Lift your hips a bit, sweetheart,” he says, working the denim down and off your legs, tossing them aside. His hands return to your thighs, goosebumps erupting along their path to your hips.

“No one’s touched you here?” He asks, here being the soft skin of your inner thigh that his thumbs sweep across. You shake your head. He moves higher, a featherlight touch over the elastic of your underwear that makes you gasp. “What about here?”

“N-no,” you manage to whisper. He smiles at you, the same proud smile he’d given Marcy that you were so desperate to have for yourself.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. He kisses the inside of your knee quickly before sitting up higher, reaching up to lift your shirt up, tugging it over your head and dropping it onto the growing pile of your clothing.

“Lie back for me,” Joel commands. You shift up the mattress and follow his instruction, bringing your arms up to cover your exposed breasts. He makes a dissatisfied click with his tongue, pulling your arms away as he crawls up the mattress to settle between your legs.

“None of that,” he admonishes, planting your hands by your head. He kisses your lips again, butterflies erupting in your stomach when his tongue tangles with yours, hot and demanding. He palms one of your breasts, hands rough on the delicate skin. “This is mine, do you understand?”

Joel brings his mouth to your breast, tongue swirling over your stiff nipple. You cry out, the foreign sensation making more heat rush through you, leaving you throbbing between your thighs. He looks up at you through his lashes as he sucks your nipple between his lips, releasing it with a lewd pop.

“Mine to touch,” he says, leaning on one arm to trail his fingers down your stomach. “Mine to kiss.” His lips trace the same heated path. “Mine to protect.”

When he reaches your underwear, he pulls back. “Look at that,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing across the gusset, making you whimper and squirm. “You’ve soaked your panties, sweetheart.”

Your face feels hot with embarrassment. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry? Ain’t nothin’ you need to be sorry about,” he says with a chuckle. He sits up, working your only remaining barrier between you down your legs. He spreads your legs with his hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you look so pretty, baby.”

“Really?” You ask. His answering grin is wolfish.

“So pretty,” he repeats. He settles on his belly, face so close to your pussy you can feel the warmth of his breath against your heated flesh. “Gotta get you ready.”

Your response to the question is cut off with a high pitched moan as Joel runs his tongue through your folds, circling your clit with broad strokes. You try to close your legs against the sensation but his strong hands keep your thighs pinned down near the mattress.

He groans as he sets a slow and measured pace, alternating attention to your clit with dipping his tongue inside of you, dragging your essence from the source. Your hands clench in the sheets, chasing and retreating from the overwhelming sensation in equal measure.

There’s a blunt pressure that turns into a slight pinch as Joel slips a finger into your tight heat. Your head tilts back with a high keening noise and you’re panting, desperate for breath as he moves his hand in tandem with his tongue.

One finger becomes two that thrust and curl and part inside of you, stretching you in unfamiliar ways. It feels good, and all you want is more, more, more.

Joel’s hand moves quickly and he sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves until that flood of relief that you’ve only accomplished a handful of times on your own washes over you, your back arching sharply off the mattress as you shout his name like a prayer to the heavens.

His motions slow to a stop and he leaves the bed. You hear the clink of a belt and the rustle of clothing being removed before his weight returns between your legs, a new heat to be felt against your flushed skin with his clothes no longer in the way. With shaky hands you reach up to touch him, starting at his shoulders.

You trail your hands across his warm tan skin, down his hard chest and softer belly. That scar, the one that frightened you before, leaves you breathless as you run your fingers over it now. He’s so strong, so powerful, and he wants you. Wants to protect you so that you don’t know that same pain.

“Joel,” you whisper. He leans forward, hands on the mattress beside your head. He kisses you, slow and all encompassing. You can feel the hard length of his sliding through the mess he’s made of you and you gasp.

“Let me make one thing clear,” he says, face serious, “there ain’t any goin’ back from this. You’re mine. You got that?”

“I trust you,” you reply. Your response earns you a deep groan from the man, a kiss to your forehead that precedes the blunt head of his cock pressing to your soaked entrance.

His cock is thicker, much thicker, than his fingers were and you whine at the intrusion. His shushes you, peppering your face with soothing kisses.

“I don’t think—“

“You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart, I know you can handle it,” Joel says. “Take a deep breath, just a little more.”

Tension gives way, a sharp pinch that turns into an ache as Joel presses his hips firmly against yours. He kisses your neck and trails his nose across your sweat damp skin, holding still as you adjust to his girth.

You shift your hips the slightest bit and Joel’s moan echoes your gasp. “Tell me I can move,” he begs, another desperate kiss pressed to your lips. “Please, baby.”

There’s something heady about the power you have in this brief moment, a man like Joel begging you for something when he’s used to having everything. You nod and that’s all the encouragement he needs to draw back slowly, that fullness leaving you inch by inch, before thrusting sharply.

It’s unlike any experience you’ve had before — the way his body moves with yours, the flex of his muscles above you, the intense look in his eyes each time he presses inside of you.

“Made for me,” he murmurs. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you agree, moaning as each drag of his cock presses against a tender spot inside of you that has your stomach tightening rapidly.

His effort doubles, hips slamming hard enough to make the headboard bang against the wall. You dig your nails into his back, watch the clench of his jaw against the sting, and moan his name as you succumb to the feeling of free falling into bliss, clenching around his cock.

“That’s it, sweetheart, fuck,” he growls, hips stilling against yours as warmth pulses inside of you, his mouth dropped open on a groan of your name.

Joel takes a moment to catch his breath before withdrawing from you. He reaches his hand between your legs, pressing his fingers into your swollen pussy as you gasp.

He holds those fingers up, the light catching on the red staining them.

Perhaps you’d spilled blood for your safety after all.

You wake to the early morning light filtering through the window, a noticeable ache between your legs as you begin to stir. You’re naked, having fallen asleep in Joel’s arms last night, his lips caressing your neck until you’d drifted off and dreamt of blood and wolves. You stretch your limbs, encountering only cold sheets as you do.

As you sit up, you realize the sound of rushing water is the shower and surmise that Joel must be in there. With stiff movements you leave the warmth of the bed and approach the dresser, tugging open the top drawer to find clothing for the day.

You’re reaching for underwear when your fingers catch on something cold, metal in a sea of fabric. You pull on the object, unearthing it from its hiding spot and holding it up for inspection.

A cross, hanging from a silver chain. A chain you would tangle your fingers in as a child, a cross that a thumb would rub across as a deep, familiar voice muttered prayers.

The shower turns off and you take one last look at the crucifix before setting it back into the dark corner you’d unearthed it from.

Then, you shut the drawer.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #dark content #cult leader!joel miller #cw age gap #cw dubcon #cw age difference #dark!joel miller #dark!joel x reader #dark joel miller

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fanfoolishness · 6 months ago

Text

A New Fascination

Tech isn't sure why Phee fascinates him so, but when she tells him about an intriguing creature by the shore, he takes a chance to further investigate things. Fluff, the teensiest hurt/comfort, long conversations, and several firsts all wrapped in a bow; TechPhee and a little bit on Tech & Crosshair. Canon-compliant, set after Pabu. 8100 words.

---

Tech sat in the boughs of the great weeping maya tree, recording sounds. Omega’s morning flying lesson had been bracing, her inexperience and bravado combined nearly enough to cause him to ponder his own mortality, and now that they were safely back on solid ground he thought he would focus on less potentially deadly pursuits.

He always cataloged new sounds as he came across them, but the challenge came in when they were layered and stacked and interlaced with each other. Wingbeats of the fluttering jeweled finches were swallowed up by the sounds of their vocalizations, mixed with rustling leaves and the voices and footsteps of passersby. His datapad did a fine job of sorting things on a cursory level, but it often required manual input for greatest accuracy. Up here, higher above the colonnade, the sounds were crisper and easier to parse.

He had pleasantly lost himself in this pursuit for some time when a voice broke through his focus.

“Didn’t take you for much of a climber, Brown Eyes.”

He lifted the visor up with its stream of data, peering down at her through his goggles, the leaves, and the afternoon shadows. She stood ten feet below, shading her eyes and gazing up at him.

“It is the best area from which to collect direct recordings of the local avians. The jeweled finches, particularly.”

She sat on the large bough beneath him, grinning. “Sure you don’t want to listen to them from down here?”

Tech frowned. The recordings would contain more interference and ambient sound the further away he was from the canopy the birds frequented. However, coming down would provide a better opportunity for conversing with Phee. And Phee was fascinating in her own right.

He paused. He had not yet determined why Phee so fascinated him, but she did. His initial hypothesis had been that her treasure hunting, or “liberation” as she colorfully put it, required a wide subset of skills, an ability to quickly adapt, and a nimble intelligence. That was certainly part of it. But he had met many intelligent and skilled people throughout the galaxy, his brothers, certain reg clones, people like Romar, and none of them had inspired this type of interest from him before.

He had considered pheromones as a possible trigger, though human pheromones were significantly weaker and less effective than those of many other species. He could not discount them, though, or how else could he explain the way he enjoyed being near her for no apparent reason?

“You coming?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said determinedly, climbing down. He sat beside her and she gave him a bright smile, tilting her head to one side. It was a smile that was full, easy, beaming. It was new, having such a smile frequently directed at him, but it was… very nice.

Of course, he had also considered the fact that she was objectively beautiful. Warm brown eyes, a musical laugh, luxurious hair, a sleek and strong figure… he was not blind to these things, and appreciated them as he would any source of beauty. He simply wasn’t used to appreciating beauty in the form of a curious and clever person who seemed to appreciate him, too.

Perhaps that was why he always felt slightly off-kilter near her.

His datapad chimed, finishing its collation of data. He took off his helmet and set it beside him, then hunched his shoulders to get a better look at the screen. He needed to sort the information he had gathered before it became less fresh in his mind.

“Whatcha got there?” she asked, scooting closer so that she could lean over his shoulder, nearly touching him. His heart beat more quickly.

“Samples of the finches, separated out from the sounds of the weeping maya, the wind, and the marketplace,” Tech said. “I find it engrossing work.”

“What are you saving the recordings for?”

“For?” Tech pondered the question. While there had been times his recordings had been extremely helpful on missions - Skako Minor came to mind as a particularly memorable instance - most of the time the data was simply stored, saved carefully where it could be retrieved at a moment’s notice. “I enjoy collecting sounds. It could be considered a hobby.”

Phee chuckled, apparently surprised by his statement. “I like that. Everyone needs a hobby. And I, of all people, understand collecting things.” She looked out at the busy marketplace, concentrating as if listening. “You know, Pabu’s got its share of interesting wildlife. Do you like nature sounds the most? Or any sounds?”

“All sounds are interesting,” said Tech, raising his eyes from his datapad to look over at her briefly. She was looking at him with curiosity, her full attention focused on him. He quickly turned back to his datapad. “Machinery generates patterns that can easily form a type of music. Battle sounds are both highly varied and highly predictable, depending on the situation. Natural sounds provide some of the most unique samples, though. Animals with different vocal apparatuses and anatomy can produce a nearly infinite variety of sounds. Some are not even made with mouths. Have you ever heard the sound of a winnowing wood-snipe from Batuu?”

“No, I can’t say that I have. I’ve been to Batuu a few times, but only to the outpost,” Phee said. “It wasn’t exactly crawling with wood-snipes, whatever those are.”

Tech quickly found the pertinent file and played it. Ghostly, high-pitched twittering emitted from the datapad in waves. Phee looked intrigued.

“That wasn’t an animal call?”

“No. It was created by small, uniquely-shaped feathers at the base of the bird’s tail. When soaring and diving, the airflow creates these noises,” said Tech. Reading of the bird’s description beforehand had not fully prepared him for the startling nature of its sounds. “There are thousands of such examples of unique adaptations across the galaxy.”

“Hey, now that’s all right,” Phee said, nodding, clearly impressed. “I would’ve never guessed that wasn’t a song. Not sure there’s anything quite like that here, but there’s still some interesting wildlife, especially down near the shore. I remember Shep telling me about some creature that sings near the caves. Want me to get some more info and get back to you?”

Tech paused. She did not need to bother herself. “I could also ask Shep, if you are busy.” It did sound interesting.

“Suit yourself,” Phee said, “but I don’t mind asking as a favor.” She smiled again, then clapped a hand against his shoulder. Her touch was brief, but electric.

Ah. She wants to do it. He nodded, not wishing to discourage her. “If you would like to find out more information, I… would be grateful.”

Another of those bright, beaming smiles. He tried one back, though it was nowhere near as wide and carefree. She nodded, looking pleased. “I’m on the case.” She swung her legs off the bough, slipping back down to the ground, and waved goodbye. “See you around, Brown Eyes.”

---

She found him the next morning attempting to clean up after some much-needed repairs to the Marauder. Another flying lesson with Omega had been… bracing. He sat amidst a pile of spanners and tools, covered in engine grease, sorting the tools to put away when he wasn’t distracted by the sounds of the finches. There was a new vocalization he could hear -- perhaps young birds begging to be fed -- and he had left his datapad inside. He switched on the auxiliary recording function on his goggles, making a note to import and analyze the sounds later.

“In the middle of something, I see. Those flying lessons out there looked a little rough this morning,” Phee said, casting an eye over the tools strewn around him.

“Omega is still mastering the concept of incline control,” Tech said. “It’s creating some extra wear and tear on the engine, but nothing I cannot repair.”

“Never doubted that.” She dropped down to squat beside him, idly picking up a spanner. “That’s a solid one.”

“Standard Republic issue. I have since seen some of the Imperial repair kits, and they are inferior, clearly turned out quickly to keep costs down.”

“Sounds like the Empire all over,” Phee said, sighing. “Quantity over quality. I guess you’d know all about that.”

Tech nodded. The Empire had discarded the clones similarly, of course.

“So, I talked to Shep about this creature. He said it’s something the people here call a sea ghost.”

Tech made a face. “A rather whimsical name.”

“Not much for whimsy?” Phee asked, looking amused by his response.

“It is not remotely descriptive,” Tech complained. “Is it mammalian? Avian? Some type of cartilaginous or bony fish? ‘Sea ghost’ does not give us any indication as to what kind of creature could be expected.”

“Well, I’m guessing it lives by the sea with a name like that,” Phee laughed.

Tech gave her a look. She had him there.

“He said it lives down near the northwest cove, whatever it is,” she continued. “It goes out to sea sometimes but often comes back to sing in the caves. He said its song is supposed to be hauntingly beautiful. Hence the ‘ghost.’”

“If it sings in the caves, it may be taking advantage of the area’s natural acoustics,” Tech mused. “Is it sentient?”

“Not exactly, I think. More like a wise animal is how he described it. People here used to tell stories about it, long ago.”

Tech wiped his hands off on his thighs, smearing the fabric with oil as he got to his feet. “Well, I am game to search for this creature if you are. Give me a few moments to gather these up and we may go.” Hunter’s intense aggravation the last time Tech had left his repair work for later would be an irritating way to start such a promising day, and he had no intention of letting that distraction interfere.

“You want me to come?” Phee asked, raising an eyebrow with a sly smile. “Not Shep? He’s actually seen it, you know.”

“Shep may be best suited to finding the creature,” Tech said, adjusting his goggles. “But I am asking you because I would like for you to be there.”

He hoped he had not miscalculated. He thought that it was what Phee had been intending all along, that this would be a time for the two of them to be alone during an enjoyable and interesting activity, but for a moment, he was unsure. It was one thing to calculate his own thoughts, responses, plans. It was quite another to attempt to guess what Phee might desire. He swallowed, watching her closely, hoping he had read the situation appropriately --

She grinned. “Why, Brown Eyes, I thought you’d never ask.”

---

They took the winding stairs down to the beach, passing islanders as they went. Several nodded or said hello to Phee, and a few said hello to him as well, perhaps remembering their efforts from the night of the sea surge a few weeks ago. Tech nodded to them as they passed, surprised they remembered him. He commented on it to Phee.

“You and your brothers don’t exactly blend in,” she said. “You might all be clones, but here you’re the new kids in town, and that makes you easy to remember.”

“I suppose that would be the case in a place with a relatively small population,” Tech said. “It is still unexpected.”

They rounded a corner and ran into Hunter, Wrecker and Omega, carrying woven bags of foodstuffs and supplies. “Tech! Phee!” Omega said. “We’re going to try some new recipes for lunch. Are you coming back up?”

“Recipes?” Tech asked. “None of us has ever shown any aptitude at cooking.”

“We’re going to try,” Hunter said heavily. He appeared dismayed at the prospect. “Wrecker’s promised to eat anything that goes horribly wrong.”

“It’ll be a sacrifice, but I’ll make it happen,” Wrecker said. He narrowed his eyes, looking between Phee and Tech. “You two going somewhere?”

“Phee has informed me there is a creature with an unusual song that visits near the beach,” said Tech. “We are going to investigate.”

A wide, eager smile stole over Wrecker’s face, and he was about to speak until Hunter elbowed him subtly in the side. He closed his mouth again. “Uh, that sounds nice,” he said.

Tech was certain that had not been what he was originally going to say.

“Good luck,” Hunter said, giving them an odd look that Tech did not know how to interpret. “If there’s leftovers later, you’re welcome to try them.”

“But Hunter,” Omega asked, “wouldn’t you be able to help them track the creature?”

Hunter paused, searching for words. “Ah, they don’t need my help, Omega. And I promised I’d help you with this recipe of yours. They’ll be fine without us.”

“We appreciate the vote of confidence,” Phee said. “Bye, boys. See you, Omega.”

“Bye, Phee! Bye, Tech!”

Phee and Tech continued down the stairs. “That’s cute,” Phee said.

“What is?”

“Wrecker wanting to tease you about me, and Hunter trying to play it cool,” she laughed. “Reminds me of my cousins growing up. They used to tease each other mercilessly. Especially if there was a boy or girl involved.”

“Wrecker often attempts jokes at my expense,” said Tech. “Though… this is certainly the first time a ‘girl’ has been involved.” He felt a flicker of warmth in his cheeks, that funny sense of being wrongfooted that he seemed to only feel around Phee.

“I thought that might be the case,” Phee said. She turned to him, laying a hand on his arm and keeping him from descending the next flight of steps. “Look, Tech -- I think it’s clear we like each other. Right?” One of those warm, sunny smiles again. He nodded at her, feeling slightly lightheaded. “But if this is all new to you, I don’t mind taking our time, you know? You’re worth doing this right.”

His mouth seemed incredibly dry. With a great effort he swallowed, managing to find enough saliva to speak again. “I -- I will take that under advisement.”

Phee snorted. “Glad to hear it.” She nodded towards the last set of stairs. “Come on, we’re nearly there. Let’s go find this ghost.”

---

The path to the cove was hidden and cunning, half-covered by tidewaters or stretches of exposed seagrass. Tech thought that even Hunter would have had a difficult time picking his way through the stretches of rocks, sand and shallow water. Phee led him through a narrow cleft in the rocky wall, both of them forced to turn to the side and creep through, hands scraping the rocky surface. At one point Phee’s hand brushed his, and she paused for an instant before she pressed forward once more, to Tech’s disappointment. He would have liked it had her hand lingered.

She led him around a bend and a large pool of gently lapping waves, sheltered from the main beach, lay before them. Beyond that Tech could see the entrance to a cave, carved out from the rocky walls as if by invisible hands. Phee stared appraisingly at the pool.

“We’re going to have to wade for it,” she said. “Shep said with most low tides this water’s receded, but some are lower than others. Guess we got lucky.”

Tech nodded, sitting down in the sand to pull off his boots. While they were water resistant, they had not been designed for complete submersion, and he did not relish the idea of walking the return path in soaked boots and footwear. That had been troublesome enough after the underground river on Ipsidon.

He peeled off his socks and rolled up his blues to his knees. At least his datapad was waterproof, so that would not be a problem.

Phee pulled off her own boots, then removed her jacket and blouse, revealing a skin tight sleeveless shirt in a pretty blue color. She folded up her clothing and stuffed it into the bag she had brought. He gazed at her bare shoulders, her toned arms, the curve of her breasts and waist, until he heard the sound of a throat clearing. “Ready to go?” Phee asked, with a look on her face that suggested she knew he had been staring at her, and didn’t mind.

He turned away, nodding. “Yes. I’m ready.”

He followed her into the pool. The water was warm and gentle, a perfect temperature when combined with the soft cool breeze blowing in from the sea. It came up to his knees, then his thighs, then past his waist. Phee waded beside him, one hand holding her bag safely above the water, the other swirling random patterns in the surface of the water with every step.

“Ever do much swimming?” she asked as they made their way through the pool.

“Swimming proficiency was mandatory for all clones,” said Tech. “Kamino is a waterbound world and it would be laughable to fail to instill swimming skills in that setting. There were also special clone commando units with additional training in underwater operations, though our squad had only cursory training in that department.” He paused at the look on her face. “But yes, I am an adequate swimmer. It is not my specialty.”

“You’re like me. Flying’s really where we shine, right?,” said Phee, wading towards the shore. The cave’s entrance rose up before them, and Tech could see the reflections of blue and white from the water’s surface painting the walls of the cave. “But I can swim if I need to. Once I had to retrieve an artifact from a Naboo battlefield over an old Gungan settlement. Place was boobytrapped to high heaven with battledroids, but not in the water. Turned out the droids were the least of my worries. You ever been to Naboo?”

“No,” said Tech. “There were no clones in service during the battles on Naboo. Kaminoan production only began in earnest shortly after that time. My brothers and I had not yet been designed, let alone decanted.”

Phee shook her head. “Clone aging… that’s still a hard one to wrap my brain around.”

Tech shrugged. “We age at roughly double the rate as unaltered humans. It is simply a fact of life for us.”

Phee was quiet for a moment, a hint of something sad behind her eyes. Her mouth twisted to one side. Then she shook her head again, and continued. “Well, anyway -- Naboo’s a nice place. If it wasn’t for the Empire, I’d say you should try to visit sometime. But avoid going underwater, there are some freaky things down there, and I don’t mean the Gungans. Nearly got eaten by five different giant creatures.” She shuddered. “Got the artifact, though, so it wasn’t all bad.”

“I am glad you were not eaten,” said Tech. “It sounds as if it would be most unpleasant.”

She reached the shore, climbing up but slipping for a second on a rock. Tech closed the distance between them, reaching out to steady her with a hand on her shoulder. She refound her footing and clambered up, turning back to him with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

He followed her up, water dripping down his legs, running in rivulets down his feet. Phee was just as wet, her clothing clinging to her in a way he quite liked. He turned his attention back to the cave, listening closely.

“I do not hear anything.”

Phee screwed up her face in concentration. “Me neither, but it might be in deeper. This cave system goes in for a little ways. I don’t feel like getting deep into spelunking for this, but there might be something in one of the near chambers.”

She carefully picked out a path on the rocky shore as they entered the cave. There was a narrow spit of rocks encircling the water, and they climbed atop this, looking down into the water below for signs of movement. Light dancing on the water’s surface helped to light the cove, as did glimmers of sunlight peeking in from up above them through small gaps in the rocky ceiling. They were quiet for a few moments, concentrating on their footing and the gradually dimming light within the cave.

Phee was surefooted, leading the way without hesitation, occasionally pausing only to study the water beneath them. He watched the water too, but his attention was divided between the gently lapping waves and Phee herself. She moved with an easy elegance that was intriguing; long graceful neck shifting to allow her a better view, hands held out to her side to steady herself, legs balancing adroitly on the uneven rocks. He followed in her footsteps, occasionally startled when he noticed her looking back at him with a similar focus.

The light dimmed further, and up ahead was largely darkness. She stopped her, sitting down on a rocky outcropping and resting her arms on her legs. She gave him a nod, and he sat down beside her at the invitation.

“Seems like as good a place as any to wait,” she said.

“What else do we know of this creature?”

“Not much,” Phee said. “Last I checked, Pabu doesn’t have a marine biologist, and it’s not exactly a place that’s been extensively studied. One of the disadvantages of being so out of the way.”

“I could change that,” said Tech thoughtfully. “If we’re to spend more time here, I would like to continue learning about the local ecosystem and culture.”

“I think you might be the most curious person I’ve ever met,” Phee said quietly. “I like that about you.”

“I have never understood a lack of curiosity,” he said. “There is so much to learn and understand in this galaxy. I could never begin to come close to learning all of it, but I would like to try.” He smiled. “You, of course, also seem to be a very curious person. I… like that about you, too.”

She smiled brightly at him. Her brown eyes glinted with the dappled blue and white light reflecting off the water. She leaned in, listening to him.

He wondered, suddenly, what it might be like to kiss her.

“I guess I’m just a curious soul,” Phee murmured.

His heart seemed to be beating rather faster than normal, and he searched for something to say. “You have asked me a great many questions about myself, for example.”

She laughed quietly, the sound echoing sweetly off the water and the walls. “I’ve just never met anyone like you before. You’re one of a kind, Brown Eyes.”

Perhaps she was teasing him. He leaned back, shaking his head. “That is blatantly incorrect. While I am unique in being a genetically modified clone, I am still one of millions --”

She reached out, fingertips brushing his cheek, her touch feather soft. “No. There’s no one like you, Tech.”

Oh.

He stared into her eyes, frozen.

And then he heard it, faint in the distance, coming closer. A sound, haunting, beautiful, delicate piping layered with echoes of reflected notes building upon each other. Phee dropped her hand, focusing intently as Tech quickly pulled out his datapad and started recording.

“The ghost, there --” Phee started, pointing past him. He reached out quickly and took her hand, holding it closely within his own. She turned back to him and he made a shh gesture with his free hand. She nodded, staying quiet and still as the creature swam into view.

A pale gray shape skimmed the water’s surface, its form rounded, plump and smooth-skinned. As it drew closer Tech realized the dappling on its back was not only due to the reflections in the water, but also due to speckles of white and darker gray spotting its skin, crisscrossed with the shapes of faint scars. The creature was sirenian in nature; he remembered a similar manatee-like animal that had swam and played in the pooled waters of the vast wroshyr root system on Kashyyyk. But the alshyyyr of Kashyyyk had had no voice like this.

Phee leaned in close to him, her bare shoulder brushing against his, and he realized he was still holding her hand. His focus shifted from the fluting calls filling the cavern and back to Phee. Her face held a look of wonder as the ghost sang, its ethereal music resonating with the water and the stone, but that had fallen into the background for Tech.

Phee’s hand was soft in his, but strong; his thumb glided over her knuckles, the back of her hand, mapping fine hollows and ridges, tracing small old scars. She gently squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, marveling at how such a small motion could be so engrossing.

She nudged him, slightly, and he looked back up at her. “Sea ghost, remember?” she whispered, winking.

Tech nodded, gazing back at the ghost and its sweet singing. He closed his eyes to listen to the music, alien, haunting, singular. He was grateful they had found it, and glad that he was recording it to analyze and assess later. Of course he should be studying the animal after their work to get here.

But Phee’s hand in his fit perfectly. He liked holding it. Liked touching her. This new thing between them, smiles and stories and laughter and touches, was truly what he had come here to investigate, and the sea ghost, lovely as it was, took a distant second in his concentration. He could not explain it, even to himself; it was confusing. It was new and strange.

It was mesmerizing.

---

They listened to the music of the sea ghost for nearly an hour before the dappled gray creature dipped below the water and vanished into the dark. They waited for a few more minutes, but at last Phee turned to him and said, “I think it’s taken its leave. We should probably go too, before the tide comes in further.”

Tech nodded, turning off his datapad and slipping it back into its pouch. He felt a little disappointed at seeing the creature go; though how much of that was due to the ghost’s departure, and how much of it was due to the fact that this moment between him and Phee would end?

They made their way back along the rocks, Phee following along behind him. His bare feet gripped each rock tightly. It was slick along here as the tide had begun to come in and water had splashed on the rocks. He picked out his path carefully while he led them back to the mouth of the cave, deep in thought.

He narrowed his eyes as they stepped out of the cave. The sun was now in full afternoon brightness, and even with the adaptive settings on his goggles it was still difficult for his eyes to adjust after the dark quiet of the cave.

“Phew,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “It didn’t seem that dark while we were in there, but that is intense.”

He turned to her once the brightness of the sunlight no longer forced him to squint. “Thank you for coming with me. I would not have been able to find this on my own.”

“Everything you were hoping for?” Phee asked, crossing her arms. “I have to say, that was some concert we were treated to.”

“I am looking forward to analyzing the recordings of the sea ghost,” said Tech. He turned to her, smiling faintly. “But I also enjoyed spending this time with you.”

Her face creased in a grin. “Me too, Brown Eyes. This getting to know you thing? It’s all right.” She waded into the deep pool between the cave and the rest of the shore, the water rising up to her chest. He followed her, the warm water rising up past his waist within a few steps. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure at first if you were interested. And I didn’t want to scare you off if this was all new for you.”

“It is new,” Tech admitted, taking another step behind her. “But that is not a problem. It is very intriguing.” He hesitated. “You are intriguing. And… I wish to learn more, if that is also what you want.”

He reached out, and took another step --

Pain. Blinding, searing, lancing pain shooting up his right foot and leg. He groaned and stumbled, falling forward, the water closing over his head.

“Tech!” There was a frantic scramble of limbs and splashing of water, and after a few confused, agonizing moments he realized he was back on the sand, Phee kneeling beside him and pulling something out of his foot. “Ahh, kriff, you stepped on a shore urchin. That would do it!” She tossed away a shard of bright purple material. “How’s it feeling now?”

Tech blinked, his head swimming, though he wasn’t sure if that was from the sting or from Phee’s look of concern. He tried experimentally to move his leg. The pain was receding, leaving a buzzing, prickling sensation rolling up and down his foot and shin. He stared down at the leg, realizing that the right foot was already approximately twice the size of the left.

“Ah,” he said sagely. “It seems to be venomous. Fortunately, the venom also seems to have an anesthetic component. The blinding pain has stopped and I can no longer feel my foot at all.” He let out a long hiss of breath, trying and failing to wiggle his toes.

“Well, I gotta love the optimism,” Phee said, her face a mixture of amusement and worry. “I know it looks bad, but it’s not serious. Your foot’s gonna blow up like a puffer pig for a day or two, but it’ll be all right. Happened to me once.”

“Really?” Tech asked. The knowledge did bring a small measure of comfort.

Phee gave him a guilty look. “No, I was just trying to make you feel better. But hey. I really have heard of people stepping on these things and being fine.”

Tech reached up, disengaging his goggles to wipe them on his shirt. He squinted up at her. “This is an inauspicious end to our afternoon together, unfortunately.” He slipped his goggles back into place, blinking.

“Well, it’s not over yet,” Phee chuckled. “We still need to get you back in one piece. I have a feeling your family would have strong words for me if I left you here for the birds.”

“The gulls would not be interested in me unless I had already died,” Tech pointed out. “I am far too large to register as a prey item for this species.”

“Ahhh, there’s that charm,” she said. “Here. Let’s get you situated.” She pulled her bag over her head. It was now soaking wet, which Tech realized must have happened when she dove in after him. She reached in and pulled out a spare kerchief, similar to the blue one she wore most frequently, and wrung it out until it was no longer sopping. She carefully bandaged his right foot, which scarcely resembled the left. It was now mottled an unappealing red, white and purple, though at least the anesthetic properties of the venom were holding.

She gathered their shoes they had left in the sand, putting his right boot into her bag. He wiped as much of the sand from his foot as he could before jamming the left boot back on. It was going to be an uncomfortable walk up the stairs, he wagered. But at least he would be in good company.

“All right. Let me help you up.” She held out a hand, bracing herself in the sand, and got him up. She pulled his arm over her shoulders. It was a very pleasant sensation having her so close, his arm draped over her shoulders, her arm slid around his waist. It would have been better without the prickling-numb swollen foot he was dragging, however.

“It is a shame we had to sever ties with Cid,” Tech mused. “There was no chance to retrieve AZI-3 from her bar before coming here to Pabu. He would have been particularly helpful in a time like this.”

Phee nodded, beginning to walk, going slowly so that he could hop along with her. “Well, I don’t think she’d be all that happy to see you if I brought you back there. But there’s first aid options here. Old Namira’s got a pretty good setup at her place for minor wounds and injuries, we’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you for the support,” Tech said, focusing on keeping his balance in the sand. “It is a pity it was my right leg that was affected. The left is still slightly weaker after I fractured it earlier this year.”

“Omega was telling me about that,” Phee said, concerned. “That must have been painful. Rough year for you, huh?”

“It was unpleasant,” Tech said. “Femoral fractures are intensely painful.” He shrugged, taking another hopping step, his left leg sliding in the sand. Phee stabilized herself against him, compensating for the uneven terrain. “Between AZI’s ministrations and the increased healing abilities of clones, I was only disabled for a matter of weeks. It was still not something I am eager to repeat.”

“Do all clones heal quickly?” Phee asked as they finally reached the first staircase.

“Yes, it is something we share with the regs. A sublimely useful modification by the Kaminoans, particularly for soldiers,” Tech said. They took the first step, and Tech winced as his dangling foot accidentally hit the first step. It gave a peculiar burst of sharp yet muted discomfort before fading back into numbness. He gave it an appraising look. “It appears to be swelling even more.”

“You good? Or do you need a rest before we start heading up? We can take a breather.”

“I’m all right. Let’s continue,” he said, adjusting his arm so it lay more evenly across her shoulders. Their cheeks brushed, and he swallowed. His senses buzzed, each small touch from Phee electrifying. This close he could smell her hair if he turned his head, and he caught the scents of a rich woody oil and the flowers of the weeping maya tree. It was intoxicating. He shook his head, trying to redirect his thoughts.

“You’re right,” she said, wincing. “It is getting bigger. I’m sorry, Brown Eyes. Not how I thought the day was going to go.”

“One never knows what hazards may be encountered in the wild,” Tech said. “It reminds me of something that happened to my brother. That was an insect envenomation and not an echinoderm encounter, but it triggered an intense hypersensitivity reaction. Not only did his hand swell up, he broke out in hives everywhere. Of course, he kept insisting he was fine -- up until his eyes threatened to swell shut.”

“Oh dear,” Phee said as they reached the next flight of stairs, breathing a little harder from the exertion. She readjusted her arm around him, pulling him closer. “Let me guess, Wrecker?”

“No, Crosshair,” he said. He could still recall Crosshair ripping off his helmet to reveal an appalling urticaria over his entire face, his eyes swelling until they could only see narrow slits, his hand barely able to bend over the butt of his Firepuncher, let alone pull a trigger. “Luckily, a few antihistamine injections were all we needed to reverse the effects. We knew that he would make a full recovery when he began complaining again.”

“Hang on,” said Phee, pausing. “Who’s Crosshair?”

Tech turned to her in surprise. “We have not spoken of him? ….No, we have not.” He looked up at the stairs above them, then at Phee, still breathing hard. “Here. We should rest a moment.”

She helped him get down to a sitting position on the stairs, then sat beside him and lifted his leg to rest it on her lap, keeping it elevated. She rested one hand loosely on his knee, another electrifying touch.

“That’s better,” she said. “Only… fifteen more flights to go. We got this.” She laughed. “But come on, who’s Crosshair? Another brother? You don’t talk about him. None of you do.”

“No,” Tech said. “Hunter prefers not to. Wrecker and I do speak a little of him, sometimes; Omega would speak more of him, but she was only able to spend a small amount of time with him. He is our other brother, but as you have seen he is no longer with us.”

Phee covered her mouth with her hand, her brown eyes soft with pity. “He died? Oh, Tech, I’m so sorry.”

Tech’s eyes widened, and he adjusted his goggles hastily. “What? No, he is alive.” He amended that statement, as he could not be certain of the veracity of it. “Or, we hope he is. He has chosen to remain with the Empire.”

“Oh.” Her voice and her face shifted, a hint of coldness coloring her expression. It looked out of place on her. “Sorry to hear it. I guess that’s why you don’t talk about him.”

Tech frowned. He knew how Hunter felt about Crosshair’s decisions, but he could not fully agree with Hunter’s interpretation, and it seemed somehow important to him for Phee to have a better understanding of the situation. “It is difficult to explain,” he said. He took a moment, focusing on what he would like to say.

“The Empire built a failsafe into all clones as a means to control us,” he began. “With assistance, Wrecker, Hunter, Echo and I were able to circumvent this, but Crosshair was not. The Empire was able to use this to divide us, forcing Crosshair to do terrible things. But at some point, he chose to no longer be controlled -- yet continued to remain with the Empire.”

“Why would he do that?” Phee asked. “Surely he’d want to escape, especially if they were forcing him to do something awful.” Her brow furrowed as she tried to understand.

“I believe that the things he was made to do while under Imperial control disturbed him,” said Tech. Crosshair’s agitated behavior on Kamino, coupled with his desperation in attempting to convince them to join him, had suggested as much. “But Crosshair is a very proud man, and most unyielding. I suspect it caused less cognitive dissonance for him to believe he would have acted the same, with or without that control, than to accept that he had been forced into doing things against his will. So he has remained with the Empire rather than admit the Empire, and by extension himself, has done wrong.” He gave her a small shrug. “That is my understanding of what has happened.”

Phee looked horrified. “That’s terrible.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “It must be difficult to feel like you’ve lost him, even though he’s still out there.”

“It is strange to know that he was once here with us, but is no longer,” Tech agreed. “I wish he could have chosen differently. But if he had, he would not be Crosshair.”

“You really care about him, don’t you?” Phee asked. “Even after all of that.”

“Yes,” said Tech. “I thought that was obvious.”

She gave him a small, sad half-smile. “I’m sorry. Maybe… maybe someday he’ll come back to you.”

“It’s possible. But it is difficult to imagine a path forward where he chooses to do so, unless he is able to change,” Tech said, looking out at the sea. It had begun to turn reddish gold in the late afternoon light, dancing with sparkles of white reflections. He thought of Omega, huddled in the blue dark of a cave on Ipsidon, reaching out to him for understanding. Perhaps what he had learned that day would help Phee understand. “Our… family… has not been the same without him. I have not been the same.”

“You were close?” she murmured. “Before?”

Tech nodded. “As you may have noticed, I often have a great deal to say. Crosshair was always an exceptional listener, no matter the subject. That is not to say he always remained quiet -- he could be quite cutting when he wished -- but there were many times he indulged my observations without complaint, even when I was particularly… exuberant.”

“Well, that’s something the two of us have in common,” Phee said, giving him a teasing smile. “I like your observations.”

“It has not escaped my notice.” He smiled slightly.

“Come on,” she said, patting his leg. “Let’s see how much further we can get before sunset. Up and at ‘em?”

“Yes,” he said. They continued up the stairs, one at a time. It was not easy work to do one-legged, even with Phee’s support, and he distracted himself by telling her more about Crosshair. He had not spoken so freely about their brother in some time, and he was surprised by how it gave him a sensation of something loosening within his chest. It felt good.

“So what was Crosshair’s role in your squad?” Phee asked, perhaps sensing the necessity of the distraction.

“He was an exceptional marksman,” Tech explained. “His enhancements included heightened visual acuity, improved depth perception, and the ability to calculate complex ricochets in real time. He is not proud without reason. I am a fair shot myself, but there were times it was simply enjoyable for us all to watch Crosshair set up a difficult shot and see him execute it to perfection.”

“I can see how that would come in handy. You’re all impressive in action, but it’d be interesting to see how a sniper in the mix changes things up,” said Phee. She whistled. “I’d have hated to be up against all of you.”

“We were indeed formidable,” Tech agreed. “Until the collapse of the Republic, we had had a one hundred percent success rate in our missions.” He sighed. “Of course, things have gone rather differently since then. We have been… adrift.”

“Well, maybe this is a place where you can find solid ground,” Phee said. “You all seem happy here.”

“We are,” said Tech. “It is something we have been discussing. Omega deserves a stable environment after all she has seen.”

“You do, too,” Phee pointed out. “Your whole life has been fighting. Maybe it’s time to find out what else is out there.”

“There are things that are worthwhile here,” Tech said. He paused, shifting to face her. They were so close. Her breath was a soft puff against his cheek. He searched her face, taking in her sparkling gaze, fixed on him, the way her lips curved into a gentle smile.

“Why, thank you, Brown Eyes,” she said, and before he knew what was happening, she leaned forward and kissed him.

Ah.

This was new.

His mind whirred with sensations. There was Phee’s mouth on his, her lips soft, smooth, slightly parted. There was the warmth of her cheeks pressed close to his. There was her arm around his waist, her other arm sliding around him, pulling him closer, keeping him balanced on his good leg. He responded in kind, arms curving around her as instinct drove him, an overwhelming desire to keep her close within his arms and simply hold her. The blood rushed in his ears and his heart stammered, beating a rapid new rhythm.

It was overwhelming. It was extraordinary.

She pulled back all too soon, her brown cheeks a little pinker, her eyes dancing. He blinked at her, then reached up and shifted his goggles, breathing rather too quickly.

“That was… fascinating,” he managed. Was that an adequate word for everything that had just happened? It seemed as if it did not even come close to describing the moment they had just shared.

Phee’s smile was the most dazzling he’d seen yet. “Care to give it another try?” she asked slyly.

“Oh!” Tech said, unable to keep from grinning back at her. “Yes, if you are amenable, I very much would.” He leaned in, closing his eyes, and lost himself in her again.

---

It was well after sunset when they limped up the final stairs to the colonnade, both of them exhausted. They had taken their time coming up the stairs. While Tech’s foot was starting to look better -- the swelling had gone down by half -- it still was not easy to take the stairs up without bearing weight on his right leg.

They had also gotten distracted, several times, by taking breaks ostensibly to rest and kissing through them instead.

“Thank you for your, ah, assistance,” Tech said. “It is most appreciated.”

“It’s been my pleasure,” Phee said, winking at him. “Now, how are you feeling? Your foot’s looking better, but we could still go swing by Namira’s if you want to get it looked at.”

“I believe it will continue to improve. If you would help me get to our ship, I will monitor it through the night,” Tech said.

“All right. But you know I’ll be checking in on you tomorrow,” she said, squeezing her arm around him.

“That would be most agreeable.”

They made their way to the ship beneath the rising moonlight, their pace slow and steady. He suspected part of it was that neither of them wished to break the physical contact they shared now. He reminded himself that she would be stopping by tomorrow. There would be additional opportunities to spend time with her then, to learn more about her, to share more about himself. He could not wait.

He had felt this way a hundred, a thousand times, eager to learn more and to explore and investigate a new subject. But he had never felt this way about a person before, and he did not know what to do with this feeling except to follow it as thoroughly and as passionately as he did for all things.

They reached the Marauder and Omega bounded down the gangplank to see them, Hunter and Wrecker emerging behind her. “There you are! Did you find the creature?” she asked.

The creature?

Phee nudged him in the side, and he chuckled. So much had happened since the song in the cave he had nearly forgotten their original purpose in going to the beach. “Yes,” he said quickly. “I would be happy to play you its song later. It was a most intriguing creature. Though our expedition was not without a slight mishap.”

“Your foot!” Omega gasped.

“Don’t tell me you broke it again,” Wrecker said, concerned.

“No, Brown Eyes here had an accident with a shore urchin,” Phee said. “Don’t worry, it’s already looking better. He just needs to stay off it ‘til the swelling goes down.” She let go of him and pulled his boot out of her bag, handing it back to him. “All right then, you take care of yourself, got it? See you around.”

“I… will see you too,” Tech said. She winked again, and turned to walk away beneath the moonlight. He watched her go until he felt Omega’s hand in his, pulling his attention back to his family.

“Come on in and get some rest,” Omega said, smiling up at him. “If you’re hungry, we’ve got leftovers!” Behind her back, Hunter mouthed the word “no,” shaking his head. Tech allowed her to lead him inside, gingerly starting to put a bit of weight on his foot again as he did so. It would be better by morning, he thought.

Omega let go of his hand as they reached the doorway, heading to the small refrigerant unit. Hunter turned to him and said under his breath, “You can give yours to Wrecker. Just let her down easy. She worked hard.” He gave Tech an odd look, then smiled. “Hm. Looks like you both had a good time.” He followed Omega, stepping back into the ship.

Wrecker helped him into the ship the rest of the way. “So… what’d you two really get up to, anyway?” he asked. “‘Cause something about you seems different, and not just your foot.”

Tech raised his eyebrows. “I believe that is between me and Phee, thank you.” Wrecker stared at him, mouth falling open, so surprised he wasn’t even able to make a joke.

Tech limped back to his bunk, smiling. There were a thousand thousand topics he could eagerly spend hours discussing, overwhelming even the most patient listener with minutiae and intricacies. He knew he would tell the others about the sea ghost in the quiet cave, play its songs for them, extrapolate on its lineage and life cycle and habits aloud. That he would happily share in all its detail.

But the rest -- Phee’s kisses, her hand in his, the way she had felt in his arms, her laugh, her smile -- that was something he was perfectly pleased to keep to himself.

#techphee #tech x phee #phee x tech #tech bad batch #tech the bad batch #phee genoa #phee bad batch #tbb tech #tech tbb #bad batch fanfiction #the bad batch #my batcher fic

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spookyspecterino · 1 year ago

Text

Confessions

Sam Coe x GN! Reader

GN! Reader. No pronouns, no use of Y/N, or reader descriptions used.

Fighting, enemy death, language, confessions of love, kissing

Two short stories of times when you and Sam tell each other I love you.

So I started this with the typical canon scene in the game, tweaking it to how I would personally write it, and then said...wait, I could make something else entirely. So I wrote both. They're back to back, separated with a text divider.

This was requested by @wisperwin 😊 Hope you enjoy!

Requests for short 1K fics are open while I write out a longer fic. Send in your asks!

Sam’s favorite spot in Akila is more in the open than you imagined, it was basically a bar porch, but as soon as you sat down at a small table in the corner it felt like him. As if a tiny piece of himself lingered here. It wasn’t hard to imagine a younger version of Sam sitting and looking out at the courtyard on cool evenings just like this one, with the sun setting slowly on the horizon.

Even on your way here you noticed a difference. He seems happier, lighter on his feet. He’s taking his time with things, not rushing from task to task or place to place.

When he pulled you aside and invited you here, told you how special this place was to him, it had your heart fluttering like a small bird.

After sitting for a moment and looking out at Solomon Coe’s statue, Sam turns to you with a smile. “For the first time in a long time…I feel peaceful. Like I can just exist… and I have you to thank for that.”

“All I did was give some encouragement—you did all the hard work.” You say, shrugging sheepishly.

He smiles, shakes his head a little, “Don’t sell yourself short. It probably wasn’t easy dealing with my constant complaining about Lillian—and then actually going to meet her, and help her, and then escort her, and—”

He stops at the sound of your good-natured laugh. “You don’t have to list out everything, Sam. We might be here all night.”

“Yeah, yeah. What I’m really trying to say is thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’d do it a thousand more times if it meant seeing you this happy.”

His face softens, something in his eyes change. “Listen, there’s also this other thing I’ve been meaning to talk with you about.”

Your head tilts a little. “I’m all ears.”

Sam’s shoulders tense, he clears his throat, then takes a deep breath. “I have feelings for you—certain feelings. Feelings that I can’t really…that I don’t know how to…” He sighs, brows pinching together. “Sorry, this is hard for me.”

He shifts his weight slightly. “You know what, I’ll just say it. The truth is…I’m in love with you. I have been for a little while now.” He scoots to the edge of his chair, leaning in and placing his hands on the table. “I’ve been meaning to say something, but the timing was always off, or we were busy getting shot at.”

You can’t help but softly and breathlessly agree. “We get shot at a lot.”

“Exactly. I just uh—I needed to tell you before some other crisis inevitably came up. And I know this might be coming out of nowhere for you, I’m not—I’m not the most obvious guy.” He takes a deep breath. “So, if this is too sudden, or if you need time to think about it, or mull over your own feelings—I’m good with that. I’ll give you some space.”

His blue eyes find yours in the dim evening light. They’re uncertain, nervous. The way he holds himself, he’s trying not to fidget. He grips at the edges of the table one moment, then brings his hands up to trace his fingers along the lines in the wood top surface.

You’re caught watching his hands dance skittishly. Since you’ve met him, Sam Coe has worn the cool, calm, and stoic nature of a typical Freestar Ranger. His nervousness solidifies how seriously he’s taking this.

Without much forward thought, you reach across the table and hold his hands in yours. Maybe—once, or twice—you imagined what you might say to him if you were ever presented with this situation. But that all went out the window as soon as you started talking.

“It may be a little sudden—you’re a hard man to read sometimes—but I’m really glad you said something.” You give his hands a reassuring squeeze. “I love you too. Since NEON.”

Sam lets out a breath he’d been holding, some of it comes out in a chuckle. “Since NEON? Like, when we first got there, or when we last left—?”

“Does it really matter?” You ask, teasingly.

“Guess not. I just…now it’s my turn to be surprised. I really thought you were gonna turn me down.”

“You can’t be serious. I’ve been flirting with you so much.”

This makes him laugh. “I thought I was imagining things for a little bit, but when I started flirting back…”

“That was you flirting back?”

“Yes. I was really trying—oh, you’re teasing me, you’re having fun with this.” He shakes his head with a fond smile, leaning in too. His voice is affectionate. “Smartass from the moment I met you—knew you were trouble.”

Your faces are close now. “Ah, but you love me for it.”

“Damn right I do.” He pauses, eyes glancing down at your lips. One of his hands lets go of yours to bring your face closer, gently tugging at your chin. “Come ‘ere, you.”

He kisses you softly. Bristles tickle your face with just a brush of his lips against yours, they leave a hot trail in their wake. Searing and lingering on your skin.

Sam knows the effect he has on you, and if by some chance he didn’t before, he knows now as your breath shortens and you fight not to chase after him.

That half smile-half smirk breaks through his love-struck expression. “I love you. And later on, maybe I’ll show you just how much.”

Gunfire blasted into the metal walls around you. The sharp whizzing of bullets was much louder due to the enclosed space of the enemy ship. Crouched behind some cargo crates, you looked across the aisle to the other side of the narrow dead ended hallway. Sam leans up against his cover, also a short stack of Cargo.

He caught your eye and half-smirked. “Not looking good, is it?”

“Chances are slim, but—", you duck as a bullet whizzes past, “—but we’ve been through worse.”

He snorts, firing a few blind shots from cover. “When?”

“Oh, you know, that one time.”

“No, I don’t think I do—please, refresh my memory.”

“We were getting shot at, just like this.”

“Sweetheart—” He fires another shot but flinches back as chunks of the cargo crate fly near his face. “—that’s just about every day for us.”

“Yeah, but it was a really specific time.” You fire two shots, ducking in and out of cover. You don’t have time to count how many heads you see. “Uh, maybe like when we went to that zero-grav casino?”

“Almagest?”

“Yeah! That was definitely worse.”

“No way, we had that place cleared in 20 minutes, tops. And there was plenty of cover—” he leans, firing wide shotgun blasts in two concentrated areas “—and plenty of ammo, and we were never cornered, and—"

“—Sure.”

“What do you mean, ‘sure’? Why’d you say it like that?”

“I must have a different memory of how it went down, is all.”

He leans back against the cargo and laughs. “Are we really debating in the middle of a gun fight?”

“I’m happy to give this one to you. Really, I am.”

That made him laugh even harder. “Oh, you’re letting me win—you’re somethin’ else you know that?”

You hear a gap in enemy fire and take the opportunity to peak around. There are at least eight or nine more enemies crouched and moving around. You see the muzzles of their guns and crouch behind your cover just as their returning fire starts back up.

“Let’s say I was wrong—” He starts.

You’re quick, grin lighting up your eyes. “—is this a hypothetical? Are you doing hypotheticals now when you can’t admit you’re wrong?”

His head hangs down, you can see his shoulders bouncing. “Goddammit, you’re too funny for your own good.”

“I love making you laugh, even when we’re about to die or be captured by pirates.”

Enemy fire patters out, there’s some shouting from their end. Heavy footsteps approach. Sam readies his pistol; you pull out a knife. As soon as boots come into view, you kick the pirate’s legs. Sam fires a shot, and you sink your knife into their chest. The pirate jerks once and lies dead.

Sam straightens a little, calling out. “Hey, how ‘bout you send a few more down here! We could use the change of pace; this is starting to get old!”

The pirates immediately begin firing again.

He leans back against cover. “My point is, that if we’re in a worse position than when we were on Almagest, then these might be our final moments together.”

“Kind of a downer to start something that way but go on.”

“I wanted to say a few ‘thank you’s, for all you’ve helped with.”

“Oh wow, is this like…your last will and testament? Are we doing that now?”

He laughs again as he leans out from cover and fires. “I’m trying to be serious here.”

You join him, firing at a pirate’s exposed leg. Your first shot clips a calf and there’s shouts of pain. Sam manages to take out a pirate that exposes themselves too soon. You both lean back into cover when Sam’s shotgun needs reloading.

“I wanted to thank you for helping me and Cora with pretty much everything. You didn’t have to, but you still did. That means a lot to me.”

“It was worth it, for you and Cora.”

Sam’s smile melts into a look of pure warmth and affection. It makes you pause, humor giving way to the gravity of the situation. He said his piece, it might be a good time to say yours. And if you end up living through this, then, you’d still have finally said what’s been on your mind for weeks.

You clear your throat, momentarily busying yourself by checking over your rifle. “And, since we’re being serious now, there’s something I wanted to tell you too.”

Somehow you feel more nervous saying this than facing the pirate firing squad behind you. When you’ve taken a deep breath, you meet his eyes. “I love you.”

You’re not sure how to read his wide-eyed expression so you just keep talking. “I don’t know exactly when it happened or when I knew for sure, but I’m head over heels for you, Sam. And if this is how we go out, then I’m just glad it’s with you.”

A gap in noise is your cue to fire. You straighten from cover, doing your best to quickly find a target. The top of a helmet is exposed. You catch a glimpse of the visor shattering as your rifle round hits. Something bumps your leg. You’re so caught off guard that you drop down, reaching for a knife.

But it’s Sam. He used your fire as cover to cross the aisle.

Before you can really say anything, he takes your face in his hands, pushes you up against the cargo, and roughly kisses you. It’s messy, a tangle of lips and rough, scratchy beard. Your teeth click together once or twice. The intense heat from his lips against yours and his hands on your face grounds you—tells you it’s real.

You’re too busy grasping at his jacket, shirt, the back of his neck—doing anything to bring him closer—that you don’t hear shouting or gunfire stop. There’s only faint recognition that new shots are being aimed somewhere else, or that it’s moving away.

It’s the ringing in your ears and the deafening silence that catches both of your attention. You each snap into action, pulling guns and whirling toward the aisle, expecting to see a pirate come into view. But no one’s there.

Instead, an altogether different voice calls out, “Freestar Rangers! If there’s anyone there, show yourself!”

Your hands go up immediately, Sam’s do too. “We’re not pirates! Don’t shoot!”

“Come out real slow, hands up!”

Moving out of cover, you see the ranger uniform and badge. The ranger’s eyes go wide. Their gun lowers. “Hot damn, Deputy. Got yourself into a pickle, didn’t ya?”

“Wouldn’t know what we would’ve done without you ranger, thank you.”

The ranger tips their hat in acknowledgement. Another voice—presumably a second ranger, calls them. They half turn to listen, then with a curt, parting nod they turn to leave.

You take a breath, caught by surprise at the rescue and more than a little mixed up emotionally. Clearing your throat, you try to act normal. “Well, we didn’t die. Shall we claim this as a victory or chalk it up to a stale—"

Sam’s gruff voice, followed by his hand spinning you around, gives you chills. “Hang on, I’m not done with you yet.”

This kiss is less desperate, it’s slower, and passionate enough to make your knees go weak. Sam’s hands knead at your hips before moving to your lower back to pull you against him.

When he leans back, leaving your head reeling, his smirk is the first thing you see. “I love you too, just in case that wasn’t obvious.”

Your grin is slow to spread, but it lights up every inch of your face. “I’m sorry, what was that? My ears are ringing, didn’t quite catch it.”

Something deep rumbles in his chest, he presses his lips to yours, separating out his words with stubborn kisses. “I’m—in love—with you—too.” He can see the glint in your eyes as you slowly open your mouth. “You can’t play the deaf card twice in a row.”

“Damn. Ok, just say it one more time before we go back to the ship.”

Sam chuckles, one hand coming up to brush a thumb along your jaw. “How about I show you later, instead?”

#sam coe #sam coe x reader #gn reader #starfield

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onevolon · 8 months ago

Text

as above - part4

Marc Spector & Steven Grant & Jake Lockley

word count: 577

warning: ANGST (trauma related)

note: What would happen if alters disappeared, after Marc took Khonshu's offer at the temple? (Hadestown and Dante's Inferno inspired. Marc, Steven and Jake are all aware of each other before the canon.)

this chapter is for youuu @ominoose

you can also read it on ao3.

part3 - part5 - masterlist

Everything hurt.

It burned but the pain came within. At this point, their skins should have melted of their bones, however from outside everything looked normal.

After an hour of being dunked in the lake of fire, Jake was still fighting with the waves of flames and cursing to anything and everything he can think of. Unfortunately, it was pointless.

Steven on the other hand was ready to give up after sobbing what felt like forever. When he was under, in the blink of an eye, he noticed… something shining at the bottom. Before he can figure it out, he was above the surface and heard them mocking;

“Cry one more time, now, little boy!”

Once more was pushed in the flames.

Hold your breath, embrace the pain he kept saying to himself like a mantra. And focus. What is that thing? Covered in jewels… His vision was distorted but it looked like… a tomb? Beneath the lake, hidden under the fire… Osiris’s Tomb! He tried to reach it but once again was pulled out.

“Jake! Ja-ouh! JAKE!”

“QUE!”

“We need-ahh toOHHH”

“WhaTU PUTA MADRE!”

“Swimmmhhaa to the LIGHT!”

Again, they were under. This time Jake saw that light, too and decided to listen Steven.

They both reached to the tomb at the same time. While Steven was mesmerized by the beauty of it. Jake, on the other hand, was trying to open the thing to do… What he didn’t know but at this point he was ready to do anything to get out of this hell.

Realizing this, Steven begins to help him and suddenly a warmth washes over them, to their relief different than the pain they were enduring caused by the flames... like a welcoming hug…

And they were sucked into the tomb.

They were on the sand again. And alone.

Except the two birds that were circling them while they coughed violently.

“Finally…” Steven groaned.

“Don’t think this is over yet.” Jake growled back.

“Oh, thank fuck!”

They both looked where the voice was coming.

“MARC!”

While Steven and Jake stumbled to their feet, Marc ran towards them.

“Where were you?”

“Doesn’t matter. Now I find you, we need to get out. Before the sunrise.”

“Excelente… And how are we going to do that?”

Before Marc can say anything, a lightning strike and it started to rain heavily. The temperature dropped.

“We need to find the boat that travels back to the reality!” Marc yelled; his voice is barely heard.

“It sails through the whole desert! We should be able to see it!”

“How do you know all of this?!”

“Khons-“

“I told you to look after your brother...”

They all froze.

“I should have known…”

“Is that-“

“No…”

“Mierda.”

“I should've known you would do something like this."

“Okay, we need to get out. Let’s get out, hermanos.”

“Let’s move, right?”

Marc was not responding.

“Hey” Jake patted on Marc’s cheek “Focus on my voice. Where do we go?”

"You were always jealous of him. Ever since he was born.”

Marc’s breathing was getting shallow.

“Marc! Shit- Breath! MARC!”

The wind started to pick up.

“You disgusting little-“

“Don’t listen to her Marc!”

“SHUT UP! SHUT! UP!”

"Now you make them suffer too!"

“That is NOT true! This is not real, Marc! She is not real!”

“She’s not my mom…”

“That’s right!”

“She…”

“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!”

“Power it through, mate. You can do it!”

“We are here.”

“ACCEPT YOUR DEATH!”

#onevolon fic #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight system #moon knight fic #moon knight #oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac fic #oscar isaac fanfiction #oscar isaac hernandez estrada #oscar isaac

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mythica0 · 4 months ago

Text

More Loud house hc’s (both tword and non-tword)

This is a LONG post so click read more at your own risk. I don’t have any for lily because she’s a baby

Lori:

- She genuinely has no idea what her passion is and is worried she’ll be stuck in retail forever.

-despite not playing them often she’s actually pretty decent at video games.

-before she met Bobby she would fantasize about a boyfriend that was just like him. (He’s her perfect man, essentially.)

-she was forced to be like a third parent because she’s the oldest so she had to take on a more authoritarive role.

——(this means it’s tword stuff now)

-she doesn’t hate being tworded, but she doesn’t really like it either. She��s okay with it sometimes but you need to be really gentle.

-on the rare occasion she twords her siblings she does amazing aftercare.

-her death spot is her knees, but she hates it when people tword her there.

Lenny:

-she’s Disney princess coded

-in relation to the above, she has befriended wild animals before.(usually birds)

-she has named certain inanimate objects and treats them like people. (Not me projecting)

-she is extremely gullible(canon lol)

-she has dyslexia

-she loves the autumn because of the pretty colors and sweaters. (She also loves pumpkin spice)

———

-she’s the most open about enjoying being tworded.

-she’s extremely twordish all over

- her worst spot is her neck

-she’s very feather sensitive

-her laughs always come out in little, rapid giggles

-she kicks her feet but if she accidentally kicks someone she feels really bad and apologizes profusely.

Luna:

-all though Rock is her favorite, she listens to all music genres

-she has sensory issues and keeps her hair short cause it bothers her when her hair touches her neck

-when she’s sad or anxious she’ll just put on headphones and listen to music while staring at the ceiling

-she is super emotionally attached to her guitar and gave it a name, but no one else knows. (The name is Jared. The guitar’s name is Jared)

-due to the massive number of times she’s had to repair Jared, she is well versed in guitar repair and will sometimes repair other people’s guitars for money.

——

-when she twords people she likes to pretend they’re an instrument.

-she hates being touched on her neck so it’s pretty much a no go spot.

-her death spot is her underarms.

Luanne:

-she loves comedy skits and tried to make them but decided they weren’t her style

-she has a tumblr and makes references to it all the time that no one gets

-she is really good at impressions

-she enjoys crafting as a hobby

-she uses humor to cope (I stole this one from someone on TikTok)

——

-as I’ve said before, she is THE tickle monster

-she’s the only sibling who’s aware of the tword community and she considers herself a part of it as a ler

-she also enjoys being tworded, she finds it fun

-she often uses twords to cheer up her siblings

-she’s open to the fact that she enjoys twords but she’s slightly embarrassed about the community and doesn’t mention it.

-her death spot is her sides & ribs

Lynn jr:

-she HATES that sports are divided by gender

-she puts all of her self worth into winning at everything, and gets very insecure if she loses

-she has very strong lungs and can hold her breath for a long time, as well as shout really loud

- she eats a lot of food because she spends a lot of calories

-she despises diet culture

-she always has a lot of energy

-she has a very short temper

——

-she will sometimes use twords to win at something(even though she knows she could win without it lol)

-she is super embarrassed at the fact that she’s twordish because she sees it as a weakness.

-she is a ruthless ler when she wants to be

-she is very weak to anticipation

-her death spot is her feet

Lincoln:

-he copes using escapism, usually into comics

-he writes sometimes but he doesn’t share it with anyone

-he overthinks everything

-he has thalassophobia (fear of deep water)

-he sunburns very easily

-he has like a 10 step skincare routine he does every night before bed

——

-he is the most twordish loud

-he gets lee moods sometimes but doesn’t recognize them in himself

-he gets easily flustered especially when it’s brought up that he enjoys being tworded

-very weak to raspberries

-he squirms a lot

-his death spot is his belly

Lucy:

-she’s left handed

-she practices witch craft (this is canon)

-she believes in magic, spirituality and all sorts of mythical creatures. (As do I.)

-she helps Luna with deeper lyrics sometimes

-she stays very still while asleep, so much so that once Lenny saw her taking a nap one day and thought she died

-she watches horror movies and reads horror stories so often that she could probably survive any horror scenario thrown at her

-her favorite animal is bats(this might as well be canon)

-she hates summer because the days are too long and she doesn’t like the sun or the heat

-she struggles with social cues

——

-she hates her laugh and her smile and gets embarrassed when she’s tworded because of it

-her laughs are very quiet no matter hiw she’s being tworded

-she doesn’t know why her siblings (and herself) enjoy it but she doesn’t mind

-she has tworded her siblings in a fake horror scenario

-her death spot is her sides

Lana:

-she’s a dog therian, specifically a chocolate lab

-due to all the random stuff she eats, she has an amazing immune system and an iron gut, she could probably drink bleach and be fine

-she loves spring because it rains a lot and there’s a lot of mud

-she will just stand in the rain for fun

-she’s scared of the dark

-she’s great with animals and can understand them very well

——

-she usually wins the tword fights she and Lola get into because she gets the jump on Lola

-she is very prone to attacking without any warning

-her laughter is very loud and gruff

-her death spit is her underarms

Lola:

-she is not afraid to commit petty theft

-she has a hard time getting along with others and has a very short temper

-she has a massive sweet tooth

-she believes in mythical creatures very strongly and has tried to catch fairy’s before

-she models Lenny’s outfits for her frequently

——

-she has a very screechy laugh

-she pretends she hates being tworded but she really doesn’t

-she will kick you and she will not feel bad about it

-she will absolutely get revenge

-she’s very ruthless

-her death spot is her knees

Lisa:

-her favorite music artists are Eminem and Bo burnam

-she can talk extremely fast due to her practice rapping

-she is HoH (canonically has tinnitus)

-she is resistant to most chemicals due to all the experiments she does

——

-she sees twords as an experiment

-when she’s tworded she kinda just- ragdolls

-she is very good at handling teasing, as she just over analyzes it

-I’ve said this before but she has absolutely done mass tword experiments on all her siblings- and knows all their weaknesses

-her death spot is her ribs

#loud house tickles #the loud house #parrotwrites #head canons #tickle headcanons #sfw tickle community

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wyntereyez · 2 years ago

Text

The Mermaid and the Codfish

Some time ago, I was asked how I’d tackle a soulmates AU. I thought about it, and decided it would be an animal shapeshifter thing; soulmates can change into the same animal, but until they meet their soulmate, they’re stuck in a half animal form. This proves to be very awkward, and I kinda love it. This is going to skip around a bit as I cover various bits of OUAT canon.

***

The bird woman takes Emma’s order, and Emma spares her a smile. The waitress returns it as best she can with a mouth that was half beak; her animal half was a near perfect division, her right side human and her left covered in brilliant blue Macaw feathers. Her massive left wing sags with only a right arm to act as counterweight. When she leaves, her feathers brush against Emma’s hair, and her dining companion frowns.

“They really shouldn’t let someone like her work here,” he says disdainfully.

Emma struggles to keep her smile plastered to her face. Her date is completely human; he’d found his soulmate years ago. And yet here he is, on a date. Having a soulmate didn’t guarantee loyalty. She absently rubs at her legs through the elegant slacks; her scales have begun to itch.

She listens to him prattle on about his favorite subject - himself - for a little while longer, before springing her trap. And when her skip inevitably runs, Emma is in hot pursuit. Her legs may have been ungainly, more suited to water than land, but she is accustomed to them. It was only a matter of time before she’d caught her skip.

Her peers may call her ‘fish legs’ behind her back, but Emma Swan always got her man.

***

There are no soulmates in Storybrooke.

When she’d arrived with Henry, she’d assumed at first she was only meeting mated citizens. But after a few days, she’d noticed no one had animal traits. Either everyone in Storybrooke had met their soulmate, or she’d found a town full of the rare few people who didn’t have one.

Like Neal.

Perhaps the town had been founded as a refuge for those without soulmates? It could explain Storybrooke’s oddness. She tried asking Henry about it, only to be met with a blank stare. Henry was too young to develop soulmate traits, so he’d been blissfully unaware of how impossible the town was. But how had he never heard of soulmates? Emma showed him her calves, how they were covered in fine scales that had to be moistened twice a day, showed him the delicate fins that were her feet, and freaked him out when she demonstrated how her legs had more joints than a human leg.

He’s horrified, then fascinated. “It’s part of the curse!” he exclaims excitedly. “Don’t you see? If everyone could find their soulmates, they could break the curse on their own!”

Emma smiles indulgently. If only there was a way to magically suppress soulmate traits. She’d give up hers in a heartbeat.

***

The curse breaks.

Emma suddenly has parents, a fairytale couple her own age who turn into a magnificent stag and doe. Mary Margaret - Snow White - studies her, searching for the soulmate traits she hides so carefully.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” she says, her voice full of sympathy.

Emma stares at her blankly. Now what was she sorry for? She’d already apologized for abandoning Emma, not that that meant anything. Emma understood, but it didn’t fix anything.

“You must have lost him so young,” Mary Margaret continues. “Henry’s father, I mean.”

Oh. She thinks Neal was her soulmate.

Emma doesn’t have the heart to tell her she’d fallen for someone who was destined to be no one’s mate.

***

The blacksmith has the head and torso of a fish.

Emma almost laughs hysterically. How does that even work? Wouldn’t the flames dry him out? How can he wield a hammer with a fin? This doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense.

Especially not how a cowardly blacksmith (with a voice and accent that sends a little thrill through her) could have scales that match hers.

Emma’s not the only fish woman. There’s someone else out there for the blacksmith.

***

He’s Captain Hook.

At her threats, the cowardly blacksmith becomes a cocky pirate, and somehow, his voice becomes even more seductive despite coming from a fish’s gaping maw.

And suddenly Emma gets it and doubles over laughing.

“Codfish!” she gasps out.

His eyebrows - because, somehow, the fish head has eyebrows, though not a waxed mustache - raise up, before furrowing into a scowl. “I have been called that, yes,” he growls.

They negotiate, if threatening with dismemberment by ogre can be considered negotiation, and Hook agrees to take them to the beanstalk. Emma volunteers to climb with him.

The more he speaks, the more Emma can’t decide if she wants to kill him, or if she’s starting to like him.

Answer: she likes him. A lot. But he’s a villain and can’t be trusted, even though her instincts say otherwise, so she leaves him to Anton’s care while she and the others escape.

She hopes the giant is a man of his word.

***

He follows them. First to Storybrooke, then to New York. And Neal.

Emma sees Neal glance between the unconscious Hook’s fish head, then down at Emma’s concealed legs, and he scowls.

Emma suddenly has the horrible thought that maybe Neal had taken up with her because he’d suspected she was Hook’s soulmate. She doesn’t think Neal was that cruel, but it seems she doesn’t know Neal as well as she’d thought.

***

Hook discovers her secret in Neverland. She was in desperate need of water, and Hook had taken her to a pool he’d assured her was safe. He’d left, and she quickly strips off her pants and dove into the water from a rock that conveniently hangs over the pool, sighing as it takes effect on her dry legs.

She loses track of time as she swims laps, as adept in the water as a fish, and is surprised by Hook sitting on the diving rock.

“So you’re a little mermaid, are you?” Hook smirks.

“So what if I am?” she demands defiantly.

He shrugs. “Do you mind if I join you? You’re not the only one who dries out.”

Emma’s not naked, and she understands his pain better than anybody. “Go for it.” She turns her back on him and languidly swims another lap.

Hook isn’t so graceful.

He can swim, yes, but his head and torso are awkward, and his legs seem tiny in comparison. So instead sits in the shallowest part of the pond, occasionally ducking his head under. Tired from her exertion, Emma sits beside him.

He turns, great unblinking fish eyes meeting hers.

“Do you even remember what you looked like?” she blurts out. He’s looked like this for hundreds of years, and Emma can’t contain her curiosity. What must it be like to be trapped like this for so long? She wouldn’t have been able to bear it.

“I seem to remember being devilishly handsome,” Hook says, voice a low purr.

“You were a teenager. You were probably pimply and awkward,” Emma teases.

Watching a fish pout is wild.

***

It happens outside Granny’s Diner. While everyone is still inside celebrating, Emma is sitting in the dark with Killian. He’d traded his ship for her, his home, and no one has ever cared so much for her before. And…she cares for him, too. She leans forward, her lips brushing that rubbery fish flesh, when she feels a tingling in her legs. Suddenly, the persistent itching vanishes, and her legs feel more solid than they had in years. And, beneath her lips, she feels the scrape of a beard. She draws back, opens her eyes, and gasps.

Oh.

The face that looked down at her was roguishly handsome, with piercing blue eyes lined in kohl, a short, dark beard sprinkled with ginger, and dark, messy hair.

Killian Jones flashed a devilish grin that only made his face more handsome. “Like what you see, Love?” He was cocky, but there was an uncertainty behind it. Hundreds of years since he’d seen his face, he’d said.

”Yes,” she breathes, then moves in to kiss those very human lips.

~fin~

#captain swan #cs ff #soulmate au #animal traits #emma swan #killian jones #author: wyntereyez #fandom: once upon a time

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tamurilofrivendell · 2 years ago

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Heart Of Stone | Chapter 1

plot: Tamuril Elanessë was in love with Haldir of Lothlorien, they were to be wed but the fateful battle at Helms Deep took away all hope she had for the future. As she struggles with her grief and desperately tries not to fade, her good friends do what they can to be there for her. Tensions eventually run high as Tamuril shares a moment with Lord Elrond she feels she cannot come back from and flees Rivendell, hiding herself away in the Elvenking Thranduil's Halls. What comes next, no one can know for certain

A/N: I’ve not written fanfiction in a few years so please bear with me while I find my footing again!! Some parts of this will be canon, some will be more AU to fit my own storyline etc. Some bits of lore may be changed, particularly elves only loving once lmao. Really just wanted to finally try and get my OC’s story written down as she’s been in my head for YEARS now!

The birds were singing softly outside the window. She was listening, though she hadn’t moved in a good half an hour, her gaze fixed upon the ornate ceiling of her Rivendell bedroom. The sun was shining. It was nearing the middle of summer now. However, all she could feel was cold. It was coursing through her body, caressing her bones, wrapping around her heart.

He was gone.

Haldir was gone.

Dead.

No, not just dead. Killed. Murdered by orc filth during the Battle of Helms Deep. She had loved him and he had loved her and now he was just gone, torn from her by evil, and there was nothing she could do about it.

There was a soft knock at the door but she didn’t respond, didn’t turn to look. The door eased open, slowly and carefully.

“Tamuril.” Lord Elrond’s gentle voice sounded from the doorway. He stood where he was for a moment, observing her, before his careful steps came towards her, hesitating only momentarily before sitting down upon the edge of her bed. There was another silence in which he simply looked at her before he reached out his hand, ghosting the backs of his fingers gently across her cheek. “Why don’t you come and sit out in the sunshine, my dear.” He withdrew his hand, expression creased with worry.

“What for?” Tamuril asked after a long moment, finally turning her head to look at him, her blank eyes meeting his own.

“Darling girl.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Come.” Her rose from the bed and held out his hand to her, his face making clear that it was not a question. It wasn’t too often that Elrond ordered Tamuril to do anything, especially now that she was in such a state of heartbreak and grieving, but his worry for her outweighed any guilt he may feel about being demanding. He feared she was beginning to fade and that was the last thing Elrond wanted.

Tamuril had grown up in Rivendell, a half-elf much like himself, and her mother had been killed by orcs roaming the Great East Road many years ago. His daughter Arwen had taken to Tamuril instantly upon a visit home from Lothlorien and he had graciously allowed her to reside in the same halls as his family. Though they did not have a simple father/daughter relationship, they grew into great friends and Tamuril put a lot of trust in Elrond over the years. Truthfully, he felt just a little guilty, like some or most of this was his fault. For sending Haldir with the others. He knew it wasn’t just his decision, Galadriel had of course made the choice with him, and Haldir had been willing enough, but if he hadn’t made the decision he did, Haldir would still be alive and Tamuril wouldn’t be this shell, getting emptier by the day.

She stared at his hand and sighed, reaching out to take his hand. He pulled her to her feet, keeping hold of her hand as he led her out the door and down the corridor.

Aragorn was to be crowned king in a few weeks and he was worried about leaving her. She had refused to come. Elrond thought it had something to do with the fact that she didn’t want to see Aragorn. It would remind her too much of Haldir. Of his final moments. Of what had transpired at Helms Deep.

Leading her outside, Elrond looked around, nodding gracefully at the elves of his realm as they passed by. Tamuril didn’t acknowledge anybody, keeping her gaze trained upon the walkway beneath her feet. She didn’t let go of his hand.

“It’s a beautiful day.” Elrond said, taking a seat on a bench in one of the sprawling gardens. He smiled over at her, studying her face.

“It is.” Tamuril looked up at him, wondering if she could fake a convincing enough smile. He would probably see right through her as always so she decided against it, turning to look out over the small river.

A silence engulfed them again and Elrond sighed softly. “Tamuril…” He didn’t continue but she knew that he wanted to say something about her unresponsiveness, her carelessness, her vacant expression.

“Elrond.” She merely shrugged, looking back up at him. “You do not need to worry so much.”

Elrond looked at her, an eyebrow raised to the heavens. “As if it is that simple, my dear.”

“It is.” Tamuril shrugged. “You just… stop.”

Her words caused his frown to deepen as he looked at her. “He would not want you to feel this way, Tamuril.”

“Then you shouldn’t have sent him to die.” Her response was immediate and razor sharp.

The silence that descended upon the two then was ice cold and Elrond found himself at a loss for words. After all, wasn’t he himself thinking this same thing? That it was his own fault. He couldn’t blame her for thinking it too. She had trusted him all these years and he had let her down.

“Elrond…” Tamuril’s voice came again quickly. She looked up, reaching out to take his hand again. “I… I didn’t mean that, I shouldn’t have… forgive me, I…”

He squeezed her hand gently, smiling a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “There is nothing to forgive.”

Tamuril shook her head. “Elrond, please.” She protested, guilt clawing its way around her heart. “I didn’t mean it, you have to believe that.”

“I do, darling girl, but you should.”

She blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

His kind eyes softened as he gazed steadily back at her, his thumb brushing comfortingly across the back of her hand as he held it. “You should have meant it.” He hesitated. “It is my fault.”

Tamuril frowned. “Elrond….” Did he truly think this way? Had he been living with this guilt?

Guilt that likely bloomed because he cared for her, she knew he did, like she cared for him. She was heartbroken over Haldir’s death, over the loss of him, but Elrond was her friend and he had been in an impossible position, they all had. The War of the Ring. Sauron. Everyone had fought for Middle Earth and she knew deep down that Haldir would have gone whether Elrond and Galadriel willed it or not. It didn’t make it hurt any less but she didn’t truly put the blame on anybody other than Sauron and the Orcs and the War. She hadn’t meant it, she really hadn’t, Elrond had been nothing but good to her. He was her best friend.

“Do you really believe this?” She asked him, clutching his hand with a new intensity, one he hadn’t quite felt from her since Haldir’s death.

He glanced down, unable to meet her gaze for a long moment. Then he simply nodded. It broke Tamuril’s ice cold heart all over again.

“Elrond, you shouldn’t!” She exclaimed. “I don’t want you to feel this way.”

“And I don’t want you to feel this way.” He returned, lifting his head and gazing into her eyes with an intensity that shook her. She frowned and looked away, not sure what to say to him. She knew that he was worried about her, that he fretted over her wellbeing, her mental state. It hurt so much and the world seemed grey without Haldir here with her. Her days and nights were tormented by his laugh, his smile, the words he’d whispered in her ear on visits to Lothlorien with Arwen.

He had written to her, before he went to Helms Deep, declaring that upon his return, he was going to marry her.

“It hurts, Elrond.” She whispered, finally. Finally admitting it out loud. Finally saying what everybody already knew but there was some power in her finally speaking it aloud.

“I know.” Elrond replied simply, keeping hold of her hand. A couple of elves passed by them on a walk through the gardens. They had been about to speak to Elrond when they’d noticed the seriousness of the conversation he was having… and who he was having it with. All of Rivendell knew of Tamuril’s broken heart.

She turned back to him, sniffing. She didn’t cry. She hadn’t cried in weeks, having run herself dry in the days and weeks following the news of Haldir’s death. She wasn’t sure she had any tears left in her. She thought perhaps something had snapped inside her. Maybe she would never cry again.

Elrond wished that she would. Tears, he knew, were natural. They were healthy and healing. It was far better to let them out than to keep them bottled up, which is no doubt what she was doing, be it an unconscious decision or not.

“If I could take it from you, I would, without question.” He said to her, his voice earnest, his eyes gentle, misty with unshed tears of their own.

Tamuril felt herself touched by his words, by his kindness, as always. He was too good, too kind, too pure. Elrond, her best friend, her protector. She knew that he too had been separated from his love, from Lady Celebrian, an ocean away. It wasn’t the same for one day he would be reunited with her, he would join her, maybe soon now that the War was over. What would she do without him? Tamuril had considered sailing into the West… but it didn’t feel right. To take her grief with her, to allow herself to heal over there? Wouldn’t that be wrong? Forgetting? Cheating?

She didn’t know and she didn’t really like to think about it. Tamuril was simply taking it one miserably grey day at a time and had been since Haldir died.

“I’d like to go back inside now.” She said softly, moving to stand and letting her fingers drop their hold on Elrond’s hand. He smiled sadly, nodding as he stood up to escort her back in, most likely back to her rooms.

“Arwen is arriving soon.” He said. “She will want to see you.”

Arwen.

Tamuril managed the softest smile at the thought of the other woman. She was coming back from Lothlorien, readying herself to be reunited with Aragorn.

Lothlorien.

Tamuril’s heart ached at the thought of that Golden Wood, where her Golden Archer had lived and breathed. Where she had visited him, tagging along with Arwen when she went to stay with her Grandparents Galadriel and Celeborn.

“She’s welcome to come and find me.” She said, glancing at Elrond upon reaching the door of her bedroom again. “Thank you.” She hesitated, turning, before she turned back and leaned up to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. “Please do not feel guilty anymore… my heart can’t take it.”

She closed the door, leaving him with a ghost of a smile and Elrond couldn’t help but smile himself. Her heart couldn’t take it. Meaning her heart was feeling something at all, and that gave him some hope.

He lingered in the hall for a moment longer, staring at the closed door in front of him, and then he turned and strode off in the direction of his study. He had work to attend to.

#hos #lotr x oc #lotr fanfic #haldir x oc #elrond x oc #thranduil x oc #eventually #arwen #elrond #haldir #lotr x reader #hos1

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scullysexual · 2 years ago

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Emily Lives AU + Becomes An FBI Agent (2)

Title will come soon I guess?

Second chapter to this fic- emily lives au part 1. I guess the commitment starts.

Just some context real quick: This is all canon compliant. With the exception of Emily living and being adopted by Scully and William not being given away, everything else in canon happens- including going on the run, as does everything in the Revival, there's just an addition of two children the entire time. Also, Mulder and Scully live in Canada- still in the UH- it's just a headcanon of mine.

@today-in-fic

The sound of her alarm drags her to the surface of her slumber. Emily buries deeper into her covers, attempting to hide away from the noise and fall back down into sleep. Her bladder has other ideas, however, full, and heavy. An instant craving for nicotine and caffeine- hoping the power had turned back on during the night for the latter part. She wasn’t even awake yet and the combined sensations were overwhelming.

Files still littered the floor, forgotten from the night before. Emily steps on them as she climbs from the bed, uncaring. Right, she was back in Canada at her parents’ house.

Grabbing the lighter off the bedside table, she searches through her bag for the pack of cigarettes. Once her items have been found, and her trip to the bathroom complete, she quietly makes her way down the stairs.

It's silent downstairs, the door to Mulder’s office closed. Good, she won’t get hounded by people the first second she’s woken up.

Dagoo stirs at the sound of her feet hitting a creaky floorboard. The terrier’s tail starts to wag when he notices her and bounds his way towards her.

“Hey, Dagoo,” Emily says, kneeling down to pet him. He licks her hand. “You want to go outside?”

She stands up, heading towards the front door, Dagoo following behind her.

The swing had finally been built and Emily sets herself down. She lights the cigarette and takes a few puffs, letting the nicotine flow through her body and calm her anxiety. She watches Dagoo sniff around the edge of the property, disappear behind the house and reappear on the other side. Satisfied, he makes his way up the steps and backwards Emily, climbing up onto the swing and sitting down comfortably beside her, head resting on her thigh.

They stay like that, for a while, the swing gently rocking back and forth with the help of Emily’s foot to steady them. There was no noise other than the creak of the swing and the whistling of birds, no cars or people unlike DC, all of which she can hear immediately upon waking. The silence unsettles her in ways it’s never done before so what was so different about now?

The door opens, alerting both her and the dog to the sound.

“Morning,” says Mulder appearing around the door. Emily resists the urge to toss her cigarette away like a teenager having just been caught, You’re an adult now, for god’s sake! So she takes another drag instead.

“The power came back on,” he says, walking towards her. “So I made you a drink.” In his hands he carries two cups and hands one to her. Emily takes it, flicking the butt over the fence, allowing the drink to warm her hands. Mulder sits down on the other side of Dagoo.

“So when did you start smoking?”

It was never something she did regularly. One or two she would take from Lauren when they went on nights out. Suddenly they changed to through the day until Lauren got sick of her asking and threw a pack towards her. You can pay me back by buying me another pack, her friend had said, after that the habit had situated itself into her day.

“You gonna tell me to stop?” Emily asks instead.

“You wouldn’t listen.” Absentmindedly he pets Dagoo, the dog revelling in the attention of two people, snoozes between them. “You get far with the files?”

“I read four of them, I think.”

“Thoughts so far?”

“They’re interesting. Most are still readable. I don’t think I’m gonna read them at night though.”

Mulder laughs and Emily smiles.

“Mom said I should get a partner.”

“She’s right. You have anyone in mind?”

There were some people she was close with to ask but she had doubts they would be interested. The FBI is a social ladder, Mulder had told her when she first admitted interest in following their careers. Most people want to advance, not sink themselves lower than they are. Advancement didn’t hold much interest for Emily, she already felt she was at the bottom of the pecking order.

“There’s one who’ll maybe join but…” she shrugs. “Will they give me a partner?”

“That depends. It’s unlikely unless there’s an agenda they have in mind. That’s how Scully was assigned.”

In the earlier files when she first started, Emily could see how hard her mother tried to find evidence against the unusual phenomena happening around her. Later ones, it seems she took an unbiased approach to it- neither confirming nor unconfirming the anomalies. The reports written by Mulder were more biased towards the fact.

She wondered what would happen if the Bureau did assign somebody just like they had done to Mulder. Would Emily too have to argue with this partner about what they were witnessing or would she be indifferent? Part of her wanted to go at it alone, it felt easier that way, less hassle, but her mother’s words rang in her ears. This work can be lonely. Sometimes it’s nice to have someone to be alone with. Sometimes she already felt alone, tucked away in DC far from the people she knew. She had friends, there was Lauren and Olly at the Bureau, even Becky was a phone call away if she really felt that alone. She thought of her parents, when she was younger in that apartment in DC, listening to her mother and Mulder have a friendly debate about a case in the next door, how ideas bounced off and in-between each other until finally they came to the same conclusions that bettered the case. Emily realises that she craved that partnership as well, regardless of the work.

“What time’s your flight?” The question from Mulder pulls her away from her thoughts. Emily blinks, taking a moment to register what has just been asked.

“Uh…I haven’t looked yet,” she answers.

“I’ll drive you there,” he says standing up from the swing. “After all, I don’t know when I’ll next see you and I’d like to spend all the time I can with you.”

There’s a smile in his eyes when he says it and Emily tries her best to smile back, once again the guilt gnawing at her.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

The files won’t fit into her overnight bag so she carries them in her arms down the stairs, she almost steps on the dog in the process.

“So why are you there?” Emily answers Dagoo’s whine has she attempts to move him over. He just resumes his spot by the stairs once she’s gone.

She dumps the files onto the kitchen table, arms heavy from carrying them.

“You really are serious about this, aren’t you?” her mother asks, eyeing the files up once more.

“Yep,” Emily answers confidently. “Tomorrow I’m going to request to speak to Section Chief Andrews about getting assigned.”

Scully makes a noise. “Andrews? I don’t think I know him.” Emily just stares, unsure what to say until Mulder reappears with Emily’s car keys.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yep,” Emily confirms, anxious to get away. She bundles the files in her arms. Satisfied, Mulder begins making his way to the door, Emily following suit.

“Emily,” Scully calls, making Emily turn around. “William will be home for Christmas. You’ll be back as well?”

Emily sighs. “I can’t make any promises.”

“Emily—”

“You know what this job is like,” Emily interjects. “Something could come up or I could even be…” She doesn’t finish that sentence. Dead, she was going to say. Toxic, green blood spilling out onto the ground of some alley, killing all those around her. The nurse’s dead body, eyes wide and blood-shot, laying on the floor of the hospital room, a confused young Emily staring down at her. She swallows the memory away, turning to go.

“Be safe,” Scully asks her. Be safe, be careful, don’t bleed that green blood. Ingrained in her since she was young. And you never told me what why my blood is green, she thinks with sudden anger, her eyes narrowing. That is until she meets her mother’s eyes and sees the worry does Emily let her anger drop. You didn’t ask either, she tells herself. You kept the answers from yourself.

“I will,” Emily answers instead. “And I’ll be here for Christmas.” She must be.

Dana smiles but the worry still doesn’t live her eyes.

“I love you Emily,” she says, her arms embracing her even as she stills holds the files.

“I love you too,” Emily answers back. It’s the truth.

“Let’s go, Em!” Mulder calls from the front door.

“I’m glad you visited,” Scully says, pulling away and adjusting the files to sit more comfortably in Emily’s arms. “Call us when you land.”

Emily nods and turns away, eyes burning with tears. She shouldn’t be angry at her mother, she should be angry at herself.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

There was once a time when Emily wouldn’t shut up.

He would share a look at Scully as nonsense spewed out of the girl’s mouth. Sometimes she could talk just for the sake of talking.

Now she was as quiet as a mouse. Head leaning against the window of the passenger seat as you drive down the empty Sunday highway, a file unopened in her lap. Mulder looks down at it, reading the name.

“Pusher,” he says, eyes reverting back to the road ahead.

“What?” Emily asks, confused. She pulls her head away from the window to look at him.

“The file- Modell and Bowman- Pusher, we called him. He could push his mind onto people, make you do things you never thought you could do,” he explains.

“Is there anybody in these files who isn’t a total murderous nutjob?”

Mulder smiles though he knows they were few and far between.

“A little man who wishes he was someone big, is what Scully said. Pusher and his sister did a number on my head like you wouldn’t believe.” He nods back at the file. “You should read it, you’ll find it interesting.”

She picks the file off her lap, throwing it towards the others in the back seat.

“Some other time.” The file lands perfectly on top as she returns back to her original position.

Gauging that X-Files weren’t something she wanted to talk about right now, Mulder turns to another subject.

“I forgot to ask- how’s life? You still seeing that girl? Jessie?”

She looks at you confused again for a second. “Becky?”

He makes a sound that neither confirms nor denies. Jessie, Becky…he couldn’t keep up with names anymore.

“No,” says Emily, sulking back down. “We broke up. I’m not so great as relationships it seems.”

His stomach twists at that statement. Perhaps he rubbed off on this girl more than was worth.

“What happened?” he asks, genuinely interested. “She was great.”

“You don’t even know her name!”

“And? Doesn’t mean I don’t remember her.”

“You met her once!”

“I personally think I made a great impression on her.”

“Oh yeah, battering her head about a random episode of the Twilight Zone is making a great impression on somebody.”

“She was the one who said she was a fan. It’s not my fault she couldn’t remember what stopped Joseph Paladine from eating the meat he found.”

“Because only you would remember something like that. Besides, she said she watched a few episodes, not that she was a fan.”

“A flowerpot falls off the window,” he says, answering the trivia question. “It’s an easy thing to remember. Besides, fan-watched an episode, it’s the same thing.”

“It really isn’t.”

The debate calms down though it has seemed to of perked her up slightly.

“So what really happened between you two then?” Mulder asks with sincerity.

“Mom always said I took after you more than her. I fixate on things and forget other things exist. Becky grew tired of it so she felt.” She ends her explanation with a shrug.

“I’m sorry,” Mulder says. Apologising for both the circumstances and for her taking after him.

“It’s okay.” She sighs and shifts. “I think the worst part is, I didn’t even care when she said it was over and I think that hurt her more than my forgetting her.”

“Well,” Mulder says, trying to brighten up the mood once more. “There are other fish in the sea, you’ll find somebody.”

“You sound like Mom. She said something similar when I called her.”

The airport appears overhead. Mulder follows the road towards the right terminal and parks the car.

“This is a rental, you’ll need to drop it off,” Emily says starting to climb out of the car.

“Yeah.” Mulder follows. He’d already arranged plans with Scully for her to pick him up at the rental agency. “What are your plans with the files? You can’t carry them through like that.”

“I’ll pick up another bag in one of the stores.” She swings her overnight bag over her shoulder and adjusts the files in her arms. “Thanks for driving me.”

Perhaps it was suppose to end there, he was supposed to bid her goodbye and drive away but he could see, looking at her, that she didn’t want that. Their relationship flourished around the time William was born. Those few short months before everything was turned upside down and the four of them alternated between living out of the car and living in motel rooms, when Scully was busy with William, Emily would come to him. He would play with dolls and have teaparties, dress up as a fairy princess wielding a magic wand. He would help her with her homework at the kitchen table while Scully napped on the couch and teach her how to play baseball on the weekends. It was during those moments where he felt like a father, where all his worries wilted away at Emily’s big, wide smile. And when she fell asleep against him midway through a story, it was then where he felt his heart could burst, he loved this little girl, so much like Scully in features, drooling against his arm.

That love for her never wavered, not as she grew into a teenager with too much attitude, and not now as a twenty-seven year old FBI agent.

“Pass me some files,” he says, reaching his arms out. “I’ll help you carry them in.”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

The bag just about closes at the zip. Emily carefully carries the bag, her body protesting the weight- she really needed to get herself to a gym.

“You good?” Mulder asks her.

“It’ll do,” she answers. This was it now, the last time she’d be seeing him until Christmas.

“I’m glad you showed up Emily,” he says. “It was a very nice surprise.”

She smiles. “I’ll call in advance next time.”

Mulder shakes his head. “No need. You’re welcome back any time. It’s still your home.”

Emily nods, believing it. She’s about to turn away and head to security yet a question had been plaguing her since yesterday.

“Last night…”

“Yes?”

“Mom said I had a file.” She watches his features closely yet they betray nothing so she continues. “But it wasn’t in the files you have now.”

“It most likely burned away in the fire.”

Emily shakes her head. “Mom said it was missing long before that. Do you know where it could be?”

“It was a long time ago, Emily…”

Not with your photographic memory.

“Scully mentioned it a few years when she first reported it missing. I don’t know where it could’ve gone, I swear.”

“Is it possible somebody might have taken it?”

He shrugs. “Maybe, but I don’t see why they would.” Mulder pauses, unsure of how to continue, what he can say. “I know you’re looking for answers, about yourself, about why…” he leans in closer, talks at a lower volume. “You have green blood,” he pulls away, resuming his usual volume. “There are other files in there that can answer those questions.”

Emily looks towards the floor then back at Mulder. This was probably as much as she’ll get from him.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“It’s long and it’s complicated. And it’s not easy. We barely understood it ourselves.” He holds her arm gently. “You’re special, Emily. In ways nobody understands. And what you might uncover in those files, investigating these cases, is dangerous for you and for the people you know. Get a partner, have somebody to watch your back, or don’t venture into this at all.”

She nods, understanding the severity of what she was about to open herself up to.

“Well you survived, didn’t you? It can’t be that hard.”

He smiles again. “Not without a partner. Not without Scully.”

“Okay,” Emily says, nodding once more. “Step one: Find a partner. Got it.”

She stands back and adjusts the heavy bag. Time was ticking, her flight would be here soon. She stares at Mulder, one last question.

“You’re still interested in it all, aren’t you?”

“You need a partner with access.”

“And I’ll find one. Some files mentioned you had a sources, maybe you could be mine?”

Mulder thinks it over. “I’ll help out when I can and what I can’t answer, I’ll get Scully to.”

“She doesn’t want a part in it.”

There’s a twinkle in his eyes. “That’s what she tells you.”

Emily doesn’t stop a smile from forming. She looks back at Mulder, her father, her best friend.

“Bye Dad,” she says, her arms embracing him. His arms fall back around her.

“Bye, Emi.”

They part after a few minutes. Emily picks up her original overnight bag and swings it over her shoulder, heading straight to security.

#the x-files #the x files #txf fic #xfiles fanfiction #emily lives au #scullysexualwrites

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halfelven · 2 years ago

Note

ALL of the fic writer asks, if you’re willing ! If that’s too much, first 5 + 7

this took awhile to write out but here you go~

😅 What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

Hmm I’ve orphaned a couple of stories I wrote that were requests, but that was more because they didn’t fit with my other ideas. I don’t embarrass easily, and I use it for evil.

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

Elrond leaned back against the wall. The cloudy light illuminated him. ‘You’re staring again.’

‘I’m sorry!’ Gil-galad blurted. ‘You’re just so so beautiful!’

‘Mm,’ Elrond said. He shook his head.

‘Like you should have birds flying around your head and flowers blooming at your feet.’ Gil-galad waved his hands.

Elrond smiled. ‘And you look like you stole stars for your eyes.’

‘See?’ Gil-galad said. ‘I am in my truest of hearts, a thief.’

Elrond tilted his head back and watched the rain fall on the ceiling.

‘Then be a pirate, and I’ll be with you, and we’ll attack the ships of Númenor.’

Gil-galad shook his head.

‘You’re not going to let this go, are you?’

Elrond lifted the wine to his lips. ‘Stubbornness is my greatest flaw.’

'Noted.'

'But not my only one.'

'Duly noted,' Gil-galad said.

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

Just ‘playfully’ mean? I’ve put in a couple cliff hangers that I didn’t need to.

✍️ Do you have a beta reader?

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

Announcing High King Whatever because I never know what will happen next

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

I make it sound ~pretty~ (poeticish)

💋 First kiss fics. Love em or hate em?

Um. They’re okay? I wouldn’t write an entire story around a first kiss for myself

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

Yes, usually. Right now I’ve been looping That Unwanted Animal by The Amazing Devil and Guest Room by the National

🛠What tools/programs/apps do you use to write?

Libre office when I’m on my laptop and usually I just write in the saved messages of telegram if I’m on my phone. Sometimes I’ll use google docs but I don’t like it

⛔️ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

A few but I don’t think anything posted. I have a bunch from 2020 that I still can’t touch though due to associations with that time, but they’re on hiatus not abandoned

🙋‍♀️ Do any irl people know you write fanfic?

I met one of my friends who I now see sometimes irl through Silmarillion fanfic (we’ve been to Italy, Greece, Estonia, Sweden, and Norway together and she’s visited me in Finland, and I’ve visited her in Egypt, which has been really fun!) We were discussing our stories on the train in Italy, and she decided then and there that she had to catch up with it so then we both read my story so that I could see where she was when she wanted to talk about it, and it’s one of my treasured memories

🍦 What's the sweetest fic you've created so far?

I don’t know who else considers it sweet but for me it’s ‘with the sun’ and I think about it a lot.

🍷 Do you drink and write?

Occasionally, but I don’t drink a lot so not often

🍆 Do you write the spicy stuffs? If so, what's your most popular nsfw fic?

through realm of shadow

🌞 Do you have a preferred time of day to write?

Late at night~ I also like to write down my dreams after I wake up and I write on and off throughout the day (and ideas to write later) but I like writing on the tram anytime

💖 What made you start writing?

In general? I have been in love with stories forever and I have an immense imagination and taught myself to read and write to read more stories and share mine. Fic? Grand imagination and I used this very detailed self-insert universe in Middle-earth to distract me from my terrible life and told myself all sorts of other canon divergent stories. I started posting fic after stealing my neighbour’s internet because I was exploring the world (a little) and was writing about the Fellowship navigating the modern world (because I also felt like a time traveller)

💌 How do you feel about comments and feedback?

I save my favourite comments and read them back for inspiration 💜

🧐 Do you spend much time researching for your stories?

Yes. And I also just study everything constantly anyway so I put information I gleaned from that in them

🏆 What's your most popular fic?

Selfish (deserved and might be my favourite I’ve written)

🎯 Have any of your readers accurately guessed major plot points? Care to share which?

Not yet (that they’ve commented)

🎨 How do you feel about fan art of your stories?

I love it! ‘with the sun’ has the most beautiful fan art and I think about it constantly too

📈 How many fics do you have?

108 right now that are published

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

Usually outline them and then change my mind because I can’t write if I already know exactly what will happen, because if I can’t find out as it goes along, I get bored of the writing, since it’s more vivid just to play it in my head. (also I don’t understand ‘fly by the seat of your pants’ and looking up the origin is not helping??? like if you are flying without instruments how is it by the ‘seat of your pants’???)

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

don’t have any at the moment that I’m invested in. currently obsessed with an original work. (not 100% true i want to write a phantom troupe road trip fic)

🤗 What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

- Write little stories/scenes that are like 100 – 300 words long. Helps you find your voice + the characters’ voices. I had a fic where I was writing one of those little stories everyday for I think about 100 days.

- Ignore fanon if you hate it or even just mildly dislike it.

- I used to write scenarios on little scraps of paper and then characters on other scraps of papers and mix them up (separately) and then I’d have to write the scenario, like: Boromir and Legolas have to change a flat tire, are separated from the others in Moria, or w/e

- Stick characters in a broken elevator and see if they kill each other.

- Mix all the names up, pair them up, put them into aliens-forced-them-to-do-it marriages and see if they kill each other. I did this too see how characters work together when they’re forced to be around each other. I also do this and the elevator/other tight scenario with my ocs all the time. I also force them to go grocery shopping.

- Write a scene centred around an emotion but you’re not allowed to write down the names of any emotions in the scene.

- Write ‘I hate this’ when you’re stuck 49 times until you have 147 words and then write why you hate this until you have at least 300. (If you hate it because you think you’ll fail then write the scene badly and see what the worst could even be.)

- Write things so self-indulgent and specifically suited to your tastes that if someone else falls madly in love with it you might wind up finding a best friend.

💞 Who's your comfort character?

oh no (though Elrond is the original)

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

I’m picking the character now and it is Boromir and he is gay and aromantic

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

Probably Killua. I like writing deeply disturbed characters. This says nothing about me.

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

Killua came in with a half eaten apple in his hand.

'They're baking Kalluto into a pie in the kitchen,' he said to Illumi. 'Might wanna stop it.' He sat down on the arm rest of the chair and bit into the apple. 'He might get minced!'

As if on cue, Kalluto let out a high scream in the kitchen.

'There he goes,' Killua said. 'Gettin’ minced.’

😬 Which of your fics would you be most horrified for friends, family, or coworkers to stumble upon?

Probably ‘the face of god’ bc I don’t really have an explanation for it or ‘playing house’ but I’m not particularly concerned about that

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

I like it when I read it again two months later

📚 Would you ever want to turn writing into a career?

Trying!

⌛️ How long does it take you to write a fic, or a chapter?

I honestly don’t know for sure? I think around 800 – 1000 words per hour is pretty normal for a first draft

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

Romance and I’m not particularly invested in it so I don’t really care to practice that often

💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

‘selfish’ and ‘winter bird’ both have parts that are hard to read back sometimes. and ‘with the sun’

💥 How do you feel about criticism?

I don’t want it. This is for fun. It’s not professional writing. And I mean this in the nicest way possible but I have gotten quite a few comments for how to ‘better’ my writing that would make it worse and the ‘don’t use said/says’ all the time use ‘whined, hissed, roared, screamed, snarled’ instead is the ‘advice’ I’m talking about. Don’t do it. Also the other one is ‘don’t use their names so much.’ I am never writing ‘the black haired man’ unless the pov character doesn’t know the character’s name.

🤭 Do you have a favorite tag to use when posting your works?

I don’t know I feel I use angst the most. But I like tagging torture and psychological torture because I like writing them

#txt #asks #anonymous #ask games #fic related

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violet-shadows · 2 years ago

Text

Cover Story (Part One)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Masterlist

Summary: When a mission leads him to a secluded island, Azriel recruits a friend and colleague to pose as his mate. Their time spent working together reveals more than they anticipated.

Word Count: 3.1k

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/Her)

Warnings: none (future parts will contain graphic, canon-typical violence)

A/N: This work is part of a three-part series. Thank you to this anon for requesting and waiting patiently for this. I hope you like it!

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

A good spy needs a good cover story. Even the Shadowsinger, adept at remaining unseen and unnoticed, knew better than to show up in a foreign nation without a believable explanation for his presence. It’s tricky to craft a lie that will open the doors that need opening without drawing undue suspicion, especially when working alone. That’s where you came in.

The small principality off the coast of the Continent was technically the territory of Montesere, however, its Fae remained largely independent, governed by a Lord who trusted outsiders little. It was there that a book of great power was said to be hidden and the High Lord of the Night Court had tasked you and Azriel with retrieving it. Your cover story was that you were a newly mated couple from the Continent, honeymooning on the small, idyllic island. Tourists were not entirely uncommon in the area, and a couple in love would not draw undue suspicion, especially with Azriel’s wings glamoured and shadows hidden.

You arrived on the island via boat, its borders heavily warded against winnowing. Your act started as soon as you boarded, with Azriel keeping an arm slung around your shoulder as you enjoyed the sunrise over calm seas. Before you left, Azriel had taken great care to ensure you knew what to expect in terms of couple-like behavior, warning you that small touches and holding hands would help to sell the lie. He had blushed when he said it, looking down at his feet with his hands tucked into his pockets, as though he was asking you to make a monumental sacrifice by holding his hand. “I think I can handle a bit of affection, Shadowsinger,” you had teased, trying to ease the tension.

Now, as you walked the busy city streets, your hand grasped in his, you couldn’t help but feel it was a bit of a sacrifice, if only because you would have to stop once the mission was over. Holding Azriel’s hand and tucking into his side felt as natural as breathing, and while the feeling of any other male’s arm around your waist might have been unsettling, you found it easy to lean into his touch. Wrapping your arm around his forearm or slipping your hand into his as you walked became a habit quickly, and you would need to be careful once you returned home not to slip into the behavior still.

Your first day on the island was all about selling your cover story, and in that way, it felt very much like a real holiday. The two of you walked the city streets together, popping into shops and stalls to survey the various trinkets and delicacies for sale. At midday, you walked hand and hand along the esplanade before dining outside of a small, picturesque bistro, finishing the meal with a shared bowl of gelato. “I see why people come here,” you said, sitting back to enjoy the cool sea breeze on your face. The sun was high in the cloudless sky, illuminating the glittering, turquoise water of the bay. Above you, sea birds cried out from atop the high cliffs, catching the breeze as they swooped towards the water below. Their flight reminded you of Illyrian warriors, perfectly graceful, even on the hunt.

“Don’t get too used to it,” Azriel replied, scanning the area for listening ears before he continued, “I don’t know that we’ll be able to come back.” You nodded, catching his meaning, and inhaled another lungful of sweet salt air, enjoying the hint of pine and raindrops, a scent that was uniquely Azriel.

“I suppose we’ll have to make the most of our time, then,” you said, trying not to blush when he returned your smile with one of his own. His usual stone-faced expression had been lifted as part of the role he was playing, replaced by a look of contentment that made your heart squeeze. If others noticed the way his eyes still darted back and forth, taking in every minute detail of his surroundings, they would attribute it to the protective instincts of a newly mated male. Yet another reason your cover was ideal for the job.

After lunch, you walked further into the city to sightsee. The Lord’s estate sat at the top of a large hill overlooking the bay, and it was there the book was most likely to be kept. Fortunately, his estate was also a grand architectural masterpiece and drew the eyes of nearly every visitor that came to the island. It gave the two of you an excuse to scope out the grounds without needing to conceal your interest.

Guards were stationed at the entry points, but from your place on the ground, it did not appear that there was much protection from threats coming in from above. Both you and Azriel made note of this, feigning interest in the elaborately carved corbels as you cataloged potential entrances near the roofline. After a little while, you silently agreed that you could spend no more time observing the building without risking suspicion and made your way to a restaurant in the square adjacent to the estate. Patio seating allowed you to continue observing the guard’s movements under the pretense of people watching, and as you ate dinner, the two of you took great care to look like a smitten couple, rather than a duo casing a mark. By the time you finished your meal and dessert, eating as slowly as could be believable, dusk had fallen and shift changeover had not yet occurred. You were beginning to run out of reasons to linger in the area, but you needed to know exactly when the daytime guards left their posts. “They must get bored,” you mentioned off-hand, pretending to sip at your wine. “I mean, don’t they get hungry, standing around in the heat all day?” You drew out your words a little, acting the part of the curious female tipsy from dinner.

“I’m sure they get to go home to dinner soon, darling,” Azriel replied, taking your hand in his across the table. You tried not to let the pet name and gesture go to your head, telling yourself that the giggle you let out was just a part of your cover and nothing more. You caught Azriel’s meaning, all the same, guard changeover would be soon enough, you just needed a bit more time.

“Baabbbyyy, did you see that jewelry shop across the way? With the pretty necklaces. I wonder if they’re still open, we should go while we’re here,” you pretended to pout, fluttering your eyelashes as you did so, and when Azriel chuckled in amusement, it sounded genuine.

“I’m sure we can pop in before we go, baby.” He smirked, teasing you with the last bit, and you kicked him playfully under the table. After paying the cheque, the two of you wandered across the square and you babbled about how you wanted your house to look just like the manor before you, giving you two yet another excuse to observe the grounds. Azriel played the role of dutiful mate perfectly, nodding and muttering, “Sure darling”, as you instructed him to make note of the roof tiles because you wanted yours to be that color exactly.

When you reached the jewelry shop, which conveniently featured a facade of large windows, you allowed Azriel to take over watching the guards while you chatted animatedly with the shopkeep, who was more than happy to answer your “innocent” questions about the estate across the road as he showed you fine pieces of jewelry. Finally, partway through your conversation, the changing of the guards occurred and you glanced at the clock behind the counter, making note of the time. You yawned, still playing the part of a tipsy tourist, and called to Azriel, “I suppose we should go back to the inn soon…”

The shopkeep, intent on making the sale, interjected. “I do have one more piece you simply must try before you go. I believe it would suit you quite well, my Lady, if I may be so bold.” You entertained him, nodding contentedly as Azriel joined you at your side, his hand snaking around your waist to pull you close. The shopkeep unlocked a case at the far end of the store, retrieving a necklace there. The gasp you made at the sight of it was not feigned, as the jeweler indeed had a good eye.

A bright cobalt jewel hung from a delicate silver chain, its finely cut facets glittering in the silver moonlight filtering through the storefront windows. The stone was an oval cut gem set in fine silver filigree, its hue and shape so reminiscent of Azriel’s Siphons that you had to check to make sure they were still concealed under his sleeves. “Blue sapphire mined in Rask. The stone is said to calm the mind and help the wearer communicate their feelings more clearly,” said the shopkeep, holding the necklace out to you. “I believe it would be very becoming on you, my Lady.”

“It really is quite breathtaking,” you said honestly, feeling slightly guilty that you had taken the vendor’s time without any intention of buying the piece. Even if you wanted to indulge, you were sure it was absurdly expensive. “Perhaps if it’s still here before we leave…”, you said wistfully, giving yourself an out from the conversation. You hoped he wouldn’t be too disappointed when you didn’t return for the item later on. Just as you were about to bid him goodnight, Azriel interrupted you.

“We’ll take it,” he said confidently, reaching into his pocket for the coin. You wheeled around to look at him, utterly surprised, and he shot you a mischievous smile. “He’s right, it is quite becoming of you.”

“Darling, it’s quite the expense,” you tried to argue. He shook his head, handing over the funds.

“Anything for my lovely mate.” You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered at his words, reminding yourself this was a part of the cover. When the transaction was through, Azriel took you by surprise again when he picked up the necklace and motioned for you to turn around. You lifted your hair, allowing him to fasten the clasp, blushing when his fingers brushed your neck. “Beautiful,” he murmured when you turned around, almost to himself. He was playing his part well, almost too well. Returning home would be bittersweet, indeed.

You bid the shopkeep goodnight and waited until you were far from the square on an empty street to swat Azriel’s arm. “What did you do that for?”

“Do what for?” He feigned innocence, taking your hand in his to keep you from smacking him again.

“That was expensive!” You hissed, reaching up to feel the fine jewel that hung around your neck.

“You liked it,” he teased. “You’ve always liked sparkly things.” You blushed again, biting your lip as your realized Azriel had taken notice of your penchant for beautiful things.

“I’ll pay you back,” you replied shyly.

“No need, I wanted to get it for you”, he said. You blushed, looking down at your feet as you walked, and he rushed to add, “And it helps sell the cover story, of course.”

“Right, of course,” you tried to act natural as you approached the inn and Azriel took your hand in his again. When you arrived in your chambers, you remembered one minor detail of the stay you and Azriel had yet to discuss.

“I almost forgot… One bed…” you recalled, resigning yourself to the small chaise in the corner of the room. It was too small for Azriel to sleep on, even if his wings weren’t part of the equation, so it only made sense that he take the bed. Azriel surprised you by throwing a pillow onto the floor on the side of the bed near the door.

“You take the bed,” he mumbled, shrugging off his jacket.

“That’s ridiculous, I can sleep on the chaise just fine,” you replied, grabbing a pillow and blanket to head to the corner of the room. Azriel rolled his eyes.

“Your neck is going to start bothering you again if you sleep on that,” he said. It was difficult not to read into the fact that he remembered your neck injury from decades before. “I’ve slept worse places.”

“No, it won’t,” you argued, biting your lip. “You can’t sleep on the floor… especially at your age.”

“Are you calling me old?” Azriel barked a laugh, turning to look at you with a single eyebrow raised.

“Yes,” you said smugly, marching over to pick his pillow up off the floor. “And as someone who respects my elders, I can’t, in good conscience, have you sleeping on the floor.”

“And what would you have me do, hmm? Have the Lady sleep on the chaise instead?” he said, poking fun at the way the shopkeep had addressed you. You rolled your eyes at him and started at the bed, getting an idea.

“Nonsense. We’re both adults,” you gulped, “we can share.” Azriel seemed momentarily surprised before nodding, eyebrows raised.

“As long as you don’t steal all the covers.”

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

Falling asleep next to Azriel was surprisingly easy. Once you got past the awkwardness of sharing a bed with your colleague, the sound of his breathing lulled you into a peaceful sleep. When you woke in the morning, he was gone, a note left on his side of the bed the only trace of him.

Went to the square, I’ll be back with breakfast – A

To an outsider, the note would look innocuous, but you caught Azriel’s true purpose. He was going to observe when the guard shift changed over again in the morning. A glimpse out the window told you it was still rather early. It had rained overnight and the cobblestone streets below were mostly empty at that hour. Without Azriel at your side, though, you found yourself unable to fall back asleep. Restless and unsure of when he might return, you decided to make yourself useful and walk the empty streets, making note of escape routes and hiding spots in the vicinity. After mapping several of the surrounding blocks, you headed back towards the inn, only to be surprised by a figure emerging from a darkened alleyway.

“Where the fuck were you?” Azriel was in front of you before you could blink, both hands braced on your shoulders. He looked you up and down, as if searching for an injury, and there was a wild glint in his hazel eyes. It was then that you realized just how much you relied on his shadows and wings to read his body language. Without them, it was difficult to identify what he was thinking.

“Walking,” you answered. “What’s wrong?” He barked a laugh, turning to shepherd you in the direction of the inn, one hand coming to rest between your shoulder blades.

“What’s wrong? I came back and you were gone! I thought something had happened,” he explained, an exasperated edge in his voice. You felt your hackles raise at his annoyance; it wasn’t as though you weren’t trained and capable, you had been on plenty of solo missions in the past.

“So what, I can’t walk the area? I can look after myself, Azriel,” you snapped.

“You could have at least left a note,” he replied. When you glanced up at him, you could see his jaw was clenched tight and his eyebrows were drawn slightly together, a sure sign he was angry.

“I didn’t think to…” In truth, you hadn’t expected Azriel to be worried by your absence, but you kept that part to yourself. “I’m sorry.” He seemed to soften at that, letting out a heavy sigh. “Did you find anything?” He quickly surveyed the empty streets before leaning down to whisper lowly.

“Guards change shift at 7:00 am. It’s too bright by then, so the night shift change will be our in,” he said quietly. You tried not to shiver at the feeling of his breath on your neck while he whispered in your ear.

“Tonight?” You asked, feigning nonchalance. He nodded, straightening so his face was no longer so close to yours. “I suppose we should make the most of today, then.” Azriel shot you a questioning look and you clarified, “to plan and prepare, that is.”

He didn’t reply, walking in awkward silence with you until you reached the inn. His posture was rigid and you couldn’t tell if it was professional caution or residual tension after your small disagreement. When you rounded the corner, he took your hand in his again, holding it tightly until you were inside the privacy of your quarters. Once again, you reminded yourself that this was part of the role he was playing and tried not to feel hurt when he dropped your hand as though it had burned him. True to his word, Azriel had indeed brought back breakfast and the table was set with a delicious-looking assortment of pastries and fruit. “So what’s our plan?”, you asked, taking a seat.

“You stay here and wait for me,” he said, as though it were obvious.

“Wait, what? What happened to working together?”

“We have been working together. That’s what we’ve been doing this whole time…”. For some reason, his words stung slightly.

“So what, I just wait here while you get to play the hero?” Your annoyance was seeping into your voice despite yourself and Azriel sighed deeply.

“There is no reason for both of us to go in,” he explained, waving a hand dismissively. “Your job is to play the part of the mate as a cover, I do the hard work.”

“Oh, so I’m just an ornament?” you scoffed, irritation growing.

“I didn’t say that,” Azriel replied, rolling his eyes. “I needed you for the cover story. But I don’t need you to come with me.” I don’t need you. His words chaffed.

“And if something happens?” you replied. “What then? You’re talking about going into an enemy fortress alone without backup even on standby.”

“And what are you going to do as my backup? Run in and save me?” Azriel’s typical calm demeanor was dissolving as your tempers both flared. “If you want to be useful you can stay here and out of my way.” You swallowed thickly, anger and hurt warring within you.

“Fine,” you snapped, stabbing at your breakfast with a scowl. Azriel huffed, taking a seat on the bed to inventory his weapons.

“Fine.”

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

Likes, reblogs, comments, and feedback are greatly appreciated. Please let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from my tag list for future fics. Click here to check out my other work.

Taglist: @answer-the-sirens @microwaveallthedemons @judig92 @wolfyland07 @donttellthecats @goldentournesol @mulansaucey @millionthingsihaventdone @starlit-terror @starrstrucked @bankerfrog @xxoverthinkxx @luv-xoxo @abrunettefangirlnerd (yell at me nicely if I missed you <;3)

#Azriel x Reader #Azriel x You #Azriel Fanfic #Azriel Fanfiction #Azriel #Azriel Shadowsinger #ACOTAR x You #ACOTAR Fanfic #ACOTAR Fanfiction #ACOTAR #ACOTAR Imagine #my stuff #ff

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becca-e-barnes · 4 years ago

Note

I love your writing! Can you please do one with Bucky where the reader gives him a gift and it’s like an iPod and the reader put a bunch of 40’s music on it for Bucky to listen too and Bucky asks the reader to dance and it’s really sweet and fluffy! Thank you!

When I tell you I RAN for my iPad to start writing this request as soon as it came through omg, I am obsessed with this one! Thank you so so much for sending me this, I absolutely loved writing it 💗

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word count: 2,925

Warnings: Loads of fluff, super duper sweet Bucky, little bit of angst and mentions of family loss. Mad cottagecore vibes. This is honestly just hella soft!

Summary: Bucky doesn’t remember much about his sister Rebecca, just that today is her birthday. Coming to terms with the fact she grew up alone upsets him so you cheer him up with an early birthday present, taking him back to the 40’s.

A/N: I noticed Bucky has a sister in the comics so I went with that! (cause it makes me so happy to know that a canon Rebecca Barnes exists). I really don’t know much about her so if I’ve written anything wrong, please let me know so I can edit her to be canon compliant 💕 (And yes, all my 40’s songs are from the Fallout 4 soundtrack, I couldn’t help it)

The sound of the rain pattering softly on the roof woke you from your sleep. You rubbed your eyes and turned to look at the thin flannel curtains, noticing they were letting in a little light. Birds had only just began to start chirping faintly in the distance, meaning it couldn’t be much later than 5am. You rolled over in the large bed, hoping to feel the comfort of your husband’s firm chest against you but as you moved, you noticed the sheets were cold. He must have gotten up some time ago.

With a yawn, you pushed yourself up, your feet hitting the cold wooden floor of the bedroom.

“Buck?” You questioned, rounding the little corner and seeing he wasn’t in the kitchen. Your brow furrowed and you headed to the living room, checking to see if he was there. It wasn’t uncommon to wake up without Bucky. While he usually slept like a log these days, he was still keen to stay in shape so he would often go for a run at sunrise but usually only on mornings when the weather was nice. His nightmares barely ever bothered him anymore. You were thankful for that at least since it meant you weren’t woken in the middle of the night to the sight of your wonderful husband trembling with grief, knowing that he longed to wake up and be anyone other than himself. It broke your heart seeing what he had to suffer through to get to this point but he was endlessly grateful that you had suffered it with him. It was tough on you, you couldn’t deny but there was no chance you would ever have let him go through any of that alone. There had been countless nights spent cradling his shaking body, humming softly to him to remind him he wasn’t still living those nightmares. Eventually, those awful nights became few and far between, his smiles became brighter, the bags under his eyes shrunk and he returned to something closer to the man you imagined he must’ve been in the 40’s.

You reached the living room door and noticed the fire was lit, warmth beaming out the room as you took in the sight in front of you. Bucky was sitting in an armchair by the fire with a little wooden box resting on his knee. The only light in the room came from the fire and what little brightness was beginning to seep in through the window but despite how dim it was you could still make out his messy bed head.

“You okay baby?” You asked with a little yawn, crossing the short distance between you, coming up to the back of the chair and resting you hands on his broad shoulders that were still covered by his pyjama top. Your fingertips ran over the seam where his skin was replaced with metal and he let out a little content hum.

“Yeah doll, you should go back to bed, you’re tired.” He soothed, bringing his flesh hand up to squeeze one of yours. You looked down and noticed his lap was littered with old photos and newspaper clippings. You had helped him collect them over the years, taking him to libraries and museums, trawling through archives to make sure he had as much in his little collection as possible. He had spent years tracking down everything he could find about his sister, keeping all the clippings in his little wooden box.

Instead of going back to bed, you lifted the papers from his lap and sat down in their place. You pulled the woollen throw from the back of chair and draped it over the pair of you before starting to shuffle through the few photocopies in your hand. Each picture showed a different stage of your sister in law’s life, from a photocopy of the newspaper announcing her birth right up to the last piece you and Bucky had been able to track down. It was just a short article about an interview she had given, talking about how Bucky had been the only Howling Commando that had given his life in service of his country.

“Just wish she could’ve known the truth. Wish she’d known I wasn’t dead all those years.” He whispered, face buried in the crook of your neck as you leafed through the delicate pages. His mother had died when he was little and his father had died shortly before he went to war. He and his sister had been separated shortly after they lost their father. “She must’ve been completely alone…. Would’ve had no family until she got married.” He mused sadly, looking at the little newspaper clipping that announced her marriage to her husband.

“Would have been a tough life Buck.” You agreed quietly and he nodded.

“Today is her birthday.” He whispered after a little silence, the weight of all that he had missed out on weighing so heavily on him.

“Tell me about her Buck.” You quizzed, stroking his flesh arm gently, cuddling up against his warm chest as the fire crackled beside you.

“I really don’t remember much about her.” He admitted quietly. “Not sure if that’s because HYDRA jumbled some of my memories or if it’s just because it’s been so long.” He was so distracted by the article in his hands. It had a tiny, grainy photo in the centre of the text, a photo of a young Bucky and Rebecca standing together in their school uniforms. “Remember Rebecca loved to go to Stark’s science fairs.” A little fond smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “God, I used to go to those with Stevie to try to get him a date. We were both hopeless.” He laughed softly, his lips pressed gently to your neck as he spoke.

“We both know that’s not true Buck, Steve said you were such a ladies man.” You giggled, holding his chin gently and pulling him into a soft kiss.

“Hard to be a ladies man when your little sister was tagging along on your date.” He chuckled, “kinda spoiled the mood.”

“I bet it did.” You agreed sarcastically, running your fingers through his soft messy hair, watching his face as his eyes flitted over the paper in front of him. Eventually his little smile faded and his brow furrowed. It wasn’t hard to tell that he must have been thinking about how Rebecca would have reacted to hearing what her brother had done to Howard Stark and you knew you needed to get him out of that hole before it got too deep for him to handle. You gently gathered up all the little clippings, tucking them safely back into the wooden box and returning it to its place on the mantle. Bucky was still looking solemn so you returned to your spot on his lap and cuddled up against his large frame, nearly like you were trying to protect him from his own thoughts with your body.

“I know it’s early but I really don’t think I can keep it to myself any longer, you want one of your birthday presents?” You suggested and his little smile came back.

“Sure doll, that would be nice.” He laughed, kissing the top of your head. You bounced up out of his lap and pranced off to the bedroom, looking for the little box you had hidden in your dresser under some clothes. You returned to the living room with his gift tucked behind your back.

“It’s not wrapped yet, I didn’t plan on giving it to you early so you gotta close your eyes and hold out your hands.” You teased, making Bucky roll his eyes. He did as you asked anyway, metal and flesh hands cupped together in front of him. He looked so damn cute you couldn’t resist giving his lips a little peck.

“Was that my present doll?” He laughed, feeling you sit back down on your spot in his lap but still keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Yeah Barnes, that’s all you’re getting,” you joked sarcastically. He looked far too handsome with his cheeky grin, the warm light from the roaring fire dancing on his flushed cheeks. You loved this man more than you could put into words and you knew he loved you back just as fiercely. After building the suspense for a moment, you placed the box in his hands and he opened his eyes like a giddy child. You watched as his eyes scanned over his new gift, trying to work out what exactly it was.

“Oh! It’s an iPod! Sam has one of these!” He beamed excitedly, a little bit too proud that he had been able to figure out what the box actually contained before he had opened it. He carefully lifted the lid and pulled the iPod out, pressing the power button. You hadn’t really considered how tiny it would look in his huge hands. The screen flickered to life and he looked like a child on Christmas morning. His eyes were alight from both the bright screen and his excitement. His smile was absolutely infectious, joy radiating out of him at such a simple gift.

“I put some music on it for you babe.” You smiled, giving his forehead a little kiss.

“If you’ve filled this thing full of Harry Styles, I’ll throw it at you.” He teased quietly, trying to press the touch screen with the thumb on his metal hand, forgetting that it wouldn’t register properly.

“He’s a guilty pleasure of yours, don’t even deny it.” You laughed back, carding your fingers through his soft hair, showing him how to open the music app. “No, I put some of your music on it.” You watched as he used his flesh thumb to scroll through the list of songs. “You wanna connect it to the speakers?” You asked quietly, taking it from him and showing him how to open the settings and connect it to your living room speakers by Bluetooth.

“Pick a song, hun.” You smiled handing it back to him. He pressed the first title he saw. ‘Mighty Mighty Man’ by Roy Brown started playing and you thought Bucky’s grin was going to take over his entire face. His eyes crinkled as music boomed through your small living room.

“God, I remember this song.” He laughed, running a hand through his hair. He looked so carefree and happy in that moment, clutching his little iPod tightly. You beamed at him and he looked up at you, giving you a happy kiss, both of your lips still pulled tight with smiles. His cheeks were hot against yours given how he was closer to the fire than you and his metal thumb rubbed gently against your bare thigh under the woollen throw. He let out a happy little sigh, pulling away to look back down at the rest of the songs on the iPod. His thumb hovered over ‘Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall’ by The Ink Spots for a minute before he clicked on it. As the gentle introduction started, he pulled you close to him, both of his strong arms circling around your waist. His face was buried in your hair and he kissed gently at your shoulder as you listened to the slow song together, just enjoying each other’s company and the sound of the rain pattering outside.

You couldn’t help but wonder how different his life must have been the first time he heard that song. He wouldn’t have had any idea the grief and loss and pain that was ahead of him. Far too much rain had indeed fallen on Bucky Barnes’ life.

“It’s not all been bad you know.” He whispered ever so quietly against your skin, almost as if he had been able to read your mind. “You’ve been the biggest blessing.” His last sentence was barely louder than a breath. You weren’t really supposed to hear it, it was more just Bucky’s way of thanking the universe for finally giving him something truly pure. Every now and again, on those nights he was struggling to sleep, he loved to roll over and just take in the sight of his beautiful wife tangled in the sheets. Rather than counting sheep or getting lost in his thoughts, he would quietly list the things he loved about you, almost how people talk to their plants. He hoped that by saying it out loud, even if you weren’t listening, your body would still acknowledge it and you would grow to love yourself how he did. He knew it was silly but he would far rather think about all the reasons he had fallen so madly in love with you than lie awake staring at the ceiling. He could think of hundreds of reasons, often silly little things like how cute you looked when you were reading or how endearing it was when you put your hand on your hip when you were cross at him for eating your last muffin or how slowly you had to peel carrots because you didn’t want to “lose a finger”. Every night brought some new confession because he found that every day, there was something else he could obsess over. He had never anticipated finding love like this. Not just because before he met you, he was filled with a bit more self loathing than he would ever have admitted to, but just because he didn’t believe it existed. “People don’t just love each other like they do in movies, it’s all made up.” He would argue, so cynical that anyone could ever find a soulmate, never mind one of the most notorious assassins the world has ever known. You had well and truly changed his mind. He would gladly do anything for you, anything at all. You had shown him so much love and trust and in some strange way, he felt like you understood him at times when he didn’t even understand himself. You knew what he needed because you were what he needed.

The song ended but neither of you moved to untangle your bodies, choosing instead to stay wrapped up in each other. A couple more songs played, with Bucky humming along to them gently. He couldn’t remember all the words but he got most of the tunes right. Then ‘I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire’ by The Ink Spots started and he pulled his head from the crook of your neck

“Would you dance with me Mrs Barnes?” He asked with a soft little smile, taking one of your hands in his metal one.

“Anything for you Mr Barnes.” You agreed, dragging your bodies apart to stand in front of the fire. It had died slightly but the room still had a happy glow. The rain was coming down just a little harder and it only made being inside, warm and dry with your husband even more appealing. Bucky’s hands fell to your waist and yours went to his shoulders. It didn’t take long for him to work his thumbs under your thin pyjama top, just enjoying the feeling of your soft skin against his hand. His touch was gentle and reverent, like holding you too tightly would make you shatter like delicate porcelain. Your bodies moved slowly to the music, swaying together in your little living room, hoping this moment would never end. There wasn’t much to it but you couldn’t honestly think of a more blissful start to your day. You both shuffled together, dancing slowly like you had on your wedding day (at least for your first dance anyway). The feeling of the carpet under your feet and the smell of the burning wood kept you both grounded – this was your home, the home you shared together and most likely the home you would raise your children in some day. Your body was tired and your mind was foggy but just from the sense of safety being warm and comfortable in your husband’s strong arms brought.

“Love you Buck.” You smiled, looking up at him after the song ended.

“Love you too y/n. More than you’ll ever know.” Came his hushed reply and then a little yawn.

“Will we go back to bed for an hour or two?” You suggested, running a hand up his flesh arm soothingly and he nodded, only realising just how tired he was after not sleeping most of the night. The fire had all but died, the embers glowing faintly on the hearth. He turned the music off and let you lead him back to your shared bedroom, flopping onto the bed and wrapping his arms around you.

“You’ve no idea what that iPod means to me doll. Was like being back in the forties but this time, I had my best girl there with me.” Your head lay on his chest and he cradled your face with his metal hand.

“Glad you like it baby, happy early birthday.” You smiled, drawing little shapes on his chest with your fingertips.

Bucky’s heart was so full, it didn’t take him long to fall asleep. Sure he missed Rebecca and his parents but everything he needed in the world was lying there in bed with him, cuddled up against his chest. Some day he hoped you two would have your own little family when you were both ready and he would love and cherish them as much as he did you but until then, you were all the family he needed.

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howaboutcastiel · 2 years ago

Text

Dirty Talk (Jake x Layla)

Kinktober prompt 3 (Kinktober Masterlist)

A/N: guys listen don’t think about the plot for too long on this one. Porn is more important than plot. This one’s short because dirty talk makes me uncomfy.

Word count: 2.3k

Content: dirty talk (...duh), smut, PIV in particular, choking, canon-typical violence (mild), probably improper use of Arabic swears

It was progressing just like every other mission.

Layla didn’t prefer to work with Jake, she preferred to work with Marc. Marc was her husband, her partner—Marc was the one that knew her best. She was happy to work with Steven when needed. He was kind to her, he was good at planning and plotting, and he seemed to have unlimited knowledge to pull from whenever the mission required something that Layla didn’t know.

But when a mission required Jake? Layla was less than thrilled, to put it lightly. It wasn’t that she had a problem with him…no, maybe it was. Layla definitely had a problem with Jake, who had twice as much hubris as Marc and thought through his plans only half as much as Steven. Sure, he was charismatic, he was quick-witted, and he was more agile than any of the others, but he was arrogant.

What was worse, though? He absolutely loved working with Layla. The feeling wasn’t mutual.

They were infiltrating a drug-trafficking ring. Layla was undercover as a buyer—a wealthy buyer, and Jake was stationed about a half-block away on the roof of a hotel. He could see everything from a bird’s-eye view, talking Layla through her cover using an earpiece she had styled to look like an earring. Jake dawned his suit, ready to swoop down at Layla’s cue and take down the most heavily-armed of their targets. It was a straightforward mission and it was progressing perfectly.

So much so that Jake decided he would have a little fun.

“You see that table to your left?” He asked her, a soothing purr in his voice. Layla rolled her eyes, leaning away as to not alert her ‘dealer’ of her conversation.

“Yes, 'ahmaq, I see it. What about it?” She was expecting him to tell her there was a gun taped underneath it, or perhaps an important document on top of it. It wasn’t pertinent either way—she had her target in front of her.

“I’d do anything to bend you over that table. To watch your ass shake while I fuck you stupid. You’d look so fucking good.”

“What the hell, Jake?” Layla heard him chuckle over the line. It wasn’t uncommon for him, especially when he was confident that a mission was going to go well. “Cut it out. I almost have him.”

“I’d like to have you, once this is all done. Maybe in that alleyway over on your right.”

“Ayreh Feek, I don’t have time for this.” Layla hissed at him. She turned back to the dealer, brandishing an overly-seductive smile and batting her eyelashes. He moved to gather a rather large package of prescription opioids, as Layla had arranged, and she tried to ignore the gratingly confident voice in her ear.

“Let’s make a little deal, huh? You get through the rest of this mission without blowing your cover, I take you out for dinner and drinks. You blow it? You have to blow me at our rendezvous spot.”

“Whatever. I never blow my cover.”

“Ah, you will.”

Layla didn’t know the parameters of the deal she had made, but she had a pretty good idea. The dealer prompted her to follow him deeper into the alley, no doubt to make the exchange with armed company ensuring his safety. And his money. Her earpiece hissed again as she started to move her feet.

“Your mouth is gonna look so pretty around my cock, baby. I know you can take it all, too. You’re such a fucking slut, It’ll make you gag and you’ll still take it all. Gonna feel so good.”

She could hear Jake smiling on the other end of the line. Layla felt her face and chest heating up, but the man before her didn’t seem to notice.

“Maybe I’ll tug on those curls of yours. Force you to take all of me. I might even hold you down, let you choke on my cock. God, you’d sound so pretty. You know that you’d love it. You’d be a good girl for me.”

“So, how again did you say you were going to distribute my product?” The dealer asked suspiciously.

“I can assure you, you don’t have to worry about any cracks in my operation.” Layla felt her breath quicken a bit. She cleared her throat. “I don’t like to make noise.”

“Oh, hermosa, don’t lie to that poor man. You love to make noise. Those pretty little sounds, so desperate and loud. I bet I could make you scream tonight if I tried. I love to hear you scream for me.”

“Are we doing this or not?” There was just a little too much haste in her voice. The man scowled at her as he led her back to a dead-end alley with two other men, both bearing silenced firearms.

“Wow, those are pretty big guns. You think they’re compensating for something?”

“You have the cash, I assume?” The man peered at Layla with a satisfied, greedy look and she nodded, reaching into her bag. The guard pointed their guns and she slowly pulled out a large wad of cash. All hundreds.

“Alright, papi’s gonna light these fuckers up. You ready to summon your suit?” Jake asked, adding of course, “I love your light little ass in that suit.”

“Let’s get on with it, then.” Layla responded, both to the dealer and to her partner. She wouldn’t admit it, but a select few of those words had made their way down between her legs. It wasn’t enough to break her focus.

Layla held her other hand out, proving to her onlookers that there were no sudden moves for her to make, as she slowly raised the other out to the man. He held out his package likewise and everyone seemed to relax a bit. Just a bit. The guards loosened their grips on their triggers, and it was more than enough. Layla summoned her suit.

The movement disoriented them and by the time they had processed the apparition in front of them, Jake Lockley was quite literally descending from the sky. It didn’t take long to disarm all of them. Jake didn’t move like Marc—that is, like a boxer and an ex-marine—he practically danced around the men, confusing them so much that they never even got a good hit in. The suit didn’t have any bullets to absorb, as they could never train their eyes on him long enough to fire accurately. They were on the ground almost instantly.

Layla had subdued the dealer herself, locked him in a chokehold and extended her wing to no doubt give him a nasty concussion. He would certainly live, though. Perhaps the same couldn’t be said for those Jake had manhandled.

“Nice work, carino.” Jake cooed. “I’m disappointed, though. I really thought I was gonna win that one.”

Layla rolled her eyes as she started to walk away from him, cash still in hand. He followed her while vanishing his suit and pouting.

“Ah, come on, doll. We finished the mission, right? Don’t be like that.”

He walked just a little bit faster than her, trying to catch up. Jake groaned and dragged his feet as she showed him no mind. He went to put his hand on her shoulder, willing her not to be pissed at him, and the very second his palm made contact with her shirt?

Jake was on the ground.

Layla shouldn’t have been strong enough to overpower him with one hand, but he wasn’t expecting it. She flipped him onto his back, pinning her arm across his throat and baring her teeth. Jake’s eyes blew wide as she squinted at him. Another wave of energy went right to her cunt at the sight of his terrified face.

“You wanted to make me mess up? You wanted me to blow my cover.” She scoffed at him as his face relaxed. “Why do you make things more difficult than they need to be?”

“Because it’s fun. I like to rile you up.”

She grunted frustratedly and pressed harder into his neck. The smile on Jake’s face only grew. He brought his hands up to cup her wrist, his breath labored from the pressure.

“Well then,” Layla’s face darkened with decision. “You’ll get what you want from me.”

She loosened her grip and Jake wasted no time in flipping them over, smashing his lips into hers. Layla relaxed into the kiss, letting him part her mouth with his tongue and straddle her hips as he ground against her. She let out a soft moan.

“Are you riled up, baby?” He murmured against her skin. “Decide against the wine and dine after all? I’ll make it worth your while. Be a good girl.”

“Oh,” she touted, “I will.”

Layla was already soaking her panties and Jake was more than half-hard himself. He continued to roll his hips against her, sucking and nipping at her neck delicately. Jake didn’t even notice her beginning to unbutton his shirt, her fingers trailing the fabric so lightly he couldn’t feel it at all.

“You want me to be a good girl for you, papi?” He hummed a low growl into her skin, right against the base of her throat. Layla started to trace his chest with the pads of her fingers, working up goosebumps in the wake of her manicured hand. “I’ll be good for you.”

She pushed Jake over so that she had all the leverage, now. He didn’t seem to mind it so much, groaning and throwing his head back as she pushed his shirt off of his shoulders. Layla’s hand trailed down past his waist, settling on the button of Jake’s pants. His chest shuddered as she snapped it open, snaking her hand underneath the hand of his briefs.

“Dios mío,” he breathed. She chuckled into his skin, the hot air making the hairs on his neck stand up. Layla tilted his head back with her off hand, using the other to wrap around the base of his dick. As she forced his jaw upward, baring his throat to her, Jake choked a whimper that made her giggle once again.

“Is this what you wanted?”

Layla batted her lashes, trailing her index finger down the center of Jake’s neck before wrapping her hand widely around his exposed throat. His eyes rolled back in his head as she started to apply pressure. Her other hand pumped his cock until she felt precum leaking onto her knuckles. Once she did, she tutted and withdrew her hand from his pants. He whined.

“What’s that? I can’t hear you, papi. What do you need your good girl to do? Do you want me to…press harder?” Jake nodded furiously, deliriously. She loved to break his facade this way. His cheeky, confident grin that begged her to fear him, to revere him. She likes to watch it crumble beneath her touch. Layla squeezed him tighter, just a little, and he whimpered again blissfully.

She used her free hand to pull off her leggings, careful to keep Jake’s head angled just right to watch her do it. His pupils were blown so wide, the thin layer of brown in his iris was barely there at all. He was covered in a thin layer of sweat, and his cock was aching. His whole body was aching for her.

Layla was aching for him, too.

Pulling her panties to the side and stilling her knees, she began to slowly sink down on him. The stretch made both of them forget how to breathe for a moment. Jake sputtered and coughed out a groan as Layla threw her head back. Her curls cascaded onto her shoulders, bouncing and shining and enamoring him as she started rocking herself up and down on his cock. Jake desperately wanted to keep his eyes open, but they snapped shut as she clamped down onto his throat once again.

The pressure was too good, too much, and Jake couldn’t help himself but buck into her with all his strength. She giggled and tisked and pressed her hand into his belly, forcing him down.

“Don’t tire yourself, papi. Let me be good for you. I’m being so good for you.”

Jake couldn’t last long with her voice in his ears. He wrapped his hand around her wrist, desperate to be closer to her, but not wanting the pressure to stop. Jake tried to run his hand along her still-clothed chest, to tug at her hair and feel her warmth. She grabbed his hand from where it sat atop her breast, kissing his knuckles and squeezing.

That’s what put him over the edge.

He gasped and he stilled and he spilled his load deep inside of her, his climax ripping through him hard enough to steal the strength from his limbs. Layla continued to roll her hips, cumming seconds later. Warmth crept over her body and electricity shot through her core. She all but collapsed on top of him, her hand still resting at the base of his throat.

They laid in the alleyway for a minute or two, just panting for breath. Jake wrapped his arms around her, holding Layla tight to his chest and breathing in the scent of her shampoo as he tried desperately to regain control of himself. Layla lifted her head a brandished a wide, cheeky, devilish smile.

“What?” He asked.

“You still owe me dinner.”

@theaussiedragon @ahookedheroespureheart @rmoonstoner @moonmoonboys

#masterlist #kinktober #moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #layla el faouly #Jakelayla #jake lockley x layla el faouly #jake x layla

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tainted-wine · 4 years ago

Text

Subject: RAPTOR

Nomu!Hawks x Reader (NSFW)

This GIANT is the lovechild of this amazing fanart and this ask:

I twisted the shizznit out of that ask, but the inspiration is still there. A thank you to anyone who makes it through this very long ride.

This fic does takes some liberties in the creation of nomu. Some factors will deviate from canon.

Words: 20k+

You can also read this long-ass story on AO3 if that’s more comfortable.

Heed these warnings: Blood and Death, Teratophilia/Monster-Fucking, Breeding, Mutant Genitalia, Unethical Experimentation, Mutilation, lots of handjobs and cum, LOTS of long tongue action and I’m ashamed, Brief Suicide Ideation, and Shitty Science

——–x——–

Fertile nomu were the greatest breakthrough that the villains could ever hope for. Breeding saves so much time and resources, as opposed to artificially creating each specimen from scratch. There were two major “programs”, as these sick bastards insist on calling them.

The Mating Program, where the nomu were paired together, one with male sexual organs and the other with those of a female, though there was also the occasional subject that managed to possess both. It was an unpredictable process; miscarriages were common, sometimes the offspring dies minutes after birth, or the fetus develops too rapidly inside the womb and the birth becomes a violent bursting out of the parent’s body. Weaker nomu, usually the ones incapable of rapid regeneration, have been killed from such incidents. “What a waste,” those bastards in lab coats would say.

And then there was the Milking Program, in which semen was collected to later be frozen or artificially inserted into ‘other creatures’. Yeah, they say it as if ninety percent of those creatures weren’t humans.

You were an unwilling member of the latter program, but the assholes sure did love making it sound like they were doing you a favor.

“This entire precinct is yours,” they said. “Your very own farm of all-powerful beasts!”

Gee, thanks. Just what you always wanted, to jerk off abominations and collect their cum. To be fair, it could be worse. At least you weren’t one of the unlucky ones being impregnated. Your possession of a quirk, albeit a mostly useless one, probably saved you from that fate. Those without a quirk had a higher chance of passing down all of the Nomu’s abilities. Just another addition to the long list of Why Being Quirkless Fucking Sucks.

The weaker and simpler nomu aren’t an issue. A sort of imprinting drives them to obey your every command. Hell, jerking them off isn’t even needed — you can literally just order them to ejaculate, and the damn things are spewing out their putrid seed before you can even prepare your containers.

The most troublesome part of your “job” was the High Ends. They are powerful, sentient, and God help you, have an actual sex drive. They were obedient to an extent, but you can’t hold complete control over something that was specifically designed for independent thinking. You were responsible for only five of these advanced nomu, and that was too many. The touchy bastards always wanted more than just a handjob, vocalizing their lust through distorted throats. The long, beastly groans of “inside” and “give pussy” echoed in your head throughout the day and into the night.

These things can literally pound you into mush, and the very thought of carrying their horrifying children makes your throat burn with rising bile. You don’t believe it’s worth risking your life just to please their monster dicks.

That was all before they introduced you to a new ‘pet’. You stood in the hallway of your assigned area of the old hospital and watched two approaching figures. Ugh, another damn High End to make things more difficult, but this one made your heart skip a beat.

Most of the creature’s body was a solid black, just like the rest within its tier. It was more slender than the others, upper body leaning forward with the support of long legs with joints that reminded you of a bird. Both its hands and feet were covered in scales and ended in large talons. A grand pair of ebony wings were folded behind its back, and a muscular feathered tail swayed with its movements. Overall, its appearance was a mixture of avian and reptilian.

The feathery wings were a huge hint, but absolute certainty struck you when you made eye contact, gold-filled eyes with a bird-like slant on a face that still managed to stay youthful after so many alterations to its body. You listened in on the villains’ conversations whenever they were around. With no access to any kind of media in this place, it was the only way to stay up-to-date with everything happening outside of these cursed labs. You remember hearing about their latest victory, how they managed to overpower and kill the number two hero of Japan, dreadful news that you refused to believe. But the beast that was eyeing you curiously gave you no choice but to accept the truth.

Hawks has become their newest nomu.

The doctor accompanying him smiled proudly, commanding the monster to take your side. You gulped and tried not to flinch in his presence; you were always extra tense around new additions that didn’t know you yet. “Hawks is dead,” the doctor said calmly. “Say hello to our latest work: Raptor.”

You think you’d rather stick with ‘Hawks’. The doctor doesn’t wait for a response before continuing. “We expect samples from this one daily.”

The shocking demand has you speaking before you can stop yourself. “Why?”

The man’s impassive eyes darkened and you shrink back, considering an apology but deciding that it was best to just keep your mouth shut. Prisoners like you followed a set of rules, the most important one being ‘No Questions’. They’ll feed you to the very beasts entrusted in your care without batting an eye.

Lucky for you, this man was willing to give you a pass. “Analysis, fertilization, storage for future plans…many matters that don’t concern you. Expect me every morning to take it in for testing. Until then, get it settled and collect the first sample.”

You shuddered, sneaking a glance at Hawks, who was busy looking up at the occasional flicker of the ceiling light. It was careless to underestimate how observant the High Ends were, but this is the first time you’ve seen one so openly curious. Normally they would just absently stare at nothing when left idle.

Only when the doctor turned to leave did you finally give the newcomer your full attention. “Hawks?”

He continued to watch the blinking bulbs with great interest.

“Um…Raptor?”

You nearly jumped from how quickly his entire body turned toward you, completely still and waiting for whatever instructions came next.

You scratched at your head nervously. “Right, I guess that really is your name now. Well, come with me.”

He followed you down the old hall and past the rooms where others of his kind rested, talons tapping against the tiles with each step.

x---x---x---x---x

Raptor’s exposed frontal lobe throbs.

He doesn’t remember anything before his awakening in that cold and wet chamber. Was there anything before? Had he just been born?

Perhaps…but it just didn’t feel right.

x---x---x---x---x

Like all the other nomu, Hawks’s private space was nothing more than an emptied patient room. Their loyalty was the only thing keeping them from breaking down the old doors or tearing through the worn walls. Every minute spent alone with these superhumans was a gamble with your life.

But again, the newcomers make you extra nervous.

You stood at the door while Hawks examined his new home. He sniffed and pawed at every nook and cranny like an animal in unfamiliar surroundings, straightening his flexible spine to touch the ceiling before lowering himself on all fours. He seemed just as comfortable crawling as he was with walking; you can only imagine how incredible his agility has become. The beloved wing hero was best known for his swiftness in defeating and subduing villains, and it looks like the mad scientists sought to maximize his talents. The average nomu was built to be an indestructible powerhouse. Hawks was built to be an even more efficient predator than he already was.

As much as you didn’t want to interrupt him, you had a job to do. “Raptor…”

His head whipped around to pin you with a sharp stare, molten yellow slits revealing the red irises that only appear when focused. You tensed, but he made no further movements.

You cleared your throat and took a deep breath. Nomu respond best to a confident and assertive voice. “Just relax and stay still. It’s time for me to collect some sperm, if you even know what that means.” You grab the jar that you had already prepared in the corner.

He shook his wings and soft mane of hair, leaving his head a poofy mess. Well that was…cute. You approached him before setting the container back down and reaching for the pathetic rags they called shorts. It’s beyond ridiculous how these sadistic doctors are willing to completely violate and alter a person’s corpse, yet they force the abominations to keep their junk covered as some form of decency.

A low rumble vibrated from his chest as you dropped to your knees and pulled down his only article of clothing, allowing the not quite human-looking cock to spring free — a thick base with a curved shaft decorated with scale-like ridges on the top and bottom, then tapering to an arrow-like head, twitching and growing each second. You’ve seen stranger dicks, but it still catches you by surprise. Was Hawks’s dick always like this?

Is that a distasteful question? He is technically dead.

The moment your hand made contact, a loud hiss rushed past his teeth and he stepped back, wings flapping as he backed away until he hit the wall.

“Calm down.” His reaction startled you, but your voice remained steady. He wasn’t showing any signs of aggression, his widened eyes and timid posture gave the impression that he was just caught off-guard. “Calm,” you repeated more softly.

A few seconds pass while his breaths slow and he stands straight again to give you access to his fully hardened cock.

You try to move more slowly, at first running just your fingertips along his length to ease him into the feeling. You smiled at the sight of his face relaxing; he was surprisingly expressive. “See? It’s not so bad, is it?”

His mouth opened to give you a glimpse of sharp teeth that could easily shred your flesh, but the only sounds that come out are several choked peeps. He winces and brings a clawed hand to his throat.

“Can’t talk yet, huh? Don’t worry, it usually takes a few days for you guys.” You closed your fingers around his shaft in a firm grip and began to stroke him.

The soft purrs must mean that he has fully given in. He thankfully hasn’t made any grabs at you yet; only staring down and watching you explore every inch of his pitch-black meat, taking his leaking pre-cum and smearing it all over for lubrication.

His wings shiver and his tail begins to swing wildly—you flinch at each loud thud whenever the powerful limb whacks the wall or slams into the floor. You briefly wonder if the feathers on his tail are capable of becoming sharp blades like the ones on his wings.

The purrs become low growls as he begins to bend over your kneeling form, muscular thighs quivering around you. His cock was twitching under your quickening pace, notifying you that it was time to grab the jar and get ready. “No need to hold back. Go ahead and cum.”

He obeyed with a high screech and two sets of talons seized your shoulders, tearing through cloth and digging into your skin. You yelped, but didn’t halt your milking of his cock, ensuring each spurt of cum landed inside the container. Blood can be felt trickling down your arms, his grip on the verge of crushing bone until he finally lets go after his final spasm. You release the breath you didn’t even know you were holding as you sealed the jar and stood up. “Good, now rest,” you said through clenched teeth and turned to leave.

A distorted chirp is heard behind you; you twisted your head to see Hawks rushing forward, and your heart jumps into your throat. Fuck, what did you do? Did turning your back excite him? Running wasn’t a smart option at this point. You held the fresh warm sample close to you as you shut your eyes and braced for whatever the nomu had planned.

But when he was close enough for you to feel his hot breath against your back, nothing happened. Then there were fingers, the same fingers that pierced your flesh with their hooked claws, lightly tracing over the bleeding wounds. It was a touch that was way too gentle for a monster created to kill.

You heard the choked sounds again, and you take a look at his face as he strains to form a word, eventually giving up and mouthing it instead. What you read from his lips was something that hasn’t been said to you during your entire time in this hellish hospital.

‘Sorry.’

He retreats to a corner and curls up his entire body like an animal sleeping in the cold.

You felt like the one unable to speak now, mouth opening and closing in search of a response. Eventually you were able to collect yourself. “It’s alright…I guess. Not the first time one of you has handled me roughly. First time one of you showed any regret, though…it’s honestly really freaking me out.” You giggle uncomfortably and decide that you need to hurry up and treat yourself before the scratches get infected. “Rest,” you make sure to command before rushing out of the door.

The restroom held a shabby but functional shower that will rid you of the blood, and the workers were at least generous enough to give you the bare minimum of first-aid along with extra gowns. A couple excruciating dabs of alcohol on the open wounds should clean them up just fine.

You’ll have to think about Hawks’s odd behavior later. You still had other nomu to tend to.

x---x---x---x---x

Subject: Raptor

Field Test

Quirk #1: Fierce Wings

Notes: As the host’s original quirk, we don’t expect Raptor to experience any difficulties with Fierce Wings. It should serve more as a refresher for his memory. With a brain more advanced than any other nomu so far, he should still be quick in attacking and reacting. His slightly enlarged wings will allow for greater endurance during flight, and of course, a bigger arsenal of feathers. The feathers on his tail are also to be tested.

The room that Raptor stood in the center of was filled with targets everywhere—some static, some moving in fixed patterns. The humans in coats were a safe distance away and watching him closely.

“Raptor, strike the targets with your feathers.”

He didn’t even have a chance to see which one gave the order before his body was already reacting. It took only seconds for him to pin the locations and time the movements of each target. In a flash, black sharpened feathers darted in multiple directions and pierced every mark in the room.

He didn’t care about impressing the Coats, but he still released a pleased hum after hearing his entire audience gasp. The whole situation felt familiar for some reason. Completing such a test felt so natural to him, he could probably do it blindfolded.

“Again, but this time use only the feathers from your tail.”

He obeyed. With his body lowered and tail raised, it only took two seconds longer to hit each mark.

Several more tests took place. He chopped objects of different materials and varying thickness, sliced apart a combat robot while using only his tail as a blade, and showed off his speed and aerial maneuvers during a small obstacle course.

His brain pulsed painfully. He doesn’t understand why taking so many commands was such a painful struggle.

He didn’t mind the tests much. At least he can actually do something in these test fields, as opposed to sitting in his empty room all day. After the very pleasant time spent with you, it was nothing but hours of pacing, scratching, and grooming out of boredom.

You mentioned there being others like him in those rooms. How do they handle having absolutely nothing to do for so long?

“Its mind tends to wander, doesn’t it?”

He turns to the source of the voice and finds a pair of Coats that stared at him like they were trying to probe his mind with just their eyes. The rest were scrambling about, discussing the excellence of his performance and scribbling notes.

But these two only seemed interested in watching him get lost in his thoughts. He stared back, waiting to see if they had any commands to give.

One of them only smirked as the loyal creature stood at full attention. “Yes, not very hostile, either. Not only is he capable of higher levels of thinking, he is the first High End that doesn’t host the body of some brutish villain. A more complex mind often comes with very human...quirks.”

Raptor blinks. They really enjoyed saying that particular word.

x---x---x---x---x

When you stepped into Hawks’s room for the second morning, you were ready to step right back out when you saw the state of it.

Claw marks everywhere, covering the walls and floor like webs embedded in the surface. Hawks was looking at you closely while stooped low to the floor, but his body appeared relaxed and not ready to lunge.

Not a single hair on you moved when you spoke. “Are you alright?”

He tilted his head at the question, releasing a puff of air through his nostrils before returning to whatever he was trying to do to the floor. He wasn’t violent with his movements. The talons scraped across wide curves, long lines, other patterns with seemingly no goal in mind. Looking around at the other claw marks, you realize that none of them are the angry slashes of a beast throwing a fit. They all looked to have been drawn in a calm matter, twisting and turning into random non-specific shapes.

“Raptor, are you…bored?”

He paused his carving to look at you again and releases a long and drawn-out groan, throat vibrating along with the vocals. Was that a whine?

All of the High Ends had traces of their original personality, but this was on another level. It wasn’t unwelcomed, however. “You know, when the other High Ends don’t have anything to do, they kinda just…I don’t know, it’s like they put their brains on a power-saver mode. You can’t do that?”

His brain responds with several strong pulses. Gross, you’re never going to get used to that pink-gray matter moving around. After what was apparently deep thought, Hawks gave a softer groan and shook his head.

You couldn’t help but laugh humorlessly at this entire situation. “Incredible. You’d think that these smartasses would know that making a creature of extraordinary intelligence—I bet that’s what they said—would mean that your big gross brain needs regular stimulation. Geniuses, my ass.”

Hawks gave a beastly snort. Seems like he agrees with you. You don’t mean to sound like those insane bastards, but it truly was incredible to see a High End that showed interest in casual conversation, not just commands or any opportunity to cause destruction.

Feeling confident that he won’t maul you out of boredom, you finally approach and kneel in front of him. “Sorry, there’s not much I can do about that,” you said with genuine sympathy. “Not like I have any entertainment of my own. My room sucks too. But—“ You held up your fresh new jar. “Maybe we can kill some time together again? God, that makes me sound like a sex worker for you guys.”

You don’t know if he has a sense of humor, but he clearly understands your hints and perks up. He stands so that your face is leveled with his groin, black scaly hands tugging at his shorts until a loud rip causes him to grunt in frustration. You giggle and decide to help tear the rest off. “They were just shitty rags, anyway,” you said.

He was already growing right in front of you. Your hand wraps around him for a second time, thankful that it doesn’t startle him again. He tenses for only a moment, but quickly relaxes when your stroking begins, a large pair of testes swinging freely now that there was no cloth to contain them.

“Wow,” you couldn’t help but gasp. “You’re not even built as big as the other nomu, but those are still impressive. I guess you’ve got plenty of samples to give, huh? Good, ‘cause I’ve gotta do this every damn day.”

You received a purr and a swish of his tail in response. It was a one-sided conversation, but it was still pretty refreshing. Milking the other High Ends was an uncomfortable task, one where you always had to be prepared with a loud and strong “No” or “Stop” whenever their excitement evolved into aggression. Every minute was tense, and despite your occasional wish for release from this shitty life, you didn’t want a violent end at the hands of these sex-hungry monstrosities.

His reactions weren’t too different from yesterday; he was being more vocal and less shy about physically expressing his pleasure. The massive black wings blew your hair back with each powerful beat, and his tail was thrashing about even more wildly.

His deep purrs weren’t unpleasant, slowly changing into higher mewls as he got closer. “Come on, just do what you did last time.”

And so he did, delivering another fresh sample straight into your container with a warped cry. His hands lingered right over you, clenched in tight fists that surely had those sharp talons digging into his rough palms. You couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if he was trying not to grab you this time. Would he really care about that without being told?

Hot, tired breaths blew into your hair as he recovered from his climax. Then, with his head reared back, he let out a yawn. You even heard a faint little whine similar to a dog escape him. It would have been pretty endearing if it weren’t for just how widely his mouth was opened, displaying the scary set of teeth within. Does he really use those in combat?

With his still-dripping member going flaccid, he returned to the spot he was scratching at, lazily tracing the markings that were already made. The thought of him doing this for another ten hours or so made you frown. They probably wouldn’t care if you stayed in this room a little longer than usual, would they?

Shrugging, you kneeled down again, this time resting beside him. Hawks stopped and looked at you curiously.

“Sharpen one of your feathers and give it to me,” you ordered.

Almost immediately a feather appears right in front of you. You grab it, taking care not to cut your fingers on the razor-like barbs. When’s the last time you’ve held a writing utensil? Shifting awkwardly next to the large nomu, you took the quill and began scratching lines into the floor. The hot heavy breaths and overall warmth from his close presence was hard to ignore. You’ve never been this close to a nomu for any reason that wasn’t jerking them off. He remained calm, watching your hand closely until you finished drawing a small grid.

“You know how to play tic tac toe?”

He blinked.

“…Okay, it’s pretty simple. You fill a space with either an ‘O’ or an ‘X’…”

Somehow, teaching a killer monster how to play a common children’s game was weirder than making him jizz. He caught on quickly, favoring X’s. You were winning each game at first, but once he figured out all of the possible patterns, every game was ending in a draw. You drew larger grids, sometimes having both of you move to a different spot for more room. Most matches were still draws, but he will sometimes catch you by surprise and scratch a row of three X’s that you didn’t notice in time, his tail swishing out of what may have been pride or enjoyment.

After a while you decided to show him other shapes. Maybe he can experiment with them more when you were gone. Who knows, soon he might be drawing more than random lines. He wasn’t bad company, to be honest. Then again, your standards have taken a nosedive ever since you winded up in this facility of unethical science. It was nice to spend time with anything that didn’t want to just tear you in half with a massive cock.

Only when you felt like you overstayed your welcome and stood back up did you realize how much of a mess you both made of the floor and walls.

“Oops, it looks like a bunch of kids got in here,” you said while looking at the collage of shapes and lines. Hopefully the doctors won’t find this too strange; he was pretty intelligent, after all. “Well, it’s about time I take my leave. You keep practicing your doodling skills, I guess.” With the jar of white fluid back in your arms, you headed on out, but a large hand grabs onto your arm.

Hawks’s yellow eyes were wider than usual, a scraping, guttural noise leaving his throat as he toyed with his voice.

“Sss…..aaayy…” Just like the other High Ends, his vocals were warped and all-around unsettling, but you could hear it, traces of the playful and smooth-talking hero that you used to watch during interviews and talk shows. It was barely there, but it was still there.

“St…aay.”

You couldn’t help the sad smile that graced your face. He was looking at you like a puppy. “Sorry, but I don’t know what they’d do if they notice me staying here for too long,” you explained.

He winced from the strain of his vocal chords. “Come…back?”

You shook your head. “There are cameras in the halls. I shouldn’t be going in and out of your room.” You tensed under his grip, afraid that refusing him like this will anger him. He has been very docile so far, but you don’t know what it takes to set him off.

Thankfully, he lets go of you and backs away with another one of those whines. For God’s sake, were you really feeling bad about leaving one of these...things?

To be fair, in the two days you’ve known him, Hawks was already much different from the others. Hell, he hasn’t even shown any true signs of aggression yet. The other High Ends are always expressing some desire to attack or break something. You thought it came naturally with all of the engineering. For something that was apparently supposed to be their finest specimen yet, Hawks’s behavior wasn’t fitting for his job at all. You just played tic tac fucking toe with him like two kids on a sidewalk.

That’s probably why you found yourself trying to reassure him. “We can play some more tomorrow. Don’t worry.”

An odd clicking noise was made—he sure had a variety of sounds reminiscent of birds—and he returned to his favorite corner, hooking his talons into an empty spot on the wall to begin yet another drawing.

The slightest hint of warmth could be felt in your chest as you left him to his creative tasks. This place sucks and has deprived you of everything good in life for…you’ve lost track of how long. You’ll take whatever you can get to make things more bearable around here.

And if that ‘whatever’ turns out to be a former top hero who was killed and resurrected into a horrid experiment, then so be it.

x---x---x---x---x

Subject: Raptor

Field Test

Quirk #2: Reptile

Notes: The Reptile quirk will make for a great upgrade to Raptor’s physical capabilities. He may possess wings, but the ability to climb almost any surface will be helpful in enclosed areas and improve his overall performances in stealth. A flexible spine allows him to comfortably be both bipedal and quadrupedal, the digitigrade legs granting him greater speed and jumps.

Also, someone needs to send in a request for a new pair of shorts for the damned thing.

There were many more instructions to follow this time. The Coats were bombarding him with one command after another.

“Climb up here.”

“Slash this with your talons.”

“Crush this with your hands. Try again with your feet.”

His head throbbed painfully as the voices took hold of his movements. They pushed his endurance to the limit when they made him run on a machine, first on his legs, then again on all fours. He was only running in place, but it was much more satisfying than pacing back and forth in that boring room.

It turns out that he can scale walls and ceilings with little effort thanks to the pads on his hands and feet. Maybe he can try drawing on the ceiling when he returns to his room. The only downside was that you wouldn’t be able to sit up there with him.

The Coats observed behind the (assumed) safety of a wall of thick glass. Each one possessed a small microphone so that their voice can still be heard clearly through the speaker on his side of the room.

They always watched him with cold and calculating eyes, and only spoke to him when telling him to do something. You feared him; his feathers easily sensed your tension, unsteady breaths, and quickening heartbeats, yet you still took the time to be friendly. And what you do with those hands…he wishes you’d make him feel that good all day. Yes, his room was small and boring, but it did have you.

“Raptor, to the opposite end of the room,” a Coat ordered. The sensation of being pulled by his entire head forced him to take his place at the wall, staring straight ahead at the door.

His wings twitched from a powerful approaching presence, feathers instinctively sharpening at the possible incoming threat. The door was opened by a small Coat to make way for a beast, a beast with a large powerful form and exposed brain just like him.

Vacant eyes stared straight ahead, looking right through him like it was dead on its feet.

“This is one of Cloner’s spawn, yes?” A female Coat spoke with her mouth close to the mic. He supposes that they don’t care if he hears them.

“Yes. His offspring always turn out even more unstable than him. This one can’t even produce a single proper clone, and no additional quirks were inherited. It’s useless.”

“Well, at least it’ll help us in its final moments.” The man leaned into his mic. “Raptor, kill the nomu. Do not use your wings.”

The woman followed up with her own order. “Nomu, kill Raptor.”

Blood was suddenly rushing through his body twice as fast, the reds of his eyes appearing and locking onto the target that was already charging at him with a horrifying wail.

Kill it.

He ducked under the bigger creature’s closing arms that would have likely trapped him into a crushing hug, causing his opponent to lose balance and fall forward. His hand shot up and dug his talons into thick flesh, slicing it from its chest all the way down to its stomach as he ran beneath. Rising from under the nomu’s legs, he turned to see his gruesome work.

Instead, he sees the blur of a fist right before it smashes into his face and sends him flying. His back colliding hard with the wall accompanied the shattering of his jaw. There was no time to wait for his vision to clear up, scrambling out of the path of the charging silhouette before it slams into the now-empty spot, the impact shaking the entire room.

The pain only intensified when his face and spine began to shift, mending itself back together while he tried his hardest to keep his eye on the much more violent beast. A ghoulish moan was heard as it straightened itself, and Raptor could see the large gash that should have easily disemboweled it already closing up.

Ah, so they can both heal.

It was already charging straight at him again. The thing was fast and powerful, but it was acting like it had a one-track mind, sticking to a simple strategy of running towards him and dealing whatever damage it could.

His wings twitched, but there was a barrier in his mind preventing them from moving. Damned Coats.

The fight became a game of evasion, darting and dashing around the bigger and stronger nomu’s swings and countering with deep slashes. Wearing it down was impossible with such rapid healing, every cut he brought upon its skin was quickly sewn shut.

His only chance was to attack its brain, but the nomu had enough sense to protect its one true vulnerable spot, nearly crushing Raptor’s arm into paste after an attempt to sink his talons into the soft matter.

So he kept dodging, and dodging, until something inside the creature just...snapped. Perhaps it was out of frustration in failing to land any hits, but its haunting moans and wails soon became full on screams. Tightly clenched fists pounded into the floor, the stone floor crumbling under the sudden tantrum. Raptor stood and watched, wings tensing from the burst of tortured emotions.

“Hm, you weren’t exaggerating about the meltdowns,” he heard one of the Coats say, her voice as dull as ever.

“What an embarrassment. Damn thing can’t even carry out a simple fight.”

Raptor looked behind the glass of spectators and saw faces of disappointment.

“A complete waste.”

“Cloner’s children are all wasted potential.”

“What a sad display.”

“Pathetic.”

He looked back at the creature that was now writhing and flailing, its skin oozing a blob that throbbed and squirmed, like it was trying its hardest to take a shape.

But the bubbly pulses stop and the dripping mass melts into a lifeless puddle. The nomu continues to scream after its failed attempt at using its quirk. Raptor’s gut twists with pity.

A sad display, indeed.

“Raptor! Did you forget your orders? Kill him!”

The sharp command smothers all feelings of sympathy, and before Raptor knew it, he was running toward the tormented creature, each feather on his tail sharpening with every step. Ducking under a blind swipe, the black spear thrusted forward and pierced its brain with a sickening shlunk.

The thrashing was reduced to short spasms as the nomu choked out its final groans, its terrified eyes glazing over when the last traces of life faded.

The tail was yanked out and shook off the blood and spongy brain matter to splatter on the ground. Raptor gave a soft whine of distress.

“Well, that was all rather underwhelming.”

“Yep, that didn’t exactly challenge Raptor at all.”

“I’m concerned about his lack of aggression. Did you all see him hesitate?”

“Most likely just confusion and caution after witnessing such a sudden breakdown.”

So many voices, so many comments; Raptor paid no attention to them. His mind was on the corpse that continued to bleed heavily from the large gash in its head. Raptor was the stronger nomu. He won.

Was he supposed to feel proud? Victorious?

“He’s a very smart one. Did you see the markings in his room? He and his harvester have been...bonding.” That voice...Raptor recognized it as the Coat that showed up every morning to retrieve him from his room to enter these test rooms. “I can’t decide if I like the idea of a friendly nomu.”

The woman dismissed his worries. “As long as he knows to kill when he’s told, his behavior shouldn’t matter. But it might benefit us to test his relationship with his owner after we’ve finished observing his quirks.”

His throat vibrates as a low growl passes through.

Raptor doesn’t like it here.

x---x---x---x---x

Maybe it’s just because Friday (you’re pretty sure it’s Friday on your self-made calendar) tends to be your busiest day of the week, or that your wrist is beginning to wear down from the many giant dicks you’ve been stroking. Or maybe it’s just one of those days when you remember just how shitty this life was. Whatever it was, you weren’t in one of your best moods today.

That’s why you felt just the smallest hint of excitement when you reached Hawks’s door. Yes, it’s weird, but he was the closest thing you had to a companion around here, alright?

The last thing you expected was to open the door to an empty room, at least it appeared that way until you saw the black creature resting on the ceiling.

“Aah!” You yelp and drop the jar out of fright, causing Hawks to jump from the sudden noise. You curse and quickly pick up the container and scan it for any cracks while he gracefully twists his body to drop on the floor with a thud. He was as graceful as a cat...a cat that can comfortably sit upside down.

Relieved to see the jar in one piece, you turned your attention back to the waiting High End. “I didn’t know you could climb like that.”

His wings fluttered at the comment and he raised his palms right in front of your face. Ah yes, a hand. Very lovely. But looking more closely, you could see a difference in texture on the rounded pads of his fingertips. “Ooh, little sticky hairs, huh?”

He gave a click of what you assumed to be approval, tail swinging behind him.

“So I guess you’re not just born knowing everything your body can do. Sounds troublesome.” There’s something you wanted to do, something you wouldn’t ever consider doing with the other nomu even in your dreams. “May I, uh, touch them?” You held up your own hands innocently.

Hawks cocked his head, a gesture that you’re always going to find kinda cute, before grunting and bringing his larger hands to yours. All ten of your fingers made contact, and the slightest shiver shot down your spine.

It’s the first time you’ve ever touched one of these monsters outside of jerking them to collect semen. Your curiosity was always there, but the disgust and fear you often felt when in their presence fueled the overpowering desire to hurry up, get the damn job done, and get away from them as quickly as possible.

You never imagined that you’d be standing face to face with a High End, feeling the surprisingly soft pads on his scaly hands, his breaths deep and hot against your face as those red irises watched your expressions. He was still very intimidating with his tall form, glowing glare, and the large imposing pair of wings. But those eyes—they contained too much intelligence and emotion in them.

Too human. It was as uncanny as it was fascinating.

Only when his eyes close and he begins to croon softly do you realize that one of your hands have moved up to touch his face. The black skin feels extra thick when you gently press his cheek, strong and leathery. He leans in and brings his head closer to give you better access, and you can’t help but reward the reaction with scratches against his jaw and chin.

“You know, you’ve been doing a shitty job of acting like the ultimate killer,” you said when he purrs happily.

The purr morphs into a disgruntled whine. “Don’t...like.”

Your hand pauses, hoping for him to elaborate as well as he could. “Don’t like…?” You encouraged him.

He was still struggling to work his vocal chords, but at least he seemed to be showing less pain. “Don’t like...k-killiiing.”

What?

“Raptor, that’s...you know...the very thing you were made for, and you don’t like doing it?” Not that you’re complaining about his gentle nature, but hearing a damn nomu say that he dislikes killing might be the most ludicrous thing you’ve heard here, even more so than the first time you were told to make an abomination cum.

His entire body stiffens, and you couldn’t help but tense up as well. “Maaade-” He makes a harsh hacking sound. “-to kill?”

Shit. You panic and attempt to backpedal. “Not to actually kill. You’re supposed to be, you know, the strongest creature that’s capable of killing whenever he wants...if you, uh, wanted to.” Yeah, that sounds good enough.

It appears to do the trick, his body relaxing again. “Don’t like,” he repeated more smoothly this time.

“I know, I know. Killing sucks. Just don’t tell the assholes in labcoats that, alright? Now calm down.” You return to your ministrations, this time using both hands to rub and scratch his face. His eyes drift shut again as your hands trail down to his slightly elongated neck, brushing past his steady pulse.

Reaching his collar and then his chest, you discover that he’s solid muscle everywhere. He may not be on the verge of bursting out of his own skin like the others, but he could no doubt snap you like a twig just as easily. You feel his chest heave from a deep breath, the strength emanating from his body making you shiver. You shush him when he jolts as your hands reach his pronounced abs, pushing against the hard muscle until you finally arrive at his groin.

You snorted at the new pair of shorts. “Another pair, huh? At least these look a little less ragged.”

You pulled his large member out for the third time. Why did you have to do this daily? What could they possibly be doing with so many jars of jizz? Making cakes?

Sighing, you brushed off the soreness of your arm and wrist and began to pump his ridged length. “Just do me a favor and try to cum quickly, alright?”

He made a rather sad groan at that, curling into himself so that his face was close to yours. His sharp breaths were loud in your ears.

You couldn’t help but smile even through the strain of your muscles. “What, you wanna make this last? Do you know how many dicks I’ve had to tend to today? Cut me some slack, we’re gonna be doing this everyday, anyway.”

Hawks purrs before that monstrous voice shakes your body, his hot breath warming the side of your face and neck. “Feel gooood.”

The primal lust dripping from him triggers a pulse of warmth inside you. You...can’t remember the last time you’ve felt that, and it’s just a tad strange that a nomu caused it. Were you really that starved for attention? “I-” You cleared your throat after an awkward voice crack. “I know, handjobs tend to feel good. But please be a good boy and help me out here.”

He gives a puff that blows your hair back, but he complies. The big sweaty face that buries itself in your neck is so distracting that you almost forget to get your jar ready and fill it with the incoming spurts of semen. There, the final sample of the day has been collected. Now, if you could just push the panting fiend off of you before he starts drooling on your shoulder.

Something warm and slimy touches your neck. It has you pulling back so quickly that you almost fall and spill the vile essence all over you before the jar could be properly sealed.

Hawks shrinks back and quickly withdraws the indigo tongue into his mouth, looking down in what appears to be shame. You touch the licked spot, the thick saliva coating your fingers.

“Sss-sorrry.” Regret can be heard clearly in his droning voice.

“No, it’s...it’s okay,” you stammer. The sensation lingers, and then ignites a spark somewhere inside you.

A sick, disgusting, and absolutely fucked up spark. The next thing you say should horrify you, but instead you feel nothing but a twisted form of anticipation. “You can...um...do that again, if you want.”

His tail slapped the floor in excitement before he slowly closed the distance again, cautiously looking into your eyes before his tongue slithers out and caresses the same wet space.

The smooth muscle is hot against you, extending to inhuman lengths to explore your neck. The slick sounds as it slid across your skin should have grossed you out—all of this should be grossing you out, so you don’t understand why you tilt your head back to give him more room. He licks up and down your throat slowly to savor your taste, breathing heavily and releasing a stale stench from his open maw. You imagined the breath of a previously dead man to smell a hundred times worse, frankly.

With your neck completely drenched in his cooling slobber, he ventures upward, purring louder than ever as he tastes the flesh of your jaw. The tapered end of his tongue begins to curiously flick at your earlobe before circling around the shell of your ear. He seems to take a liking to the flabby cartilage and laps at it playfully while giving the occasional nip and suck and god, it’s all heard so fucking clearly, every schlick and smack traveling right through your canal and setting off questionable reactions all over you. Your hands are clenched and held against your chest, but you don’t tell him to stop.

‘What the hell is wrong with me?’

The licking moves to your cheek, lapping at it shortly before moving to your pursed lips.

‘This is fucked up beyond words.’

You flinch when the clammy tongue brushes over your lips, at first smoothing over them lightly, possibly testing to see how you’d react. His face is so close, your noses almost touching. To allow a nomu this close to you, touching you like this…

When you make no move of resistance, he gets braver and laps at your mouth with controlled eagerness. Your eyes close to hide from the otherworldly gaze, but your lips feel even more sensitive to the weight that continues flicking and pressing at them, covering them in hot saliva. Several times does it briefly part your lips and graze your teeth, making you swallow at the thought of…

‘Don’t do that.’

Hawks pauses when you open up for him, but gives a gleeful chirp and snakes his way into your inviting mouth.

‘I’m really letting him do this.’

Clawed hands grab your arms a little too tightly and hold you in place. It hurts, yet all you can focus on is the flexible muscle exploring your mouth. It rubbed against the roof, pushed at the inside of your cheeks, and eventually stroked and curled around your own tongue.

‘You’re sick.’

But you’ve been sick ever since you got here, haven’t you?

When his grip loosens, you take the opportunity to place your hands around his head, digging your fingers into his...hair? Plumage? Was his hair always this feather-like?

A high-pitched sound of surprise leaves him when you try to pull him in closer. He quickly complies, closing the distance until his lips and mouth are covering yours.

It completely smothers your senses. You see his black wings expand to slowly encase both of you. You hear the wet friction of his tongue and the hungry growls that roll from his throat. You smell sweat and blood, briefly wondering just what exactly was he made to do during those ‘tests’. You taste the thick and flavorless saliva that makes you gag at first, but becomes easier to swallow as you take in more. And most of all, you feel him slowly moving in and out of your wide open mouth, the thrusting motion forcing your thighs to rub together in response to the growing heat threatening to consume you.

You snap out of it before that can happen.

Hawks pulls away when he hears your choked sounds of protest, your hands suddenly on his chest and pushing. Fresh oxygen rushes back into your lungs when his tongue leaves your mouth and retreats back into his. The warmth between your legs doesn’t fade away. Everything that just happened, everything you just allowed this monster to do fully sinks in.

And you fucking enjoyed it.

You back away from him as quickly as you can, ignoring his confused groans. A wave of nausea sweeps over you like a powerful gust that churns your stomach.

“Rest. I need to go.” It was all you said before you picked up the forgotten jar and fled the room, refusing to falter from the sorrowful whines behind you.

The urge to spew the little food you’ve been fed throughout the day all over the hallway floor is strong, but you manage to hold out until you reach the toilet in your room, quickly kneeling and hurling. It wasn’t much, but it still left you teary-eyed and with a burning throat.

What did you do? Just what the hell did you do that warranted getting kidnapped, having your nice comfortable life stolen from you, and the only way to cope was by making out with a horrid creature? You jolt from a painful mix of a sob and a hiccup. It’s been weeks since your last breakdown, but this new discovery was another hard blow to your sanity and pride. You let the tears flow as you flushed away your mess, moving over to your bed and collapsing onto the thin mattress. Fuck this facility. Fuck the scum that created all of this.

And fuck the throbbing wetness between your legs that still won’t go away.

Your sobs transform into humorless laughs. You’re going to have to get rid of the throbbing yourself, aren’t you? They won’t arrive to collect all of your samples for about another thirty minutes, so that should be enough time...

You pulled down the thin blue pants and rubbed your fingers over the slick that had gathered from what had transpired in Hawks’s room. It’s true, you’ve been doing nothing but sick shit since you’ve been tossed into this new life. Why do you even still hold on to feelings like shame and disgust? What good will they do you here?

So you try to drown out the voice of your conscience as you laid back, succumbing to the wonderfully twisted thoughts of a nomu’s tongue.

x---x---x---x---x

Subject: Raptor

Examination

Quirk #3: Regeneration

Quirk#4: Heat Resistance

Notes: Our most advanced specimens deserve the best healing quirks we have to offer. Raptor is no exception. It will also make up for his lack of weight and hard muscle, not that he should ever be mistaken as frail. Most importantly, this should accelerate the regrowth of his feathers and supply him with an endless arsenal. We do not want to risk his regeneration being hindered by burns. After all, it was fire that led to the host’s death. This is why we have added a quirk that should make it almost completely fireproof.

The only people that Raptor disliked more than the Coats, were the Masks. The Coats saw him as nothing more than an attack dog that is expected to obey every command. But the humans in masks...to them, he was just a fleshy object to be dissected and analyzed.

They were poking and cutting to their heart’s content. His mind screamed to get away from the assortment of blades and needles that hovered over him, sinking into his skin in various places while he could only writhe against the cuffs of the metal table he was strapped to. He doesn’t believe it’s their intention to test every ounce of his willpower, but that sure as hell is what they’re doing right now as he tries, really tries not to use his feathers out of desperation.

“Excellent. The cuts begin healing the moment they’re made,” one of them observes. “Try deeper incisions. Maybe I should try removing one of its eyes.”

Raptor’s heartbeat was booming in his ears after hearing those words.

A younger Mask has been flinching from every one of the nomu’s movements. “Shouldn’t we sedate it or something? What if it lashes out?”

“Stop panicking. A nomu won’t hurt anyone without orders, though his responses to pain are stronger than I expected. We may have to fix that.”

Raptor wouldn’t mind that at all. He hisses and howls as he’s taken apart and mended back together in a torturous loop. His brain is throbbing so strongly one would worry that it might burst. He fights to think through all of the agony.

He thinks of your touch. He thinks of your taste. Were you repulsed by what he did that morning?

Sharp pain shot through his wings when his feathers were being forcefully yanked out, his teeth on the verge of shattering from his tightly clenched jaws.

“Perfect! Look at that, they’re already growing back in.”

They were. He could feel the fresh plumes pushing through his skin. The regeneration did well in preventing any real damage, but it didn’t make the violent tearing of his feathers any easier to bear.

The cruel assault on his wings and tail eventually ended, black fluff littering the room’s floor. He remembers when you mentioned other nomu being capable of shutting down whenever they wanted. What he wouldn’t give to just turn off like a light switch right now.

“Alright, it’s time to move on to his heat resistance. Get the torch.”

The what? Raptor searched the fragments of his knowledge; most words were familiar to him, they just took a while to be remembered from...something. He doesn’t understand how he already knows so much, even though his subconsciousness needs time to dust everything off.

One of the Masks was holding a small object that ended in a tube. With a push of a button, a small blue flame appeared.

The glowing yellow eyes that were normally slits were suddenly wider than he thought possible, every part of him hyper focused on the small fire that was getting too close to his sore wings. His mind recovered a new piece of information:

Blue flames are to be feared.

He was thrashing the second the searing pain was felt, fighting to escape, to get away from the blue death that threatened to incinerate his wings again. He has felt this before. He doesn’t want to burn again.

Panic consumed him, unaware of how much his feathers have sharpened as he beats his wings and tail against the table. He can barely hear the Masks’ frantic voices over the ear-splitting screech, a screech that he realizes is coming from his own strained throat.

“–ptor, I SAID STOP!”

“–y arm! Fuck, my arm is bleeding bad–”

“–old you he’d attack! Why is he reacting so–”

“–atives! Into his neck! Hurry!”

Needles are being jammed into his neck, the chemicals working quickly in sapping away his strength, limbs becoming too heavy to move, and his thoughts were too cloudy to even continue panicking. The scorching heat was still present in his wing, but he can still feel the presence of all of his feathers. There was no foul smell of burnt plumage.

“Aaaugh, my arm...” In the corners of his vision, Raptor saw one of the Masks hunched over and clutching a blood-soaked arm. He didn’t mean to hurt any of them.

“Shut up and go patch yourself up.” An older man motioned the rest to come closer to the calmed nomu, which they cautiously obeyed. “Do you all see it? His feathers aren’t damaged at all. Perfect.”

“But why didn’t he stop resisting after you ordered him several times? And why was his reaction to pain so strong?”

The elder grimaced behind his mask and shook his head. “Its pain tolerance is laughable. There’s no use in a nomu having such sensitivity. We’ll need to perform an operation that will dull his nerves.”

They scrambled around the table, gathering new tools and focusing the creaky hanging light on Raptor’s face. He was too doped up to even react to the harsh brightness.

“And if he ignores us like that again, we may need to alter his brain and ensure his compliance in the future.”

The nomu tried to make a sound of protest, but in his dazed state he could give no more than a pathetic whimper. He was rather thankful of the drugs for making him unable to notice just how many needles were sinking into his brain, or the blades that opened up the rest of his head, keeping the tools in place to prevent his skull from instantly healing. It still hurt, a lot. But as they tweaked his pulsing organ, injecting unknown fluids inside, the pain began to dim. Raptor would have celebrated and attempted to wag his tail in relief.

But it wasn’t the only thing that was fading. The coldness of the metal at his back was becoming distant, the chill in the air of the room was suddenly so faint that it no longer made him shiver.

He wanted it all to hurt less, but he still wanted to feel.

He has no idea how much time had passed once they finally finished and allowed his bone and flesh to close up. The old Mask stared down at him, gloves drenched in thick crimson.

“That should do it. Going by your weaker reactions, the operation was a success and you now feel less sensation. Good.”

‘No. Not good.’ It’s what he was tempted to say, but Raptor didn’t want to utter a single word to anyone besides you, and the cruel man’s recent threat of robbing him of his free will ensured that he keeps his mouth shut.

Raptor hates it here.

x---x---x---x---x

There were fresh claw marks covering the walls of Hawks’s room, and this time they were angry. The drawings and games you made together were literally slashed out, with spots of blood spread out all over the floor.

He was curled up in a corner, wings concealing most of his shaking form.

“Raptor.” Firmly addressing him is usually all it takes to gain his full attention, just like any other nomu, High End or not.

Hawks doesn’t respond at all.

That’s new...and very unnerving.

You called him again. The mass of feathers didn’t budge. You swallowed a lump in your throat. He had clearly just thrown a violent tantrum, and you don’t know if he has fully calmed down yet. Approaching him is too risky, but the damn nomu won’t even acknowledge you. So you’ll have to get through him in a more natural way.

“Raptor, is everything alright? Do you, um, need some space? I can come back a little later...maybe another thirty minutes or so.” You offered, your body slightly twisting toward the door, ready to bolt if he decided to attack. You ignored the cold hard fact that the door and your legs would do little in protecting you from him.

His tail slowly uncurls like a timid snake, wings following suit and revealing his shrunken form. He was hugging himself tightly, talons peeling the skin off of his biceps. His head hung low, but you can see the spot of red in each eye looking right at you. He looked like an angry and frightened child, and his pitiful plea didn’t help matters.

“Don’t...go.”

His vulnerable state quelled your fears, but you still took caution. “Can I come closer?”

He looks down at the floor for a moment, seemingly pondering the question, before straightening his posture and nodding.

You follow the routine you’ve been getting used to with him, setting aside the jar and taking some time to talk. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

It was supposed to compel him to instantly explain the issue, or at least attempt to with his awkward speech. You instead see him flinch and growl lowly, as if he didn’t appreciate you making demands. Just what is going on with him?

Your anxiety was probably visible since he quickly switched back to a less aggressive stance. You wince when he drags a claw through his flesh, blood leaking out for only a second before the wound instantly repairs itself. “Can’t feel.” He weeps with cracks in his unnatural voice. At least he’s dragging out his words less and sounds less like a moaning zombie.

“You can’t feel?” You repeated, edging closer and placing a hand over the healed spot. Another growl, louder this time, scares you into pulling away. But his bigger hand seizes yours and presses it hard onto the black skin. You feel the tremors that begin to wrack his body and try to stay calm in the wake of his growing distress.

His voice becomes only more broken. “Can’t feel it! Can’t feel you!”

You find yourself shushing him, holding your free hand up like you’re trying to calm a panicking animal. You cup the side of his face, but that seems to upset him even more. “You can’t feel my hand?”

He shuts his eyes and shakes his head, squeezing your hand tightly enough to cut off circulation. How freely he can emote still freaks you out a bit, face looking on the verge of shedding tears. Everything about him continues to be so surreal.

“Raptor, you’re a shitty nomu,” you told him with a small smile. “Not that I mind.”

And there goes that cute head tilt. The thought of him being released in a city to wreak havoc, just like the one that attacked Endeavor and...him, feels less possible after every meeting.

He was still powerful and potentially dangerous, if the state of the walls were anything to go by. You really shouldn’t be pushing your luck or his temper. On the other hand, you did decide yesterday that from now on, you are going to embrace the depraved dumbass within you. Hawks stiffens and starts to slowly pull back, but your hand makes its way to the back of his head. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” you soothed him. “I just want to see if you can feel any of this.”

With no more hesitation, you pressed your lips to his, feeling his shock through a surprised grunt. For a minute, you simply cover his rough lips with kisses while he stays completely still, eyes looking on the verge of bulging right out of their sockets. It looked downright silly. Why was he so shocked by a simple kiss anyway, after the way you let him ravage your mouth yesterday?

Your lips pause when you remember the distraught sounds he made that morning as he watched you rush out of the room. That’s right.

“Hey,” you murmur against him. “Sorry for taking off like that last time. Just...don’t worry about it, okay.” He released a hot breath onto your face. Your trapped hand is finally freed from his iron grip, numb and stiff, but you keep your attention on the motionless nomu. “We’re not exactly supposed to be doing this, but I want you t-mmf!”

He suddenly went forward and attacked your lips, aggressively mimicking your movements with enough force to bruise. You try to keep up and calm his pace, sighing into his mouth once his lips finally begin to slow down. He’s clumsy like you expected, but his intelligence shows when he tries to follow your lead and quickly learns the intimate dance of your mouths. The occasional swipe of that blasted tongue across your lip makes you gasp, and then you feel big strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you close, the beats of his excited wings, the throaty growls that rattle your entire being…

You can feel yourself heating up again already.

“Mmm, Raptor...wait,” you manage to say between kisses, your hands pushing against his chest. He gives a grating sound of annoyance, but pulls away like you wished. You were suddenly hyper aware of his size and strength – this monster that was holding you closely and taking care not to harm you. If any other nomu had you like this, they undoubtedly wouldn’t have stopped.

“So, did you feel any of that?” Your hand travels down to his groin and rubs at the bulge that still had a lot of growing to do. “Do you feel that?”

To your dismay, he shakes his head. “No,” he groans as his wings droop closer to the floor.

It has you stumped. How are you supposed to please him when his whole body is numb?

“But…” He licks his lips slowly. “Can still taste. Tastes so good.”

When you let him lap at your lips again, he twitches beneath the ragged cloth.

You put two and two together, and the realization makes you gulp. And ache.

Remember, shame is useless here.

He allows you to back away and create some distance. The sight before you is frightening on its own: The sharp stare of the raven-winged fiend while surrounded by the deep marks of its outburst would do well in intimidating any sane individual. Remembering what exactly he is makes you pause only for a second, your hands grabbing the bottom of your thin blue shirt and lifting it before your pesky conscience can even get a word in.

Hawks’s wings flare out slightly when your breasts are revealed to him, talons clicking against the floor as he shuffles about, at a loss of how to react. Relieved that you haven’t been pounced on immediately, you lean down to remove your pants next, ignoring the trembling in your hands as you pull the garment down and step out of them. They never supplied you with underwear, so with your two articles of clothing removed, you were completely nude in front of the dangerous nomu.

At first you both just stared at each other, until he finally came forward to scan your body more closely, mindful of how nervous you were. The tension made you almost choke and cough on your words.

“I-if you want to…taste more of me, go ahead.” You didn’t mean to squeak out those last two words. You blame it on the chilly air.

The hands that take hold of your hips feel extra hot, along with the breath that grazes your chest. The blue tongue slides past his lips and extends to press against the spot right over your pounding heart, then moving smoothly up the column of your neck and your cheek in one long swipe, the wet trail making you shudder. The mouth ventures close to your ear to utter the word that you remember repeating to him on the first day you got him off.

“Calm.”

It’s followed by a rolling purr that eases you into doing just that. The humming continues while he eyes your breasts, nipples already pert from being exposed to the air. Even in your more relaxed state, the sudden lick across your tit makes your breath hitch. He seems to enjoy your response and repeats the action, giving it several more laps before wrapping around the entirety of the soft globe like a tentacle, squeezing gently.

“Ah, Raptor,” you moan when the tip of the tongue flicks at your nipple, sending the tiniest of jolts through you. “Damn, where did you learn to do that?”

He answers with nothing more than a groan as he continues to show off his tongue’s flexibility. It coils and swirls around the skin until every inch of it is covered in his saliva, making you even more sensitive to the cold air. Satisfied with his work, he moves on to repeat the motions with your other breast.

The pleasure was soothing, like a massage…if the masseuse had sticky boneless limbs. You close your eyes and wrap your arms around him, letting yourself enjoy the vile act of a monster sampling your taste.

His mouth suddenly engulfs you, the damp heat adding to the ongoing feeling of his tongue dancing around your tit. The purrs abruptly become a powerful vibration that electrifies your skin and brings forth your moisture to drip and run down your thighs.

But Hawks suddenly pulls away and stares at you intensely, the glower snapping you out of your daze.

“What is it?” You were getting nervous again. Did one of your reactions irritate him?

He breathes in, again and again, sniffing at the air for something. The swaying tail hints that whatever he smells is exciting him. His head lowers in pursuit of the scent and stops at your womanly mound to take a long whiff at the spicy aroma emanating from your cunt.

With his breath now blowing right against your sex and increasing your arousal, your juices trickled freely onto the floor and for him to see. The clawed hands on your hips held you steady, preventing you from collapsing from the nerve-racking anticipation that had you shaking all over. At no point in your life have you ever felt this exposed, being ogled by a pair of eyes in which the irises were bigger than you’ve ever seen them, mesmerized by the source of the delicious smell.

The tongue slips between your thighs before you could even prepare yourself, stretching across the entirety of your lips, over your entrance, nearly reaching your ass before it pulls back toward his mouth, the rubbing of the silky muscle creating buzzes of pleasure. Looking down gives you the unpleasant view of his brain, but you also get to see him swallow and savor your taste, humming deeply in approval before salivating with the need to drink up more.

“Good.”

He doesn’t wait for your response – his face is already being shoved into you, and you’re suddenly bombarded with delightful hot sensations all over your pussy. The ravenous organ travels up and down your folds, collecting every drop of your sweet nectar while you could do nothing but spread your legs to give him more leeway – God you’re such a whore – and cover your mouth in the hope that no passerbys hear your moans in the room.

When your legs officially become jelly and can no longer support you, Hawks tires of holding you up and allows you to fall back a little too hard onto the floor, the impact making you wince. Any other time, he probably would have at least made a sound of apology, but your sopping wet pussy has stolen his attention. He wastes no time in lifting your hips up toward his waiting mouth, now utilizing his lips along with his tongue to loudly slurp up your essence.

His vicious hunger has you seeing stars. Wings open up and expand around both of you like black curtains that darken your vision, like a bird of prey mantling over a hard-earned meal. The only thing you can clearly see between your legs are the eerie glows of red and yellow; the glare of a demon that seeks to devour you from the inside. He starts to suck your folds dry, growling as he inspects every inch of the ravaged honeypot until his lips brush against your neglected clit.

A muffled “fuck!” passes between your fingers, both of your hands tightly clamped over your mouth. The reaction surprises him, and to his delight, it triggers more of your nectar to flow. The most efficient gag wouldn’t have been enough to suppress your scream when he sucked hard on your sensitive bud.

You couldn’t help it. Fighting past the paralyzing pleasure, your hands blindly grab at his head and accidentally bury your fingers into a soft squishy brain. The discomfort makes him shake his head and groan in irritation, raising his head and narrowing those menacing eyes at you as a silent warning.

“Hah...shit...I’m sor–AH! Fuck-oh my god....” He’s already attacking your clit again before you can finish your apology. All he cares about at the moment is your taste, and not even you were going to interrupt him. The surrounding wings occasionally twitch and shudder around you, vibrating along with your approaching climax. But the second you feel dangerously close, his lips leave the perky little pebble and move back down to lap at your fresh flow. It tears you away from an orgasmic finale and brings you back to that sensual middle ground. The audible licks were amazing, but you need to reach that edge. Your hand drifted down to your pussy, right over his tongue where you can give your clit the stimulation needed to cum…

“Hwrrrrrrr…”

You felt the terrifying snarl more than you heard it, shaking you to your very core. The other core, not the one on the verge of bursting. You immediately pull away and freeze, shivering and breathing quickly at the sight of his bared fangs. For a brief moment, the tent of feathers showed off a faint sheen, like they all suddenly sharpened. A quivering, fear-fueled gasp left you.

It felt like the staredown went on forever, but Hawks was eventually convinced that you weren’t going to distract him from his feast again and returned his gaze to the fragrant pussy before him. However, after a few more licks, he grunted in frustration. You weren’t secreting your precious juices fast enough; your body simply couldn’t keep up with his newfound greed.

The insatiable tongue keeps poking and prodding at your opening until it pushes in just enough to slightly stretch your walls. You struggle to stay relaxed and keep your hands to yourself. Hawks was currently as unpredictable as any other nomu, and you didn’t want to piss him off.

When the hot thick muscle is suddenly shoved into you, you don't even have time to cover your mouth and block the next scream that is ripped from your throat. There’s no time to adjust to the completely foreign sensation. It squirms inside of you like a living creature, massaging your pussy in ways you didn’t even know were possible, sometimes hitting that special soft spot.

Your molten center spreads its flames across every nerve. This is far beyond what you fantasized on the night you touched yourself. His tongue was able to fill you completely, all while moving around more freely than a cock or even fingers ever could. Too soon does it leave your pulsing walls and back into his mouth, where he swallows every drop he’s gathered before shooting his tongue back out and penetrating you again before you can even complain.

He was moving with more force, enough to create a visible swell in your stomach that moved along with his tongue. You can’t look away from it, even as he begins to push in and out at a steady rhythm, the pleasure building up to new heights while the bulge in your belly moves up and down. You’re tempted to ask him to move his wings to allow more light for a better view, but interrupting him now is probably a stupid idea.

He pants loudly from his open mouth as he fucks you thoroughly with nothing more than a long powerful tongue, his thrusts moving faster and deeper in search of more of your savory wetness.

Meanwhile, you were dizzy. It was uncomfortable at first. It’s been so long since you’ve been fully stretched, but it all quickly melds into pleasure you have long since forgotten – no – you hadn’t even known. Your interest in sex has greatly diminished during your stay here. Hell, you were certain that your libido was officially dead. But Hawks….

This abomination was going to be the death of you.

Your g-spot is suddenly struck again, and again. Most of your words were incoherent, and the ones that could be made out were nothing more than endless encouragement. “Gah-hnngh, fuck, Hawks, you want more, don’t you? Ah, I’m about to give you more. Keep going Hawks don’t fucking stop.”

Talons are biting into your skin from his tightened grip. With a low bellow of excitement, his mouth moves to cover your entire sex, prepared for the incoming downpour, and thrusts his tongue into your most sensitive spot repeatedly without mercy.

The pressure within explodes violently, completely overshadowing that laughable orgasm you gave yourself yesterday. Each contraction adds more white that flashes in your eyes, moving in from the corners of your vision until it becomes as blinding and unbearable as the bliss that washes over you. There are noisy gulps between your legs, the parched monster happily taking every rush of fluid directly into his mouth and down his throat until he finally has his fill.

Even through your spasms your walls try desperately to clamp around his tongue as it leaves, but to no avail. The looming wings finally move away and return to their usual resting spot behind his back while he sets your lower body down and licks his lips for any remaining traces of your slick. The talons never broke your skin, but they did leave some glaring marks on your hips and ass.

You still tingled all over from the waist down while your muscles make the greatest effort to respond to any of your commands. No use. You decide to lay there covered in the monster’s spit. The work of that amazing specimen of a tongue almost made you forget that this was being done to arouse him. You should probably check to see if he was hard. He may not be able to feel your hand anymore, but he still might be excited enough to cum from the act. Stupid science bastards, making your job more complicated.

“Hawks.”

The single word uttered from the nomu clears your mind instantly. Your weakened arms push you upright to properly face him. He was still crouching, scaly toes supporting the weight of his body like a gargoyle without a perch.

“You say Hawks. What...is Hawks?”

What? When did you…?

Oh. Shit. Your mouth was moving on its own while he was eating you out.

Your mind was zipping in several directions at once, hoping that he wouldn’t find anything odd about your eyes darting about, looking everywhere except at him. You settled on a simple and dismissive answer. “Oh...don’t worry about it. I was just babbling while you had me on cloud nine,” you said with a crooked smile.

Black lips twisted into a frown, accompanied by a quick beat of his wings and then...eww. His brain is pulsing way too much, so much that he shakes his head in agitation, which only adds to the disturbing visual as the organ jiggles slightly in his head. “Hawks...don’t know...I know…” His words jumbled over his inner turmoil. The long tail lifted and began to swing quickly.

You sat there, nude and bewildered. Every High-End still carried traces of who they once were, expressing some of the same behaviors and habits they presumably had before death.

This is the first time you’ve seen one with any sort of recollection of their past life, even if it’s something as minor as feeling a connection to their name. You have a feeling that’s not supposed to happen.

You shouldn’t tell him anything; nothing good will come out of it. He needs to shut up and start being a bloodthirsty killer before the doctors decide that he’s more trouble than he’s worth.

“Raptor,” your shaky legs move slowly, shifting until you’re resting on your knees, face to face with the nomu that still looks interested in your naked body even as his head throbs. “It’s not important. Stop thinking about it.”

The look he gives you is one of hurt and dammit, this is exactly his problem. “But...Hawks. Want to know what-”

“I said stop thinking!” Your volume shocks both of you, but Hawks actually recoils from the unexpected shout. You don’t care, all it does is confuse you more, anger you more. “Why the hell aren’t you listening to me anymore? That’s what you’re supposed to do! Do whatever we tell you! What, did you break?” A full-body chill reminds you of the state you’re in. You were seriously having an outburst while still completely naked with Hawks’s saliva glistening over your thighs. You groan and turn away from the troubled hybrid to grab your clothes and dress yourself, not giving a damn if you pissed him off and he decides to kill you right there. He’d be doing both of you a favor, really.

But it shouldn’t be a surprise when you see that he hasn’t budged from his spot, making no move to retaliate. “I like you, Raptor,” you admitted. “Somehow, you managed to be the only welcomed company in this fucked up hospital slash prison, but you shouldn’t be. What we just did...that shouldn’t have happened. Fuck, I – I should’ve been terrified, and I kinda was, but, I shouldn’t have felt that good!” Your doubts, your conscience, they both return with a vengeance. But this time it’s not you they’re worried about.

“If this is how you act around everyone else, you’re not going to last here.” You hold his face in your hands, a tender gesture that shouldn’t be possible with the likes of him. “These assholes are gonna get rid of you if you don’t do what they want, and they’re going to ask for horrible things. I know you don’t like killing, but if you keep up all of...this, you’re going to lose more than your sense of touch.”

He doesn’t make a sound, only staring at you before gritting his teeth and nodding in your gentle grasp. His compliance both relieves and hurts you.

“I’m sorry, but no more questions. Please? The less you know, the better.”

“No more…questions.” Dammit, you hate how clear the sorrow is in his eerie voice, like the mournful moans of a lost soul. “No more.”

You give him a smile of thanks, it’s the least you could give him. You try to bring the atmosphere back to its usual awkward yet friendly vibe. “Now, let me see if your, um, tasting did you any good.” You move to pull down his shorts. That is, until you notice the large damp spots and stains on the cheap material. Oh, he did not.

“Welp, it obviously worked. Now how am I gonna scrape this shit off?”

x---x---x---x---x

Hawks.

Flames.

Decay.

Death. Everywhere.

But, somehow, he knew it wasn’t his doing.

Maybe he did kill a few...he wasn’t sure. It’s all so blurry and nauseating.

Was he killing people? Was he…trying to save them? A monster like him, saving people?

“No more questions.”

Your voice echoes, bouncing across the shattered fragments of his mind. Raptor tries to obey. He doesn’t know what this Hawks is, or why it keeps plaguing him.

Whatever Hawks was, it’s gone. Raptor wants it to leave him alone.

x---x---x---x---x

Subject: Raptor

Field Test

Quirk #5: Camouflage

Notes: As you know by now, Raptor differs from other nomu in that he is designed for agility and stealth. An invisibility quirk will not only make Raptor into the perfect phantom, it can also assist in infiltration and spying. While the quirk may be called ‘camouflage’ mainly due to how it changes skin pigmentation, it does much more than match the colors of the environment. It hides the user’s entire form as perfectly as any true invisibility quirk. Raptor should be more than capable of destroying targets without ever being noticed.

You were right. It was strange how he doesn’t discover these ‘quirks’ on his own. It was an understatement to say that he was a little lost when a Coat ordered him to activate his Camouflage. Raptor was prepared to feel those words bind his limbs and move him against his will. Whenever his brain was under the Coats’ control, he was capable of doing whatever they asked, even when he himself didn’t understand what they were asking for.

So it was worrying when he felt nothing. He heard the order loud and clear, yet it didn’t wrap around his brain like it always does.

So it wasn’t just you. His mind no longer submitted to anyone’s commands. He would have chirped in celebration if he didn’t have an audience that was still waiting for him to follow through, giving looks and comments of impatience while he stood there.

He can’t let them notice that he was unaffected. The words of the Mask that stole his touch repeated in his head along with the memories of cutting and burning, every nerve seething from raw pain until all feeling began to fade.

“If he ignores us like that again, we may need to alter his brain and ensure his compliance in the future.”

Alter...change...he doesn’t want them to change him. So Raptor tried to pretend, another thing that felt natural to him.

The process of finding his new quirk was difficult to describe; it was more like willing himself to blend in until the rest of his body got the message. All of his muscles tightened, and he almost panicked when black skin began to disappear before his eyes. His wings, his tail, every part of him looked as if it was dissolving, but he can still move and feel the weight of each limb. Once his body relaxed, he was fully invisible. The Coats kept him pinned with their stares, however.

“Completely hidden. Very good,” one of them said, writing something down. They’re always watching, always taking notes on him, always judging. This all felt familiar as well. “Now, walk from that corner to there, and keep a hold on your quirk.”

There was no pull, no sudden fuzziness or loss of control. Nothing. It’s a strange feeling, following orders because he actually chooses to. It will take some getting used to, but it shouldn’t be too difficult.

Has a monster like him ever acted before? It sure feels like it.

He performed several different tasks: running, climbing, flying, and shooting feathers. All while unseen by the naked eye. The feat even earned him a round of applause from the Coats.

“I can picture it already. He could slice apart an entire group of targets, and they wouldn’t even understand their deaths. A flurry of invisible blades!” One of them exclaimed with a smile that was way too wide given the subject matter.

“Don’t worry, we’re going to get a taste of what this is capable of right now.”

Right on cue, the doors opened. Every feather on his wings and tail bristled instantly, ready to shred whatever possible threat that may enter. They wouldn’t be able to see him. It would be so easy, just like the Coats said.

But instead of another nomu that was simpler and more violent than him, a woman was shoved into the room hard enough to make her stumble forward and fall, the door slamming shut behind her. She was dressed like you, wearing only a thin blue shirt and pants. What did they bring someone like her in here for?

She was already back on her feet, scanning the area with wide eyes and shrunken pupils before moving her gaze to the humans that continued to observe from the other side. The fear in the air was so thick that Raptor could nearly taste it as she shook uncontrollably – he wondered if her knees would collapse from the trembling alone.

He was still camouflaged; she couldn’t see him at all. The urge to reveal himself is strong, but one: the Coats had yet to order him to deactivate his quirk, and two: knowing that she was in a room with a nomu will most definitely only terrify her more, so he stayed where he was, motionless and quiet.

For a suffocating minute, the only sound was her rapid breathing until one of the Coats finally spoke up.

“Kill her, Raptor.”

“What?” The woman’s voice was constricted by anxiety. She looked timidly at the man, who only stared back expectantly, waiting for something. “W-what?” She choked out again. She switched her attention to the door, still distressed and shaking. When no horrid beast entered the room like she expected, her panic increased even more, stuttering so badly that it was a challenge to discern what she was trying to say. “I-I-I w-I won’t...I’m s-so...p-p-please.”

Her head whipped upwards to a vent in the ceiling. Nothing happened. The confused woman was now spinning around looking for something, hysterical with the knowledge that her impending doom was coming, but not knowing where or when. The weight of her dread was making him anxious.

The same Coat, however, only sighed in annoyance at the sight of the trapped panicking animal. “Don’t dawdle, Nomu.” The final word dripped with venom. It reminded him of his place: a puppet that should have no will of its own. Raptor didn’t want to kill, but if he defies them, then they will dig into his brain again, and the woman will probably be violently killed by a more enthusiastic nomu. He’s afraid of what they might take from him next. He can’t let that happen.

The shrinking woman is still whipping her head around in every direction as her bare feet take a step backwards, then another, completely unaware of the larger creature that stood right behind her. He can’t guarantee a painless death, but he can make it as quick as possible for her.

Raptor added an edge to some of his feathers, but reconsidered. That would require pinpoint accuracy, not worth the risk with a target that was moving so erratically.

His tongue curiously ran over the points of his teeth, checking their sharpness. No, that would leave too much of a mess.

His hands clenched into fists, and that’s when he practically heard the ding in his head. A simple method, but it should work just fine.

He was originally going to wait until she backed all the way into him, but that would be rather cruel. Killing her before she even recognizes the danger is a greater mercy. His hand struck with the swiftness of a snake, grabbing the back of her neck. The delicate spine could be felt beneath.

Raptor was not as strong as other nomu. That didn’t mean he couldn’t crush a human’s bones with little effort.

He felt her jolt, but that’s all she had time to do before the sickening snap and crunch sounded throughout the room, then she went limp with nothing more than a few final twitches.

Some of the Coats audibly gasped, while others clapped excitedly at the kill they couldn’t even see coming. From their perspective, an unsuspecting woman’s neck was suddenly crushed by an invisible force like an aluminum can.

One of them didn’t look very impressed. “Eh, a bit anticlimactic, don’t you think?”

“We’re not watching a bloodsport,” another one snapped. “Raptor is designed to handle matters quickly. A cervical fracture is fast and effective.”

“She was so terrible at her job. I think she deserved a terrible death in return,” another said.

Their babbling continued while Raptor placed the body on the floor more gently than his audience would have liked. Her eyes were still wide open, frozen in that moment of realization just a millisecond before death. Still, things could have been much worse for her.

“I still think we should have used his harvester instead. She’s becoming a nuisance.”

Raptor has grown to really dislike that voice, the voice of the man that takes him away every morning. He always stares at him like an expensive possession that turned out to be a waste of money. It’s an effort to keep his lips from curling over his teeth whenever the bastard’s around.

An older lady spoke. “Her relationship with the nomu is unique and warrants its own set of experiments after we cover the basics here. We already told you that.”

“Yes yes, I know. But her sample this morning was pathetic. It’s like she’s forgotten her job, too busy turning our greatest achievement into a softie. Call me petty, but I’d get a good laugh out of watching her be devoured by the nomu that she’s decided to become friends with.”

Anger.

“You are petty, and short-sighted. Do you understand just how extraordinary this relationship is?”

Another Coat butted in. “Sure, but what use is sentiment to a nomu? This was supposed to be a cold lethal predator, not a child that likes to draw on walls. I agree that the bond with its harvester is holding it back. It would be better off without her.”

Raptor hates it. He doesn’t want any of them talking about you. To think that they’d consider something as twisted as offering you to him as a helpless prisoner to execute, just like the one whose spine he had just snapped.

How dare they.

The lady was suddenly staring right at him with a look of shock before her aged lips curled into a smirk. Actually, everyone was staring at him now, and they all showed varying levels of discomfort. That’s when he noticed that he can see his hands in front of him again, along with his feet, wings, and the rest of his body. His fury made him lose his hold on the Camouflage quirk. They had all just seen his face of hatred.

And yet the lady continued to smile. “I don’t believe he agrees with you two.”

She then whispered something, lips forming what looked like the word ‘magnificent’ while her eyes bore into him. Even his rage was nothing more than a fascinating process to be examined.

Raptor wants to get out of here.

x---x---x---x---x

You’re alright. You made it out. You were bruised, but you made it out.

That High-End nearly broke your fucking arm when it came. It was always a pretty rough one when you jerked it off but for god’s sake, why did it always have to squeeze you like a stress ball? Thankfully, your painful shriek of “STOP!” was enough to penetrate the horny shield over its brain and it released you.

It wasn’t your first injury, but it’s been a while since you’ve gotten such a scare. It could’ve been worse – it could always be much worse.

The fact that you feel elated when you reach Hawks’s room shows how close the two of you have gotten in less than a week. Two prisoners who agree that this place can go fuck itself; one was pumping cocks on the daily, the other failed miserably at being a ruthless monster. They ought to make a movie out of this.

You enter the room to see him resting in the center while several feathers carve into different areas of the walls and ceiling. His understanding of shapes was becoming more complex at a rapid rate, if the current drawings were anything to go by. They looked to be unintentionally abstract faces, varying greatly in size and structure, but one thing they all had in common was oversized eyes. Every face was furiously scratched in, the sound of chiseling surrounding you and adding to the ominous aura given off by the etchings that lacked skill but teemed with raw emotion.

The scattered claw marks from yesterday are still as visible as ever. Everyday, this place looks more disturbing even with the not-so-hostile creature that occupies it.

Something prompts his feathers to stop abruptly and return to him, followed by him quickly standing up and hissing. The badly-timed hostility makes you jump back. “Raptor? What is it?” You tried to stay calm as usual.

He drew closer, eyes narrowed and teeth bared at the purplish welts on the arm that held your gazillionth jar. Oh, of course. You waved with you uninjured one. “It’s alright. One of the High Ends was being a little heavy-handed. It stings, but it’ll get better.”

Hot air hits you when he releases a snort. While he studies the bruise, you continue to examine the newest artful additions. “So...what do all of these mean?” You ask.

He follows your traveling gaze and mutters. “Watching. They’re always watching.”

He said it so smoothly that it gave you chills. “You’re tripping up less on your words. That’s, uh, good.” When a grunt is his only response, you keep talking. “Are these the doctors?” He nodded. “Did you...have to kill again?”

A beat. Then he nods again, more slowly this time. “It was easier.”

You’re not sure what to say to that, deciding to instead rest a hand on his arm. For some reason, what he said didn’t scare you. It was you who asked him to act more like a nomu, anyway.

You both stayed like that for a few minutes, standing side-by-side in the middle of the room’s crude composition that illustrated his short life. Innocence, rage, and now a feeling of powerlessness. You can relate; your progress here was very similar except that the ‘innocence’ part can be replaced with ‘grief’, having lost contact with everything you were familiar with.

“You know, maybe I can add my own additions to this sometime, if you don’t mind. Make this place our own little mural.” You giggle when his tail swings at the proposal. “There’s no way they haven’t noticed how odd of a duo we are by now. I wonder how those assholes feel about all of this.”

You’re grabbed and pulled into him so quickly that the jar slips out of your grip, rolling away as you’re pushed into a hard black chest. The tight embrace squeezes your swollen arm painfully. “Shit, that hurts!”

He whines apologetically and loosens his hold. Pain and lack of oxygen aside, it’s oddly comforting. You haven’t been hugged in ages, and here you were being held by this. A song of soft coos calm you, but there is a noticeable sad tone to them. You look up at him, chin resting on his pecs. “Raptor, I know it sucks here, and I don’t really know what to say to make things better, but I’ll keep trying to hang out with you for as long as I can, alright?” You reassure him while rubbing his chest. “Remember, you’re kind of the best thing that ever happened to this place. Not that my standards in this shithole are very high – they’re actually lower than a regular nomu’s sex drive – but it’s still an achievement you should be proud of.”

Your words did their job, if his lighter hums are anything to go by. His comforting heat was gone too soon when he gently pushed you back, following up with a press of lips against yours.

There’s no more clumsiness in his movements. He switched from light brushes that had you craving more to deep smooches that took your breath away. There wasn’t much else you could do except follow his lead. The teasing licks against your lips never fail to get you going, and he probably knows that by now. Unfortunately, you had to break apart for a breather, allowing him to cradle you as he waited.

“Who the hell have you been kissing while I’m not around to learn so fast?” You joked.

You didn’t expect him to look away and hesitate to answer before uttering, “I...remembered.”

If he was expecting that to upset you, it didn’t. You can’t stop his brain from working, and he no longer automatically gives in to any demands. You still don’t know what’s up with that. “Right,” you sighed. “Are you remembering anything else?”

“No...same things. Hawks...fire...death...I want to forget.” He pulls you in again, this time taking care not to add too much pressure to your bruises. His strangled attempts at speech have become smoother over the days, but hearing the winged hero beneath the layers of grotesque sounds that create his voice is going to take a long time to get used to. “Can...you...make me forget?”

A twinge of sadness and pity. Are his final moments the only parts that keep playing in his head, in a cruel loop? You direct all of your strength into your voice and speak. “Forget about it. Forget about Hawks and all of those foggy memories.”

He sits there and blinks with no clear sign that your words had any effect.

Then he wilts and groans in defeat.

“No good, huh?” You shrug. You truly did wish you could help him. “There’s not much else I can do, sorry.” A pause. “Must feel like nightmares, I guess. I get plenty of those.” You rest in his hold while recalling some of the fears that manifest in your sleep. “Dreams about what they’ll do when they don’t need me anymore. I never had the guts to put myself out of my misery – don’t have many options to work with anyway. Maybe I can ask a nomu to chomp my head off.”

“No.” The word was growled out, felt all around you like a small quake. You quickly try to calm him by raising your uninjured arm to hold and caress his face. You know that he couldn’t exactly feel it anymore, but the memory of your touch is probably what still managed to soothe him. It was an intimate image, touching him so lovingly while in his arms.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stick around. We can make things easier for each other.” Without a second thought, you straighten up and begin pushing down your pants, Hawks already chirping in excitement and fumbling with your shirt, his talons ripping the cloth. You were naked in front of him once again, and the memories of yesterday already have your pussy lubricating itself in preparation. Samples...semen….you weren’t thinking about any of that. You just wanted him again.

“Let’s help each other forget.”

And just like that, you were devoured. His mouth was everywhere and you happily took it all. You were addicted to his touch as much as he was addicted to your flavor. The dark blue tongue moved gracefully across your face, the small grin and lidded eyes telling you that he quite enjoyed the sight of you covered in his saliva. You opened your mouth wide as an invitation that he gladly took, the strong muscle charging straight into your mouth and hitting the back of your throat. It makes you gag and has tears pricking at your eyes, yet you continue to throb between your legs.

He fucks your mouth so fast and roughly that you’re forced to only breathe through your nose. You’re clinging onto him as you gurgle around the ravaging muscle, your nails unable to pierce his tough hide no matter how hard you grip.

Something solid rubs right against your sex, grazing your clit and leaving you moaning into his mouth. His hips were bucking into the air with a very prominent tent that constricted his growing cock.

It’s the first time a nomu’s dick actually touches you there.

And it makes your walls clench.

You get closer for more friction, trying to grind against the massive erection while he finally removes his tongue from your mouth. That’s when he notices just how hard you’re trying to get off on his bulge.

Heat is rushing to your face at his puzzled expression. “You-” You gasp, still catching your breath after having him squirm down your throat for so long. “You feel pretty good.”

He simply watches you continue to rub against him – you don’t even notice that his hips are no longer moving, you just press closer to him and grind harder in desperation. His wings flutter and the rest of his body shakes lightly, his breaths coming out in short huffs.

He was laughing.

The look of amusement is so unexpected that it has your hips stopping out of embarrassment. And here you thought nothing else could leave you flustered at this point. “You don’t have to laugh. Trust me, you’ve looked way more desperate than I have,” You tease him.

He clicks his tongue, then with a yank and a loud rip, his shorts are in tatters and his cock springs free right onto your belly. Another short round of huffs are heard from him when you squeak in surprise. Just where did this attitude even come from?

Beads of precum ooze from his pointed head and drip onto your stomach. Maybe it’s your lust-tinted lenses, but his cock is looking much more attractive than usual. Its curved perfectly to hit all of the right spots, and those ridges probably feel amazing when moving inside you.

“Want more?”

The low-pitched voice right in your ear has you shaking, like it was a question from the Devil himself. Thirst aside, you don’t know what you should say. You trust that he won’t fuck you to shreds like the other High Ends would, but the biggest issue…

“I don’t know if I should risk that,” you murmur, a hand reaching to rub the textured flesh. “As tempting as it is right now.”

His confidence is replaced with disappointment. That is, until he immediately perks back up and grabs your hips.

“Wait what are yoooo-whoa!” You’re being lifted off the floor, legs dangling uselessly as he holds you easily, your body hovering right over his twitching dick.

Panic begins to set in. “No! Nononono I said-”

“I won’t.” He says softly. As softly as he can with such a voice, at least. “Calm.”

Instead of penetrating like you feared, he lowers you until your flushed lips are resting on the length of his scaly shaft.

And then, slowly, his hips push forward.

The bumps and creases slide against you in all of the right ways. “Oooh fuck.” You adjust yourself to ensure that he rubs your clit as well. The sensation has you shuddering in his hands as the pressure inside you builds quickly. Your slick makes his dick smoother after each thrust, and when Hawks sees that you’re comfortable and lost in the rhythm, he begins to speed up.

Your legs are swinging madly at a complete loss on how to handle the electrifying friction, but the nomu grunts and takes hold of your thighs. They close around his cock, greatly increasing the pressure as he continued to fuck past your thighs. “Stay there.” The vibration from his deep raspy voice only arouses you more. His hips collide with yours after each buck.

As amazing as it feels, your hazy mind recalls that Hawks shouldn’t be able to properly revel in this outercourse. “I-I thought...you couldn’t feel this.” You say shakily.

Hawks is eyeing your bouncing form with great interest, his hips not missing a beat as he answered. “Can’t. Just watching.”

He presses down on you more, slowing down his pace with his eyes still locked on your face. His tongue quickly swipes across your forehead to taste the sweat that has mixed with his saliva. “You look good.”

Goddamn him.

You felt close, so close, but even as your limbs tingle from the pleasure, your orgasm remained out of reach. The most severe ache that had yet to be sated, to be given any attention, was inside you. You have never throbbed this much in your life, you didn’t even know that your muscles down there could even contract this tightly. The dragging of his cock against your drenched lips isn't enough. You don’t care about risk anymore. Not after feeling what he has to offer.

There’s no voice telling you how stupid you’re being right now. It already gave up on you.

Good.

“Haw–shit–Raptor, inside. I need you inside.” You beg between your moans. He stills completely, which has you whining and squirming even more.

“Inside?”

Hearing him say it sobers you up a bit, but not enough to kill your desire. “Just pull out before you cum, alright? Think you can do that?” You ask.

He nods eagerly, wings and tail moving with glee as he lifts you off of his dick that was already lubed up by your natural fluids. He angles himself until the head is pressing at your twitching entrance.

You can’t tell if you’re trembling from excitement or fear. Probably both.

The fine tip already has you being stretched wide, burning and stinging in spite of your pussy’s preparation. It makes you wince and want to close your eyes – to create some distance between you and the pain – but your curiosity has you looking down to watch him enter you, inch by inch. You can once again see your stomach distend as it attempts to accommodate the large intrusion, much bigger than the slithery tongue that previously invaded it.

But it’s exactly what you craved, the unique texture feeling even more delicious when inside of you. Your toes curl and legs quiver from his girth; not as meaty as the other dicks that you’ve treated, just enough extra thickness to give you a stretch that you’ve never experienced, without causing serious harm.

He reaches the end of your cavern with a few more inches to spare, and the drawn out moan slipping past his lips surprises both of you. You try to relax around him while he fights the urge to move. Black shaky wings expand behind him.

“Feel…” He gasped and choked, one would think that he was trying to learn speech all over again. “Can feel...squeezing. So gooood.” The last word came out as a strong rasp against your face.

The new discovery has you smiling, one of your hands rubbing at a much larger one around your waist. “You can feel it? You feel how tight I am, Raptor? How badly I want you to stay inside me and never leave?” He may not be able to feel your heat or your dampness, but it looks like he can’t escape the pressure from a cunt’s death grip.

He twitches inside, making you jolt. Oh, how quickly the tables have turned.

You scratch under his chin. Numb as he is, he still tilts his head like a pet dying for affection. “Then I want you to fuck me. Stop thinking, and just move...” You bring your face close to his, pulling off a seductive look and tone even when impaled on him. “...Just like a good nomu.”

Perhaps Hawks had a submissive kink when he was alive. It would explain why that riled him up so much that he was already slamming into you with absolutely no warning.

It hurts. It hurts so fucking good. Every thrust tears a helpless cry out of your body. The scales grind against every nerve around your hole, while the ones deeper inside nudge your velvety walls as they move in and out, in and out.

You couldn’t talk between your screams, not with how violently he was pounding you. Your arms and legs wrapped around him and hung on for dear life with your face buried in the crook of his neck. His own muscular arms wrap around you in a deceptively loving embrace, pumping into you with a rhythmic smack smack smack. All you can do is reap what you sow and take it.

This wasn’t just for you, this was for Hawks as well. You gave him something that he could feel again. What began as whiny gasps for air soon became rolling growls that vocalize a need for more.

Your orgasm barely sticks out of the continuous blinding pleasure as he plows harder through your spasms, your contracting muscles wrestling with the merciless cock to hold it inside.

His tone is dark. Vicious. “Tight. So tight!”

It makes your greedy body want even more. “Oh, good job, Raptor. Such a good boy.” You praise him, feeling the brief falter in his movements. He really does like that. “Go ahead and take it all, as much as you need-ah. Don’t worry about me. Fuck me until I can’t think.”

The violent sex stops and you’re being ripped away from that wondrous cock in the blink of an eye. Before you can even question what’s happening, your world begins to spin until you’re suddenly on the floor. You’re getting adjusted onto your hands and knees right before being pierced again with a force that shoves you forward.

Your thoughts struggle to keep up with the lightning-fast sequence of events, hindered even more by the warmth of the body hovering right over you. Hawks too was on all fours, though he looked much more comfortable and natural, wings fully spread out in a proud and dominant display as he throbbed inside of you.

His hips snap forward, already at a rapid pace that rocks you with each hard impact and soon has you howling again. The floor was filled with uneven cracks and scratches that scraped your knees, not that the discomfort was easy to notice while you were being drilled into. As you latched onto one of his arms for support, you noticed right in front of you, was your first game of tic tac toe.

Drool dripped down from the snarling jaws above you and onto the innocent group of lines and shapes.

The mounting beast humped you with every ounce of energy he had. Your aching pussy couldn’t take it. Too hard...too big... you’re cumming again around his pistoning cock, moans melting into defeated sobs. The huge pair of swinging balls occasionally smacked right into your oversensitive clit. You were losing the will to hold yourself up, gripping his supportive arm more tightly while your thighs quivered. Even if you had the strength to, you had no plans to ask the feral savage to stop.

He currently wasn’t anything like the gentle experiment you’ve befriended in just a few days. Right now, with his head thrashing around and flinging spittle everywhere as he barked, and wings beating hard against the floor, he was terrifying. Powerful, hungry, and single-minded.

So this is what it’s like to give in to a nomu.

It’s scary.

It’s thrilling.

Every fast agonizing stroke right against your cervix takes your breath away, your mouth eventually just hanging open in an attempt to capture whatever oxygen it could into your lungs. Hawks curls into himself so that he can crane his neck and look at you, saliva flowing freely down his chin. Each breath came out as a throaty growl wafting against your sweaty face. He takes one look at your parted lips, and stuffs you with his tongue.

If your thoughts were more coherent at the moment, you’d wonder how the hell the muscle was strong enough to be able to move into your throat as hard as the dick that continued to wreck your insides. His hips assisted in gagging you even more with each thrust. The threat of asphyxiation only brought you closer to your next orgasm.

Your mind was empty, save for the immoral thoughts that have long since driven off their more honorable competition.

Just use me.

Your entire body was on fire, getting pummeled from both ends.

Just use me however the fuck you want.

Hawks is suddenly bombarding your cunt with short and speedy ruts of his hips, and that does it. Your limbs give out and leave you to plop onto the floor as your pleasure blooms all over. But his long tongue follows you, still pushing into your whimpering mouth to deprive you of much-needed air. He simply lowers himself and proceeds to fuck you hard into the ground, pressing your skin into his many carvings.

His tongue leaves...your eyes rolling back….

Hawks releases a horrid cry that sounds like both a roar and a bird-like shriek.

Exhaustion…

Hawks is too lost in the surprising sensations, dull but still intense, to realize that he’s shooting his thick load into your womb

Warmth...full...sleep.

x---x---x---x---x

“Get up.”

The voice is muffled as you slowly come to. Whatever you’re resting on doesn’t feel like your bed.

“I know you’re awake. Hurry and get up.”

You’re surrounded by warmth, by something breathing. Pain shoots through your back and legs when you stir. When you open your eyes, you see the golden eyes of a High End.

The fear does well in masking your aches as you scramble out of the arms of what turned out to be Hawks, who was lounging on his side like a giant cat.

And standing at the door, was the damned doctor that you had the privilege of seeing every day.

His stare looked even more judgmental than it usually did. Full-on disgusted, actually. Realizing that you’re still naked, you grab one of Hawks’s wings that were splayed out on the floor to shield yourself.

He simply shakes his head. “I’ve already seen enough. And heard enough.”

Oh shit.

“I-I…” you stammer, panic rising in your chest as you’re unable to come up with any sort of explanation. You even turn to Hawks, like he’d somehow provide you with the answer.

“I normally don’t care what deplorable methods you people use to collect your samples, but going by the filth between your legs...” That prompts you to look down, and the second you do, you already feel a dense fluid oozing out of you and running down your legs that were stained with white. “...you actually allowed Raptor to inseminate you.”

His words, along with your accelerating heartbeat, thunders in your ears. Hawks is watching his seed leak from your raw pussy. He remains still and quiet, uncertain of how to act in the presence of a doctor.

“To think that someone would deliberately let a nomu breed them. I know that the two of you have gotten close,” His eyes skimmed past the many images and markings in the room. “But just how depraved do you have to be to go this far with a nomu?”

If this was before the days you allowed Hawks to touch you, you would have felt embarrassed. You are scared. Not only did he cum inside you, you’ve also been caught right after the act.

But any sort of shame?

You had the nerve to huff, still hiding your body from him not out of shyness, but because the asshole didn’t deserve the view. “I guess we’re all sick fucks around here,” you retort.

The glare on his glasses add to the intimidation factor of his glower. He takes a step forward and gives a quick tilt of his head. “Get dressed. You’re coming with me.”

Both you and Hawks are taken back. “For what?”

He scowls even harder. “Still asking questions? You’re lucky that you’re valuable right now. You have most likely been impregnated. This is an unexpected opportunity to observe one of Raptor’s offspring. We’ll be watching over you until the birth.”

You don’t move, still soaking in every word. This most definitely was a mistake. Not only are you going to be taken away from Hawks to be cooped up in a room with constant surveillance, you’re going to have a...fuck.

You feel the wing in your grasp vibrate softly, Hawks sensing your distress and attempting to silently reassure you.

“I said get dressed,” the doctor ordered impatiently. “Or are you still basking in the afterglow?” He snickered at his own joke before walking forward, ready to take you by force.

That’s when the nomu in the room finally stood up to step right in front of you, standing tall in all of his naked glory and easily towering over the man.

You had to give the guy credit for not looking phased by the very dangerous creature blocking his path. Then again, maybe he was just so sure that Hawks wouldn’t harm him in any way.

“Out of the way, Raptor.” Strong and firm. It’s the tone that ensures a nomu’s obedience, but you know by now that Hawks’s mind has grown beyond that.

As expected, Hawks doesn’t budge, still looking down with eyes of liquid gold.

The doctor only looks more annoyed, not afraid. “I knew you were defective,” he sneered. “Always hesitating during tests. Such wasted potential, yet the others insist on keeping you around. To do what? Decorate rooms? The idiots should have altered your brain by now.”

What?

Hawks still didn’t move. The lack of reaction was beginning to get to the man’s nerves, his hands balling into fists as he contemplated what action to take next. You stayed mostly hidden behind Hawks, anxiously looking past his wings.

When he accepted that the nomu wasn’t going to move, and forcing his way past him was too dangerous of an option, he smirked. “Fine, then. You’re only making yourself look worse. I’m certain I can convince them to move forward with that operation after they see how defiant you’re being right now.”

No! You feel so damn useless. The bastard wanted to change him into something more compliant. How much would that change Hawks himself? You don’t know if there’s anything you can do that won’t just end with you being thrown into the lion’s den.

The doctor placed two fingers to his temple. Fuck, his quirk.

“Backup needed in South Hall, room five o’ ni-”

He stopped. Pure shock took over his face, words replaced with the faintest choked sounds. You truly considered asking if he was feeling alright.

Until a thin line of red appeared at his throat, blood oozing out, the bleeding getting heavier by the second.

“What. The. Fuck?” Your breaths were becoming too short as you watched him crumple, the liquid crimson quickly pooling around him. “What the fuck is going on?”

The confusion and fear was making you delirious. God, you were going to pass out again, this is too fucking much, this asshole was about to take you away because you have a monster growing inside you and then he was going to turn Hawks into a regular High End but now he’s dead but who the fuck killed him and what’s about to happen to you-

“Calm.”

A large hand on your shoulder grounds you, steadying your breathing and expanding your tunnel vision. Hawks is in front of you, releasing soft coos.

“Wha–how–wha…” Your shaky lips are unable to form words, but he seems to understand. Something materializes right in front of you. Small, black, and sharp. It’s a feather, floating between the both of you. “What?” You finally spit out.

“Camouflage,” that’s all he says, as if that explains everything. Since when was he able t-

Whatever. There’s too much shit happening right now.

Still shaking, you look to see the doctor still bleeding, some of the blood flowing into the engravings and painting them red.

“Y-you killed him?” You whisper.

He nods, staring apathetically at the body.

“But, I thought you didn’t…” You trailed off, too stunned by everything that has happened to finish.

He turned his attention back to you, red irises – as red as the blood that continued flow – staring into your frightened eyes. “It gets easier.”

Once again, you’re not sure what to say to that.

He looks to the door. “More coming soon.”

Right, whoever the doctor was contacting must be wondering why his telepathy was suddenly cut off.

“I want to leave.”

“Leave? Like, you want to escape?” Another nod. “That’s...I don’t know if that’s possible. There are villains around here. Strong villains. Shit, they might release some of the nomu on us!”

“You want to stay?”

Your mouth opens, then closes.

“I’m strong, and fast.” His wings unfurl and sharpen every feather, his tail curling around you so that you can see the knifelike plumes on it. “Can heal very fast and blend in. Can do a lot.”

The display and simple explanation reminds you that you haven’t seen any of his combative skills firsthand. This is what they made him for.

Well then…

“Right, then how about we give them a final test?” Just when you were finally calming down, adrenaline is already being pumped back into your veins. “Let’s show them how unstoppable their latest work is.”

His little peep of agreement nearly ruined the moment, but it reminds you why you’ve grown so fond of him.

He turns around and crouches, motioning you to climb onto his back and wrap your arms around his neck. It was awkward, mostly due to the wings that you were squishing under you, but when you voiced your worries he just gave you an “It’s fine.” He warned you to hang on extra tightly whenever he gets low to the ground. He’s a much faster runner on all fours.

Stepping over the corpse that has bled dry, he stopped at the door and braced himself.

“Ready?”

Your arms and legs were secured around him. You breathed in through your nose then out through your mouth.

Breath in. Breathe out.

A lot of death and destruction is probably about to come your way.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

It would be great if you never had to fill another jar ever again.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Your clammy skin hasn’t felt sunlight in fucking forever. Are the heroes even still alive out there?

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You try not to think about what’s happening in your womb.

“I’m ready.”

The door is pushed open.

x---x---x---x---x

Targets first spotted at 12:50

The old surveillance cameras flicker and lag. It makes noticing the running black figure all the more difficult. On most screens, you’ll see nothing more than a blur. There will be the occasional confrontation with villains, sometimes accompanied by researchers with incapacitation quirks. More often than not, the escapees easily outmaneuver them, crawling and leaping on every surface and zooming past their potential captors before they can even follow.

Some of the stronger villains and nomu slow the duo down only briefly before they collapse from an unseen force. The recovered bodies possessed deep cuts across major arteries or accurate punctures in their major organs.

Some footage shows the two sometimes climbing into vents, temporarily escaping the cameras.

The woman on the High End’s back was injured during the fatal showdown at the hospital’s exit, enraging it to the point where it swiftly killed everyone in its vicinity, including fleeing researchers that were only caught in the crossfire.

Targets escaped facility at 13:09

x---x---x---x---x

Subject: Raptor

SUBJECT HAS ESCAPED. NOMU IS HIGHLY DANGEROUS. TAKE EVERY PRECAUTION IN RETRIEVING IT.

Some things are too good to be true. It turned out that Raptor’s brain has, shall we say, faulty wiring. Several observations have noted him hesitating upon certain commands. This should not be a constant problem with any High End. I don’t understand why they did not immediately work on this issue. It’s possible that they feared irreversible changes to his unique mind.

I personally believe that many of these flaws are the result of a compassionate host. The hero Hawks was unmistakably a gifted combatant, probably the most gifted individual the facility has gotten their hands on, but his attitude did not translate well into the role of a nomu. On the bright side, I never thought I’d ever see nomu, let alone a High End, show such genuine fondness over a human. I believe it’s worth another try in the future.

But for now, we should stick to what works. There are more than enough lowly criminals to go around.

#Hawks #smut #nomu #noumu #terato #monster fucking #hawks x reader #shh the doctors don't know about shirakumo #happy october?#tw blood #tw death

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whirlybirbs · 4 years ago

Text

( this chapter’s gif by @ransomflanagan from this beautiful set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 5/?

summary: your plan goes to asbolute shit.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 9k, please pray for my fingers

a/n: there’s action, there’s gunshot wounds, there’s canon appropriate violence! this one has a lot of plot, a lot of action, and i truly want to sleep for seven days after writing this. you should listen to the glass cannon’s club playlist while you read, though, for vibez.

( PREVIOUSLY | AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT )

You do have a plan.

Maybe it’s a little vague, a little messy, and a little up-in-the-air, but it’s a plan.

Get in, find Kiwi, avoid a handful of unsavory characters, and access the Alexandria Library.

Getting the hell out The Glass Cannon once you and Bucky were in was going to be a whole different plan entirely — one that was more improv than anything else. Hopefully, running a quick facial recognition program wouldn’t take long. With any luck, it would get a hit on any more recent aliases Innessa Sidrova was using after parsing the motherload of information Kiwi held onto with her life.

Kiwi wasn’t always known as Kiwi. She worked at SHIELD, like you, and back then she was known as Suji Awal. She stuck around longer — and she’d stayed on board during the active collapse to do heaven-sent work. It was an absolute Hail Mary, but while HYDRA had tried to purge all of SHIELD’s cloud data to protect their active agents and decades of progress, Suji had beat the hare in the race. Two steps ahead, she’d managed to pull nearly 97% of all confidential data including mission reports, agent profiles, and even electronic correspondence. While the metaphorical fire burned the documents behind her, she’d managed to salvage one of the only surviving, comprehensive looks at SHIELD before the curtain was pulled back to reveal HYDRA’s infection.

It had been used to try multiple HYDRA agents in the wake of it all in the federal courts. It was significant evidence, but after nearly all was reaped from the crop, Suji had taken the aptly named Alexandria Library and gone underground. Now, Kiwi was just another hacker in the thick of it and the Alexandria files were all but whispers.

It’s all about knowing the right people in the end.

Kiwi was a regular at The Glass Cannon. There was a nine out of ten chance you’d find her there. And if you didn’t find Kiwi, you’d probably find Climber and… Well, going to him wasn’t the most ideal situation, but out of the menagerie of acquaintances you’d gathered up throughout the years, you could trust Climber. He’d send you Kiwi’s way if you finally called in that favor he owed you. Either way, you’d find her and you’d get the files.

You just needed to avoid Alexei Gardzov.

Easy. Ish.

In truth, you barely get anything done Thursday — you’re too preoccupied in your head, running over the so-called plan even now as you fold laundry in the basement of your apartment complex.

You’d dug around in your closet, trying to find some semblance of an outfit. It was difficult. It wasn’t like the barely-there dresses and platform shoes were your thing anymore. Back then, your diet was mostly energy drinks and alcohol — in a way, it’s a relief to find that a good number of your staple outfits no longer fit. It made you feel like you really had put all this behind you.

You have.

Sure, it was the Rabbit you were going to have to be for tonight, but you’re not the Rabbit you were eight years ago. Good thing, too. You’re not too sure you and Bucky would have gotten along otherwise. Right now, your relationship with him was the biggest thing keeping you afloat — for the first time in a long time, you feel like you have some sort of purpose, even if it was a vague one at best.

You knew Innessa Sidrova was a threat — and you knew Bucky had to remedy that threat. You knew he felt responsible for creating her, for planting her in a position of power where she could manipulate and control. In truth, there was still a lot of vagueness surrounding his past. He’d made it clear he hasn’t been himself for a long time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wade through the muck of his trauma to pluck out your answers. It just felt wrong.

If you were to say you hadn’t been tempted to go out on your own and dig, that’d be a lie.

Even now, as you pull out the ink-black top from the dryer and fold it neatly on top of the other pieces of laundry needed for tonight, you can feel it sparking like a lighter in the back of your head.

He was keeping something from you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You nearly jump six feet in the air.

It’s Miss Bonnie — and she’s laughing when her feet touch the cold concrete of the unfinished floor. Her basket of laundry is balanced neatly on her hip, and she walks with a smirk on her face. Her hair is piled neatly on top of her head, and as she bends to plop the basket down, she offers a wink.

“I could hear you thinking from upstairs,” she ruminates, paisley and dyed skirts kissing the ground, “Like a little steam engine.”

You laugh quietly into your task. You duck your head and heft a black bra and jeans from the dryer. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

She looks up, eyes moving carefully from the laundry pile to your face. Her eyes glimmer with quiet curiosity. “And a big night planned, huh?”

You snort. “What was the giveaway?”

“It’s always the lacey bras,” she chirps and slides a smirk your way as she waggles a finger at your pile, “And the strappy little bodysuit was a good hint, too.”

You exhale with a laugh, bracing a hand against the dryer. She’s not wrong — you’d really forgone comfort with this outfit lineup. It was temporary, though, and well worth the efforts if it meant helping Bucky tick off a name from his list of amends. You knew how much those meant to him.

“So,” she continues, voice muddled as she continues to load the washer, “I take it this friend of yours is really helping you out of your shell?”

“I guess so. Yeah. It’s — It’s sort of a mutual shell-cracking, I guess.”

“Mm,” a hum, “You sound troubled, though.”

Your mouth opens as your fingers trace the line of the bodysuit. You pause, and you rock back on your heels. Miss Bonnie notices.

She waits patiently, bent at the knees.

“You ever just…” you wave your hand, “Feel like — I don’t know. He’s my friend. My best friend, honestly, and that’s… Really saying a lot. But, there’s stuff under the surface and I know it’s not my business but…”

Out comes a strangled groan.

“What? Like a crazy ex-girlfriend?”

“No, no — I don’t think so,” you mutter, “Wouldn’t surprise me, though.”

“Handsome?” she asks, smiling.

You close your eyes and ignore the smile on your face as you reply. “Yea, handsome.”

“Well, have you tried asking?” she shrugs as she stands, “Not about the crazy ex, but about the stuff you’re worried about? It never hurts.”

“Problem is, I don’t really think it’s too much of my business.”

Miss Bonnie hums at that and presses the start on her washer. She’s quiet for a bit, swaying slightly as she weighs the conversation and you watch — enamored with the older woman’s calm wisdom. She gestures openly with ringed hands.

“I think it’s normal for us to want to know everything about those we care about,” she says, “We want to know how we can protect them, how we can comfort them. But… it comes in due time. All of it does. You’ll find a time when he does open up about the ex, or whatever it is on his mind. You’re friends, after all.”

You’re nodding, chest tight with thanks.

Miss Bonnie’s face is soft.

“You got a picture?” she chirps like a bird looking for a worm, “I wanna see who this little friend is. And if he really is as handsome as you’re suggesting...”

You scoff and lean to dig out your phone.

“Cut it out,” you mumble as she moves closer, “No playing matchmaker.”

“Sure, sure,” she waves, leaning to watch as you scroll through your camera roll.

The only photo you have of Bucky is there from Tuesday night — after he’d housed nearly an entire container of noodles and promptly passed out during the third Lord of the Rings movie. You’d woken up around one in the morning to find that Poke had unceremoniously curled up on top of the supersoldier’s chest. Bucky’s hand was still in the calico’s fur as he dozed, the colors of the TV painting his face all sorts of peaceful. You’d taken the photo, shoving it in his face after gently nudging him awake.

He’s laughed.

You gesture to show Miss Bonnie.

Like ice, she freezes.

You notice a microexpression dart across her face, but it’s gone in an instant. You can’t pin it, but the way she bends to pull the phone closer and zoom in on her face comes off as interest. You blink, label it as shock, and move on.

Her voice sounds different.

“Handsome,” she mumbles plainly, preoccupied with the sight, “I get it now. What’s his name?”

“Bucky,” you say as she hands the phone back, “He’s… He’s a good person.”

Miss Bonnie just nods.

You tuck your phone away and plop your laundry into your basket. Ignoring the sudden quiet that had crept between you both, you haul up the stack and offer her a gentle smile. She’s fiddling with the washer’s timer.

“Thank you, Miss Bonnie.”

“Of course,” she rushes out, smiling gently, “And be safe tonight.”

“I will.”

With your promise, you ascend the stairs.

In that basement, Bonnie McLayne is no more, and instead, Innessa Sidrova remembers that night in Moscow, back in 1975.

She remembers the Winter Soldier.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Bucky calls you three times with no answer.

Normally, he’d just give up — but it was Thursday, and you weren’t answering the buzzer to your apartment either. He tries his best to ignore the strike of panic that sparks in his chest. It could stoke a wildfire, really, but he pushes it down and remembers to breathe. He doesn’t let himself think about what he’d do if something happened to you.

After all, you’re probably fine. Sleeping, maybe. The both of you had a long night ahead.

(Longer than either of you realize, really.)

It’s nearly seven o’clock, and after trying your cell one more time from his perch on your apartment’s stoop, Bucky decides to say fuck it.

A well-adjusted person might frown upon what he was about to do, but Bucky wasn’t exactly well-adjusted, now was he?

He rounds the back alley with long strides and easily finds that, with a little maneuvering, he can hoist himself upwards on top of the nearest dumpster. With a well-timed hop, he can also snag the bottom of the fire escape’s ladder and haul it downwards. The rest is easy, and he’s scaling the fire escape to the third floor with ease before he even knows it.

There’s even a smug little smirk on his face the whole time he does.

Finding your window is a little harder, but Bucky eventually spots Poke’s round little body smushed against the glass — it’s a dead giveaway, and after some prowling, he finds the window to your living room and unceremoniously throws it open.

It’s unlocked, for whatever reason, and he makes a mental note to have a conversation with you about safety and security in the city. After all, you never knew when an ex-assassin supersoldier was going to break in and pet your cat.

Upon opening the window, he pieces together pretty quickly why you’re not answering. Could be the music coming from your bedroom, or even the singing that’s coupled alongside it. From the bathroom across the hall from your room, steam has settled above on the ceiling. The whole apartment smells like fruit and soap and perfume and Bucky’s not really sure how to parse through all the sensory experiences that greet him with he shimmies in through the window, legs first.

All in all, they make him smile.

Bucky shuts the window behind him as he’s quickly greeted by Poke — the calico offers a gratuitous little chirp when Bucky bends to scoop up the cat. Easily, he melts. Poke is purring loudly in his ear as Bucky takes a moment to survey your apartment a little bit closer. Mr. Poke Bowl rubs his face against Bucky’s stubble as the man weaves through the kitchen.

It’s very you.

He isn’t really sure what that means at the end of the day, but all he knows is that he feels at home here. He feels safe. He feels comfortable. He feels like he can be himself. Not James, not Sergeant Barnes, not The Winter Soldier. Not even Steve’s Bucky, but just… his Bucky. Himself. Sarcastic and exhausted and a little cynical.

Bucky lets Poke down on the counter and moves to the fridge.

There’s still beer from the other night in there, tucked in the back, so he makes easy work on popping open a bottle and busying himself with petting a very adamant Poke.

As he sips the Leinenkugel, it’s no small coincidence that his phone buzzes again — for what feels like the hundredth time today — with a message from Janelle.

She was nice — pretty, too. Once upon a time, she would have been his type.

That was before he met you, though.

There’s a little pinprick of mortification at that quiet confession that’s been slipping into his heart more and more in the last few days. You are, after all, his best friend. He’s your best friend. Guilt swims with the feelings that have begun to pluck his heartstrings and he has to admit he’s not too comfortable with the song they play.

His biggest fear is fucking this up.

Fucking you up.

Honestly, his track record isn’t great. The whole defrosted-international-threat bit made it a little difficult to date. Janelle seemed to think the date had gone well enough, though, hence the handful of texts he’d been getting every few hours asking if he’s free.

Like usual, he ignores them.

Exercising his own free will is hard sometimes. Especially when it comes to saying no.

Taking another swig of the beer, Bucky shoves his phone back into his pocket and tucks his fingers back into Poke’s fur. The calico’s tail swings patiently as he sits and watches — and it’s a little weird how human his eyes are for a second there. He mmrrps and lunges for Bucky’s hand when he comes close, bonking his head eagerly against the cool vibranium.

It’s a different sensation.

That’s another big adjustment — learning how things really feel with this new arm. It’s not just handling recoil or gripping knives or throwing punches. It’s the soft tickle of fur, the gentle pressure of a warm rag to clean the joints. Meticulous upkeep wasn’t something HYDRA did often. He doesn’t miss the twinge of pain and molasses-like stickiness that came with a dirty arm. Blood was the worst. Always sat deep in the cracks.

He flexes his fingers. Poke meows again.

He moves to plop down on the couch. Poke follows.

You’re singing, still, to some song that Bucky’s never heard, when you push open your bedroom door and move towards the living room.

You jump six feet in the air and scream when you see him just sitting there, clutching a beer and petting Poke like he fucking lives here rent-free.

Bucky’s reaction is muted, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with your outfit and your jewelry and the pink eye shadow that creeps up your brow-bone. There’s glitter on your eyelids and lip gloss on your mouth and he can smell some sort of candy-sweet perfume coming off you. The plunging neckline of the jet-black top is enough to leave him shifting his gaze back up to your startled expression with a tight jaw.

His face is blank.

Then he offers that stupid fucking smile he does. Y’know, the tight-lipped one where he somehow maintains a dead-eyed look the whole time. If you weren’t trying to calm your racing heartbeat, you might have laughed. You hate the white-hot flare it sparks in your chest.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” you hiss, waving your hands.

“We need to have a serious conversation about locking our windows,” he says as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table and wags a finger at you, “Also, what are you wearing?”

“You — You fucking broke in through my window?”

“Yea, well, you were too busy pretending to be Britney Spears to hear me try and buzz up, and my phone calls.”

Sheepishly, you cross your arms. “Nice reference—”

A shrug from Bucky. “Thank you.”

“—Also, what are you wearing?”

He looks down at his usual t-shirt, leather jacket combo. He squints back up at you.

“I’m sorry,” he chirps, “You’re talking to me? Did the department store run out of fabric, Rabbit?”

You self-consciously adjust the plunging neckline of the bodysuit as you frown deeply. “I think I’m gonna skip on the fashion advice from the man who lived in a time where ankles were seen as scandalous.”

“I was born in 1917,” he mumbles as he stands, actively avoiding another pass over your outfit because as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad look on you, “Not 1817.”

“Point being, we’re going to a club. And you look like you’re going to the local Home Depot,” you move to snag a set of dangly earrings that are sitting on the coffee table, “We’ve gotta look like we’re there to party, nothing more.”

Bucky sighs. He finishes the beer, places the bottle down and sheds his jacket. “So, what?”

You pry your eyes away from the flash of skin — his arm, flesh and blood, speaks to how strong he is. And, undoubtedly how easy it was for him to fucking scale three stories of the fire escape to bust in.

“So,” you mumble as you thread the earring in, “I have some of Jaimie’s old shirts. There’s probably something you can use… If they fit.”

Bucky exhales softly. “You kept them?”

“Didn’t have the heart to throw them out,” you reply as you gesture for him to follow you into your bedroom.

The back of your top is arguably more crisis-inducing than the front — it’s an open back, and Bucky settles on admiring the decor rather than the curve of your spine. He has to. For his own fucking self-composure.

Your bedroom is nice — and like the rest of your space, it makes him feel comfortable. It’s all warm colors and posters and plants in the corners. Across from your queen-sized bed, there’s a large desk with a triple monitor setup. That’s where the music is coming from. The little knick-knacks on your shelves and desk make him chuckle.

Then, he stops, halfway to the closet, and stares.

You blink over your shoulder as you bend, digging to the back of your closet to pull out the clear bin you’d piled most of Jaimie’s stuff into after the funeral. After you’d cleaned out his apartment on your own.

He’s looking at the poster — the one from Cap’s USO tour. It’s framed nicely, set up on the wall beside your desk. It’s got a gold frame, and Bucky can’t help but wander closer to look at the signature.

It’s Steve’s alright.

“How much did you pay for this?”

You scoff. Your necklaces tinker together. “Don’t even go there.”

“The jerk signed thousands of these,” he mumbles, crossing his arms as he leans closer, “And still, the fame didn’t go to his head.”

You smile softly, leaning back.

“Jealous?” you chirp, raising your brows as you pretend to swoon, “Oh, Sergeant Barnes, I’d just love to meet your dear friend—”

Bucky’s laughing as you swat at his knee, leaning back on the carpet like a damsel in distress.

“Shut up,” he snorts, “It’s a sore subject for me.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious — do you know how many dates I had to set up for the chump? And then, boom. I’m invisible.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter with a smile, unclicking the lid, “Some people just like blondes, Buck. I’m sure there were plenty of eyes on you. Stop being so dramatic.”

“Yea, the best friend, sure,” he mumbles at the poster, “Hell, he was taller than me. You know you don’t need to lie to me—”

“Listen, if I was some Lauren Bacall-looking nurse back then,” you wave your hands, “I’d have gone for you. Alright? Stop lamenting and get over here.”

He goes quiet and ignores the warmth in his cheeks. He squats by your side. “Shut up.”

“We seriously need to work on taking compliments,” you groan, throwing your head back, “I’m being serious, y’know, for once. And I’m not just saying it as your friend. You’re handsome and everyone knows it except you, apparently. My neighbor agrees that’s for sure.”

He squints.

You wave it off and gesture to your outfit. “She saw me doing laundry.”

“That explains nothing,” Bucky deadpans, “Literally nothing.”

“I showed her a picture,” you cry indignantly, moving to shuffle through some of the old t-shirts sitting on top of the bin, “Relax.”

He moves to plop down, crossing his legs beneath him. He decides to let the topic die — again, for his own self-composure more than anything. The compliment, though vehemently denied by the worst part of him, is tucked neatly in the homes of his heart. The idea of meeting you, before now, is a little intoxicating. What would it have been like?

Would you have even spared him a dance?

Bucky rubs his cheek. Poke meows and buts the door open with his head.

You’re wrist-deep in the bin when you speak. “He’s obsessed with you, y’know.”

Poke has already taken up a post in Bucky’s lap. Bucky smiles, petting Poke gently with his vibranium hand. The cat seems to like the cool metal. Bucky mumbles softly down to the calico, scritching his cheeks. “I like him, too.”

You pause long enough to try and remember the sight.

Bucky’s eyes find yours, and you’re quick to turn back to the bin.

“Here we go,” you exhale as you pull out the shirt you’d been looking for.

It’s a long-sleeve button-down, one that you can distinctly remember Jaimie wearing to his engagement party’s after-party — a real typical night of Jaimie being Jaimie. It’s black with a barely-there red floral pattern. It’s flashy enough that Bucky won’t look horribly out of place.

The only problem is Jaimie was a little smaller than Bucky.

“Try this on,” you mumble as you dig around trying to find something else in case it doesn’t do the trick.

Bucky catches the silk shirt and gives it a once over. He raises an eyebrow, and deciding against debating this, he simply nudges Poke off his lap and stands.

He moves to your bed, laying the shirt out. On your closet door is a full-length mirror. You want to snap it in half when you accidentally catch a glimpse of Bucky hauling off his black, cotton t-shirt and anxiously fumbling with the buttons on Jaimie’s old shirt. You have to breathe — and remind yourself that that’s Bucky.

Your Bucky. Your best friend Bucky.

When he calls your name, it sounds far away. You’re busy angrily sorting through old clothes.

“I look ridiculous.”

When you turn around, the first thing you notice is that it’s a little tight. Not in a bad way, but the buttons are gapping along his chest, and it’s tight around his arms.

Your eyes widen a little and you swallow. You tilt your head.

Bucky’s frowning.

“Let me see,” you offer gently, standing and moving close, “It’s not that bad.”

“You don’t sound too sure right now,” he mumbles as you enter his personal space.

You’re nimble with undoing the top three buttons — it gives him enough room to move his shoulders, though, and the dip of the shirt along his sternum brings dog tags into view. You reach, momentarily entranced, and read them to yourself.

You smell like vanilla and sugar.

Bucky shifts in his boots.

“Y’know,” you say, moving to the sleeves, “I think this works.”

You roll the sleeves, stopping at his forearm.

When you step aside, Bucky can see himself in the full-length mirror. He looks less than enthused.

It’s not an entirely bad look — he’ll admit that much — but he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s too much chest and skin and… Christ, this shirt is tight. He does, though, look like some of those trendy folks he sees at Izzy’s bar every now and again. Hipsters.

“I look like a douchebag.”

“That’s the point,” you chirp as you close the box and shove it back into your closet, “Now the outfit matches the personality.”

He swats at your head on the way by. You laugh.

You’ve got boots in your hand, and you land on the bed with a bounce. Bucky is busy fixing his hair in the mirror while you zip up the thigh-high boots. When he turns around, you’re about three inches taller. He blinks, yet again entranced by the outfit.

Then, you’re muscling on the jacket.

It’s neon pink — and shaggy and cropped. It falls just above your waist and swallows you whole. But, Bucky’s attention is mostly on the back.

There’s a large, white embroidered Playboy bunny there, with RABBIT written across the shoulders in a chunky, blackletter typeface.

His brows are high on his face when you turn around.

You freeze.

“...What?” you ask, “Something on my face?”

“Playboy bunny, huh?”

You could smack him. “Weren’t you busy being a frozen dinner when Playboy came out?”

“I’ll have you know,” he says tightly as he follows you out of your bedroom and to the living room, “The Russians enjoyed their fair share of editions.”

“The Russians? Sure, what’s that saying? There’s no sex in the USSR?” you chide, “You can just say Bucky Barnesenjoyed his fair share—”

The tips of his ears are red. You notice. It makes you split into a grin that worsens the pink shade that’s crawling up his neck.

He coughs. “Have you ever considered never opening your mouth again, Rabbit?”

You nudge his arm. “Nah. Bothering you is more fun.”

He shrugs on his jacket, sighs, and decides that keeping quiet is just easier.

However, that’s not entirely your plan — and you speak quickly as you pull your purse over your shoulder. You’re rummaging quietly, stacking your wallet and phone inside. You glance up at him.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he mumbles, bending to pat Poke one last time as you move to the door of your bedroom. He watches you flick all the lights off, and before you leave, you double check the calico’s food and water. He’s got enough for a few days. Bucky leans against the door frame, “Care to run me through the plan?”

Nodding, you move to open your front door.

“It’ll be easy,” you explain as you make room for him, “If we play our cards right—”

Bucky’s stopped, though, and is digging in his back pocket as his cell phone rings. You watch him exhale tightly, eyes on the screen the entire time he squeezes by you and starts down the hall. You make careful note of the delicate scowl on his face, only before you catch Miss Bonnie out of the corner of her eye.

Her door is half-cracked across the hall, and she’s watching.

She offers you a smile.

Bucky keeps walking.

You wave, lock your door, and jog to catch up to Bucky.

“Hey,” you call, “Earth to Mr. Claw Machine?”

His head snaps up. “Sorry.”

“Who was that?” you ask carefully, nudging his arm with yours, “Falcon?”

“I wish,” he mutters as he muscles the cellphone back into his pocket, “I wouldn’t feel so bad sending him to voicemail.”

“Yeesh,” you wince, “Lemme guess, was it the owner of the coral lipstick that was all over your face on Tuesday night?”

Again, that temptation to feel jealousy flares up in your heart. But, he’s here, isn’t he? With you. Ignoring her calls. And probably texts judging by the guilty look that’s on his face. You feel a little bad — but at the same time, Bucky’s a grown man. Maybe a grown man who needs to create some more transparent lines of communication with the poor woman, but still.

“Bingo. I mean — it’s not that she wasn’t great an’ all but…”

You raise both hands. “I’m not judging.”

He sighs raggedly as he bounces down the apartment’s stairs. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“What?” you ask with a laugh, “Dating? Yea, it’s pretty fucking terrifying, Buck.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

You hold the door open for him and slide him a pitying look.

“Because I am.”

The walk to The Glass Cannon is spent walking Bucky through the plan — and for the most part, he makes a point of nodding along and listening. His only real anxiety pops up at the mention of Alexei, which is relatable to say the least.

It’s dark, the streets are relatively quiet, and the spring chill has pricked your skin. Your heels click against the pavement, and you stalk along. Shoving your hands in your pockets of the pink, shag jacket, you huff.

You’re starting to feel the anxiety.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re both approaching the blue glow of the storefront.

Computers & Stuff was a family-owned and operated computer shop from the 90s that was taken over by a lesser-known hand of the Russian crime family in New York, the Gardzovs. Alexei’s father is the formal owner of the shop, and his son runs the lucrative activities of the underground club that lay beneath the graphics cards and motherboards.

Bucky, as you both near the entrance, speaks quickly. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Just follow my lead, okay?” you whisper.

The bell above the door dings when you pull open the glass door.

The lighting is sterile and if you’re real quiet, you can hear the dull hum of the fluorescents. The store is empty, save for one man behind the register.

You almost duck out the entrance at the sight of him.

Igor has been a bouncer at The Glass Cannon for as long as you’ve been a patron — and he’s also one of Alexei’s dogs. This part of the plan was something you’d considered only briefly, and for a second, you’re thankful you worried over the million and ten ways this would play out for days.

“Well, if it isn’t the little bunny.”

It’s said with malice. Igor’s tattooed hands land on the counter as he leans.

You, however, hold your head high. Bucky watches as something changes in your posture.

“Good to see you, Igor.”

“Is it?” he growls, stalking around the counter and quickly encroaching on your personal space, “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not welcome here, bunny.”

Bucky gets a good look at the man now — clearly an enforcer. He’s got prison tattoos, a shaved head. The long beard is a weak spot. Doesn’t seem to be armed. Blue eyes flick to you and the way you don’t even flinch when the man leans to breathe right in your face.

You just smile.

“I thought you’d say that,” you mumble, moving to swing your bag to the front and dig your wallet out, “But, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Suddenly, there’s a hundred-dollar bill slipping from your well-manicured nails into the vest pocket of the bouncer. There’s a tense pause, then, while the two of you size one another up.

“Fucking your way through college paid off, huh?” he hisses.

You stay quiet.

Bucky, though, moves between you both with a quick shove. Immediately, Igor’s attention goes to Bucky as he sizes him up — he laughs. His nose is nearly touching Bucky’s.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“You should watch your mouth,” Bucky says evenly, “Or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

You’re careful to hide your expression; the feeling the words stir isn’t one that you’re happy about. This sudden protectiveness, though, makes you feel some sort of invincible.

Igor settles back on his heels.

He steps back.

He gestures to the back room with his head.

You keep walking when he calls out: “Careful, bunny, the dogs are going to be looking for you.”

You grit your teeth tightly and push through the fabric curtain.

He barks, taunting you.

Bucky is by your side in an instant, gaze still rooted over his shoulder at the hulking bouncer. He waits until you’ve settled down until you’ve said his name. His eyes fall to you, then to the stairwell before them.

Above it, in curled neon tubing, reads The Glass Cannon.

The windows are blacked out, but from his spot at the top of the stairs, Bucky can feel the rattle of a deep bass vibrate his ribs.

“Come on. We’re on a time crunch now.”

“Alexei?”

You nod as you lead the way down the stairs. “Word travels fast. We need to be quicker. Stick to the crowds. Remember, we just need to find Kiwi — then we bail.”

Bucky nods tensely.

Then, you open the doors.

Immediately, his eyes adjust to the darkness — neon and strobes and the pulse of purple and pink LEDs make his vision swim. It’s warmer down here, and the stairs leading down into the sub-basement is lined with people sipping drinks and chattering over the loud music. It smells like piss and beer and tobacco.

Again, Bucky watches as the person he knows melts away.

The Rabbit in front of him is different.

You reach, as if on reflex, for his hand.

When you turn around and flash him a smile, he has to swallow down a sudden rise of sheepishness.

The sea of people part around you, and Bucky realizes quickly that people recognize you. He can see their painted lips moving, muttering things into curious ears about the pink-clad woman in front of him; there are smiles there and frowns, and shock. You’re slow in your descent, making a show of the arrival — all while Bucky begins to piece together that The Glass Cannon is larger than he originally suspected.

As they near the bottom of the landing, he can see out across the floor.

There’s a square-shaped catwalk around the dance floor, laden with dancers on their designated poles. Tables line the outside of the cavernous room, and the bars along each wall are crowded — even still, these glimpses of his surroundings come in temporary flashes of light. The music coming from the center of the dancefloor is loud. The entirety of the scene is raucous.

He can’t imagine you finding solace here.

He tightens his grip on your hand. You squeeze back.

When both of you reach the bottom of the stairwell, the sea of people swallow you in a current of dancing and drinking and laughing, and you crawl into Bucky’s personal space to shout in his ear.

You’re still holding his hand tightly, pressed to his chest, as you lean upwards to brush your cheek with his.

“Follow me, okay?”

He nods.

You begin the methodical crawl through the dancefloor, working your way to the bar — there, you pause long enough to be served a drink that’s as pink as the glitter on your eyelids. The flecks dance in the lights, and Bucky graciously accepts a shot from the bartender who smiles sweetly like honey at you.

You bat your lashes, thank her, and stand gracefully from the barstool.

You take a pointed swig and scan the floor.

Kiwi would be in one of the private booths, you suspect — she was enough of a high roller here. But, with the crowded club bursting at the seams, it was nearly impossible to get to the other side. You sway a bit on your feet, still tightly gripping Bucky’s hand in your own. You refuse to let go.

For your sake and his.

Bucky is a silent shadow, eyes roaming the club — he watches a dancer dip down low and snag a green bill from a patron. Someone beside him laughs loud, another bumping into his backside as you continue to weave to the outer rim of the room. The music is so loud his heartbeat could be mistaken for an 808, and he feels the thrum in his bones.

If he wasn’t so overwhelmed, if he was drunk, maybe it could be fun.

Finally, out of the haze of bodies, Bucky can breathe.

You’re leaning over again, speaking quickly.

“I don’t see her.”

“I can’t see shit in here,” he calls back, eyes moving along the ridge of the room. He scans the booths set into the walls, set up on platforms, and roped off with velveteen, “Where would she be?”

“Hard to tell,” you mumble, “But I think I might need to go to Plan B.”

Bucky follows your solid stare.

In the booth directly across the floor from you, there’s a man in black — black everything, save from his hair. That’s the brightest blue Bucky has ever seen. He’s swallowed by a harem of men and women who are laughing and drinking and dancing, and he’s entertaining. Ringed fingers wave in the air, face split into a laugh so wide he swears it’s a mile long. He’s got glasses on and they’re tinted blue.

Bucky watches carefully as you move to his booth.

It’s like a prey surveying a trap — you’re careful.

Finally, when you stand before it, you let go of his hand.

“Hi there, Climber.”

The whole booth falls silent. The man stiffens, back turned to you totally. Bucky watches as his hands fall and slowly, the man you’d called Climber turns around.

His expression is stone cold.

His voice, however, is as warm as a hot poker.

“Oh my goodness, is that Rabbit?”

He ascends from the booth, platform boots leaving him to tower over you — he’s no small man, either. Bucky watches as he bends to kiss both of your cheeks and hug you tightly. He, however, doesn’t pull away entirely.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he hisses, “You want to be roadkill?”

“I need to find Kiwi,” you whisper quickly, expression almost begging, “Please.”

He pauses, dimpled chin wavering a bit. Bucky watches him sniff, push his glasses back, and readjust his posture. Climber licks his lips and his eyes dart to Bucky. He’s thinking, Bucky realizes, and after a quick moment of deliberation, he seems to cave.

“Only because I owe you.”

“I know,” you say, raising your hands, “I know.”

In a dash, his demeanor changes once more. He’s flying over to his harem, waving his hands and blowing kisses and promising he’ll be back in a flash. They whine, they moan, but Climber appeases them with another round of jello shots from strobing syringes that a waitress is carrying by.

“Come on then,” he says, “And stop looking like such a prude.”

He begins to weave.

You follow hand returning to its spot in Bucky’s like a lifeline.

You’re sipping your drink, moving through the crowd easily. There’s a slight sway in your step now, and at one point you and Climber even get noticed by a pod of people who recognize your faces. It’s met with laughing and squealing and in the fray, the both of you slip back into the crowd. Bucky is taking it all in, desperately ignoring the tingle of a panic flaring in the back of his head.

Too many people.

Soon, though, Climber is moving towards a side entrance.

It’s a back room.

Suddenly, the dim lights and neon dissolve, and instead, Bucky is flashed in the face with the abrasive sting of fluorescent lights. It no longer reeks of spilled beer, and his boots don’t stick to the ground. No, there’s quiet chatter back here — Climber continues to lead the two of you through a maze of supply crates full of booze and soda.

Then, a right turn. And a left turn.

Someone is taking inventory.

“Kiwi, I know you’re going to hate me for this—”

The woman who turns around is beautiful. She’s in the midst of eyeing an open crate that looks just like the others but fitted with a hollowed center, marking off what looks like an inventory of burner cell phones. Her brown skin is decorated with glitter, her eyes streaked with the same green shade of her tightly shaved head. The green is bright and it reminds Bucky of summer.

Suddenly, her expression sours.

“What the fuck.”

“I know—”

“No,” she snaps, raising her hand and waving to the assistant beside her to take her tablet and make themselves scarce, “You need to get out of here.”

“I need your help,” you say finally, tone heavy.

It’s enough to make Climber sigh. Kiwi watches you, scratches her neck, and swallows.

She meets Climber’s eyes.

Then she breaks.

“Where the fuck have you been, Rabbit?” she asks, worries seeping into her eyes as she pulls you into a rough hug, “We thought you were dead.”

“No,” you shake your head, “But you know I couldn’t be around here anymore.”

“Yea,” Climber snorts, “Not good for your health, huh, love?”

“Alexei still wants your head,” Kiwi chimes in, crossing her arms, “Does he know you’re here?”

“Igor was on the door, so I’m sure he’s heard by now.”

Both of them curse.

Guilt flashes across your face as you screw your eyes shut and nod. “I know. I know, I just… I seriously need your help, Kiwi. It was worth the risk. It’s — HYDRA. I need to tap into the Alexandria Library.”

Immediately, the woman stiffens.

Her eyes flash to Bucky in the corner. He stares back.

“He waits outside.”

“You can trust him—”

“No,” she snaps, “I can’t. And I don’t. And I won’t.”

You give Bucky a pleading look. Between the two of you, a negotiation happens between your eyes. It’s a compromise, and finally, Bucky relents.

“Fine,” Bucky barks, tilting his head and giving you a tight-lipped smile, “Fine. I’ll wait out here.”

“He’s cute,” mumbles Climber as Bucky rounds the corner, long legs carrying him out of the supply room, “Boyfriend?”

“Shut up, Climber,” you mumble, waving your hand, “Just listen—”

“Who is he?” Kiwi asks, eyes still watching the doorway, “And why did you bring him along?”

You sigh, rubbing your brow. “He’s the one who’s trying to find this HYDRA agent. He knew her before.”

“So he’s HYDRA.”

“No,” you snap cooly, “He’s not.”

“So, just handsome, then?” Climber asks, hands waving, “Right. Great. Really making a case for yourself, Rabbit.”

“He’s trying to find a woman named Innessa Sidrova. She was one of the original agents who helped form the American HYDRA cell,” you explain quickly, “I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and… And he’s a good person. He’s my friend. I’m trying to help him, but I can’t do it without you. Both of you.”

Kiwi hums. She sighs. “That explains why you went MIA.”

“Aside from putting Alexei behind bars?” you scoff, “Yea, the GRC played a part in it.”

The three of you are quiet for a moment.

“Fine.”

You look up at Kiwi. Her hands are on her waist.

There’s an immense wash of relief that floods over you at that moment — and from the looks of it, Kiwi can tell. You move to grab her hand, and she grabs back. Both of you smile, and the hug that follows is warm. You’ve missed her. A lot.

“Thank you, Suji.”

Then, footsteps.

That relief is traded in for an anxious backfire of fear in an instant.

It’s slow. Dress shoes on polished cement.

Then:

“Oh, bunny, bunny, bunny. Tsk, tsk.”

Climber and Kiwi’s faces upturn to the doorway and they tell you everything you need to know.

So, you decide at that moment that you won’t be the prey tonight.

You turn around and come face-to-face with a man playing devil.

Alexei Gardzov is a handsome man — a beard and piercing grey eyes. His hair is tightly cropped, and intricate tattoos decorate every inch of his skin. Some of them are new, you realize, and there’s temporary pride that bubbles up at them. They’re from prison.

You almost smile.

Behind him, three goons loom.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d come hopping back,” he croons as he enters the room with the swagger of a man who trapped his dinner, “Well worth the wait, I think.”

His cologne hangs like smog in the air. He strolls up to you, and in a flash, he’s got your hair in a vice grip.

He yanks it back, you grit your teeth.

The barrel of a gun digs into your cheek.

“Climber, Kiwi, and Rabbit,” he sing-songs, “All in one room again like it’s NYU’s 2014 hack-a-thon. Isn’t that cute?”

Kiwi speaks. “Alexei—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, gun moving to flash towards Kiwi, “And stay out of my business, Sujina.”

The gun’s muzzle is cold. He’s rough, and you try to ignore the twinge of pain that comes with his unceremonious yank of your hair. Once more, he tsks. His breath is hot on your face. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey.

“I spent seven years behind bars,” he bites, “All because a’ you.”

“Me? I wasn’t the one trafficking girls—”

“SHUT UP!”

The pistol cracks across your cheek and the cement floor hurtles towards you. The gasp that falls from your lips is from shock; your fingers dig into the cold ground as you try to blink away the blurriness. Your ears ring. Blood drips from your cheek between your fingers.

Again, there’s a hand in your hair.

Now, the fight begins.

Climber and Kiwi are stuck, frozen in fear.

You don’t blame them, because Igor and the others have guns already drawn. One of them, one that’s young and you don’t recognize immediately, has a baseball bat in his hands.

Alexei drags you by your hair as you grimace, refusing to scream. Your heels scrape against the ground as you try to get purchase, but he’s quick to throw you back against the far wall.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he smiles, “I won’t kill you. Not right now.”

Then, a kick.

Right to the ribs.

You can’t breathe — you gasp earnestly at the white, hot shot of pain.

“Get up.”

You’re not listening, you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

“I said,” comes a growl as he reaches, hand in your hair again as he drags you up the wall. Your legs buckle, and you try to hold your chin high as you stumble upwards, “Get up.”

Then, there’s a hand around your throat.

Tight. Too tight. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t get his hand off your neck, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t fucking think, can’t stand, can’t see, can’t breathe —

“Boss!”

A new voice.

The pressure is relieved for a second.

A new face has run into the room — he looks frazzled, hair askew and gun out. He’s eyeing the scene before him in a moment’s pause.

“Can’t you see I’m a little bit busy?” Alexei snags as you gasp, clawing at his hand. He swings his head to the figure in the doorway with an annoyed bark, “What is it?”

“The cops, boss,” he stammers, “They’re here.”

“What?”

“They’re here for her, boss.”

A slow turn to where his finger is pointing. His gaze lands on you. Alexei laughs.

“Well,” he says as the goon disappears, “Isn’t that just peachy, bunny?”

The choking starts again.

Then, a metal hand.

Vibranium.

You watch it swing, you watch it grab Alexei’s throat.

Suddenly, you can breathe.

Suddenly, Bucky Barnes enters the fight.

You make friends with the ground again as you duck, just as Alexei is rammed into the wall above your head by his throat. As you cough while Kiwi calls your name — you can hear a fight. But everything’s moving slow, and it’s not until the first gunshot that you’re kicked into action. It’s loud. Your skin pricks alive.

Someone screams.

You stumble to your feet, eyes finding Bucky’s form moving quickly between the three goons — the gunshot had come from the pistol that had somehow found its way into Bucky's flesh and blood hand. One of the men is on the floor, suit pants stained with a bullet wound through the thigh. He’s wailing. Bucky doesn’t notice. Or he doesn’t care. Maybe both.

His face is cold.

Another gunshot is fired off, this time richoting between you and Kiwi and Climber and embedding itself into the cement wall overhead. The three of you scream, ducking reflexively.

That’s when Bucky snaps.

“Now would be a good time to go!”

Kiwi’s hands are on your arm as you quickly break through the doorway through the storage room. Climber is following, checking over his shoulder at the carnage that Bucky begins to reap in the room.

He’s hysterical, trying to jog in his white platform boots. “What the fuck, Rabbit!”

Your voice is hoarse. You’re clutching your ribs. “Not now, Climber!”

“I’m parked in the back,” Kiwi says, ducking through plastic flaps as she helps you through the back of the club, “Come on, we’ll go through the trucking entrance.”

You hear Bucky call your name — he’s jogging to catch up, gun drawn in his hand. Seems like he made good work of the others, sporting nothing more than a split lip. You turn, pausing for a moment to take inventory of his well-being.

And that’s all it takes.

Alexei Gardzov, limping, steps in front of you and Kiwi and Climber at an intersection in the hallway.

There’s a gun in his hand.

The first thing you feel is the impact.

Like a truck slamming into you at full speed. For the fourth time tonight, you have the air robbed from your lungs. It’s instant confusion.

Then comes the pain. Hot. Hotter than the sun. Hot like white flames. It tears through your shoulder and all you can do is gasp; you’re sent into a stutter step — and while the world around you continues to move, you’re busy reconciling with the fact you’ve just been shot.

A bullet flies by your head.

Alexei Gardzov drops.

You’re grasping at your chest, staggering, when Bucky breaks into a sprint — but you’re okay. You’re okay, it’s just your shoulder, it’s just your arm, you’re okay, you can feel your fingers and you can breathe and the pain is nearly unbearable but you’re okay.

Then, a baseball bat.

It clocks Bucky directly in the skull. He’s clotheslined.

It’s Igor.

The gun from Bucky’s hands clatters across the ground to your feet, and you’re too busy trying to get to Bucky to realize — but, you’ve got tunnel vision and adrenaline and at that moment, you think a good sidekick doesn’t need anything else in this life.

Igor goes to swing at you, but you duck. Your stiletto crushes through the top of his shoe. He screams and in a flurry of pain and panic, you manage to snag the bat quick enough to turn and clock him under the chin with a roll of the wrist.

His teeth clack together and he falls backward, unconscious.

“God, I really wish you could have seen that, Buck.”

You spit. Blood paints the ground.

The bat clatters to the cement as you fight through the pain. Kiwi and Climber are by your side in an instant.

“No, no!” she screams, “We do not have time for this—”

“I am not leaving him,” you snap, nearly screaming at the woman, “Come on and help me with him. Now.”

After a sigh of resignation, Kiwi shoves the gun she’d snagged from the ground into the back of her jeans. You’ve got your hands around Bucky’s ankles as Kiwi and Climber take his torso — and the four of you make a break for the back entrance. You can hear the cops outside now, and there’s the chatter of Russian following you into the back parking lot.

“Hurry up!”

“He’s not exactly light as a feather, you know!”

“Shut up, Climber!”

You’ve got Bucky halfway into the back seat of Kiwi’s white Cadillac when another bullet whizzes by your head.

“Fuck.”

Kiwi hops into the driver’s seat as Climber scatters to hop the hood and throws himself into the passenger's seat. You lean, clinging to the door of the backseat as Kiwi peels out of the parking lot. It swings wide open and you curse loudly. You can see Alexei’s men watching from the back entrance, shouting in Russian — so you muster all your strength to pull back and throw the door closed as Kiwi’s car bounces over a speed bump and rams through the parking meter’s gate.

In the rear window, the front of the club is surrounded.

Red and blue lights illuminate the street — but Kiwi is quick.

No one follows.

And when she finally makes it to the Manhattan Bridge, you exhale.

Bucky’s head is in your lap. He still hasn’t come to — there’s blood coming from his nose and you’re worrying. You lace your fingers into his thick, brown hair and chew your lip.

Kiwi’s voice pulls you from him.

“When were you going to mention the vibranium arm, huh?”

You laugh. It’s more of a breath of air than anything. Your head rests back against the seat. Your shoulder is still on fire. You’re hot, but cold. You’re bleeding still. Your ribs aren’t right. You know that.

“I can’t believe he shot you,” Climber mumbles, “He fucking shot you.”

“And your boy toy shot him,” Kiwi says, sparing you a look in the rearview, “So you better pray he’s dead.”

You ignore the commentary.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” she says, accelerating into Manhattan, “Where I can get you those files and you can keep your head down.”

Sounds like a plan.

Better than the one you had, anyways.

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